Meeker Beeker - Thanks for the compliments. And the criticism, actually. I like it. It lets me know where I have to improve. But you brought up a point that I have been thinking over myself. I'm considering rewriting that little fragment and deleting the whole "I read a book about that once!" thing because this is not a parody.
ThoseRainyDays - Thanks! Amy loves you a lot too (in a straight sort of way) because you're reading her not-so-glorious adventure (of course, we all wish to death we were in her shoes...except for the training.)
DarkAngelPearl - I'm glad you like it. Yeah, I think I'd probably be scared shitless if a fox jumped out of the bushes at night too, LMAO. Especially in Middle-Earth. And I'd make a bigger fool of myself than Amy is, if that is even possible.
Before I begin the summary and disclaimer and all that, I need to bring something up to you guys. I love how Amy is now, and I want to keep her that way, no matter what develops along the storyline. If I start to ruin her character, do us all a favor and tell me. I've seen way too many stories start out with an interesting character and then lose her to the abyss of sweet helplessness and emotional breakdowns. Not to say Amy will never be friendly with anyone, but I want to try to keep her more or less like she is now. So, remember, if I write something you don't like, tell me.
Summary: Yes. A first-person summary. Got a problem? Why is it that all girls trapped in Middle Earth are damsels in distress with perfect attitudes? Why is it that I am the only one with half a mean streak (more than half, actually) and an ounce of ability to think for myself? And now I have to go all the way to Rohan to find Gandalf to get him to help me. Well, at least I've got everyone's favorite travelers going - grudgingly - with me. I still say I'm dreaming.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I am in a good mood, so I shall not threaten you this time.
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It has been around a half-hour since Gimli and Legolas went off to collect firewood. I am beginning to get distressed. Aragorn is rummaging through one of the sacks back near our main campsite. I wonder if they'll catch me, if I start running now.
Nope. Remember that big cliff near which I fought (yes, fought. Don't start with me.) that orc? Well, its on one side of me. The campsite and the forest occupy the other sides. I feel like a trapped bird. Only without the cage.
Then Aragorn and Arwen walk over to me. Aragorn's holding a bundle of...metal and chain mail? "Put these on." He says, handing them to me.
"Are you crazy?" I hiss, glancing scornfully at the hideous mass of metal that must weigh more than I do.
"You need them for your own protection. You will be dead before we reach even Moria in what you are wearing now. The weakest enemy and the bluntest sword could penetrate it." Gee, thanks, buddy. When I got back from that party last night and crashed in bed immediately, I really should've made sure I was dressed for war just in case my ass finds its way into Middle-Earth while I sleep?.
Arwen reaches out and grabs one of my pretty chains that are so prettily attached to my pretty jeans and shakes it. Of course, it jingles. "Would orcs not be able to hear us approaching adorned in these garments?" she asks.
Okay. They both have quite a few points. But what if I happen to like what I'm wearing? Do I matter that little? Okay, I sound melodramatic here, I know. But I still like my clothes. Blue jeans with holes over the knees, a black Simple Plan t-shirt, and a black jacket with the pretty little Evanescence "E" over the right pocket.
I sigh. You know, that sigh you usually reserve for your parents, that whole, "sigh I really don't want to go to your stupid insert thing you do not want to (and should not be forced to) attend here , but I will, because you're forcing me and I don't want to be grounded (or in this case, die.)" routine.
I take the armor and go behind a rock to change. What, you think I'm just gonna drop everything and change, right there? I swear, you readers are so bad sometimes...
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I clank out from behind the rock. Yes, clank. Clank. Clank. Clank. I can hardly move in all this crap. In some places, it's pretty much falling off of me. In other places, it feels like a badly made corset (or any corset, for that matter.)
"You look good, Amy!" Pippin pips (Haha, I love to say that...)
"I feel like a mobile rock." I say dryly.
At least Gimli and Mr. I-Hold-Grudges-For-Stupid-Things-But-Am-Still-Hot are not back yet. Which means I still have time to plan an escape, which is looking dismal at this point. Wait. Maybe...I glance over to the tree where my ever-valiant pony is dozing. Nope. Pita's definitely not in the mood to carry his precious master on a quest for liberation from this...this...training.
I still have time. precious time. Oh, shit, Amy, give it up, you're going to have to exert yourself physically! Get over it! Oh, I want my Walkman...
You should imagine my upset when Aragorn walks up to me. "Gimli and Legolas should return any minute, but I believe now I shall teach you some basics." Oh no. Basics. Basics are scary. Like basics in algebra, all that Distributive Property and crap. Corrupts my innocent mind.
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About a half-hour of torment and suffering elapse, and in that point Gimli and Legolas return with firewood. Gimli hurries over while Legolas immediately starts stacking the firewood. I suppose since I'm not going to learn archery (and he still doesn't like me, at least as far as I know) my training is of little interest to him.
by now I am sweating insanely. The armor is very warm, and, considering it's about 60 degrees outside anyway, I could use a bucket of water over the head. Still, though, I was proud of myself for coming along with some basic swipes and stuff. A lot of it, at this level anyway, is pretty much instinctive.
"She's learned some offense. Now she must learn some defense. I'll leave you to that, Gimli." Aragorn says, and he and his pretty little Arwen (whom I actually find decent, considering she pulled for me to be able to come with everyone) head back to where Legolas is. Pippin and Merry are, of course, huddled next to Gimli and I, watching the training intensely.
I hate hobbits. I absolutely hate them. Taking pleasure in my misfortune. Either that or they're being supportive.
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Some more time went by, and I was doing quite well (if I do say so myself) on the parry attack Gimli had tought me.
Actually, one time, I would have cut him pretty badly had this been an actual fight and not training. He had leapt at me to see what I would do, and I jumped out of the way then came at him with my daggers, but stopped before I hit him.
It was at that point that the training stopped. So now, I am laying face-up on the grass, watching the pretty clouds swirling around and wishing my limbs would stop feeling like they're falling off. Pippin and Merry seem to have vanished. Lovely.
I lay for god-knows-how-long. Everyone's moving around a lot at the campsite. Packing up, I guess. We will have to get moving soon. After awhile, Legolas appears above me holding Pita. "We must leave at once. I have brought your horse." He says.
I feel paralyzed, but I somehow manage to move. Somehow. Still, its clumsy. "Thanks." I say quickly and grab the reins. My mind immediately whirs for some sort of witty comeback. None come to mind, for once in my life (which is probably for the best. An elf wouldn't understand my sense of humor. As a matter of fact, not many of any race do.)
Anyway, Legolas turns around and walks back to his horse, and Pita casts me a disdainful glance. Joy. Even my pony can see right through me.
(A/N: I know that was wicked short. I just can't really write any more without cutting into the next chapter.)