Chapter the Third - The Ballad of Jon the Stu

Disclaimer - Poor, poor Tolkien . . . I own not the Lord of the Rings, nor live journal, nor Jon. All I own is myself - WfR - who pops up in this story.

A/N - This is the last chapter in the story of Jon the Stu, and possibly the first completed story I have up on ff.net. Hooray. It also involves a self-insert, a deranged Ranger, three weddings (all canonical, I assure you), and a funeral. Well, maybe two funerals, if the author doesn't pull herself together and start updating things faster.

A long time ago - or maybe not,

There lived a guy named Jon

Who was really hot.

Angsty, he killed himself - a bad move,

But fell into Middle Earth,

And got back his groove

Mysteriously he was turned into an elf,

Joined the Fellowship, killed the 'rog,

And yet he remained his humble self -

and took no credit for his (mis)deeds.

For Jon a Gary Stu had become,

Perfect and dashing, a wonderful guy -

Loved by most, but hated by some.

Because of these haters he met his demise,

Was killed at night before his lover's eyes

By a lover of canon - what a surprise!

And where Jon has gone, no one may know

Unless they, like he, tread on paths

Where only the dead may go.

-From, "Ballad for Jon the Stu", as sang by one of the PPC.

After returning Saruman to the side of good, saving thousands of lives by not holding the battle of Helm's Deep, and managing to convince everyone that ents were imaginary, Dimthil the Gary - ahem, Dimthil the Brave and the Fellowship made their way first to Mordor, then to Gondor. In Mordor, it came to pass that the Ring was destroyed by Dimthil's hand, for the Hobbit who bore it was not quite able to do the deed, and instead willed that Dimthil cast it into the fire - which he did, and did well.

And in Gondor, Dimthil met his demise.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, WfR was staring worriedly at her computer screen in hopes that Jon would mysteriously reappear, laughing and telling her it was all a joke, for even though she didn't know Jon that well and really didn't care if he lived or died, if he was really dead it would be up to her to tell everyone else on live journal what had happened to him - something she didn't want to do. She sighed, then jumped with a start, for something had occurred to her.

"Wait," exclaimed WfR, horrified. "I'm being written into a 'Stu story! I'm being made a 'Sue! AAAAHHH!" Terrified, she clawed at her perfect face with her neatly manicured nails, in hopes of de-suing herself, but to no avail. WfR had become a Mary Sue.

While WfR was trying very hard to desue herself, Jon was having the time of his life. His wedding to Arwen (non-traditional) had been pulled off without a hitch, and now he was enjoying himself at his reception, with one eye on Éowyn and the other on Arwen. His wedding was nearly over, his crowning (Aragorn had since admitted that he was wrong and that Dimthil was the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor) was to be the next day, and all across Middle Earth others were begging him to take over their thrones, in hopes that he might be able to save their people from ultimate destruction by the next dark power. All in all, it had been a good day, and he was looking to the night's events with anticipation -

"Hold it right there," snapped a musical voice.

Jon froze where he was, as did most of the other guests. He recognized that voice. As a 'Stu, he knew it well. It was the voice of a Mary Sue.

"Jon," said the voice again, irritably, "You've become a Gary Stu. You've been dropped into Middle Earth, you have a fake elvish name and a ridiculous destiny, you've broken up canon couples, and you are handsome, brave, and altogether perfect - something that in real life you could never hope to be."

"No I'm not!" protested Jon. "I have a hang nail, see? And later on, I have an affair with Éowyn and break Arwen's heart - that's certainly not perfect."

"Jon," said the 'Sue again, "You're missing the point. Shall I show it to you?"

Dimthil feigned a sigh, the whole while find his hunting knife and unsheathing it. "Sure. Go ahead, Mary."

The 'Sue stepped forward. "My name," she growled, "is, or was, WfR. Learn to use it."

Jon gasped and dropped his hunting knife. "WfR? What happened to you? You're . . . different!"

WfR grimaced. "Yes. I have an enormous chest, my eyes are now no longer muddy brown but dark chocolate, my hair is down to my ankles, and I'm an elf." She paused for a minute. "Well, maybe I was an elf in the first place, but that's not the point. The point is, I have a tiny waist, tiny feet, and I'm a size two. I'm also instructed in more forms of martial arts than I can name, and I have a flamethrower. And I have to kill you now."

