Even If You Were The Last Person On Earth
By Colorain
Disclaimer: I own Susan Blackweld. So far. No LOTR characters belong to me. They belong to Tolkien, who would hate me for this. This is a Legolas fic. It is not a romance! And it is also thinly-veiled author insertion . . . but no Mary-Sue. And I can't write. There, I think we're done.
The sun was shining. The birds were singing. And as Susan Blackweld's hiking boot slipped on the moss covering a neatly concealed rock, she knew it was going to be one hell of a sucky day.
A voice cut through the peaceful woods. "That is it. That is the absolute last time that I ever listen to my parents again. 'Why don't you go camping this weekend, Susan? It's about time you reconnected with nature. You used to love camping with us when you were little. What happened?'"
"I'll tell you what the frig happened!" The voice was screaming now. "Bugs suck. Dirt sucks. Camping clothing sucks. And as for reconnecting with nature? That's why we have the Discovery Channel. I am taking out my cell phone right now," At this, Susan's hand shoved deep into her jean pocket and pulled out the said item. "and I am dialing home, and I am getting—no freaking way. There is no freaking way that I don't have any reception. This is the woods, for god's sake. There is absolutely no way that I don't have reception." Susan eyeballed the small gold phone in her hand from her vantage point on the forest floor. It looked innocently back at her. For a brief moment, Susan was tempted to fling the offending object into the nearest bush, but her head hurt too much to look for one, and her aim sucked anyway.
"You're one lucky piece of crap, you know that?" she muttered. "If we don't get reception from you in the next thirty minutes, you are so getting dropped in the closest hole I find." With that threat hanging satisfactorily on the air, Susan shoved her palms into the dirt underneath her and shoved up. The trees spun for a second as the blood rushed back down into the lower parts of her body. Susan pulled her dark green backpack to her side and rummaged through the assorted stuff inside. "Lipstick—no. CD player—no. Moisturizer—okay, in a few minutes but not yet. Aspirin—yes!" She popped the top of the childproof bottle and shook two tablets directly into her mouth. Her hands were, after all, dirty. She swallowed without water and grimaced as the pain medication slowly slid down her throat.
Susan glanced at her wristwatch. It was after three. At least time to pick a campsite, if not set it up. She pulled herself up off the ground and brushed at her pants. "Damn! My jeans are dirty. But then again, what did I expect? This entire trip has so not gone like I expected." Her car had died out a mile away from the campgrounds, she had forgotten a pillow, had no reception on her cell phone—and now her jeans were dirty. Things could not get any worse.
Or so she thought.
~*~
Once again, the voice of Susan Blackweld disturbed the forest. "Tents suck."
At five o'clock, an hour and a half after she had started setting up camp, she still hadn't figured out the concept of tent poles. And cell phone reception still hadn't been restored. And it was getting dark. And, as she discovered much to her dismay, while she had not forgotten a flashlight, she had forgotten to check its batteries. Which were weak and fading fast.
She was reduced to talking to the tent poles. "Now, now, Susan needs a place to sleep tonight. And you are going to cooperate or else Susan is going to get very, very angry . . ." Susan kicked one of the poles. It stood at an awkward angle, but it stayed up. Eventually, the entire tent was put up—not exactly how the manufacturer had expected, but it would last the night. Oh, night. Susan was very tired after her ordeal and crawled into her tent. I'll close my eyes. I won't sleep—just rest, and I'll start a fire in a moment. No sleep . . . A minute later, Susan Blackweld was fast asleep with no pillow, no fire, and no clue as to what was coming.