Ack. Sorry guys. I didn't realise it had taken me so long to update this until I checked the dates. I took a little break from the net and was promptly buried under a mound of coursework and essays. Plus, Galadriel's scenes are extremely hard to parody – she's just too damned ambiguous for her own good.

Anyways, enough of my ramblings. Reviews equals happy author. Happy author equals cookies. Cookies equals happy readers. Isn't maths fun?

XXX

It took the Fellowship exactly one scene to come to terms with their grief over Gandalf's death. Aragorn didn't seem to be affected at all. He was running around, splashing in puddles and grinning like a Cheshire cat five minutes after they had exited Moria. Frodo wondered if the ranger didn't have something to do with the wizard's death: after all, he had gained immediate leadership of the Company once Gandalf was out of the picture.

But why then, wondered Frodo, did he bet against Gandalf?

The answer was simple: the guy was an idiot.

"Come, my companions!" Aragorn cried. "I will lead the way! Fear not!" He gestured with his sword. "To the woods of Lothlóreal!"

Boromir rolled his eyes.

"It's Lothlórien."

"Whatever."

XXX

It seemed that the orcs who had chased them for so many miles through the darkness of Moria were allergic to sunlight; that, or a scene had been cut from the movie, for the Fellowship suddenly found themselves safe and sound under the eaves of Lórien, with absolutely no signs of pursuit.

"Yay!" said Merry. "Aren't continuity errors the best?"

The rest of the Company stayed silent. The distant song of unseen birds, along with the creaking of branches, was quite unsettling. Above their heads, trees of unfathomable heights stretched spiraling towards the sky. It was as though they had stepped into another world, full of mystery and menace and ancient wonderm -

"You know what?" said Boromir, folding his arms with impatience. "It just looks like a bunch of trees to me."

"Ah," said Gimli, "but they say there's a great sorceress who lives in these woods: an elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell... and are never seen again."

Aragorn raised a hand.

"Except for me."

Gimli sighed.

"Look, I'm trying to build a little tension for the audience here. You wanna stop stepping all over my lines? Huh?"

Aragorn frowned.

"I thought it was cause you are gonna fall madly in love with the aforementioned sorceress and speaking ill of her beforehand only serves to heighten the delicious irony?"

"But isn't that only in the extended version?"

"Quiet you."

But no one was listening to this little exchange. They were far more concerned with the dozens of elves who had suddenly leapt out of the trees. Arrows were poised upon their bowstrings.

Frodo jumped. Pippin screamed. Sam gasped. Gimli growled. Boromir sighed. Aragorn groaned. Legolas fainted. Merry laughed.

They all turned and stared at the hobbit.

"What? The author ran out of verbs."

From amidst this wall of bows and arrows there stepped a rather fetching blonde elf, sporting a very smarmy grin. His name was Haldir.

"The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark."

"Excuse me," answered Gimli, puffing out his chest. "I believe you meant 'the dwarf breathes so loudly'. 'Loud' is both grammatically incorrect and far too colloquial for such an occasion and time period. And I thought the elves were meant to be wise! For shame!"

Haldir turned red.

"Hey, we are so elven wise! I was just reading what it said in the damned script!"

Gimli ignored this however, and began to sing: "HALDIR CAN'T SPELL! HALDIR CAN'T SPELL!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" The elf scowled. "How dare you mock me? Dammit, I am a wise and immortal being, I don't need this!"

But Gimli continued to sing. Haldir promptly had a full-blown hissy fit and then stormed off. Peter Jackson jumped out from behind the camera and followed him. The Fellowship was left facing two generic background elves holding bows. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment.

Aragorn rocked back and forth on his heels.

"So. You guys are elves then?"

"Yup."

"Uh huh."

The ranger nodded.

"Good, good… That's good." He looked around. "Wonderful trees you have here."

"Thanks."

Somewhere in the distance, the sounds of yelling could be heard.

Aragorn laughed uneasily, and then turned to Generic Background Elf with a Bow #2 and said: "Hey, could we crash in your woods for the night? I mean, we won't be any trouble, despite the fact that we are (apparently) being pursued by enough orcs to fill the whole of Moria, and carrying with us a weapon so evil that Hell itself spat it back out."

The elf shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

XXX

For some inexplicable reason, everything had turned a rather ethereal shade of blue.

With many a confused glance, the Fellowship followed their elven guides, and began to trek up a rather steep set of winding stairs dotted about with fairy lights, leading up towards the elven city of Caras Galadhon.

