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Tom tapped Galadriel on the shoulder. "What is your hypothesis, milady?"

Galadriel considered. "I think Frodo will start acting very hyper, happy, and careless. His angst will be gone and he will be nearly as annoying as Pippin."

Tom raised his eyebrow skeptically. "That would indeed be impressive. What did you give him, a placebo or-"

Galadriel put a finger to her lips and gestured at Aragorn, who was chasing after Merry. The Hobbit was told the pill he was given would help him get over his pipe weed, but now Merry was frantically searching for a new addiction to take its place.

Tom sighed, distressed. "Milady, I hate to undermine you..."

"Then don't." The Elven lady began walking breezily away.

"Milady," Tom persisted, following after. Galadriel uttered a none-too graceful snort of annoyance as Tom continued. "I believe that once again, you have screwed things up."

Galadriel turned, and if looks had possessed the ability, Tom Etized would have been a very very very dead elf.

"I. I screwed up," Tom corrected quickly. Galadriel, mollified, moved on, causing Tom to start clumsily after her again. "For one thing, most psychologists, when they do experiments, all treat the same malady."

"We are clearly not 'most psychologists,' now are we?"

"N- No. Milady, you're missing the point."

"Maybe I don't like points. They're pointy and painful."

There was a lengthy and awkward pause.

"... Milady-"

"Oh, come ON, Tom. Humor me!"

"... So there was this elf and a dwarf. The elf walked into a bar. The dwarf walked under it!" Galadriel graced him with a steely stare. "Sorry, Gimli put me up to it."

"Anyway, Tom," Galadriel continued, shoving the awkward experience far (far far far) behind them, "what exactly is your problem with all of this?"

Tom sighed and came to a halt, and for the first time in Lorien history, Galadriel stopped to accommodate somebody else.

Tom blinked in surprise. "You... you stopped. You DO care!!!" He threw his arm around her in what passed as a hug but looked more like ... well, it defied adjectives (no, really.)

Galadriel was a cool, composed elf. She had never in her excruciatingly long career lost control. Until today. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Dear Eru, if my hair is all mussy after this there will be MORDOR TO PAY, you spoony elf!"

Finally, Galadriel was able to pry Tom off of her. "Please attempt to stay on topic, Tom," Galadriel snapped, pulling a comb from her sleeve and raking it through her hair.

"Erm, yes. Sorry about that." Tom also pulled out a comb and treated his hair likewise. "What I'm trying to say is, there are too many variables. No two of the Fellowship have the same issues, and whether they have a placebo or not doesn't really matter. We are not following the scientific method!"

Galadriel attempted to fit in some kind of retort, but Tom cut her off. "There is no real experimental group since no two are alike, and therefore there is no control group, either. I think this experiment, like all the others, shall end up null and void."

Galadriel frowned, not happy at all with what she was hearing.

"I have a question for you," Tom said. Galadriel looked up at him. "What method are we using?"

Galadriel's frown deepened, showing her lack of understanding.

"Are we using Naturalistic Observation? No, we're interacting with the subjects. What about and interview? Not that either. How about a Case Study? A test? Longitudinal Study? Cross-Section? How about a Lab study, or a field study? A survey, perhaps? What is your plan, milady?"

"Well," Galadriel started slowly, "I had intended for them to start observation here, and then have Aragorn continue to study them as the quest continued."

Tom shook his head. "For someone who's been around since the dawn of time, you don't seem to understand psychology."

"Call it senility," Galadriel grumbled unhappily.

"You plan has several holes," Tom said as delicately as possible. "That would be a blend of a lab study and a field study. Not even a field study; none of them are in natural conditions. You're not taking into account the stress they're all under as they're fleeing evil by running towards evil. How do we know how long they'll be gone? Who knows if they'll even survive? What if they get split up? What if the researcher dies, or worse, becomes king of Gondor? There are far too many variables for a proper study, milady."

Galadriel was well over 3000 years old. She didn't like this young upstart, who was a meager 950 years old, telling her she was wrong. She didn't like it at all. But that meant nothing. She could gracefully admit she was wrong.

"Fine," She growled, the thundercloud above her head rumbling dangerously. "Let's call the whole thing off, then."

Tom, not really knowing what to say, bowed his head towards her as if it had been her idea to begin with.