Okay, sorry for no disclaimers or whatever, but I don't own anything! Also, about the Westron/English thing, it's just a whole heck of a lot easier if they know how to speak English. Warning: slight potty humor ahead. WHOOPWHOOPWHOOP. Enjoy!

It's the next morning, and Dolly wakes me with her whimpering at about 5:30. I groan and wish she would just go back to sleep; my bed is so warm and cozy! But, she is my little baby, so I get up, take her out of her kennel, and take her to the kitchen where I attach her leash to her collar. Suddenly, I'm reminded by the previous night's happenings as I peer into our guest room and see Legolas on the bed and Aragorn sleeping on the ground, a blanket under him.

"Guh." Is all I can say. "Guh."

Not wanting to wake them, I tiptoe outside, let Dolly "do her thang", then tiptoe back inside, hoping to go back to bed without waking the guests. Of course, it seems that with all that went on last night, we forgot to put the cats downstairs, and I trod upon the tail of the loudest cat.

"ROWWRWEEEhissss!" She scampers off into the farthest corner, and of course, Dolly must answer with a barrage of yips and squeaks. I hurry to my room and throw Dolly (safely, of course) into her kennel, knowing she'll go back to sleep, and I hurriedly dress, not wanting to face my now-awakened guests in pajamas and braless.

I walk back to the guest room and see that they are both awake and talking, and I hope that they have cats in Middle-Earth and I don't find them making small garments out of my pets. I cough so that they turn and see me.

"Good morning," I say. "How did you sleep?"

"Well, I slept on the bed," Legolas answered, "and Aragorn slept on the ground. I guess that's how we slept."

I try not to roll my eyes. Okay, he is blond. "I mean, did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you," says Aragorn. "Except that we were awakened rather early. What was that ear-piercing noise?"

"Oh, that was my cat, Missy," I say. "You do know what a cat is, right?"

"A feline?" asks Legolas. "Oh, yes, we have many of those in Middle-Earth." We are all silent, and I try to think up something nice to say, when Legolas comes over to me and stands about three millimeters away. Again, I try not to faint.

"Um, Aubrey, Aragorn had been asking me about, er, where do you, uh, that is, where outside do you and yours prefer to, uh, relieve yourselves?" He whispers this, looking slightly embarrassed. I am rather confused, and then it hits me. They don't know about bathrooms, you insensitive clod.

"Oh. Um, Aragorn, follow me." I lead them both to my bathroom, which is right next to the guest room. I switch on the light and point to our bathroom facilities.

"This is called a 'toilet'. This is what people use nowadays to, er, eliminate on. See, you just pull down your pants," I feel my face go crimson, realizing I was potty-training an 87-year-old king, "and, well, eliminate. After that, you take a few pieces of this 'toilet paper' and, uh, wipe yourself. Then, you throw the paper into the toilet bowl and 'flush'. Here, I'll show you." I grab a square of toilet paper and throw it into the toilet, then press the handle down. Aragorn and Legolas watch in amazement as the paper disappears in a surge of toilet water, gone to the great Sewer Tank in the Sky.

"So, you go in a room in your house, and not outside?" Aragorn asks, slightly confused.

"Well, this is a lot more sanitary and er, legal, so, enjoy!" I then also add, "And when you're done, wash your hands in this 'sink'." I turn on the faucet and wash my hands, then dry them on the towel. I then turn to Legolas and push him out, shutting the door behind us.

"Did you understand that?" I ask him. Yes, it is embarrassing, but housebreaking your Elf is an important thing to do.

"I don't really need that information," he says. "Disgusting thing, elimination. Elves don't, of course."

"You don't?"

"No. Elves' bodies use everything they intake and produce no waste. Neither do they-" He drops off, looking mortified.

"They don't what?" I ask.

"Well, women elves, they don't, well, have cycles that women humans have. Quite a repulsive thing I hear it is."

Luckies. We're silent for a while, then he says, "Aubrey, what kind of human are you?"

"What?"

"Well, where do your ancestors come from? Are you Gondorian, Rohirric, of Numenor?"

"I'm Norwegian." I look at him, and he looks slightly confused.

"Well, there's a place I am not familiar with, even with all the schooling I had. Oh well, I'm sure it's a wonderful place, to produce such a beauty as you." For the third time in less than 24 hours, I try not to faint.

Then, my dad comes upstairs, dressed and ready to go to work. He takes a look at me, then a look at the Elf. "Where's, er, what'shisname?"

"Aragorn?"

"Yeah; that guy."

"In the bathroom," I say. My dad is not very happy.

"So that's why my shower kept going from scalding to freezing. Well, have fun teaching them everything." He goes to the pantry, taking a couple of granola bars and an apple, his usual breakfast.

"Don't let them, I don't know, do any ceremonious rituals involving animals, Aubrey. And I want the house standing when I come back, with only minimal damage." He says this in the tone of voice that is impossible to tell if he's joking or not.

Yes, it's going to be a very interesting day.