"Y'know," muttered Boromir, voicing everybody's thoughts, "for a super sophisticated elven city, you think they would have installed an elevator."

It took them a while, but they were finally near the top. They were just about to set foot upon the topmost flet when Pippin spotted a lever on the wall. His eyes widened.

"Oh my God!" he squealed, dancing about excitedly. "Oh my God! Super fun happy slide!"

And before anyone could react, he had pulled the lever, and suddenly the steps beneath their feet gave way, and the handrails disappeared.

"Pippin?"

"Yes."

"We hate you."

XXX

Six hours later, the Fellowship finally reached Caras Galadhon. In order to reach the top without Pippin turning the stairs into a slide again, they had been forced to whack the hobbit over the head with one of Sam's skillets and lay him out cold. And then Frodo had accidentally leant against the lever as he helped haul the senseless hobbit up the stairs, and down they had all went again.

Needless to say, they were all feeling slightly testy once they had reached the top. The sight before their eyes, however, removed the drudgery of the journey from their minds. Before them was a set of carven stairs, and beyond it lay nestled between the branches a huge flet, delicately carved, shining with an otherworldly light; the royal hall of a city in the trees.

Sam raised a hand.

"Is anyone else having Swiss Family Robinson flashbacks?"

At the top they were led into an open courtyard. Another staircase was before them, and at its head stood two elven guards, dressed in ceremonial armour and clutching elven spears. Both remained rigid as the Fellowship gathered at the foot of the stairs.

"Ooh," said Pippin, grinning, "I've heard about these guards! You can make stupid faces in front of them and they can't do a thing about it!"

"But that's the guards at Buckingham-" Sam had the breath knocked out of him by an elbow to the gut. The rest of the Fellowship glared at him. "I, er, I mean, you're right! Unresponsive guards - go for it!"

Pippin turned to the rest of the Fellowship, who all nodded their heads. Spurred on, the Scottish hobbit broke away from the group and scampered up the stairs, giggling.

Ten minutes later, he was wheeled away on a gurney.

"So, Estel, you finally came to visit your in-laws..."

They all turned around. There at the top of the stairs was Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien. He had long blonde hair, and the sternest eyes you have ever seen. Folding his arms, he leveled an accusing stare at a certain ranger.

Aragorn gave a sheepish grin.

"Well, you know, I've been busy with this whole ranger deal, and Arwen's always such a handful, and, I, you know, I sent you guys a card at Christmas and never got anything back-"

"Nonsense!" cried Celeborn, putting his hands on his hips. "Galadriel baked you a whole batch of chocolate chip cookies as a thank you. We sent them months ago."

"You did?" Aragorn frowned. "Hmm, I think Elrond's been going through my mail again…"

There was a loud cough.

Aragorn turned, and his eyes landed upon the Fellowship, who were standing expectantly behind him.

"Oh yes, sorry." The ranger waved a hand back and forth. "Celeborn, this is the Fellowship of the Ring, Fellowship of the Ring, this is Celeborn."

"Hi."

"Hi."

"So," said Aragorn, "where is Galadriel?"

The elf shrugged.

"Beats me. When you have a dominatrix, schizophrenic, telepathic wife like her, you tend not to question her whereabouts. She gets a little testy." He descended the stairs, throwing an awkward glance over his shoulder as he did so, just to check that the aforementioned dominatrix, schizophrenic, telepathic wife was not listening in. Then he stopped in front of the Fellowship, raised an eyebrow in confusion, and counted them on his fingers. "Eight there are here yet nine there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

Boromir raised an eyebrow.

"Dude, what's with the incredibly elongated monotone?"

Celeborn scowled.

"Hey, give me a break. They reduced my character to one bloody line. The longer I take to say it, the more screen time I get out of it." He folded his arms. "Besides, I never liked that Gandalf anyways. Last time he was here, he was always looking down Galadriel's top."

"As I recall, I didn't particularly mind."

They all turned again. At the top of the stairs stood Galadriel, Lady of Lothlórien. She was ageless, beautiful and very tall, with long golden hair and eyes like deep wells of memory. (In other words, it was obvious she had had Botox done).

"Greetings mortals," she said, in a ridiculously fairy-like voice. "I am Aphrodite, I-I mean, Galadriel, wisest of all elves. Marvel at my god-like presence."

And marvel they did, until she tripped over her feet and tumbled to the floor in a huge elven heap.

"Damn stilettos,' she growled. Celeborn looked at her and giggled.

"Wow," he said, looking her up and down. "I never realised you were so short. Really ruins that whole god-like presence, doesn't it?"

Galadriel kicked him in the shin.

