Left, right. Left, right. Left, right. So much walking! Mela had promised Unongleal the day before he died that they would go on an adventure together, but this was beyond any reason. They weren't even attacking anything.

"Legolas!" Frodo said.

"Yes, Your Highness?" Mela answered. It drove her to near insanity that Frodo was treated the way he was, but she had no choice but to comply.

"This traveling chair you built for me is a wreck. First of all, I wanted it built for Aragorn and Boromir to carry me, and they're shoulders are this wide, not that wide. I told you very specifically that I wanted the seat to be embroidered with mushrooms and these just look like mushed horses. Will you not do something about it?"

"Certainly. Right away." Mela was ready to scream with all that she had taken from that hobbit. All the same, she got to work on his kingly cart.

Mela's new favorite game, the thing she did to keep herself busy, was to tell the hobbits her stories. Of course she told them as if they were true events that had happened to her, and she was always the heroine - wait, no, hero - in them. Hobbits were very gullible, and she loved to reel out these tales to them as they walked.

"Have I told you yet the tale of the ground that would swallow people?" She said.

The hobbits would shake their heads and look up at her, waiting for the story.

"Long ago, when I was but a century of age, there was a clearing in the woods. It was said that anything placed in the middle of the circle would be swallowed, whole. The ground would shake, the dirt would move, and within seconds whatever was in the middle of the clearing would vanish!

"I wanted to see this for myself, so I threw a rock with impeccable my aim into the middle of the clearing. Chhh! It was gone! I gallantly strode towards where my rock had disappeared and, as I had intelligently planned, I was heroically swallowed also. Inside, was a vast room (I landed gracefully on the floor); kings and queens of many ages were all down there, trying to find a way out. Some had been there for centuries! They begged me to aid them, and I used my brilliance and strength to construct a tunnel leading out of the clearing, saving them all.

"I then lightly tossed several seeds into the middle of the clearing, watched with my Elf-ray vision as they were swallowed, and I carefully poured plenty of water into the room through my tunnel. Massive trees broke forth form the earth, and the cursed ground could hurt people no more. The kings and queens thanked me gratefully, and are still in my debt. They claim that if I ever want anything, that they will gladly grant it for me. But I am a humble Elf. I do not wish to cheat the poisoned minds of the nobility, so I will never take them up on their offers. I am much to kind to do that."

"Show off," Gimli muttered as he marched by braiding his beard. Aragorn and Gandalf scowled as well. Mela was confused. Wasn't this what men did when away from women? Trading self-exaggerating stories and trying to outdo one another? Mela didn't understand why she was the only one doing this.

In fact, the only members of the fellowship who seemed to appreciate Mela's tales were the hobbits. The one called Sam was apparently enchanted by Elves and Mela often caught him staring at her.

He was a little bit quirky, Sam. He would wait hand and foot on Frodo from curling his toenails to buttering his hair to holding Nightly Entertainment Shows for him.

The NES (Nightly Entertainment Shows) that Sam would put on were hardly entertaining. Mela would call them more frightening, in fact, but she always nodded her approval in what she hoped was a manly way because Sam's self-esteem seemed to be in the negative zone of a number line. Every NES began with a poorly rhymed poem which Sam claimed that he had heard somewhere, but Frodo told Mela that it was really Sam who made them up himself. The NES was really a variety show, in a way. Sometimes, Sam would dance an embarrassingly dorky jig. Sometimes he would tell jokes or riddles. Sometimes he would lead meditation and often he would take a nap (Sam was an amazingly beautiful sleeper. This was a real crowd pleaser).

One thing that couldn't seem to be beat, however, was when Sam would give cooking lessons. He was a wonderful chef, and if word got out that his show that night included a cooking lesson, then everyone would come, invited or not (one needed a special invitation from Frodo in order to attend the NES). Aragorn would diligently take notes. Mela did also, because she was a horrible cook and needed instruction badly. Boromir and Gimli claimed that they could not learn if they took notes, so they listened intently, eyes bulging and mouths drooling. Gimli would also bring his knitting needles and knit his beard. He told Mela that he was working on a sweater. It looked more like socks, though, and Mela was tempted to suggest to Gimli that he change what he was making before he got to the heel. Gandalf would always prepare ahead of time and collect ingredients so that he could follow along with what Sam was doing. Merry's sole purpose at all times that they were not walking (and sometimes when they were) was to give Frodo a back massage, so he would be doing that, and Pippin would be begging food off of Gandalf. The whole system worked quite well.

"Frodo," Mela said, turning to Sam, "What will tonight's NES be like?"

"My name is Sam," Sam said. Mela nodded; she was getting used to whom she though was Frodo denying his identity. "Tonight's NES is a surprise. But, I suppose I can tell you . . . "

"Oh, please do!"

"Very well. I have a quaint poem I heard in a pub back home, interpretive dance, and . . . impressions!" Sam seemed very excited about this last part.

