Alone in the bedroom, the Fellowship was endeavoring to put on their clothes.

"They really aren't too different," said Frodo, struggling with some long (for him) gym shorts. He was actually referring to Aragorn's striped polo.

"Of course not," replied Legolas authoritatively. "There are only so many modes of apparel; the rest is made up of details. Observe: each progressive generation will add a frill or tuck or sleeve until the clothes are more drapery than practical covering. Then Man, with his short memory, will subtract a frill or tuck or sleeve until he returns to the original basic style and says it is new, thereby starting the cycle starts over again." Legolas finished pulling his tank top and jeans on.

"I have no idea what he meant by that and what it has to do with my remark, but oh well," muttered Frodo under his breath.

"I think you need a belt, Leggy," observed Gimli thoughtfully. Sniffing indignantly, the Elf took his own belt, and turned to his hair. Pippin, now completely dressed and somewhat bored again, idly looked up at the ceiling.

"Merry?" From a struggling mess of clothing his cousin answered.

"What?"

"Look at the ceiling."

"Can't right now!"

"Frodo?" Pippin tried again. Frodo sank to the floor. "I am so tired." he yawned. "What do you want?"

"Look at the ceiling." Frodo clasped his hands behind his head and slipped into a reclining position. By now everyone was looking at the ceiling.

"What's wrong?....what is that?!"

"Looks like small humans hiding under a tree root to me!" answered Merry.

"Why are they hiding under a root? And why is that massive black shape crouching over them. And why does this picture look so real and why is it on the ceiling?" demanded Pippin. Aragorn looked at him. He was thinking of Gandalf.

"I don't know. Ask Alex."

There was a tap on the door, and Alex snuck in.

"Almost dinner time. How are you doing?"

"I guess just fine," answered Aragorn. "Frodo is tired."

"But I see you all managed the clothes alright," Alex smiled. Pippin, overcome with curiosity, repeated his questions. Alex paused for a second.

"Because, my dear hobbit, your story has been made into a movie-a moving, talking picture, and to save time on a very long film they put Mr. Brandybuck with Mr. Gamgee and Mr. Frodo and Mr. Took, as they were escaping form the Black Rider, which is the massive Black shape, and the picture looks real because we use light to make pictures now instead of paint and it's on the ceiling because Chrysies and I are a little eccentric." Alex took a deep breath.

"How do you know this?" demanded Merry, though he was slowly realizing the answer.
"It's quite simple, Mr. Brandybuck. You have traveled many ages forward in time. How I would like to know, but that is a tale for after a good supper. Anyway, your story-the story of the Quest-has been written down, and it is the same as those books you saw in Chrysies' window. Someone else made those books into a movie. Because of this book and movie, you, my friends, have millions of drooling fanatics like myself, and if word of your visit got around there would be more people here than you can imagine. Within a few hours you would be in pieces." Pippin shuddered.

"Why do they hate us so much?" Alex laughed.

"Hate you! My dear hobbit, aren't you listening, they ADORE you! And you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and you, and yes, even you, Gimli." Alex chuckled again. "But come, enough of this horrible theorizing. Let us partake in the ample repast that awaits us!" With that, he led them to their seats at the dinner table.

During the meal, the Fellowship did not speak, and neither did their hosts. Chrysies, however, kept stealing looks at the odd combination of ordinary clothes on extraordinary people. When finally everyone had gulped down their last satisfying pint, Alex asked them to adjourn to the living room (a mere two feet away). With great glee he demonstrated the reclining properties of the leather couch and easy chair, the luxury of which none of the Fellowship had ever experienced. There were also two beanbags, beloved to Chrysies. Merry and Pippin instantly claimed them both for chairs and sleeping accommodations. The two Men reclined on the leather couch with Sam and Frodo in between. Gimli and Legolas took turns with the easy chair, till it got so annoying to Boromir he told them to sit still or else. So Legolas got the chair and Gimli reluctantly sat on the floor. Alex and Chrysies sat together on a loveseat.

"So you know everything that is going to happen during the Quest?" queried Boromir when all were settled comfortably.

"Well, not everything," smiled Chrysies. "But I know things that were, things that are, and some things that have not yet come to pass." Alex whispered in her ear. She nudged him with her elbow. "Okay, he knows it too. But surely it is not customary for the host to tell a tale before the stranger?" Aragorn nodded, but showed no intention of telling it. Boromir saw the duty fell on him.

"This afternoon we were reclining around in the land of Lothlorien, a few weeks after Gandalf's fall in Moria..." By the time his short recap was finished, the Hobbits were fast asleep, Gimli was nodding, and Legolas was only pretending to be awake. Aragorn and Boromir himself were fast succumbing to their own sleepiness. Through mutual agreement, Chrysies got some blankets and an extra pillow for Gimli out of her closet, while Alex made sure they were comfortable.

"Such snoring!" remarked Chrysies to her husband at the rather formidable noise in an undertone. "I pity Arwen!" Alex spluttered, and held his nose for fear of laughing out loud. After he regained his composure, he slapped his thigh.

"Oh, Chrysies, I nearly forgot. The car is still at the repair garage, and they're closed the next two days."

"You asking me out?"

"Um-hum. Also, I hear from their story that Merry is intrigued by red cars." He hinted.

"And our red Corvette is still...ahha I get your drift. Let me get a sweater and turn out the lights."