Mission #15: The Hobbit-Hating Rider
In honor of Fellowship's 10-year anniversary, I wish you members of the Canon Protection Initiative a "Mary" Christmas with this new PPC. Comments and criticism welcome! :)
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“Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!”
Mara danced in lopsided circles around her partner, waving around the pages from a pre-mission printout.
“Mara, stop that!”
The female agent shook her head and grinned harder. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Um…Monday?”
“It’s the ten-year anniversary of the the Fellowship of the Ring, you dolt! Come on, arms up in the air. Celebrate!”
Isaiah looked at her askance. “You want to celebrate a movie that was single-handedly responsible for the Mary Sue invasion of the Lord of the Rings fandom?”
Mara nodded cheerfully.
Isaiah hung his head in defeat. “It was a great movie, I’ll give it that. It also brought us some goodfic along the way. I just…Mara, you know how I am about the LotR fandom.”
At this, Mara looked slightly chagrined. “I do, I know,” she said, in as plaintive a voice as he’d ever heard from her. “But…”
Now, Isaiah was really suspicious. “What did you do, Mara?”
The agent began to take a few steps backward, shuffling papers on the desk in an attempt to tidy them. Of course, since they were in Isaiah’s quarters, it was his desk, which really didn’t help matters a lot.
“I might have gotten you clearance. Er, you know…PPCing in the Lord of the Rings fandom. Just this once, my most favoritest of partners.”
“Stop mangling Sam’s movieverse diction,” Isaiah admonished, realizing that he could be bossy as long as Mara was asking a favor of him. “Okay, first of all, tell me the title of the fic, and what the problem is.”
Mara attempted to reassure him. “It’s called ‘The Black Rider’. Very generic title, very generic badfic. Movieverse, just so you know. It’s a Legomance, girl joins the Fellowship, yadda yadda yadda-oh, come on. It’s everything an agent thinks about when PPCing in this fandom!”
Isaiah gave her a look. “You’re saying that PPCing this is going to be nostalgic?”
“Exactly,” said Mara, pleased. “I knew you’d see it from my point of view.”
“Uh, no, I’m seeing it from mine.”
Pause.
“…which might be, coincidentally, a teeny bit similar to yours.”
“I knew it.” Mara clapped him on the back and started rummaging through her pack. “We get to be Uruk-Hai, this is going to be so fun….”
The Hobbit-Hating Rider
The Fellowship was at the point in the journey where they were sailing down the river Anduin. Mara and Isaiah, though hemmed in by several other cringing Uruk-Hai who were keeping pace along the riverbank, enjoyed the exhilaration of the chase.
Wait a minute. Uruk-Hai? Cringing?
Mara gave her black-clad comrades a second look through the trees. Those aren’t Uruk-Hai. Those are orcs!
She half-turned to look at Isaiah, who was sporting an identically flabbergasted face at the party of orcs on the warpath. Mara looked up at the sun, to be sure. Yes, it was broad daylight. Yet the story, disregarding the orcs’ sensitivity to light, forced them to march on in pursuit of the Fellowship.
Mara hastily looked through the Words, unable to spot the problem until she turned on the Author’s Note Alert device. “I didn't know whether they were Orcs or Urak-Hai so I left it a Orcs.” was the author’s in-text explanation.
Isaiah stared at the author’s note on Mara’s data pad, and let out the boar-like snort of the movieverse Uruk.
It was clear that the orcs on either side of them were in pain as beams of sunlight lanced through the trees at them. Mara and Isaiah, however, were enjoying themselves. Their new bodies were built for strength and tireless running. Fortunately, the “orcs” at this point in the movie were still scouting the area, not in battle formation, so the agents could lag behind and look for the entrance of the Sue.
Just by looking upon them, you could see nothing suspicious, nothing to draw your attention. But if you were familiar to Middle-Earth and her ways, you would know something was usual about this group. An Elf, Dwarf, 2 men, and 4 hobbits was not a common group wandering the wilderness.
Mara let out a huff, though whether it was from irritation or exertion was difficult to tell. “Did it just say there was something usual about the group?”