"Umm, so, yeah." Aragorn rubbed the back of his neck. "We're kinda on this whole doom-laden quest thing. And Gandalf is dead." Silence. "Yeah, I wasn't really bothered about it either."

"Please," said Frodo, rolling his eyes. "We got over that two scenes ago."

Galadriel mused over this information.

"Hmm, yes. Things do look quite dire." Her eyes trailed towards Sam, and she scowled. "How dare you think that, you insolent fool! I have not had Botox done!"

Sam blushed furiously.

Merry's eyes widened.

"You can really read our thoughts? I thought he just made that up!"

"Not at all," she said, smiling. "I am as telepathic as this movie is long." She looked around, and then pointed at Aragorn. "For example, he is thinking about the time that he and Arwen had crazy monkey sex right here on this flet." Everyone took a rather disgusted step back. Galadriel then pointed at Gimli. "He thinks that Boromir looks remarkably like a female dwarf." Boromir punched Gimli. "Frodo agrees." Boromir punched Frodo. "Sam is having major cravings for a buffet, Legolas is feeling threatened by my amazing beauty, and Boromir…" She fixed him with an accusing stare. "I know what you did last summer."

The Gondorian dissolved into tears.

Aragorn just sighed.

"Look, you've had your over glorified cameo. Can we please just go? This scene is pretty pointless if you ask me."

Celeborn scowled.

"Hey, this scene isn't pointless! I'm in it."

Silence reigned.

"Okay!" said Galadriel, clapping her hands together. "If you'd like to follow me, I'll lead you past all of the magnificent, empty five-star lodgings we have in Lothlórien and make you all sleep on the grass…"

The Fellowship filed past at the heels of their host. Celeborn was left alone on the stairs.

For a moment, he just stood there with tears welling up in his eyes. Then he turned and ran away, sobbing, with half a mind to go and raid the fridge for a tub of double chocolate chip ice cream.

XXX

A few hours later, the Fellowship was resting on the grass beneath the trees. Above them, the elves were singing. Very badly. Sam longed to throw a rock at them.

A few feet away, Legolas was walking through the glade, dressed in a pretty nifty new tunic. He was carrying a silver ewer. No one knew why.

"A lament for Gandalf," he said.

"What do they say about him?" asked Merry.

"I have not the heart to tell you," said Legolas, bowing his head. "For me the grief is still too near."

Merry raised an eyebrow. The prospect of Legolas showing emotion was as unlikely as Samwise Gamgee using a plate at a buffet.

Meanwhile, at the edge of the Fellowship's camp there was a trickling fountain. Nearby, a broody Boromir was sitting upon a tree root with his head bowed. Aragorn came and joined him.

"Take some rest," said the ranger. "These borders are well protected."

Boromir shook his head.

"I will find no rest here," he murmured. "I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me even now there is hope left. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope."

Aragorn sighed.

'What part of 'take some rest' did you not understand? I have no intention of listening to your extremely emo ramblings, thank you very much."

Boromir grinned.

"Well, tough." He gestured to the tree root beside him. "I'm dying soon and I need to fit in a boring monologue whilst I can. And now that you're here you have to listen to it. Sit."

"Great," mumbled Aragorn, shaking his head, "I'm gonna go and kill myself for bringing this up…"

But Boromir would not be deterred: "My father is a noble man," he said, "but his rule is failing. And now our people lose faith. He looks to me to set things right and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored." He sighed. "Have you ever seen it Aragorn? The white tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze?"

Aragorn, who was busy fashioning a rope into a noose and hanging it from a nearby tree, stopped for a moment, and raised an eyebrow.

"What in the hell are you talking about?"

Boromir paused for a moment.

"I have no bloody clue," he said, frowning. "And frankly I am quite disturbed by the phallic imagery I just conjured up." He shook his head a little. "Anyways, regarding this vague Gondor of which I speak: have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?"

"Nope," said Aragorn. "I use this new-fangled invention called the telephone."

Boromir smiled. "One day," he said, "our paths will lead us there. And the tower guards shall take up the call: 'The Lords of Gondor have returned!'"

"Or, y'know, 'the King of Gondor and his whipping boy have returned'."

Boromir sat for a moment, dwelling on this, and then spoke up: "Aragorn?"

"Hmm?" The ranger was busy tightening the noose about his neck.

"Why does Jackson keep giving us random angsty scenes together?"

The ranger shrugged.

"Either he's trying to heighten the tragedy of your eventual death, or, y'know, he's secretly a big huge slasher."

Boromir nodded.

"Probably both."