Music: The Seatbelts; "Tank!"

All was quiet over Parth Galen on the morning of February 26th. The sun was rising with flames of murky red, almost as is she had been set alight further by the horrors that lay Eastward, where the Shadows dwelt. Hidden in the green foliage, the Nine Walkers were rising, and preparing to break their fast.

Just beyond their range of hearing, a strange sound was heard by all that could, followed by a girl's piercing scream.

Screaming as if her very life depended on it, Amy fell out of the Plot Hole towards the floor of the forest. Luckily for her and unfortunately for all of Middle-earth, the trees decided to get in the way of Amy and a two-minute screaming drop to the leaf-encrusted, wind-swept floor of Parth Galen that would result in a nice, big, bloody Mary-Sue pancake.

With a series of "OW!"s, Amy plummeted through the air, falling head-over-heels through the trees, breaking off branches as she went. For two minutes she tumbled through the foliage until, at last, she hit the forest floor with a sickening THWAM!

Oww…crap! Where the hell am I? she thought as she rubbed her sore head. What's going on? I opened the stupid book…I said the stupid password…now what? What the hell is happening here? I'd better not be bleeding, or I'll sue that Tolkien dude's ass off!

She opened her eyes and looked around.

"Oh, crap."

Green forests, golden, sunlit skies, and no human life for as far as she could see. Near her, there were some ruined stone building and statues. Just like she had seen in the movie at that place. What was it called? Parth Galen or something like that? She knew she had seen the name on the DVD somewhere…

Oh, shit! What happened? I was looking at the book, and then I said the password of the Mine-doors…oh, wow! I must be in Middle-earth!

Her first 'thought', if it can be called such a thing, was obvious: Maybe, if I find the Fellowship, they'll let me come on the Quest!

Yeah, right. And the sad part is that it seemed so logical to her. Not to mention original.

And then, I can get my Leggie! And we can go back to Mirkwood and become King and Queen of the cute Elfies and live happily ever after! After his dad dies, that is. She squealed mentally in delight.

Now, let's see: did I get changed into anything? Do I have any gear? Girls always get changed into Elves or hobbits or something when they get tossed into Middle-earth. Ick, I hope I'm not a hobbit. Those prosthetic hobbits feet were *so* tacky. And they looked *so* fake! Maybe I'll be a pretty blonde Elf! Oh, it would be so great to be Galadriel's daughter! I'll bet I'm gorgeous! Even *more* gorgeous than before. As if that were possible! Tittering inwardly, she finally she bothered to check over her newly-acquired appearance.

"AUGH!"

Scabbed, long-nailed hands covered in green, reptilian skin, and a stout, stocky body swathed in black mail with steel rings was the sight that greeted her. She opened her mouth to say "What the hell?!" The words came out, but in a guttural, snarling voice. And she had this strange urge to growl and run around in an apish fashion.

"Oh my GOD! I'm an ORC! An ORC!" With a piercing scream, she flung herself onto the green lawn of Parth Galen. How could this be? Was this some kind of sick joke? The wish that she had held for all of six hours—to come to Middle-earth—had finally come true, and now she was this: an Orc. A hideous creature that everyone wanted to kill. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream curses at the Powers That Be. She wanted to curl up in a corner and whimper for her mother. She wanted to find something and kill it.

Damn Orc urges. 

Sniveling, Amy sat up again to assess the situation: She was an Orc. She was in Middle-earth. She didn't know how she had gotten there, and she didn't know how she was going to get home. She didn't know what she was going to eat, or how she was going to procure her as-of-undecided-upon food source. She had no idea where she was going to sleep, or if she would ever make it home alive. She didn't even know which way North was (never mind that rule about the sun rising in the East and everything).

At least people in Middle-earth speak English, she thought with a relieved sigh (that still managed to sound like a guttural battle-threat). Hopefully, if I tell them I'm not an Orc and that I know about them, they'll believe me.

Little did Amy know that she had been flung into one of the worst places for any Lord of the Rings fan to be:

Real, honest-to-Tolkien Middle-earth.

And she was headed right towards nine very suspicious, very jumpy, Westron-speaking males.


Coming Up: The Fellowship meets Amy. Bad things happen to the poor, abused canon.

Remember the Fords,

Simbelmynë

~Simmí~