A/N: Enjoy this new chapter! And lets play 'spot the pairing!'. There's two potential pairings in this chapter, if you read closely.

It was a beautiful day for walking. The grass was soft and supple beneath her feet, the trees still stretching high above them. Hard, bright patches of cerulean peeked from between the boughs, which were unfurling their dainty green leaves to greet the arrival of new spring. Madison, with her clumsy feet and awkward walk, was enthused to see a neat path, covered thickly with pine needles. They had made excellent time; it was about midmorning, and the sun was blazing overhead. Despite the warmth of the contented sun, there was a decided snap to the zephyr of breeze that roughened her cheeks to a ruddy pink; winter was reluctant to leave the peaceful valley where Imaldris lay. A patch of crocuses, their golden petals pouting in perfect symmetry, entertained a small bumblebee who was checking on their progress. Maddie lingered in the dappled shade, unwilling to leave the quiet beauty. But Daphne paused, glancing over her shoulder, and beckoned. Maddie hurried to catch up, her feet tripping over each other in their haste. A good-natured smile twitched Daphne's face and settled there as she watched the bumbling teenager disentangle herself from the gorse bush she had fallen into. Madison had fallen twice since they had started out, and Daphne could only guess it was a tiny taste of Madison's clumsiness. Still, Madison's concerned nature and smoky blue eyes - which always looked slightly worried - made her very lovable.

"You trip a lot, don't you?" Melody remarked as Madison caught up with them. Madison's thick, frizzy hair was slightly disheveled, and her cheeks were blushed a delicate pink from her embarrassment and the stiff breeze. Her blue eyes dropped to the ground, and she lifted and lowered one shoulder.

"I've always been extremely inept at walking," Madison said with a sigh. "My feet don't seem to coordinate very well with my brain. Nor my hands, for that matter."

"Do you realize," Isabella said with a familiar bite to her tones, "that you speak exactly as if you came out of a Jane Austen novel? Good God, you belong in Britain."

"I've always had a passion for England," Maddie said enthusiastically, allowing the insult to skip over her head. "I keep saying I'm going to travel abroad, but I have no idea how to get the money."

"Sell firecrackers," Michael suggested wisely, and they all laughed. "Nah, I'm serious!" he insisted. "One time, me an' one of my bros, we bought five hundred bucks worth of firecrackers. Guess how much money we made that summer?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Melody rolled her eyes.

"Did you even break even?" she asked. "Somehow, I don't see you selling firecrackers very well." Michael clutched his heart and pretended to be wounded.

"Ah, you cut me deep, Melody," he said with a chuckle. "I happen to have amazin' powers of persuasion."

"How much money did you make?" Daphne asked interestedly. Michael stuck his hands in his pockets at a deliberate attempt at casualness.

"Oh, we only lost about two grand," he said nonchalantly. Isabella's brow wrinkled.

"How on earth did you manage to lose more than you spent?" she asked. "And isn't selling fireworks without a license illegal in New York?"

"Now, see if someone had told me that before I went an' bought 'em..." Michael said. "Anyway, me an' my buddy got slapped with a fine of five hundred bucks each." His lightning smile curled the side of his mouth for an instant. Melody felt a little warm feeling steal down her back when he smiled like that. "We got to keep the firecrackers, though."

The Authors had grouped together in a rough bunch, with Daphne in the lead and Madison bringing up the rear. However, none of them had noticed Adavis listening in. She had unraveled her hair from her braid, and it was flowing over her shoulders beautifully. Her eyes were silver once more, as though a shard of purest moonbeam had been embedded on either side of her elegant, shapely nose. Her beautiful wine colored dress swished around her pale ankles, and she brushed an dark, errant curl from her temple. All conversation between the five friends halted abruptly as Adavis sashayed between Michael and Melody, hips swaying prettily. "Oh, don't mind me," she cooed. "I adore hearing your rustic speech. It reminds me of those uncultivated Rohirric men which are so silly in their eager sentiments!"

