Disclaimer: I don't own anything, because Saul Zaentz owns Tolkien Enterprises (says so on my Legolas poster–ruins the effect, in my opinion, but anyway) and I think it's very unfair that people are still being owned, even 200-odd years after the Emancipation Proclamation. Right. So. I don't own any of these characters, except those that you don't recognize from the books, and Sasha and Isis are real people, as are their family members, so I don't own those, either. However, it is necessary for me to acknowledge the great help which my mother has given me in these two chapters—that conversation in the last chapter between me and my mum is quoted verbatum from a conversation I had with her when I was running low on ideas about my reactions to Merry and Pippin.

Author's Note: Thank you to Jadefire5 & Charlie, who reviewed so nicely the last chapter. Here's the new one, hope you like it, and tell other people to read it too, because I love reviews. Mwah mwah to you both. Oh, and by the way, please read my epilogue: , because I am so proud of it and I really want to know what people think. Coming up soon: One Shadow, which is an Éomer/OFC vignette. I'm really proud of it, too. Thanks again for reviewing! Love, Isis

Chapter 2

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"Oh. My. GOD." Isis screamed. "No way. Omigod. Omigodomigodomigod. This isn't happening. I just know it isn't. I gotta sit down. No, wait. I gotta call Sasha. I'll be back in a minute."

She jerked the door open again, left the room, slammed the door shut, and sat down hard on the stairs. "Normal breaths," she told herself. "Breathe properly. Don't hyperventilate. Don't breathe deeply. In, out. In, out. In, out. It's okay. It's just the hottest guy on the planet is in your room, messing with your piano. It's just another hot guy is reading The Return of the King, which happens to be about himself. It's just—" She took a deep breath to calm herself. "Okay, I'm calmed down now," she said aloud. "Now I am going to call Sasha, and I am not going to scream at her over the 'phone." She took another deep breath, held the cordless up in front of her, and was about to dial Sasha's number when the door to her left opened, and a sleepy seven-year-old brunette head poked out.

"What's goin' on?" Thaïs asked. "Why're you screaming? You woke me up."

"Sorry," Isis said insincerely. "Didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep."

"'Kay." The head withdrew, and Isis could hear the squeak of springs as her sister went back to bed.

"Okay then." Beep boop boop bip beep boop bip. Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Isis?"

"Sasha. Omigod. I have–"

"Half the Fellowship in your room. I know. So do I."

"You–"

"Yeah. I woke up, and Sam was standing over me with bacon and eggs."

"Awww, that's so cute. Merry and Pippin woke me up by fighting over who was going to hold the food that Pippin got when he raided the refridgerator."

Sasha winced audibly.

"Yeah. Who've you got?"

"Um…Gandalf, Frodo, Sam, Gimli, and um...Legolas."

"That's nothing, baby," Isis retorted. "Glorfindel is right now fiddling with my piano. He just came downstairs from washing the dishes."

"Wow. That's like a dream come true for you, isn't it."

"Uh, yeah. I walked into my room and saw him there. Aragorn's reading Return of the King, and Boromir's messing with the computer."

"How'd he turn it on?"

"Damned if I know. What do I do, Sasha?"

"Go in and say hi."

"You're worse than my mother. She said, 'Well, it's good you cleaned your room, then, isn't it.'"

"She's right, you know."

"Oh, shut up."

Silence.

"You know something, Isis?"

"What?"

"I wouldn't leave them alone with the computer. What if they get their hands on the fanfic?"

Silence.

"Isis?"

"Oh my god. I hadn't thought of that. I gotta go. Have fun with Leggy-lou-lou."

Both girls laughed, and Isis hung up. "Breathe," she ordered herself. Then she stalked the two paces to the door, and opened it.

She smiled shakily. "Um, hi. I'm Isis. This is my room." She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and bit her lip. "Um. I'm sorry I screamed. I guess I freaked you out a bit. Not a very good first impression. I was just surprised and, um, just, I, I didn't expect to see you all here."

The Man on her bed swung his long legs onto the floor and stood up. "Your apology is accepted. I am Aragorn, Arathorn's son of the Dœnedain." He bowed, leaving Isis feeling rather stupid with her hand sticking out for a handshake.

"And I am Boromir of Gondor," said the other Man, getting out of her chair. Before she could react, he had taken her still-outstretched hand and bowed over it. "I, too, accept your apology, Lady—"

Isis took her hand back hastily. "Isis," she said firmly. "Not lady. Just plain Isis."

The hot blond male straightened up from the piano, his lips curving in an amused smile as he clasped her hand. His hand was warm and calloused.

"Y-you're Glorfindel," she said shakily. "Y-you're not what I expected." And immediately she snatched her hand away and clapped it over her mouth. "Oh no," she stammered, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that, I'm really sorry, I just–"

The Elf-lord raised a hand to stop her chatter, still smiling. "It's all right. What did you expect?"

"I'm not sure," Isis said miserably. Then she remembered her manners. "Elen síla lumenn omentielmo, hernín Glorfindel–though it's morning."

"Very good," said Glorfindel. "Can you actually speak the Old Tongue?"

Isis smiled crookedly. "Nah. I never got past I aran úmëa mapane i osto vanya."

"Your pronunciation is good," Aragorn commented, "but there's no emphasis in your speech."

"Yeah. That's—"

"What's i aran–whatever you said?" Pippin interrupted.

