A/N: Plenty of plot development! Buckle up and Enjoy The Ride! Oh, and more Daphne/Adavis action!

"I am going to get so fat," Madison said happily, spearing another juicy, sizzling sausage. There was something luxuriously sinful about devouring dozens of the tiny sausage patties that Sam cooked up, and she was on her fifth one. The air around them was filled with spicy, hot scents, tingling her nose as she ate another patty, which was dripping in its own grease. She was unmatched by Michael, who had eaten seventeen, and was still counting. Sam seemed delighted, Adavis seemed horrified, and Melody was duly impressed. Daphne, who had eaten at least ten, was lounging by the fire when she heard Maddie's remark. She opened one silver-green eye lazily, arching a brow and smiling a little.

"Hon, you do not know about being fat," Daphne said, patting her belly. "When you get over a hundred pounds, come to me. I swear this is the most I've seen you eat since we got here." Madison sighed, adjusting her thick glasses and licking the spot of grease from the corner of her lip.

"I'm a hundred and five pounds precisely," she complained. "I can't believe I'm so small. All of the girls at college think they're fat and they're only one twenty. Look at my wrists! I do believe I'm the smallest human being alive."

"Maddie, stop it. You're slender, that's all. And believe me, when you weight thirty pounds more, you'll wish you were back at a hundred." Daphne said. Adavis butted in with a tinkling laugh that was beginning to sound like crinkled cellophane to Daphne's ears. Madison wiggled a finger in her ears and glared at Adavis; actually, she was glaring at the sparkling chunk of pyrite hanging from around her comely neck.

"I do not know how much I weigh," Adavis said thoughtfully. "But I'm sure I don't weigh nearly as much as Lady Daphne! Do you think it right, Daphne, to be so plump?" Daphne pushed herself upright, brows darting together to form an angry grimace.

"Look, honey, I'm not plump. I was built this way, okay! Some people are skinny, and some people are big. I'm big, and I'm fine with it. I'm not going to get all wrecked about a few extra jiggles." Daphne said irritably.

Adavis opened her mouth to respond, most likely to say that Daphne had 'extra jiggles' in the wrong places, but an anguished shout cut her off. "Crebain! Crebain from Dunland!" shouted Legolas, leaping from a large gray rock. Daphne looked upwards, completely and utterly confused. Weren't Sam and Aragorn supposed to see the Crebain? However, before she could ponder this absurd turn of events, she found herself hauled roughly into the bushes and slammed flat against the ground. This, naturally, was rather uncomfortable, and she let the person holding her know this by giving him a good face full of elbow. There was a muffled hiss, and she heard Aragorn growl in her ear.

"Lie still, Lady Daphne!" He released her as soon as possible, as though her skin was embers, and Daphne wriggled to the side, spitting dirt from her mouth and glaring at Aragorn. He was lying quite still, his flat, restless gray eyes fixated on the skies above them as he lay in the dirt. A fine silver chain twinkled on his neck, and a necklace of extraordinary beauty hung slowly from his neck, revolving slightly. A spun web of crystal and wrought delicately with silver, the pendant was absolutely beautiful and completely enchanting. He was still as a stone, and Daphne tried to imitate him. He didn't even appear to be breathing. Annoyed, Daphne tried to block out the harsh cawing of the crows overhead.

Madison would have been spotted had it not been for Merry. The little Hobbit had grabbed her 'round the knees and sent her collapsing into a very prickly, uncomfortable gorse-bush, and Madison was writhing slowly, trying to get the prickles out of her neck and face. Pippin's round, anxious face peered at his cousin and Madison for what seemed like ages, and the three of them lay perfectly still, waiting for the crows to pass overhead. This was the third time this week she had fallen into a gorse bush, and she was beginning to think that Middle Earth had far too many gorse-bushes. She was a gorse-bush magnet, and it was driving her bonkers. She spat prickles from her mouth, and resisted the urge to swipe a chunk of frizzy hair from her eyes. Her glasses were dangerously close to sliding off the bridge of her nose, and she tried to turn her nose upwards, like Isabella did, to keep them from falling off. No such luck; the glasses slipped from her nose and landed on her pouting lips. She groaned. This was very, very, vexing.

Melody couldn't believe she was in this position. Michael was lying nearly on top of her, his breath heating her neck, the two of them flat against the ground, trying to look like dirt. Melody decided her blonde hair was a dead giveaway, whereas Michael's dusky skin and black hair made him slightly more...shall we say...muddy? Melody spat out a hank of her blonde hair and she felt a laugh rumble down Michael's chest at the furious look on her face. He had a rich laugh, a chocolate rasp with an undercurrent of sandy gravel, perfect for his sideways smile. They both seemed quick and friendly, and Melody couldn't help but want to make him laugh a little more. He did have such a nice laugh. She wished her laugh sounded like that. Her laugh was high and sounded a bit like a hyena when she really got going, but she decided this was a bad time to be thinking about her laugh. After all, they might be spotted by thousands of annoyed crows, and Melody had no desire to be pecked to death.

Isabella, the lucky little twit, had wedged herself underneath a slight rocky overhang. It was positively tiny, but Isabella had always been slightly built and her lack of proper food had confirmed her tiny size. She was congratulating herself on her excellent fortune when she felt something crawling down her back. Peering over her shoulder - this twisted her neck uncomfortably, but she bore it for a few seconds - she managed to catch a glimpse of whatever was perching on her back, tickling her spine. When she saw what it was, she screamed loud enough to wake the living, dying, and permanently deceased alike.

