A Desperate Need For Therapy

Haldir hated working two jobs.

First of all he knew absolutely nothing about cooking lembas bread, so half of the orders came out burned and he had to deal with angry customers yelling at him and threatening to sue the pants off him. He was so stressed from his failed cooking attempts that he couldn't work the cash register properly, and so he ended up overcharging and giving out the wrong change, which angered the customers even further and caused a couple of frustrated hobbits to throw tomatoes at him. Haldir desperately wished that Celeborn would come back to work, but he was still temporarily fired (and possibly still hungover) and Galadriel refused to help out.

"Here's your change, sir," Haldir murmured tiredly, handing a random amount of coins to Sam's old Gaffer. Luckily for him, the Gaffer couldn't count.

And because things simply weren't bad enough, Haldir's pointed ears perked up as the Gaffer shuffled away with his cabbage roasted lembas bread.

His Aragorn Sense was tingling.

With Celeborn out of action, Galadriel missing from the premises, and nobody but an exhausted Haldir to run the place, Aragorn apparently thought it was the perfect chance for him to sneak in. The moment he walked through the doors he tracked dirt onto the clean linoleum and he gave off the overall aura of someone who didn't care about personal hygiene. "I'll have a lembas bread special," he said, grinning at an exhausted, stressed out Haldir.

"Aragorn, please leave and don't return until you've had a bath," Haldir droned into his microphone.

"But Haldir, it isn't my fault. Strider works as a park ranger and has to track through the wild, Elessar is a doctor and often performs surgeries, Thorongil is a lawyer and doesn't have time for personal care, Estel simply doesn't know how to behave, Telcontar—"

"Aragorn, you are all of those people," Haldir interrupted. "Don't blame your filthiness on your alter egos."

"Can I please just have some lembas bread? Wingfoot has been on the road all day and he's starving."

Haldir dragged himself unhappily into the kitchen, burnt some lembas bread, and threw it into a crumpled paper bag for Aragorn. "Here, don't bother paying and get out. Maybe you should go see Gandalf. He specializes in all sorts of counseling."

"Hey, good idea. Thanks, Haldir buddy." Aragorn took his lembas bread and got into the shiny Mercedes he always drove when he was Elessar the doctor. He didn't notice that he tracked dirt on the upholstery and took off for Gandalf's office, eating his lembas bread one-handedly as he drove. After he almost crashed into a truck full of dwarves, ran a few red lights, and tossed his Elf-in-the-Box bag onto the highway, Aragorn arrived at the building where Gandalf ran his counseling office and parked sloppily in the parking lot, accidentally taking up two spaces with his car. Old Tom Bombadil had been his driving instructor back in high school, so poor Aragorn only knew how to drive like a crackpot.

There was nobody in the waiting room but an elf with some sort of dead animal on his face and Aragorn received some forms from the receptionist. He hesitated at the personal information section on the first form, unsure of how to fill out the line asking for his name. In the end he listed all of his names and had to write extra small to fit it all into the space provided, and he had to use an extra sheet of paper to list all of his occupations and employers. By the time he was finished his hand was cramping up and he needed to use the bathroom.

As soon as Aragorn looked up from his completed forms, he got a better look at the elf in the waiting room and his mouth fell open. "Celeborn, is that you?"

Celeborn had circles under his eyes and his clothes were almost as worn-out as Aragorn's. "Hey, Aragorn. What brings you here?"

"I'm not really sure, but Haldir seems to think I have problems. Why is there a dead animal on your face?"

"It's a beard. It was supposed to impress my wife, but now she hates me more than ever. I'm here to see Gandalf about marriage counseling."

"Couldn't you just take the beard off?"

Celeborn looked pitiful. "It's not that simple."

"Celeborn," the receptionist called out. "Mr. Gandalf is ready to see you."

The elf trudged off to his appointment, reeking of elven wine and old lembas bread, but Aragorn didn't notice anything unpleasant in the air. His allergies sure were terrible this time of year.

Meanwhile, Galadriel was heading into the local bookstore while her husband sought counseling and her cashier made a disaster of the kitchen. Her collection of Frodo Baggins novels still wasn't complete and she entered Barnes & Noble in search of Wheel of Fire, which had been recommended to her by Gimli. "You'll love it!" Gimli had told her over a bottle of dwarf ale yesterday. "It's loaded with symbolism and the emotion is so deep!"

The novels of Mr. Baggins were kept in their own aisle of the store, complete with a cardboard cutout of Frodo himself that advertised his latest release. Galadriel immediately spotted Wheel of Fire and was ready to happily make her purchase, when she noticed another female elf with a copy of that same title in her hands.

"Arwen?" said Galadriel.