"Am I invited?"

"I'll speak with Frodo; I'll see if you can come as my guest."

"Many thanks, Frodo," Mela said.

"My name is Sam."

"To each his own."

"No, it really is. Oh, and Legolas?" Sam asked.

"Yes?"

"I had hoped that for my interpretive dance tonight you would sing."

"Sing?" Mela choked. She couldn't sing for the life of her.

"Well, yes. Frodo tells me that Bilbo told him that Thranduil told him that you have a lovely singing voice."

"Singing . . . voice?"

"Will you?"

Mela looked at the little hobbit. He looked so needy, so pathetic that she just had to say yes. She hated herself for it deeply. There was only one song she knew that she could sing in tune, and that was a child's song. Besides, Aragorn, Gandalf and whom-she-thought-was-named-Sam all knew Elvish and would be able to see that it was an Elvish tune. But whom-she- thought-was-named-Frodo seemed to need her . . .

"I shall sing for your NES," she sadly replied. Sam looked delighted.

Just then, the company looked up. In the distance, a grayish cloud was approaching. Everyone seemed worried.

"Legolas," Aragorn hissed, elbowing Mela in the side, "your line!"

"Oh!" Mela cried, and looked with her Elf-ray vision at the cloud. "Er . . . they're crows . . . from Dublin?"

Boromir hit his head with his hand. "Are you sure that you don't mean 'crebain' from 'Dunland?'" He sounded very annoyed.

"Ah . . . yes!" Mela cried. "Sorry, I had something stuck in my throat . . . the words came out wrong . . . one of those birds - I mean crows! - I mean crebain! Yes . . . the crebain was stuck in my throat."

"In your throat?" Aragorn cried.

"Well . . . yes! I had one of them for lunch." Mela sputtered.

"We haven't had lunch yet." Aragorn reminded her.

"Sorry . . . I meant elevensies. You see, I'm adopting a hobbit diet. They're much healthier these days. They're the new Atkins!"

"I tried that once. . ." Aragorn admitted, shuddering, "but I must ask you, how could you have eaten a crebain when they are still menacingly coming towards us?"

"My Elf-ray vision fried one from afar and the wind carried it here and I ate it!" Mela said defiantly. Aragorn muttered something about Elves and backed away.

"Er . . . now that that's settled, let's hide from the crows - I mean crebain!" he said. "Frodo, shall I panic for you and help you to hide?"

"Yes, thank you, Dunadan. That will quite do." Aragorn bowed to Frodo as he was dismissed.

In perfect synchronization, everyone panicked and dove into the bushes. Mela was still terrified of what she had agreed to do, however.

Two hours later, Sam cleared his throat. Tonight's NES audience included Frodo, Mela and Gandalf. Naturally, everyone else was hiding in the trees behind them.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Sam said. "First off, I have a poem . . .

"There once was a duck

Who was in muck.

He cried for help,

And gave many a yelp.

But no one came.

They're all to blame

For when the duck

Stroke luck

The world turned into

The revenge of the duck.

"There's a song to accompany it, also," Sam said, "It goes like this." He sung three notes in an ascending scale with no particular words and stopped, smiling. Mela, Gandalf and Frodo applauded at this cue.

"Next," Sam continued, "I have asked Legolas to sing for me, and I will perform an interpretive dance to his song. He has a beautiful voice."

Mela gulped, and began to sing in no particular tune. It sounded truly terrible; this could be seen through Sam's interpretive dance. He arranged himself in all sorts of grotesque shapes, managing to get across the idea of a wild animal suffering from pain beyond all pains. When she (thankfully) stopped singing, Sam lay sprawled out on the ground, twitching intermittently.

Gandalf had his hat covering his entire face (including his ears), Frodo had tears streaming down his cheeks, and Sam was still on the ground twitching. Mela wondered if this was a part of the dance. She cringed at the memory of what had just happened, and ashamedly sat down, careful not to make eye contact.

"I would like to make it very clear," Sam said as he got up from the floor, rubbing his ears, "that while I am going to do impressions next, none of them are meant to hurt anyone's feelings. See, now, you all try and guess who I am pretending to be. Here is the first one . . ."

He ran into a corner, curled into fetal position and held his knees, shaking like a leaf. Before long, he had taken out a box of tic-tacs was shoving them into his mouth with amazing speed and agility. He whimpered, ate the tic-tacs and shuddered.

Out of the dark night, a box of tic-tacs was hurled at Sam's head (with very good aim) and he toppled backwards, like an egg that was pushed over.

"That's not funny, you bully!" Pippin said, running forward. He had revealed himself in the brush, and raced off bawling with great lung capacity. Mela saw Sam look around. Mela, Gandalf, Frodo, and the bushes were all laughing hysterically. It was so true! Whenever Pippin got upset, he would curl up and binge on tic-tacs; Sam's impression of him was a stroke of genius. Sam saw how funny the fellowship (minus Pippin) thought he was, and played off that. He went on to his next target.