Jon sighed. "Yeah," said he, "It's been fun, but now it's time to go home."

"Go home?" inquired WfR. "Whoever said anything about going home?"

"Well . . ." Jon began, then paused. "I sort of figured that since I got here by killing myself that I'd leave the same way."

WfR sniggered evilly. "Ah, no. 'Fraid not, Jon. You see, you're not really dead, and I'm not really here."

"What?" asked Jon dumbly. "How can I not be here when, well, I'm here?"

WfR smiled oddly. "It's our internet personas. They're here, not us. In other words, when I kill you - and kill myself - neither of us will go home. Instead, we'll go back to wherever we were when the story first started - in my case, live journal, and in yours, probably napping somewhere."

Dimthil gave her a blank look. "Run that by me one more time?"

WfR sighed. "It's 'Sue logic. I don't understand it, nor do I pretend to. Leggy!!!1" She lunged toward the elf, presumably wanting to *glomp* him.

"No!" cried Jon, stopping her by seizing her arm.

WfR shook her head. "Good point." Without another word, she turned the flamethrower on first Jon, then herself.

When Jon next awoke, it was to his keyboard making odd noises at him. Apparently, he had fallen asleep at the computer, and his lying on the keyboard had harmed it in some way. Shrugging, he was about to sign off the computer when he noticed that he had a new e-mail in his inbox. Slightly curious as to what it could be, he opened it and read it, only to end up wishing that he hadn't. Dreaming the experience had been bad enough - reading about it, worse.

Of course, it never occurred to Jon that what he had experienced was not a dream, and WfR never let on that what had happened was anything more than a figment of his imagination. After all, she had been turned into a 'Sue - and as one of the major critics of Mary Sues, that was not something she wanted widely known.

With a sigh, Arwen threw the last handful of dirt on to her ex-husband's grave. "Poor Dimthil. May you find rest in the West."

Éowyn, who had since reconciled with Arwen and married Faramir, nodded. "This world was never good enough for him, was it?"

Arwen shrugged. "Well, actually, I thought he was slightly power-hungry. And he was bow-legged. Aragorn's a much better catch, don't you think?"

Aragorn, who was listening to all of this with contempt, smiled. "I believe so."

It was to no one's surprise that Aragorn and Arwen were married less than a month later.

Alas for the end of the Adventures of Jon the Stu! At this time, it must be said that canon snapped back into place shortly after Dimthil's funeral, meaning that Sam and Rosie were married, along with Aragorn and Arwen, and Éowyn and Faramir. Boromir, who had been left behind in Rivendell, was eventually found floating down the Anduin, dead, as he was supposed to be. Galadriel and the rest of the Lorien elves did not remember her - ahem - moment of indignity, and Arwen and Éowyn could never remember fighting over Dimthil. As for the various thrones of Middle Earth, they were left to their own devices, with Aragorn accepting the crown that was willed to him. Frodo sailed into the West, along with Bilbo.

As for Jon and WfR . . . he remained much the same as before, though he could never find his library copy of Thoreau, while she was changed for the worse, fighting off the urge to write 'Sues, finally settling for a poster of Legolas, which she snogged passionately each and every night before going to bed.

And, truly, that is the end of this tale.

END

Replies to Reviews:

Ainu Laire - Yes . . . cheese. I hope that the end was good enough . . . I honestly didn't think it was that funny.

Huinesoron - *patpats* Yes, well, feel free to kill it anyway. Hilarious? *scoffs* It's terrible. *chants* Torch it, torch it, torch it!

UnDeadGoat - Well, um, thanks, I suppose . . .

Laitoste of Rivendell - Oh, don't worry . . . I'm probably going to 'Sue myself next, just for fun. *laughs evilly* Yes, simple words indeed . . .

Jon - *feels honoured that the person she 'Stu'd likes what she wrote* Wow . . . thanks. Librarian and you laughed over the killing of the Balrog? Hopefully you won't laugh over the losing of the copy of Walden . . .

Bubonic Woodchuck - Nice idea . . . I might end up using it if/when I 'Sue myself. *grins*

A/N - Yes, that's it. Yes, I know that this chapter was more sardonic than funny. And yes, UDG, hS, I know your full names. *coughs* Or, um, maybe not. Point is, the story is over, I'm not going to write any more, feel free to swipe Jon for your own character.

And, yes, I might 'Sue myself. Be afraid. Be very afraid.