"SPIIIIDDDEEEERR!"

She shot out of her hiding spot as though she had been blasted from a cannon, hands scrabbling at her back. The thing was huge - thick bristly legs, eight glittering black eyes, brown-and-yellow stripes. It was contentedly marching down her shoulder until Isabella's hands made him temporarily airborne. The crows had departed, all except the rogue feathery black windbag, and Isabella was doing a completely insane un-choreographed dance, complete with background squeals. Her eyes were wide and terrified as she clawed desperately at her back where the spider had slunk up it. She kept shrieking "SPIDERRR!" until Michael tackled her head on and shook her slightly. "Yo! Isabella! ENOUGH!"

There were a few strangled sobs, and Isabella's eyes were suddenly very wet. Everyone in the Fellowship, Authors and warriors alike, were viciously reminded how young she was. At fourteen, she was practically a child. Isabella didn't burst into tears, but several choked cries came from her as she twitched and shuddered, still pawing weakly at her back. It took a few moments of frozen silence before she was able to control herself again, and she pushed Michael away. "I-I'm okay," she stuttered, mumbling. She ground her hands into her eyes and sniffed several times. "I hate spiders," she said as an explanation, breathing raggedly. "It's a thing I have. People say they're frightened of spiders - I have a phobia of them." She shuddered. "Oh, I can still feel it crawling -" she broke off, scratching at her shoulder blades frantically.

Daphne chewed her bottom lip. "Well, now we know. Don't go into small caves."

Melody was the only one who seemed unaffected by Isabella's breakdown, and instead she was climbing to her feet, dusting herself off. "Do any of you realize what's happening?" she said sharply. "She's switching verses."

All eyes swiveled to her.

"We were in book-verse when we first arrived here," Melody explained impatiently. "But now we're in movie-verse. That's the only thing I can think of that explains how quickly the Crebain found us. Everything's sped up in a movie, remember?"

The Authors were stunned. "So...the Sue is changing the verses?" Madison asked, horrified. Isabella, who had calmed sufficiently now that there was a problem to be solved, smacked herself in the forehead.

"We've been idiots!" she said sharply. "We've been looking at the Sue. The Sue is a symptom. Think about it: what makes Sues?"

"Uh, moronic writers with no skill whatsoever yet insist that they have superb writing skills and everyone who doesn't think so is mentally deranged?" Madison offered. Isabella snapped her fingers.

"Correct. Otherwise known as..."

"Suethors." Daphne said, mouth-hanging open. "Oh, my God. I can't believe we missed it. Our story isn't going to be any good at all if we don't get rid of the Suethor."

"That's where you're mistaken," said Tolkien crisply, his British-accent a perfect backdrop for the misty landscape. "You are Authors, and not Suethors. Suethors, as you have mentioned, have no writing abilities at all, therefore your story will be ultimately more powerful. You just have to ... how do you Americans say it? Give it more juice."

"But we've been giving it all the juice we have," Daphne complained. "My hand hurts from writing so much. We wrote sixteen pages yesterday, and by hand. My handwriting looks like its been riddled with buckshot. How do you up our writing potency?"

Tolkien smiled, and it was a smile the Authors would come to realize as his I-have-an-idea-you're-not-going-to-like smile. "Why, you all have to write your own stories, of course. They have to be the same story, essentially, just told from five different points of view. You can collaborate, of course, and there can be no contradictions whatsoever, but you must do it. If you don't, one story isn't going to be enough to take care of your little...problem."

"Speaking of which," Michael said, looking around. "Where is that pain in the butt, anyway?"

They found her - and Legolas - entwined behind a bush, lips locked together, Adavis's fingers tangling in Legolas's blonde hair. Even while smooching, Legolas had a slightly idiotic look on his face, as if Adavis had smacked him with a wet fish repeatedly until he suffered brain damage. Daphne almost had a fit.

"YOU LITTLE RAT!"

Adavis was yanked forcibly off Legolas, by two handfuls of her dark, glossy curls. She screeched as Daphne hauled her backwards, her anger and stocky frame lending strength to her arms. Adavis lept up, spitting mad, hair disheveled, and flung herself at Daphne. They tussled on the ground, scratching, clawing, biting, kicking. Daphne was doing all she could do to defend herself, but she just couldn't help landing a punch or two. She hadn't meant to get into a catfight, but it was so tempting when she saw Adavis shriek when Daphne raked her nails across her cheeks.

Legolas, meanwhile, was sitting on the ground, looking as though he was going to be sick. "Did I just..." he said, a sickly shade of green coloring his cheeks. Michael made a sympathetic face.

"Did you just swap spit with her?" he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, you kinda did."

Legolas leaned over on his elbows, and promptly lost his lunch. He emerged from the bushes looking pale and horrified. "Don't ever let me do that again," he said to Aragorn in Elvish. The ranger was struggling with a swearing, spitting, bleeding Daphne, trying to subdue the wildcat rockstar. Aragorn rolled his eyes at Legolas.

"Watch your back, mellon," he said, panting, still fighting the enraged Daphne. He jerked his chin at Adavis, who was sobbing at her broken nails and swollen left eye. "She's out to get you."