NOTE: Our friend "Bookworm" wrote a spinoff vignette for this story which we enjoyed very much! We ended up basing chapter 7 on the first part of it (down to the scene break). At the time, we had plans to do a spinoff/follow-up story using some of the ideas in the second part of the sketch. Since that's looking less likely at the moment, we'd like to present Bookworm's original chapter here in its entirety. Enjoy!

Aragorn's mind was most definitely not with his body.

It should have been. After all, he was at the head of an army that was riding straight for the gates of Mordor. He should have been thinking about that, about the life and death of himself and those who followed him--or about Frodo and Sam, possibly struggling toward Mt. Doom, more probably captured or dead.

But, the closer he rode to his fate, the more his mind turned to one thing, and one thing only.

Fanfiction.

He found himself obsessively reviewing the events in his life, wondering if the things he'd done were of his own free will, or done at the whim of some writer. 'For that matter, what about right now?' he wondered. 'What if all of this struggle and death is meaningless--just a shadow-play for the amusement of someone else?'

And what about afterwards, if there was an afterwards? Would he finally be left alone, or would these fanfiction writers continue to manipulate him? Would they let him settle down with Arwen? Would they take her out of his life, simply on a whim?

"No," he said abruptly, reining in. Ignoring the quizzical looks of those around him, he led his horse over to a rock, and sat down. "No," he repeated. When Legolas looked about to speak, he elaborated. "I refuse to go anywhere until I can do something of my own free will."

"But the battle--the forces of Sauron--"

"No. Not until I'm sure. Now leave me." At their hesitation, he sternly repeated, "Leave me!"

The others began drifting away, murmuring and looking back at him. All except Gimli. He was staring at Aragorn, admiring the spark of anger in his eyes, the stern set of his mouth, the tensed muscles that showed even through his armor. He looked completely like a king. "Ye know,
laddie," he said quietly, "you should get angry more often."

"Scram!" Aragorn shouted. Once he'd watched Gimli scurry away, he bowed his head and hid his face in his hands.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there, but suddenly, he heard a voice say, "Enjoying your huff?"

He looked up, wondering if he'd see the shadow of a fanfiction author in whoever it was. But all he saw was Gandalf the White, sardonic as ever.

"We can't wait forever, you know," Gandalf continued. "We need you fully at the head of this army, not distracted by fanfiction."

"I know," Aragorn replied, somewhat weakly. "But--"

"And so, I believe I have a solution for you." Gandalf suddenly grinned. "What few people know is that fanfiction can work both ways, given the right circumstances. For you, I'll make those circumstances. Here." He handed Aragorn a scroll, along with a quill pen and a bottle of ink. "Whatever you write about them will happen; my magic will ensure that."

"But how can I write about them when I don't know anything about them?" Aragorn asked.

"I'll rectify that now," Gandalf said. He raised his staff in front of Aragorn, chanting softly.

Suddenly, Aragorn's mind was assaulted by information--so much information. He saw the two girl writers--young women, really, and shouldn't they be married and not wasting time on such frivolous pursuits? He saw their get-togethers, their chats over computers--fascinating things, computers--their cell phones--and wouldn't those have come in handy more than once here? Everything about their lives came rushing into his mind, trying to sort itself into some sort of coherent picture.

When it was over, Aragorn was a bit--but not much--surprised to find himself lying on the ground by the rock. Gandalf held out a hand to help him back onto his perch.

"Sorry about that," Gandalf said softly. "But for you to understand their lives, you had to get a lot of background information. But now, you have what you need to do what you want. We have some time in hand...so have fun." With that, he walked away.

Aragorn picked up the scroll and pen, story ideas already percolating in his mind. "All right, girls," he muttered, "let's see how you like it."