A/N

Recognisable creations belong to JRR Tolkien or Terry Pratchett (or possibly other famous works). I am just acting the magpie.

Vimes' impressions of the characters do not necessarily reflect mine! (and may well change.) So all you Aragorn/Legolas/Boromir/Gimli/Frodo lovers out there… take it up with Vimes.

Sorry for the delays and thank you so much for the encouraging reviews! We'll meet Merry, Pippin and especially Sam in the next chapter, as I thought they deserved more space.

Narrativium is a concept found in the Discworld series:

"The primary element is known as narrativium, the elemental substance of Story. Nothing on the Disc can exist without a Story first existing to mould its destiny and determine its form." (Wikipedia). The idea is that a third son can't help but succeed where his two older brothers have failed in a quest, that a million to one chance always succeeds, etc…

Arrival

The glass globe filled with a pair of bushy eyebrows. Vimes leaned back nervously: they looked like they might leap out and attack.

"Gandalf!" Ridcully bellowed into the globe, causing Vimes and Vetinari to wince. "It will take a few minutes for the sound to come through. Those little sound waves travel slower than those little light waves, they tell me." He sighed and shook his head. "He's holding it upside down again. Silly bugger," he said in what he thought was a quiet voice. "Too much pipeweed, doncherknow", he added hypocritically.

Things had moved quickly after Vimes had agreed (technically) to become the Disc's first ambassador to Middle Earth. He'd only had the interview with Vetinari twenty minutes ago, and now he was standing in a dusty office on floor 17.5 of the Unseen University, watching that venerable institution's Archchancellor bellow into an equally dusty glass ball. It looked a little like a fishing float, and apparently it was a vital instrument in his voyage to Middle Earth.

"It's a Palantir," Ridcully explained proudly. "It's from Middle Earth. They used to have several, but they lost a couple. They think they've been destroyed but actually we at Unseen University- ah- acquired one by accident on a field trip." Ridcully looked a little embarrassed, muttered something about lack of faculty funding and desperate measures, and continued.

"We use them to talk to their wizards over there, well, I call them 'wizards' but they just get up to any old thing, really, and don't even have a real university."

"Gandalf knows my cousin Radagast, you see, but he's a bit of a pompous old git who it is DELIGHTFUL TO SEE YOU GANDALF! HOW GOES THINGS WITH YOU, OLD FRIEND?" A loud throat-clearing sound had made Ridcully aware half way through his sentence that Gandalf could hear every word, but Ridcully was not embarrassed at all. "HERE'S THE MAN WHO'S JOINING YOUR LITTLE FELLOWSHIP! A GOOD BLOKE, VIMES!"

"I can hear you perfectly well, Ridcully. There is no need to bellow in that ridiculous manner." So that was Gandalf- Vimes rechecked his hurriedly assembled mental notes- the Wizard. Vimes could still see little more than his eyebrows, although occasionally the depths of the fishing float were punctuated with flashes of keen eyes. Apparently, Gandalf was holding his own fishing float upside down, because the eyes were above the eyebrows. But his rather grumpy voice was loud and clear. "Hello, Samuel Vimes."

"Hello…" Vimes returned, frowning back at the eyebrows.

"Right, well, it's all in order at my end, even if you seem to be upside down at yours. Why don't we get started? There is no time to waste while the shadow grows…" Ridcully rolled his eyes, and Gandalf sent him a piercing glance like an upside down icicle.

"One moment", Vetinari interrupted the wizardly glares quietly. "I must have a last word with Vimes, before he leaves."

"Now?" Vimes spluttered. "I'm leaving now? But Sybil - and little Sam- and the Watch- I haven't finalised the recruits' timetables with Detritus and I'm afraid he'll try and read them out himself again…" Vimes was momentarily pleased he'd prioritised his family before the Watch out loud, but that evaporated when he realised that Vetinari was not moved in the slightest.

"Oh, the wizards have kindly set up a time-loop." Vetinari said casually, as if that was all sorted, and as if that explained why they had to hurry now.

Ridcully nodded enthusiastically. "Standard alternate-universe arrangement, patented from the Narnians. Not time will pass on the Disc while adventure continues yadda yadda… although if you die of course... The rates they charge…" He slipped into the conditional for honesty's sake. "...would charge if we actually paid them would be bloody extortionate." Vimes opened his mouth to protest that the last time he'd been caught up in time travel had not been a pleasant experience, but did not get a chance.

"Vimes," said Vetinari almost urgently, while Ridcully and Gandalf began arguing ferociously over what they called 'the Narnia question' in the background, "I am not sure how clearly I have conveyed to you the nature of Middle Earth society. I have touched on the subject of narrativium, but I must explain the context further. It is not like here. You may be slightly predisposed against it. You may get very angry."

"Monarchy, destiny, autocratic rulers with shiny jewellery, glory and valour and honour and not kicking foes in the kneecap because it's safer than hand-to-hand combat… these are all stock standard in Middle Earth. Not because they're fools. Not because they're old-fashioned, though Gods know they are that too… that's just how things work there. Tropes and archetypes and narrative arcs are as prevalent there as they are here, but they are far more fundamental to the fabric of their world. Here, stories can be wrestled into new shapes, challenged and spliced and transplanted. There, they're like gravity."

"The wizards have been studying Middle Earth for a while, though don't tell them that or they'll be offended. Stories have power here, but in Middle Earth… stories are physics. Sometimes, I even wonder if the Disc is merely an offshoot of Middle Earth, or if the Creator had some of its aspects in mind… "

"What I am trying to say is that everyone might appear slightly noble, slightly Lord Rust-like. Do not take it as a personal insult. Do not take it as a personal challenge. It is, unfortunately, how things work there. I am sending you because this time they might not work well enough. They might need a little outside help."

