Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own any of the characters, settings, or events I have taken from Tolkien's works.


A deep voice, smooth and threatening, cut through the darkness.

So, you have chosen death. A flickering light was the only response on the faces of the onlookers. Another voice broke through the silence.

Okay. Class is almost over, so we'll end here for the day. Your assignment for the weekend is to read the corresponding sections of the book and make a list of reasons why the screenwriters might have made the changes in the plot that we saw today. Consider style and other elements that could have inspired them to make alterations in the story. This will be the theme of your next essay, so put some thought into it. See you all on Monday.

A sudden flurry of rustling began as students shoved notebooks into their backpacks and headed for the door, talking animatedly. Erin sighed as she completed the entry in her assignment pad and swung her pack onto her back. The bell rang, and the other students flowed unto the hall towards the lockers.

Smoothing the skirt of her uniform, Erin pushed against the flow. At least I was able to get my books earlier, she thought, and broke free of the rush. The Art of Screenwriting was the last period of the day, thank goodness. Why do the changes matter so much? It's not like it's a real story, where someone can sue if you mess up.

All of Erin's friends thought it was great, using The Lord of the Rings as the example for class. Of course, they were the type of people who could quote the books and movie verbatim, speak and write , whatever that was, and held discussions about obscure points of the stories. The latest topic was, Are all of the Istari Maiar, or is it just Gandalf?

For goodness sake, they acted as if the stories had really happened, and considered the changes in the movie to be like blasphemy. Erin shook her head. She didn't even like the books, at least the the first one, which they were reading in class. They just weren't realistic.

I mean, come on, she thought. I'm expected to believe in little people called hobbits, not to mention dwarves, elves, and magic rings? She stopped and took a deep breath. You're arguing with yourself. Just don't think about it. Don't let it ruin your weekend.

Erin smiled, realizing that she'd been walking with her head ducked and shoulders hunched, as if fearing an attack. She relaxed. There was no need to hurry. Her parents were out of town for the weekend driving Grandma back to Chicago. The drive from Maryland to Chicago was long, so they'd left in the morning.

They were planning to stay tomorrow and part of Sunday before driving home to arrive late Sunday. So there was no reason to hurry, unless to get the heavy backpack off. Erin quickened her pace and got home in half an hour.

As she turned her key in the lock, she looked at the sky. Clear blue, and it was supposed to rain all weekend. The door swung open. Dumping the backpack on the steps, she went into the kitchen in search of food.

A note sat on the counter. : I made muffins. They're in the tin on the cabinet. There's more food in the fridge. Have a nice weekend. Love, Mom. Erin opened the tin and pulled out a few muffins. Cranberry-coconut. My favorite, she thought, dropping them into a ziplock bag.

It's too pretty a day to stay inside. I never get any work done Friday afternoon anyway. Erin dropped the muffins into a cloth pouch, adding a water bottle, apple, and a pocket knife for the apple. As an afterthought she grabbed her house key. Swinging the pouch over her shoulder, Erin locked the door behind herself and set out for the woods behind her house.

Erin whistled softly, enjoying the solitude of the unmarked forest; not many people were interested in this tiny section of forest. In the summer Erin had spent days exploring the woods until they were as familiar as her backyard. But now that school had started, there hadn't been much opportunity to come back. In fact, this was the first time since the beginning of school.

Glancing up, Erin blinked. She was facing a pair of unfamiliar trees. They were pretty, branches intertwined in a sort of arch. I wonder how I missed them before. They're kind of memorable, she thought as she walked under the branches. She glanced back at the trees again and paused.

Strange. From this side they don't look much like an arch. It must be an optical illusion. Shrugging off her puzzlement, she continued to a patch of light that promised a clearing. I just must have missed this corner before.

Erin stepped from dappled shadows into clear sunlight, and for a second time stopped in confusion. In front of her spread rolling hills of tall grass. Off in the distance, a ridge of fierce mountains faded into blue mist.

There's no way this is Maryland. She was startled at the sound of her own voice. She was even more startled at the voice that suddenly came from behind her and to the left.

Halt maiden, and declare your purposes to the riders of the Mark. The voice had an unfamiliar accent. Erin slowly turned. This is going to be a long day, she thought, seeing the man who had spoken. He wore a plumed helmet, carried a sword, and rode a tall bay mare.

Erin took a deep breath. This is ridiculous, she thought, even as she opened her mouth, and began to speak.