Chapter IV

A/N: Wow. NEVER thought this story would end up this long. Is it just me, or is the chapter length experiencing exceptional growth?

The early morning's light filtered palely through the dense canopy of mallorn leaves and illuminated the jail cell, revealing that the caged Fellowship had vacated the premises. Several worthy (but inattentive) guards were rapidly demoted to the ranks of the common soldiery. Search parties scoured the area, but to no avail. The fugitives were nowhere to be found.

When the ill news reached Galadriel's ears, she glowered at Haldir, as if she could rest the blame entirely on her march-warden's sturdy shoulders, though she had suspected Gandalf might interfere with her plans (she knew it was Gandalf's doing because he had left her a note when he "borrowed" her bathrobe). He always was one to stick his nose in everyone else's business. "Explain your negligence!" she demanded of the loyal Haldir, who practically quaked with fear and remorse. "You were charged with guarding them! Pray tell how those clumsy, inept fools outwitted you!"

Haldir gulped and looked around pleadingly, hoping someone might stand in his defense. How he detested failing his Lady! Finally, he worked up enough courage to reply. "Forgive me, my Lady! I am afraid that my occupation with other matters prevented me from fully fulfilling my duty. I should have, at regular intervals throughout the night, assured that the guards were wholly vigilant." He conveniently neglected to elaborate on the fact that the "other matters" concerned his being totally wasted on dorwinion during the night's festivities – one of Lórien's many wild parties.

"Excuses do not become you, Haldir," Galadriel admonished, savoring her head warrior's abasement and trepidation. "Locate and retrieve them at once, lest you exhaust my leniency and force me to turn you into a dwarf – or worse."

Haldir's legs trembled as he bowed low in assent and dashed out the door and down the winding staircase of the giant mallorn. Whether it was the love of his Lady or simple fear of her threats that provided the driving force behind his incredible speed, this author does not know, but whatever the case, it was clear Haldir was determined not to fail Galadriel again.

Meanwhile, the Fellowship, minus Frodo/Boromir, was laying low in the Lórien sewer. While the scent didn't assault the nostrils quite as badly as that of a human or dwarf sewer might have, it was still far from a pleasant place to languish. The eight rather deranged looking inhabitants of the small, vaulted tunnel sat chiefly in silence, awaiting a breakthrough. As it was, they were stuck. They had debated endlessly throughout the night, hoping to solve their predicament. They had sprung themselves out of jail, yes, but they were still in the same boat as before and it was unlikely that the spell would dissipate any time soon.

Gimli suggested making a break for the woods, but none of the others were of the same opinion.

"What?" Legolas had squawked. "And be this way permanently? Are you out of your dwarven mind?" Everyone else was inclined to agree with Legolas in this regard. While there was still a possibility of escaping Lothlórien, they had no assurance that Galadriel would pay any heed to Elrond or anyone else from whom they solicited aid in convincing the Lady of Light to reverse the spell. Gimli finally grunted assent. He didn't want to be a pretty elf. He realized that for all his efforts to uglify Legolas, he hadn't succeeded, outside of making the elf look freakish. Perpetual prettiness was just something genetically embedded in the Elves. That was something Gimli knew he couldn't tolerate much longer, let alone permanently.

Finally, the wizard in pink pulled out his pipe and began pensively puffing out smoke rings. This went on for some time, while the others waited expectantly for their fearless leader to come up with a plan of attack. Apparently, Gandalf's smoking was a cue that he was about to be brilliant.

"Well…?" Aragorn/Pippin queried, at length. The others were growing a little impatient, as well, excluding the Hobbits – Pippin/Aragorn, Sam/Merry, and Merry/Sam were curled up on the stone floor, snoring loudly.

Gandalf stiffened sharply, as if startled awake from a light sleep. He grimaced, massaged his chin thoughtfully, then pronounced emphatically, "We need a plan."

Pippin/Aragorn shot awake, eager to share an idea he had been mulling over while he'd been drifting in and out of consciousness. He opened his mouth to speak, when Gandalf, sensing his intention, snorted and said sharply, "A good plan."

Pippin sighed disappointedly, reclined, and went back to sleep.

Aragorn spoke up. "I have a bit of an idea."