Vimes was pretty sure this boiled down to the standard, pre-Ambassadorship "don't punch anyone rich on the nose and please try to stay out of trouble" lecture, so he merely saluted earnestly.

"You mean, we have to deal with the Quest stuff because that's just how it works there, but at the same time they really need my help because the Quest stuff is bloody stupid?"

Vetinari sighed. "Good luck, Vimes. Got everything? Never mind, I'm sure they'll provide you with the necessary equipment. Goodbye."

Vimes, patting his pocket to make sure he had his cigar case, blinked at this and when he opened his eyes again he was standing in the centre of a small courtyard surrounded by a multicultural array of beings who were regarding him with curiousity. The architecture and gardening, if he'd been in the mood to take note of such things, were really quite nice.

Dwarves. Humans. Gandalf of the Eyebrows. Those skinny-looking people must be elves. And that short, hairy man- what was he? He should observe them all carefully, in case he was expected to hire one in the Watch.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Samuel Vimes of the Watch of Ankh Morpork", said a voice from behind him that unoriginal authors would describe as 'stern but kind'. (1)

"Er," said Vimes, and saluted.

A couple of hours later, the real business was over. It was clear to Vimes that the real business involved Gandalf and Elrond gently manipulating the other attendees to agree with what they'd already decided: that the Ring must be destroyed. Then they began to decide who would join what Vimes referred to mentally as This Damn Silly Quest. It was also obvious that Gandalf and Elrond already knew who would be volunteering for what, even if the volunteers didn't know it yet.

It was all just as ghastly and depressing as he suspected it would be. The little hairy man, who Vimes shortly discovered was a Hobbit, or halfling, was Frodo. He was the most incompetent person at the council, so naturally he was the one entrusted with the most dangerous task. He had rosy little cheeks and curly hair, he would clearly last less than a day in the wilderness, and Vimes just knew he would have to spend the entire trip resisting the urge to give him (alternatively) a sweet or a thick ear.

Boromir was the name of the man who had stood up and argued with everyone else at the council. Vimes had initially quite liked him because he wasn't soppily convinced by the words 'Heir!' "Destiny!' and 'Quest!', and had actually tried to point out some of the practicalities of the trip they were about to attempt, a word that was absent from Elrond's vocabulary. But then he'd realised he was arrogant, dim, and carried so many chips on his shoulder they should really be wrapped in newspaper and doused in ketchup and vinegar.

Next was the dwarf. There were a couple of dwarves here, and a speedily homesick Vimes felt a surge of familiarity when he saw them. He was delighted to meet Gimli, who would also be going on the quest, as he generally got on well with dwarves when the scheming little buggers weren't inciting troll riots or claiming not to be in Vimes' jurisdiction.

Unfortunately, relations were soured somewhat when Vimes, who really was trying his hardest, tried his Dwarfish out on Gimli. Gimli had first looked shocked (Dwarfish was supposed to be a secret language!) then mortified (how had Vimes known that about his mother?) then furious (what right had this stranger to announce it to the world?).

Realising his linguistic abilities had again landed him in the proverbial, Vimes then tried to repair the damage by presenting Gimli with a fried rat (it had taken him hours to attract one in Elrond's pristine kitchens). He then inadvertently discovered another difference between Middle Earth and the Disc: dwarves did not eat rats here. Gimli did not take offence, because he had by know decided firmly that Vimes was quite mental. Gimli treated him kindly and with caution and a hint of amusement. This was a shame, because Gimli seemed to be the sort of chap that Vimes would ordinarily get on quite well with, even offering Vimes some of his tobacco (which turned out not to be tobacco) before Vimes had made his terrible faux pas.

Vimes realised that, in Gimli's mental universe, Vimes was now the second-most useless member of the Fellowship, only slightly less expendable than the Elf but at least not actively hated.

Apparently Middle Earth dwarves had some sort of long-running grudge against Elves. Trust dwarves to have a long-running grudge against somebody. Vimes wondered idly if that meant there were no trolls here: a shame, because a troll or two might be useful on the Quest.

He also wondered what the equivalent of Koom Valley was here. There must be one. He heard muttered references to 'the Mirkwood Incident' and sour looks passing between the dwarf and a skinny elf in green and brown.

Vimes privately shared Gimli's reservations about this elf, because he had caught the elf nodding seriously at a tree, as if he was considering a point it had made. The elf was called Legolas and Vimes had decided he was a bit of a hippy and probably a vegetarian. A lot of elves Vimes had met were chronic daydreamers with boring personalities. He wasn't sure this particular elf had a personality, because he didn't seem to talk (except, apparently, to vegetation).

At least he was not as drippy as the Rivendell elves, who talked in hushed voices about the horrors of Mirkwood, which was, Vimes gathered, a rather downmarket neighbourhood in elf real estate these days. Vimes felt some sympathy with Legolas because he recognised some of the looks the other elves were giving him. He got them himself when he was invited to fancy parties. They said: how did he get invited? Isn't it a shame we have to be nice to him? Those Mirkwood elves, getting above themselves… surely they should be using the servant's entrance? It was all a question of having the right Ancestors, and apparently the Mirkwood elves didn't.

Legolas was technically a Prince, but because he was not aggressively royal, Vimes was not holding it against him. Especially as he was so busy holding a grudge against a much more royal member of the fellowship: Aragorn.

Vimes had guessed that Aragorn would be very similar to Carrot. Same low profile royalty, same leadership, same charisma, same inter-species girlfriend problems. He was very similar, with two exceptions. Firstly, Aragorn did not smell of soap. Secondly, Vimes could not stand him.

He really was afraid he was going to punch him on the nose. Quite soon.

(1) because it was stern, see, but also kind.