"There's nothing wrong with Rohirric men," Madison said with a little frown. "They're noble, strong, and determined. Why don't you like them?" she asked. Adavis laughed a little, the sound like twittering cherubs among the heavens.

"Oh, the Rohirric are so quaint in their old-fashioned ways! But some of their men are positively barbaric. Why, take that young prince. Eomer, or whatever is name is."

Madison felt a little burn starting in her stomach that she couldn't quite place. She had never stood up for herself in her entire life; there was no point to, really. But she didn't like hearing other people shamed by this snotty little woman who thought she was the most graceful person in Middle Earth. Well, she was the most graceful woman in Middle Earth, but she didn't have to advertise it. So it was with the help of this little burn that Madison plucked up the courage to say something. "Actually, his name is Éomer, and he's not a prince. He's the Third Marshal of Rohan. And he's a very noble man!" She said the last part very quickly, almost under her breath, but since Adavis was conveniently an elf, she picked up every word. Adavis giggled annoyingly.

"Oh, a very noble man, mmm? It sounds to me as though Madison has taking a liking to Éomer, Third Marshal of Rohan. Have you ever seen him? He's a complete barbarian. Uncouth, unshaven, with long hair that's all tangled and dirty -"

"Maybe he looks like that because he's actually out working, not lying around preening!" Daphne said, temper rising like smoke from a pan. "And what do you know, anyway? Leave Éomer alone, will you? Can't you stop insulting people for five freakin' seconds?"

"Dear, dear, what a temper you have, darling!" Adavis sang, and her hands darted to her throat. A black leather strap encircled it, and her hand dipped down into her cleavage to withdraw a small lump of gold. "Do you see this little thing? It's been in my family for generations. My dear mother - bless her heart - used to tell me to put all my anger and frustration into it. Isn't it pretty?" She tilted the small lump of gold in her palm so it caught the light, and her words were drowned out in a sharp gasp.

"That's mine!"

Everybody stopped and looked, but Madison didn't notice them all staring at her. "That's my pyrite! It hasn't been in your family for generations!" Madison said. The slow burn had increased to a white-hot sheet of anger, and it was roiling in her stomach unpleasantly. She hated to feel angry, but she couldn't help it. "My Dad gave that to me, you little thief!" Her smoky blue eyes were hard as flints, and the ghostly clouding of gray which dusted them was rapidly turning dark with anger.

"No, my dear, I believe your mistaken," Adavis cooed. "This little bauble was given to me by my poor mother. With her dying breath she bequeathed it to me -"

"That's bull!" Madison cried, and reached for her pyrite. "Look, right here, it has my initials scratched on it! MSP. My dad made it for me when I turned ten and he -" She cut herself off, breathing hard. She had almost said too much, almost revealed to her friends what had happened to her parents. "Give me it back!"

"Dearest, I think you need to lie down," Adavis said, trying to look serious. Her silver eyes were malicious as she stroked the pyrite. "MSP stands for My Stunning Precious. My father engraved those words for my mother when he proposed to her. It's quite a fascinating tale, actually."

"No, you didn't!" Madison felt ready to cry. A block of cement had lodged in her throat, and she swallowed forcefully before she could speak. "Give it back, right now. It's mine. I had it on my bedside table before we left Lord Elrond's house."

"Adavis, perhaps you ought to give the lady her trinket," said a sharp, smooth voice from ahead of them. Legolas was standing about thirty paces away, his blue eyes firm and unyielding. "I believe you are misled, Adavis. I saw Lady Madison playing with that very same trinket earlier." His tone grew as frosty as the Northern Mountains. "And it would be in your best interests to give it back to her."

Adavis did something very strange. She walked slowly over to Legolas, one hip at a time, eyes closed in a smoldering look. "Or maybe I should just keep it," she breathed, eyes locking with Legolas's. An unfocused look came over him, and he blinked several times.