"Well then, out with it!" Gandalf demanded gruffly. The thick smoke from his pipe had filled the low-ceilinged tunnel and was causing everyone to hack, but the wizard didn't care. Unfortunately, lung cancer awareness programs were not widespread at this time.

"What we must do, my friends," Aragorn began boldly, as if to rally the troops, "is cease our pointless bickering. We must work together. And we must behave maturely." He glanced meaningfully over at Legolas and Gimli, who were engaged in a heated pinching war, and cleared his throat. "Together, we will make Galadriel come to her senses. Together, we will overcome the challenges that face us! Together, we will bring this madness to an end!"

Boromir/Frodo smirked at Aragorn's inspiring speech, resenting the former ranger's assumed claim on the leadership of the group. He figured that whatever plan Aragorn produced was doomed to failure, but it might be worth a try – especially if he didn't have to put himself on the line in any way.

The three Hobbits continued to snooze throughout Aragorn's rousing speech and following explanation of his plan. Gandalf sat and said nothing, still smoking like a chimney. Gimli and Legolas agreed to stop fighting long enough to hear Aragorn's idea. The morning passed slowly as (most of) the Fellowship prepared to carry out their newest and evilest scheme yet.

Not far away, above ground, Frodo/Boromir decided to leave his cave and inspect the surrounding woods, in hopes of locating more substantial food than worms and grubs. He had tried to catch fish, but his anorexia resulted in limbs too ungainly and weak to provide the necessary skill. "We are famished, my precious! Yes, we are," he whimpered pitifully, shambling toward Lothlórien on all fours.

Back in the sewer, Aragorn and the others had added the last few touches to their getup. They had all decked themselves out in the darkest clothing they could snatch from unsuspecting Elves' clotheslines, black and green paint, and leafy camouflage. Legolas nearly shed tears when he witnessed Gimli mercilessly tangling leafy branches in his once silky, lustrous hair, dunking his head in black paint, and then rolling in one of Lothlórien's rare, yet expediently close puddles of sludge. For unspoken revenge, Legolas made it a point to knot the dirtiest clumps of moss and twigs he could find in Gimli's newly grown beard and hair, insuring that it would take weeks to extricate all the filthy material. He would have rolled in the same pile of sludge that Gimli had, but he didn't think he would be able to stomach the stench if he were required to remain in Gimli's body for any protracted amount of time.

"Ready?" questioned the Ranger hobbit, smearing two streaks of black paint under his eyes. Everyone howled in anticipation, gathering around their new leader.

Meanwhile, Galadriel was enjoying her customary resort whenever things were not going as intended and she was vexed – a soothing, lengthy pampering session at her private spa! She had a rubdown, followed by an essential oil treatment, then basked in the sauna, after which she received a drawn out massage. Subsequently, she lounged in a poolside beach chair and had a facial, bidding the standard cucumber slices be placed over her eyes. All the spa attendants jumped to pander to her every whim, doing their utmost to maintain the tranquil, comforting atmosphere. Galadriel sipped her lemon-cucumber water and absorbed the attention, sighing happily, as the court musicians began to serenade her with lyres and pan-flutes.

"Alright," said Gandalf, rushing back, looking a bit flustered. "All I could get out of the elf I questioned was that Galadriel is in some sort of meeting."

"Where?" Aragorn inquired worriedly, scratching at his chin out of habit. He hated feeling his face these days. He was still shaken each time he expected to find his manly stubble and was greeted instead with the smoothness of a prepubescent boy.

The other Fellowship members, who had all grown somewhat weary of the delay, began to rise, eager for their precarious plan to commence. It was twilight, as their preparations had taken a good deal of time, but the obscurity of the night could only assist in the stealth of their strategy. Before Gandalf could reply to Aragorn's question, they all heard Pippin shriek with apparent terror. Eyes immediately darting to the form of the ranger, they watched in bewilderment as he unexpectedly sprinted away toward the more densely populated portion of the city, flailing his arms and squealing unintelligibly in a girly voice.

