By the way, this takes place during Passover 2015, so it begins on the night of Friday, April 3rd, and ends on the night of Saturday, April 11.
Once again dedicated to my brother, who is apparently known to his friends as "Jew Chainz" but is known to my father as "disappointment" and to me as "stupid puppy brother".
Underlined text is in Elvish.
Michael had seen some shit in his nineteen years. He'd been responsible for some shit too, more than he'd ever admit. Nothing compared to seeing a group of nine men dressed like they belonged in a Renaissance fair on the doorstep in the middle of the night.
He glanced them over and looked at Gabriel, who shrugged. "The old dude said his name was Gandalf." He offered.
"Gandalf the Grey." The man dressed in grey robes with a tall, pointy hat and an intricate staff corrected gently. "Once again, may I ask where we are?"
Michael raised his eyebrows, then shook his head. "Fuckin' cosplayers." He muttered before saying "Look guys, your costumes are pretty cool, but my brother and I are in the middle of a very important religious ceremony, so can this at least wait until the morning?"
"Costumes?" A voice from the back piped up. "What costumes?"
"I think he's talking about our clothes, Pip." Another voice said.
"Young man, these are not costumes." The old man said. "And I am sorry to interrupt your vigil, but I believe we are quite lost, and your door was the first we saw."
"Uh..." Gabriel ran his hand over his face. He was trying to sober up, but was largely failing. "We live on the third floor at the end of the hall... I'm, like, 90% sure you ran into a bunch of other doors before ours." His brow furrowed in thought. "Did Ali put you up to this? Tell him to save the jokes for the debate room. How did he even find my house-?"
"Young sirs, this is no joke." Another man spoke, with dark hair and clothes, looking like he spent most of his life outside. "We are travelers on our way to Gondor, when we encountered a sorceress. We do not know where we are now, and we need assistance."
Michael snorted and crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway. "Gondor, huh? And Gandalf?" He rolled his eyes. "And let me guess, you're Aragorn son of Arathorn, and this is the Fellowship of the Ring."
The man stiffened, and the entire group stared at him in shock. "How do you know that name?" The old man demanded harshly. "Speak!"
"First of all, watch your mouth or I'll call the cops and get your ass hauled in jail for harassment." Michael jabbed his finger at the amused-looking man. "And dude, do you really think that you can fool someone into thinking you're from Lord of the Rings? Seriously? Don't you have something better to do? I mean, I'm obsessed too, don't get me wrong, but I'm not that bad."
"You're pretty bad, Mike." Gabriel commented.
"Shut up."
"I do not trust them." Legolas murmured to Gandalf as they examined the two young men standing in front of them. The elder one was leaning against the doorway with a glare fixed on his face, a dark and disheveled mop of hair on his head. The other man, most likely his brother, had golden hair in ringlets and was standing next to him, nervously glancing over the Fellowship. They were both obviously intoxicated, swaying on their feet, and dressed in strange clothing. Everything around them was strange and new; where had they been sent? "They are likely spies of Sauron."
"Patience, young prince." Gandalf replied. "I do not think they are a threat."
"Then how did they know Aragorn's name? Or the Fellowship? Something is wrong here." He glanced at the brothers again. "They will turn us in to the Enemy at the first chance they get-."
"I speak Elvish, motherfucker." The dark-haired brother snarled, stunning the Elf into silence. "You're not as sneaky as you think you are." He continued in Common.
"I... you..." Legolas stammered.
"Still just as much of a nerd as you were in seventh grade." Gabriel teased.
"So I like Tolkien and learned the language, crucify me, why don't you?" Michael turned his attention back to the men on his doorstep. "I applaud your dedication, but this is really going too far, so please, just leave us alone-."
"Wait!" Some of the men were pushed aside, and what looked like a small child shoved his way to the front to talk to the brothers. "We're not lying! My name is Pippin, I'm from the Shire. And these are my friends, Merry, Sam and Frodo." he gestured to where three other small children... men... people had pushed their way to the front.
"Mike, do you think they're telling the truth?" Gabriel whispered.
"Yeah, and I'm Ruth and you're Naomi." Michael rolled his eyes again.
"I don't know, man, they look pretty convincing..."
"It would take a goddamn miracle to convince me that these guys are-."
Gandalf cut him off mid-sentence by raising up his hand and letting loose a surge of magic. Michael gasped and froze, his eyes wide as his hands grabbed his brother's arm. "What are you doing to him?!" Gabriel demanded, looking between the old man and his brother. After a moment, Gandalf released him, and Michael stumbled back and collapsed onto the ground as he gasped for breath. "Mike! Mike." Gabriel rushed to the older man's side. "Mike, are you okay? What the hell just happened?"
Michael closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. "Gabe?"
"Yeah?"
"You know how I said it would take a miracle to convince me that they're real?"
"Yeah...?"
He opened his eyes and stared at the Fellowship. "That was a fucking miracle."
Michael's hands were still shaking as he held a mug of tea to calm his nerves. He was depressingly sober after an hour of talking with the Fellowship. His head was pounding, which wasn't helped by the fact that he was still panicking that he had nine fictional characters in his apartment that could barely fit him and his brother. And the worst part? They were out of alcohol.