"Or maybe you should just keep it," he mumbled, as though hypnotized by Adavis's beautiful figure and charming eyes. Then the spell broke and he turned to Madison, still annoyed. "Lady Madison, do not be ridiculous. Obviously, it belongs to Adavis. Cease your lies; you have always been jealous of Adavis's good looks."

Speechless, Madison watched as Adavis slid and arm around Legolas's waist, drawing herself closer to Legolas's firm body. Adavis gave the Author's a beautiful, terrible smile, revealing perfect white teeth. The engraved chunk of pyrite twinkled, framed by the lace of Adavis's hem.

09

Daphne nibbled on the nub of her quill, looking down at the blank expanse of snowy white paper which glistened invitingly. The Fellowship had stopped for the evening, and the Authors were sitting a little ways away from the Fellowship. Adavis had not left Legolas's side since the pyrite incident this morning, and Madison had only recently calmed down. For several hours, she had been inconsolably furious, and then she had petered out into a blank hopelessness. The idea of writing appealed to all of them, and they sat together to brainstorm and get their minds off their impossible quest. Daphne had the book in her lap, fingers skimming over the beautiful white paper. She had been disappointed to know that everything had to be handwritten, because her handwriting was terrible. "All right," she sighed. "Now, from our research, what did we find out?" She looked around the group, and Isabella - of course - was the first to speak up.

"We discovered that there is a common trait; nearly all of the previous stories have been written mainly about the Sue itself, essentially risking themselves as they wrote it. It is, of course, common knowledge that the more Sue-fictions you write, the more of a Suethor you become. Also, you could write the Lord of the Rings series yourself, changing the outcome marginally." Isabella said.

"So we have to write a story about the Sue? Won't that just make her stronger?" Melody asked, chewing absently on a grass blade. "I mean, she's bad enough now." She looked sympathetically at Madison, who was still sniffling.

"It's all we can do, I think," Daphne said reluctantly. "Who has an idea?"

"I don't dig the idea of makin' Adavis stronger," Michael said, cocking an eyebrow. "So lets focus on re-writin' the Lord of the Rings. It started with Bilbo's party, right? Who remembers that chapter best?"

Slowly, the seeds of a bond began to flavor the relationship of the Authors as they began sketching ideas for their stories.

09

The two girls cowered in front of Saruman, fingers interlacing as the White Wizard paced furiously in front of them. "One simple Sue! How difficult can that be?" he roared at the ceiling. The girls quivered with every enraged word. "One simple, immortal, all powerful Sue. And I brought the two best Suethors through time, space, and dimensions to make it! And what do they give me? NOTHING!"

"It's not us!" the fat one squeaked. "He brought someone else."

Saruman whirled on the pudgy girl, who cringed, babbling apologies. "What. Did you say?" he hissed. The girls shivered at the icy tone in his voice.

"They brought more Authors here!" the skinny one whimpered. "Five of them. And they brought...well...him."

All went absolutely silent. Then -

"Him?"

"The Bookkeeper," the fat girl whispered. "We can't do anything against him. If he's helping the Authors, then we don't stand a chance."

Saruman stroked his beard. Then he snapped his fingers in a very showy way, setting off a miniature explosion behind him. "We shall overwhelm him," he said decisively. "I want you both to write! Pile on more Sues! I want every Sue known to mankind in that Fellowship! They won't be able to think! Hah!"

"But we just finished writing," the skinny girl complained. "It'll take all night to write so many Sues."

"WRITE!"

"Yes, sir!"

"More Sues coming up, sir!"

A/N: Now, I never do this. I mean, I've never tried this before in my life. But I want to ask a favor of my beloved reviewers. I have a friend who is currently writing a very, very, very good Star Wars fanfiction. If Star Wars is your thing, I suggest you go check it out. She's very discouraged, and it would mean a lot to her if you popped off a review. Oh, and don't tell her I sent you! She'd eat me. Well, not literally. Her name is Apprentice To The Dark Side, and her story is called "A Broken Circle". So, my lovely, beloved reviewers, go forth and read!