Arwen turned her head and smiled when she saw Galadriel. "Oh, hey Grandma. I'm just doing some book shopping."

Galadriel didn't respond at first, as she was struck speechless with horror. Pinned to Arwen's stylish purple blouse was a large badge with the letters FBFC printed on it. "Young lady, what is that?" Galadriel demanded, pointing a shaking finger at the badge.

"Oh, this?" Arwen looked down at her blouse and laughed. "I've been a member of the Frodo Baggins Fan Club for weeks now, Grandma. Mr. Baggins is the most adorable little writer. I've got a poster of him at home!"

"You are a disgrace to this family," Galadriel said through clenched teeth. "Mr. Baggins is not an object for your fangirlish amusement. He is a hobbit of great talent and everyone should respect his genius."

"Sure, he's an awesome writer," said Arwen. "But he also happens to look great on my wall."

"Next time I see your father I am going to have a long serious talk with him about you," Galadriel threatened. After parting ways with her unruly granddaughter, she purchased her new book and pulled out her cell phone to call Gimli. "Gimli, the FBFC is spreading at an alarming rate. We need to gain more members for the Frodo Baggins Admirers Club as soon as possible."

"Don't worry about it," said Gimli. "I'll make sure that the FBAC flourishes! I've already convinced my cousin Balin and my grandfather Groin to join our ranks."

Galadriel blinked. "What was that about your groin?"

"My grandfather, Galadriel. My grandfather's name is Groin. I don't see what's so strange about that."

Galadriel was glad they were on the phone, since she would hate to have Gimli see her snickering. "I'll call Haldir and tell him to meet at your place after work," she said once she had composed herself. "I'm sure he would love to meet your, um, grandfather."

Frodo felt like a zombie. He had failed to eat his breakfast once again, he only got an hour of sleep, and his pen felt like it was weighing him down each time he tried to wield it. If only dear old Sam were there to help him on his long, painful writing journey, but Frodo had spoken harshly to Sam that morning and told him to go to Wal-Mart and stay there. "I can't do this," Frodo gasped, letting go of his pen.

He hadn't checked his e-mail since yesterday, when he received the threat from his editor, and he waded through all the spam to find some actual e-mails. Suddenly amused, he clicked on a message bearing the subject line Preciousssss.

Smeagol hates nasty hobbitses.

Wicked Baggins cannot write. Oh no, precious, he can't write at all. Curse him, precious! Gollum, gollum!

We knows the wicked Baggins is making more bookses, oh yes, we knowsss. And we wants it, precious. We wants it bad so we can burns it in our oven. Hurry up, nasty hobbit.

—Smeagol/Gollum/Precious/We wants fisssh

Frodo shook his head in disbelief. Gollum had always been his harshest critic, ever since the petting zoo incident. Gollum had been an exhibit at the local petting zoo a few months back and got fired for biting off Frodo's finger, when all Frodo wanted to do was pat him on the head and feed him some lembas bread. The filthy little creature had been bitter and unemployed ever since, and he had a habit of sending nasty e-mails every week or so. Frodo always just laughed them off.

Sadly it was one of the only things that cheered him up these days.

Pippin was exhausted when he got to Gondorian Motors. Sleeping on the couch had been uncomfortable last night and when he tried to crawl into Merry's bed, Merry threatened to taser him, and on top of that Pippin was hungover from all the beers he had with Legolas and the others. He was in no mood for selling cars and apparently Boromir wasn't either, because he was pacing back and forth worriedly.

Pippin yawned and trudged over to Boromir. "Hi, Boro-man. Everything okay?"

"No," said Boromir. "I'm worried about Dad. He's been watching way too much of the evening news lately and now he's shut himself up in his office. And he didn't yell at Faramir this morning, which means that something is definitely wrong with him."

"Ever thought about taking him to therapy?" Pippin asked after yawning again. "Maybe some meds will fix him up."

"We've tried that already. A doctor put Dad on Prozac a while ago, but it had a bad effect on him. He ended up burning a neighbor's house down and we had a lawsuit on our hands."

"Well get him a cake or something. That always cheers old Bilbo up when me and my cousins go visit him at the retirement home." Pippin suspected that Bilbo only enjoyed the cake because Frodo always lied and told him there was dwarf treasure hidden inside it, but if it made the old hobbit happy then Pippin wasn't going to complain about it. He would never turn down free cake, after all.

Boromir glanced around the car lot, which was completely empty of customers for the time being. "All right. Let's close this place down for about an hour and go get Dad a cake with some candles on it. I know he really likes setting the candles on fire."

Pippin suddenly didn't feel so tired anymore. Everything was a hundred times better when there was free cake involved.