Sam now got a very annoyed look on his face. "You're wrong," he said. "You're always wrong. Why can't you just get it right for once? Sigh! What would you do if I weren't here to correct your every blunder? This fellowship would be lost without me."

"Frodo!" Frodo guessed. Sam shook his head.

"Mel - I mean, Legolas!" Mela guessed. Sam shook his head.

"It is obviously Gandalf," the wizard said. Sam shook his head.

"Aragorn!" The bush said. Sam shook his head.

"Merry!" The bush said. Sam shook his head.

"Boromir!" The bush said. Sam excitedly jumped up and down.

"You've got it! You've got it!"

Boromir stepped out of the bushes.

"Merry," Sam continued, "Let's tell Boromir what he's won!"

Merry flashed a smile as priceless as his diamond evening gown to the camera. "Boromir," he said, "You've won an all-expense paid trip to the next FIVE NES! Also, a dictionary so that you can continue to correct people of their mistakes! And, well, I'm guessing this was written before the NES tonight . . . you've won a free serenade sung by Legolas."

Boromir stopped smiling. "I'll give you half of my NES tickets if you cancel the serenade," he inconspicuously whispered to Merry. Merry reached over a hand and they shook on it.

"You owe me a huge favor," Mela heard Merry whisper back.

"Alright, people, let's get back on track," Sam said. "You should all be able to guess this one in a heartbeat."

He opened his mouth as wide as it would go, bared teeth and all, and began to fight invisible enemies, never closing his mouth. Immediately the company broke out laughing. Everyone except Aragorn, however; he just shot Sam an if-I-ever-catch-you-alone-in-a-dark-and-secluded-ally look. Sam paled and went on to his next impression.

"I hate running for long periods of time," Sam said, and froze, waiting for a response. He got none, so tried again, "Darn! So much running! I hate running! I hate cross-country!"

"Dude," Merry said, "those jokes weren't funny in the movie and they're not funny now."

"I know that! Just guess who it is!"

Gimli scowled, putting down his beard (he was braiding it), "If I ever get my axe on that Peter Jackson . . . I'll give him a few good swings. One for each hideously obnoxious anti-dwarf crack. And I'll only count the hits."

Just then, two Riders In Black marched professionally onto the set and pulled out a stick-like instrument. They whispered something to Gimli while holding it in front of him, put their dark glasses back on, and left.

Gimli appeared dazed. "What script?" he mumbled, going back to braiding his hair.

"Fine, then! Another impression!" Sam yelled. His impressions were not going as he had planned.

He stood in the middle of the "stage," tensed up his body, and screamed. He screamed as loud as he could and then changed pitches several times. Mela didn't stay to hear the rest. She inconspicuously backed out of the audience and began to cry. The hobbits looked so cute at first, but they were so mean! All men must be like that . . . cruel, bloodthirsty . . . Mela swore to herself never to fall in love.

She aimlessly wandered around until she found Pippin, sniveling and eating tic-tacs in the corner as he wept. She sat down beside him and pick pocketed a box of tic-tacs from his pocket. She read the ingredients to make sure the tic tacs were vegan, then she and Pippin moped and ate for several minutes before Aragorn joined them.

"Sam said I was compensating for something because I have a big sword," he sniffed, sitting down as well and binging on the breath mints. Mela chuckled to herself. He was.

The three were soon joined by Gandalf, who wiped a tear off his cheek with his robes and choked out the story of how Sam had said he never changed his robes. All of this was making Mela happier and happier. He didn't.

Eventually everyone except for Frodo and Sam was in the corner, crying and eating Pippin's tic-tacs.

"It's only a matter of time -" Mela started, but was interrupted by Frodo, who yelled,

"Off with your head!" At the top of his lungs. This time, everyone laughed.

"Hey," Merry said, "Let's find a way to get those two back."

Finally the seven had the perfect plan: seeing as hobbits hated snow, they would pretend that the crows - I mean crebain - were spies and that they would have to take the Pass of Caradhras. Originally Merry and Pippin protested this plan, but then Boromir and Aragorn promised to let them sit on their shoulders as they bulldozed through the snow. Frodo and Sam would have to walk.

From the Diary of Legolas Greenleaf:

Today I reached Rivendell. Elrond says that I've already been there. It must be Mela. Who else could (and would dare to) pull a stunt like this off? I think I shall stay here tonight, then travel on to find my company in the morning.

Left this morning for the Red Horn Pass. Elrond says that he thinks that they will stop in Lórien; I hope they will for my sake. I think I can beat them there if I only run fast enough. I spent the (wonderful) night in Rivendell. Weather's nice. I miss Arwen already; if she marries that bastard Aragorn just because he has a crown, I'll cry.