"Pippin–" Isis looked down at Pippin, about to tell him to shut up, but she couldn't find it in her heart to do it. He was too cute. Cute-cute, she thought, not cute-cute. "It means, 'the evil king seized the beautiful city.' What I meant was, I never learned enough Elvish to be able to have a normal conversation...as opposed to a conversation that's going on with an idiot while evil kings seize beautiful cities."

Merry and Pippin both laughed, and Aragorn smiled at her joke. "If you wished it," he said, sitting back down on the bed, "I could continue your education. Though perhaps 'twould be better if the Elf taught you. The tongue comes naturally to him, not to me, who was raised in that tongue but is not of that people."

"Um," Isis said. "Thank you. I'd—I'd love to. Thank you—" she stopped. What was she supposed to call him? Boromir was closest; she tugged at his sleeve. "What do I call him?" she hissed.

Boromir shrugged. "My lord, lord Aragorn, sir...any of those will do," he said quietly, supressing a smile at her frantic tone.

"Yeah," Isis said, turning back to Aragorn, who was watching her with question marks written all over his face. "Thank you, my lord. I would really like that."

"Well," said Pippin brightly, "now what? I'm hungry."

"I know," Isis smirked. "You woke me up this morning to tell Merry that."

Pippin hadn't the sense to look abashed. "Well, you're awake now," he said, "so you can do something about it."

Isis rolled her eyes. "Well, I can't right now, because my sister is still in the house. So we may as well hang out in here while we wait." She plopped herelf down on her bed at the other end from Aragorn, and watched as he picked up the book and began reading again.

None of them looked like they did in the movies; Aragorn's nose was longer and slightly crooked, and his eyes were dark instead of blue. He didn't have that stupid bauble of Arwen's bouncing around his neck, either. Boromir's hair was dark, also, and his eyes were grey. His face was more noble and proud than Sean Bean's in the movie. Merry and Pippin were shorter than their film counterparts, though Pippin was slightly taller and slimmer than his cousin. Basically, Isis thought, they just don't look like the people who played them. What a big surprise.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Boromir's voice. "What is this?" he asked, gesturing to the computer screen, where, to her horror, Isis could discern the lines of a poem she'd been working on before she'd fallen asleep the night before.

"Oh," she said hastily, trying to sound careless, "it's just—something—I was writing, nothing at all important, don't worry about it, I'll get it off the screen, I–"

"No, no, it's quite all right," said Boromir, smirking a little. "It's not badly written, you understand. I was just wondering how to get to the rest of the poem."

"You write poetry?" asked Pippin, wide-eyed. "You should show some of it to old Bilbo at home, he writes poetry too!" He and Merry stood on tiptoe to peer over Boromir's muscular shoulder.

"Poetry?" said Aragorn, getting up to look. "Let me see."

Isis groaned. The absolute last thing she needed was for them to read her work, but it was too late now. She leaned over on Boromir's right and scrolled down to the bottom of the page so he could finish reading.

"Wait," the Elfstone said protestingly. "I haven't finished."

"I'll read it aloud," said Boromir, still smirking. "Move back, everyone, so I can read." He turned to Isis. "I push this button where to move it down?"

Isis pointed it out with a sigh of "I am so dead", and Boromir began to read.

"But ever and anon the dream troubled me,

And I again would hear the voice whose source I could not see.

I took counsel with my brother, then, the second time it came,

And I told him of the voice which spoke of Isildur's Bane.

For a while there he sat, pondering my tale,

Wondering aloud what meaning it might unveil.

'For know you, Faramir,' he said, 'that little I know of lore,

'But this I know: the sword of thy dream dwelt long here in Gondor.'

'This I know also,' I said to him then, 'but who, think you, would know more?

Boromir looked at me and replied, 'Our father, Denethor.'

"We left the wall forthwith and went speedily toward the citadel,

And as we walked, we heard from the Tower the sound of a clear sweet bell.

Boromir and I looked up as one, to see the Tower shining bright;

A symbol of hope, a beacon to all, a counterpart to the Tower of Night.

Like a spike of pearl and silver, reflecting the bright rays of Anor,

Its white banners waving in the breeze, built by a king of Numenor.

And yet my heart was troubled, for I saw beyond the mask,

That my city's glory had been spent, its high days now long past.

Then in my eyes the city crumbled, falling at my feet,

And I heard as from far away the cruel, relentless beat

Of orc-drums, the sounds of war, and the harsh triumphant cries

Of orcs themselves, marching on the city under weeping skies.

And as I watched, I wondered, 'Why doth this vision to me appear,

And not to him who will be Steward, my brother Boromir?'

At once the answer came back to me, 'Because Gondor dost thou love best,

While Boromir keeps a warrior's heart beating within his breast.

An honourable man your brother is, but his place is not the throne;

If he lives till then, he shall give thee it, 'til the King come into his own.'"

"Now," said Boromir, turning to Isis, who was sitting on the bed with her hands over her face, "that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Which?" she asked sarcastically. "Having you read my private writing, or the writing itself?"

"Well, for one thing," said the Man, "if the writing concerns me, then it shouldn't be private–" ("I don't like that reasoning," Isis muttered rebelliously) "and for another—well, I'll leave the criticism of the poetry to the Elf, shall I?" He grinned and winked at Isis, who scowled ferociously back. "I myself think it's rather good, but the only way to find out whether it's historically accurate would be to get the narrator's opinion, if you ask me."

"I didn't. And don't you dare get Faramir to read this."

"Shut up, Isis," said Boromir cheerfully. "I am approximately twenty years older than you, which means that you have little to no control over my actions. My lord Glorfindel, your opinion, if you please?"