"Here, sit yourselves round," Tom ordered. They had been walking for about half an hour and were in a decent-sized clearing.
The Fellowship blinked and stared, not moving.
"I said SIT IN AN ERU-CURSED CIRCLE!!!"
Startled by the Aragorn-like outburst, they sat as Tom departed. They waited.
And waited.
For a very.
Long.
Time.
"I told you not to breathe!"
"Well, excuse me," Gimli snarled. "What's with that look you're giving me? Do you need some Midol, she-elf?"
"Shut it!" Legolas screeched several octaves above normal.
Frodo, once again, started ranting on his own. "Stupid Gandalf!" he shouted. "Stupid Balrog! And stupid censored censored RING!!! Gandalf died,-"
Sam, sensing an obscenity that shouldn't exist yet, quickly replaced the word before Frodo could get it out. "Darn-diddly- do da," he finished.
"Oh dear, somebody died?" A new voice sighed. "Somebody close to you?"
"Yes, somebody died," Frodo snarled. "But he's not close to me anymore, now is he?"
"And how does that make you feel?" The new voice continued.
"Freakin'-"
"Angry," Sam finished.
"Sad," sniffled Legolas.
"Relieved," Pippin volunteered.
"Safe," Boromir added.
"Bi-polar," Aragorn muttered.
The new arrival nodded, silently making notes on a leaf. "mm-hmm, okay," She said to nobody in particular. "You, sir," She said, turning to Aragorn, "Are in denial."
"Am NOT!"
"Now YOU," she fixed Boromir with a piercing stare. "What are you hiding?"
Boromir shifted his weight. "NOTHING!" he screamed violently, then turned and ran away.
"Shorty," the lady continued, seeming unperturbed, "No, you, the drunk one, Pippin."
"How do you know my name?!" Pippin demanded, hiccupping.
She shrugged. "I just do. You have been at least verbally abused by Gandalf-"
"Amen," Pippin cut in.
"-And you're depressed. Drinking isn't helping."
Pippin seemed to attempt to think, but the pain was too great. "Would that explain why I'm drawn to sharp pointy objects?"
The tall elf-woman paused. "We'll talk. As for you, milady-"
"I'M NOT A LADY! I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not I'm not...." Legolas gradually curled back into a ball, rocking back and forth.
"Wow." The woman was scribbling furiously on her leaf, flipping it over for more room on the back. "You have more problems than I thought."
"SOMEbody's PMSing..." Gimli said innocently.
"And YOU, blue-eyes," Galadriel directed her attention to Frodo. "Your rage represents your primal instincts and subconscious feelings. You're not as angry at the loss of your friend as you are at your missed opportunity to lie with him."
"Eeeeewwww..." Everyone else said at once. Gimli sidestepped away from Frodo.
"I'm all for it man," Merry said diplomatically, "It's your life. But... he was OLD, man."
"WHAT?!" Frodo screeched in a manner eerily reminiscent of Legolas. "That is just... just... NO! BAD! BAD ELF!"
Legolas whimpered. "Not you," Sam whispered comfortingly.
The woman nodded scribbling more notes. "Blame Freud, not me." She scrawled in a signature at the bottom and handed the wilted leaf to Tom Etized, who tucked it into a tree that had been carved to act as a filing cabinet.
"Okay. I am Galadriel, Apothecary, Psychiatrist, Psychologist, and Ventriloquist. Fear not, the first time is free. Services available at all major forests nation-wide."
"Um, hi," was the general response, except for Frodo's who instead sighed; "woe is me."
"First the bad news," Galadriel said. "You all have issues."
"Right on, right on," Merry agreed loudly. "We all have issues! It's the Man! The Man! He's oppressing us!"
"Yes, but how does that make you feel?"
There was a pause.
"Woe is me," Frodo moaned.
"Right then," Galadriel said, suddenly business-like. "Medication."
"Medication, medication, medication, medication," Pippin chanted.
Galadriel pulled Aragorn and Tom Etized aside. "This is the strangest group we've had in a while."
"What do you expect?" Aragorn snapped. "We're a bunch of males, traveling around together for weeks, constantly being chased by perils, with no feminine contact." He paused. "Legolas doesn't count."
"Point," Galadriel ceded. "Right. We're going to give everyone except you, Aragorn, meds. Some will get empty sugar pills, others won't. You need to follow them around and take notes." She shoved a bush into his hands.
"Should we allow them to interact?" Tom asked.
"We'd better," said Galadriel after a moment's thought. "Remember what happened to Sméagol."
They all turned and looked at the small, wiry, hairless creature that had been Galadriel's patient.
"Mwehehehehehehehehehe-" He smacked himself. "Ow! Stop that! Ow! Why'd you do that? Because you deserved it, stupid! I did not! You're so mean! Oh, shut up!" He smacked himself again. "Ow! That hurt!"
"Actually, he's not too different from Pippin," Aragorn commented.
"That's what my meds are for," Galadriel said lightly. She shoved him towards his new patients.
"But, who gets what?" Aragorn asked. "Who gets the placebo, and who gets the real meds?"
"I can't tell you," Galadriel told him. "It's called a double-blind study."
"Doesn't sound too trustworthy," Aragorn muttered.
"But it is," Galadriel smiled.