"Galadriel must be possessing him!" Aragorn cried in horror, taking off after the departing hobbit-turned-ranger. Gandalf swiftly reached down and seized him firmly by the back of his cloak. "Fool of a Too—!" the wizard began, then stopped short. "Uh, your pardon, Aragorn. I still tend to misremember who's who. But you don't really think you could overtake him with the lead he has, and in the body of a hobbit? He'll be caught, but we don't all need to be."

"But he's got my body!" protested Aragorn in anguish, still struggling to escape Gandalf's firm grasp.

Boromir spoke up. "Gandalf is right. Let him go. We should carry on with the plan before something else happens."

Abruptly, Merry/Sam jumped up, shrieked, and raced towards the city.

"Get him!" hollered at least four Fellowship members simultaneously. Gimli/Legolas managed to catch up with the fleeing hobbit and drag him back by his hood. Merry was rambling on and on about "glass fogging up" and "getting to the post office on time."

Gandalf, being the not so nice, all-business wizard that he was, had no time for such nonsense. "Snap out of it!" he demanded, snatching up a nearby stick and using it to whack at Merry (well, Sam). Surprisingly, it worked. Merry opened Sam's eyes and stared around bewilderedly, finally recognizing his dusk-shrouded surroundings and the discourteous wizard, still grasping the offending stick. "Gandalf?"

"Yes, yes," said Gandalf, hurriedly. "We have no time. How she is doing this, I don't know, but we must stop her!"

"Hear, hear!"

In the distance, Frodo/Boromir could hear a peculiar, gurgling voice singing a short, rhythmic song. Something about a rock and pool being nice and cool. "What is it, precious? Yes, what is it, we wonders?" the deranged Gondorian Hobbit questioned aloud as he hobbled towards the voice.

Frodo concealed himself behind the trees as best he could, peeking out to catch a glimpse of the singer. However, his newly acquired full-sized human body made stealth much more difficult. At the sound of a twig snapping, the strangely familiar creature jumped in surprise, shrilling, "Aaarrrrgh! It wasn't us! It wasn't us!"

Though Frodo was quite demented at this point, even he could see the resemblance between himself and Gollum. He hopped over to the skinny, pathetic creature in as friendly a manner as he could manage. Sméagol, meanwhile, was also curious about this large human's aberrant behavior, which he noted was strangely similar to his own, and therefore did not flee.

"What is it, precious?" Frodo hissed, inspecting Gollum, who was eyeing him equally suspiciously. "Yes, what is it, my love?"

Sméagol sniffed at Frodo and decided that he wouldn't be much good to eat, assuming that he could have bested the lanky and ferocious-looking human in a fight. Frodo, meanwhile, surmised that the diminutive, emaciated creature wouldn't make much of a meal either, despite his famished state.

Gollum finally broke the silence. "What does it wants, my precious? Does it wants to eats our juicy fishes, eh?"

Frodo thought to himself that eating "juicy fishes" sounded like a marvelous idea. However, since he was unable to catch any himself, he had only one option if he wanted to do so. "Get us fishes, my precious!" he hissed fiercely, laboring fruitlessly to stand up to his full height. "Catch us tasty fishes, or we eats it! We eats the nasty little frog for dinner. Yes, we does, my precious! Gollum, Gollum!" He licked his lips, bared his sharpened teeth convincingly, and lunged toward Sméagol, who recoiled in genuine fear.

The real Gollum gulped, looked askance once or twice, as if preparing to make a quick escape, and seeing none, finally slinked back toward the riverside, keeping a wary eye on this cantankerous, demanding, enormous version of himself. Secretly, however, he was reluctant to leave Frodo, either because he had finally found a creature that eerily resembled him… or, more likely, because the insidious allure of the Ring had at last drawn the two possessed beings together with an almost magnetic attraction.

Galadriel gave a deep sigh of frustration as three of her women servants finished covering her in her weekly, youthful skin preserving, therapeutic wrap. "Why haven't they found those disrespectful fools yet?" she yelled, as two cucumber slices were placed over her eyes. "They could not have gotten far. They are fools, but they are not stupid! I am sure they know that if they leave here they lose all chance of ever returning to normal!"

The three servants worked in silence, listening to their lady rant and rave, afraid that they might say something wrong and upset her all the more. Galadriel carried on, unaware that the infamous crew was actually right outside her window.