"So let me get this straight." Gabriel leaned forward and clasped his hands together as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The brothers were each in their chairs, the Hobbits were sitting clustered together on the floor, the four dinner table chairs had been commandeered by Legolas, Aragorn, Gandalf and Boromir, and Gimli was sitting on the kitchen counter stool. They all formed something that vaguely resembled a circle, all facing each other. "You were travelling to Moria when you ran into... a witch?"
"A sorceress, yes." Gandalf nodded. "Not one of the Istari, of course, but rather one of Men who dabbled in magic and was corrupted by it."
"So you pissed this witch off, and then she cursed you guys and you just turned up on our doorstep..."
Gandalf grimaced at the events being reduced to such simple and crude terms, but nodded. "Correct."
Gabriel leaned back in his chair and blew out the breath he was holding. "This is the wildest Passover we've ever had." He laughed nervously.
"There was that time that Rabbi Ornstein tried to bring us closer to God by playing his mix tape." Michael offered lamely. "Or that time we ended up in Mexico. Or that time-."
"I get it, Michael." Gabriel glared at his brother, who smirked. "So... what now?"
"We must find a way to return to Middle Earth." Aragorn said from where he was puffing on his pipe, filling the room with sweet-smelling smoke. "You obviously know the urgency of our quest. Will you help us find a way back to our home?"
Michael nodded shakily. "Yeah. Sure. I mean, I'm pretty sure no one else will." He glanced at Gabriel, who was staring at him like he was insane. "Dude, you know that's true. They'd be locked up in a second."
"I still don't even know what happened to convince you." Gabriel muttered, but he went along with it. "How do you think we can help them? You have work in the morning, and I have school on Monday, and if they're not gone by then, we're screwed."
"Why is that?" Legolas asked. He was still cautious around the brothers, especially because he knew that Michael spoke at least some Elvish.
"Our social worker comes on Monday after Mike and I get home." Gabriel explained.
"What is a social worker?"
"A goy bitch who thinks that just because I'm 19, I can't take care of my brother like I've been doing for the past seven years." Michael glowered at his cup at the thought of the social worker whose sole purpose seemed to be bothering him.
"What's a goy?" One of the Hobbits asked.
"A thorn in my side."
Gabriel snorted with laughter as Michael maintained a dead serious face. "Mike, she's not that bad."
"She used the menorah as a hat rack!" Michael almost screeched, making several members of the Fellowship jump. Michael drank his tea as Gabriel explained just why Michael was so upset over that. Gabriel was right; if the Fellowship wasn't out by Monday evening, they were screwed beyond imagining. He glanced over the men who'd taken up residence in his living room. He as an obsessive Tolkien fan, sure, and he knew the characters, but he had no idea how to react now that he could actually talk to and interact with them. Or even if he should trust them, for that matter. As soon as he had that thought, he shook his head. He knew what Gandalf had showed him; he could trust them, and... he wanted to help them. He stood up and looked at the clock; it was creeping on 1 AM. "Okay, everyone, I think we ought to go to bed." He announced. "Gabe, clear off your bottom bunk, and I'll get some pallets up."
Gabriel opened his mouth to protest, but stopped when he saw the exhausted slump in his brother's shoulders. He loved to mess with his older brother, but with what had happened in the last hour and a half, and the fact that the man was going to have to get up in about five hours to go to work, he decided that arguing was not what was needed.
As the brothers worked on getting places to sleep ready, the Fellowship took their chance to speak amongst themselves. "Can they be trusted, Gandalf?" Boromir asked anxiously.
"I believe so." The wizard nodded. "They are strange, yes, but they mean no harm."
"What of the dark-haired one, Michael?" Aragorn asked. "He knew my name by simply looking at me, and he knew our task almost immediately. How could he possibly have known?"
"I believe this is a parallel world to ours." Gandalf explained, shifting in the wooden chair. "In this world, ours is simply a story, and a well-known one I would think. The sorceress who sent us here must have some kind of power over moving between worlds." He paused, lost in thought.
"How will we find a way back?" Legolas added. "Before we... fell through, I suppose, she said that we would need to find-."
" 'A guide, a light, in turn, a sacrifice.' I am well aware, Master Elf. Whatever she meant, I am willing to wager that these young men will be able to help us find it."
A loud crash interrupted their conversation. "Oy gevalt, you fucking disaster!" Michael bellowed in exasperation.
"That vase was hideous anyway." Gabriel's reply was cheery and without a hint of regret.
"That vase was worth more than your miserable life!"
"You know you love me, Mikey."
"Clean up your damn mess."
"They seem angry." Merry said nervously. "How can they live with each other?"
"You've clearly never had a brother." Michael came into the living room and gestured down the hallway. Gabriel could be heard to be muttering 'kiss, kiss, fall in love, my ass...' "Okay, split up. Three in my room, four in Gabe's room, two in here." In a matter of minutes, the Fellowship was settled into their various sleeping quarters, and everyone was off to sleep.
Theoretically, at least.