"Why do we have to wear these stupid hats?" Gimli/Legolas complained, pointing to the tinfoil cone on top of his head.

"Because Galadriel's mind powers are useless against the power of tinfoil!" Gandalf retorted, as he adjusted his similar hat. "Now hush! Before you give us all away!"

Gimli muttered, crossing Legolas' arms. "I feel like a dunce."

"You are a dunce if you think this'll work," Boromir murmured. He glanced at the rest of the company's outlandish getup, shaking his head in disbelief. Aside from their refulgent tinfoil hats, they were perfectly camouflaged, and it was unlikely they would be noticed, even if Galadriel happened to look their way. But was this even worth it? He'd never live this down.

"Now," said Aragorn, just above a whisper, "the plan is very simple. On the count of three, we all swarm in there and snatch her. Then we escape out the window again and take her some place where we can force her to switch us back. Capisce?"

The group nodded, steeling themselves for the brief countdown that would send them piling into the chamber.

Legolas grimaced and smashed his foil hat down firmer onto his head. Then he fixed Gimli's hat. He hated seeing himself looking like a kook, but he supposed it was preferable to watching his body rushing away, flailing its arms. It made him feel a bit creepy, the thought. There she was, lounging on a beach chair getting beauty treatments, yet somehow, she was capable of invading their brains. It was psycho.

"Private Legolas!" Aragorn whispered urgently. "Give me your mirror!"

Legolas/Gimli nodded and whipped out a small hand mirror from his pocket. "Here, sir!" he replied in a similar tone.

Taking the mirror, Aragorn used it to peer into the spa room. Galadriel appeared to have cucumbers over her eyes and be in some kind of full-body wrap. That might prove to their advantage. The hobbitish ranger tossed the mirror back to its owner and crouched down facing the window, like a sprinter preparing for the starting gun. "One… two… THREE!"

The demented Fellowship sprang haphazardly through the window, though not all of them with equal success. Two of the shorter members, namely Merry/Sam and Sam/Merry, seemed to have become high centered on the lower window-frame. How, no one could guess. Legolas and Gimli took it upon themselves to lug the floundering hobbits down inside the room, and they all stalked toward Galadriel.

"Milady, trouble… milady!" the spa attendants cried, backing away from the disturbing figures that were approaching. The Fellowship realized that they all looked like somewhat shapeless, muck-covered blobs with protruding leafy branches here and there… and incongruous, shiny dunce caps. No wonder the attendants were alarmed.

Once the altered assemblage had encircled the reclining Lady of Light, who seemed to be ignoring her attendants' warnings, Aragorn took a moment to clear his throat. A long moment. Still, Galadriel didn't stir or say a word.

"Alright, troops!" Aragorn growled, having perhaps taken his "military efficiency" goal a bit far. "Grab her, and let's di di mau!"

"Where are we taking her again?" asked Boromir, giving the pretense of ignorance because he derived a twisted amusement from irritating Aragorn.

Aragorn gave him a look that should have never, under any circumstances, come near Pippin's face. "How many times have we gone over this now, Private Boromir? I should make you BEAT YOUR FACE! But we don't have time. We're takin' 'er to the bush, the boondocks, get it? Get it, you rocks? Now move it!"

Everyone looked at Aragorn in confusion. His gruffness and terse speech were certainly uncharacteristic.

"Uh... sure," Boromir replied.

The Fellowship surrounded Galadriel and dogpiled her, hoisting her stiff, immobilized form above their heads. The maidens just stepped back and watched, unsure of what to do.

"Onward, men!" shouted Aragorn, gesturing brusquely back toward the window.

"Great Galadhrim!" Legolas moaned, finding himself crammed between Boromir and Gandalf, beneath Galadriel. "She's heavy!"

The Hobbits were little help, as they couldn't even reach Galadriel to start with, and were actually more of a hindrance, as they kept getting in the way and were almost trampled. Nonetheless, they pretended to assist. Sam and Merry, in particular, made a great show of pulling the others toward the window and echoing everything Aragorn said, just in case the force happened to forget anything in the ensuing seconds after a command. The felonious Fellowship eventually succeeded in lobbing Galadriel out the window, onto the small veranda, and jumped out behind her. Of course, the Hobbits got high-centered again…

Celeborn had effectively managed to elude the pursuing elven guards, although the elven lord's monkey-brained body was another matter altogether. They caught the wild and ungainly "ape-elf" within half an hour, largely thanks to an innovative plan involving bananas and cage traps… But the real Celeborn's monkey form and elven brain were a plus, as he could quickly swing high into the trees, move rapidly between them, and edge into small crevasses as needed. Taking advantage of this, he was able to escape into a concealed air vent that led straight into Galadriel's top-secret lab beneath the city. He had initially thought it was a rabbit hole, leaving him quite surprised and overjoyed to discover the truth!

"An antidote!" cried the elven lord with hopeful relief. "She must have an antidote down here!" He shambled eagerly toward a large, round, stone room lined with dozens and dozens of levels of wooden shelves, stocked with an eye-dazzling array of multicolored, scintillating potions.

Meanwhile, the Fellowship had miraculously negotiated the towering mallorn tree and scrambled off into the dense bushes with their prize. They were all panting heavily, especially Gandalf and Legolas/Gimli, as they were performing the majority of the lifting.

"Ouch!" yelped Boromir/Frodo. "Watch where you're stepping, you maladroit fiend!"

"Sorry," Gimli/Legolas grunted. "I'm not well adjusted to this dainty, wimpy, pretty-boy's—"

Legolas coughed vigorously, released Galadriel, and shot a significant glare at the dwarven elf. Then he whipped out a handy pair of scissors and gestured threateningly at his mud-encrusted beard. "You were saying?"

Gimli stared in poorly disguised horror.

"I'll do it…" Legolas warned, snipping the scissors once or twice for good measure. "Don't you think I won't!"

Gimli muttered something unintelligible, then provided the correct response. "…dainty, elegant, nimble, beautiful, body." Something about lauding the elf felt slightly wrong, but he reminded himself that among his own people, such adjectives were actually insults. This improved his mood substantially, and even turned up the corners of his elven mouth slightly.

Legolas stuffed the scissors away in some grubby fold of his dwarven tunic, appeased, and the group moved deeper into the verdant, untamed portion of the woodland. "Far enough!" he whined, roughly two minutes later, dwarven chest heaving. "Far enough. Can't go on… another step…."

"We're about sixty feet from the Royal Mallorn, Legolas," Aragorn/Pippin stated, looking pointedly back where they'd come. Sure enough, the twinkling, bluish fairy lights glimmered mystically above them, hardly a couple stone's throws away.

"At least Aragorn's finally dropped that ridiculous 'army-man' guise," Gandalf muttered, aged limbs quivering as he struggled to hold up the elven queen while Legolas whimpered about his exhaustion.

"I'm in a dwarf's body!" the elven dwarf wailed dramatically. "How do you expect me to have endless endurance in a dumpy, pudgy, out of shape, dwarf's body? And you guys are holding her up so high, I can barely reach…."

"Ah, dwarf up, you—you—elf!" Gimli sputtered, shoving the elven dwarf.

"Just as soon as you show a hint of elven refinement, you slob!" Legolas shot back, jabbing the dwarven elf with an elbow (carefully, so as not to result in any bruising).

Gimli leered at the face that used to be his own and uttered one massive harrumph, for lack of any other suitably witty comeback. When would this humiliation end? If he had to be an elf for just one more day, he knew for sure he would go off his nut.

"Do these two never cease?" Gandalf inquired of no one in particular. He was deeply questioning, as he often had before his demise and rebirth, Elrond's logic in pairing up rival races on a dangerous and imperative road-trip. He pondered whether an orc member of the fellowship might not have got along better with the others than Legolas and Gimli, despite the decidedly ridiculous nature of such a scenario.

"Any idea where Aragorn—uh, Pippin—went?" Sam asked, though the voice came from Merry. "If she changes us all back, will it work if he's not with us?"

"Don't worry, Sam," Aragorn reassured. "I am certain Galadriel's powers are just as effective over long range."

The beleaguered Fellowship finally reached a satisfactory stopping place, behind a largely nondescript, but otherwise poufy and green, bush, and allowed their burden to plummet, producing a thunderous "KA-THUNK."

"Now what?" asked Sam/Merry.