“I guess multi-race groups of Middle-earth adventurers are a dime a dozen in these parts. And by the way, doesn’t anyone write out single digits anymore?” Isaiah scowled at the “2” and the “4”.
Mara shook her head. “Be grateful we’re being given decent characterization, early on. It won’t last.”
True to her observation, the narrative segued into a fairly accurate description of Boromir and Aragorn’s differing points of view, as well as Denethor’s decline. Through the trees, the agents caught glimpses of the Fellowship as the Lothlórien boats sped by. Legolas looked around him warily.
Isaiah gulped in a breath of air. “Think it’s the orcs he’s sensing, or the Sue?”
Directing his thoughts away for Boromir, the Heir's eyes landed on the Hobbits, Mary and Pippin, as the preferred to be called.
Just like that, the agents’ stride was broken. As one of the hobbits in the boat grew luxuriant long curls and a respectably-sized bosom, Mara and Isaiah tripped over their feet and went sprawling. Luckily, they managed to avoid impaling themselves on their scimitars, but it was a close call. The orcs they were trailing looked back, snorted in contempt, and went on stamping the local underbrush into oblivion.
“Mary!” sputtered Isaiah.
“Preferred to be called Mary,” corrected Mara, trying for nonchalance but unable to keep up the pretence. Before long, it became clear that this wasn’t a simple typo; a quick “Find” on the Words indicated 24 additional uses of that particular spelling. “Maybe, in this fic, he really wanted to be a hobbit lass all along.”
“Eurgh,” shuddered Isaiah. “Yet more fodder for all of the Out of Character Merry/Pippin bad slash.”
“I’m not convinced that they need fodder, Isaiah.” Mara nodded her head towards the right. “That sentence structure, on the other hand, could definitely do with a facelift.”
Finally, checking back on Aragorn's last two, and probably the most dangerous friends, was Gimli and Legolas.
Isaiah peered over his shoulder. “Who’s checking back on Gimli and Legolas?”
“I think it’s supposed to be Aragorn himself, but the way it’s worded, it could be anyone.”
The agents experienced a fleeting but unpleasant sensation of being watched, before the Words decided to belch out a hideous approximation of Legolas and Gimli’s banter.
Legolas growled under his breath "Cursed Dwarf."
Gimli snapped back, "I may not have the Elven ears of your kind, but I do have ears, and they are telling me that You said something along the lines of 'Cursed Dwarf.'"
“Ah, how…witty?” offered Isaiah.
“Definitely a fine specimen of friendly verbal jousting,” Mara said, nodding sagely. “Oh, the things we could learn from their rapier repartée!”
The sound of footsteps faintly pounding in the distance made Isaiah swivel his head.
“Aw, Dûrin’s Bane!” he swore. “We’re losing track of the boats. Come on, up! Up!”
Mara grumbled, but obligingly got to her feet. Within minutes, they were running alongside the boats again, while Legolas indulged in some uncharacteristic smirking at the fact that he was an Elf. He was soon divest of his OOCness, however, when he heard the voices of the trees whispering to him.
Legolas... be warned..
The Black Rider is closing in.
The agents looked at the leafy canopy above their heads, awed and somewhat mesmerized despite their evil forms. It wasn’t often that a badfic allowed Nature her proper voice in The Lord of the Rings.
Legolas considered the possibility of the Black Rider being a minion of Sauron, but the agents knew that there was a force far viler at work.
Legolas quietly let the others know that they were being followed. Mara nudged Isaiah and, just as Frodo and Sam began to stare harder into the forest, retreated a few paces into the greenery just to be safe. As it turned out, all their caution was for nothing-without warning, the forest metamorphosed into a maze of bright yellow trunks with what looked like huge, pink heads of hair on them.
“Are-are you seeing this?” said Mara in a disbelieving whisper.
“Yes, and I recognize them, too,” said Isaiah. “They’re Truffula trees, from The Lorax.”
“Ah…ha. And we somehow wandered into a Dr. Seuss book because…?” Mara checked down at the readout. “Oh. Of course.”
Legolas was starting to believe that the warning had been in vain…And yet, the tress never lie.
The agents stopped for breath as the boats thankfully turned towards the shore. The trees regained their former color and texture, and aside from the entire Fellowship treating Frodo with kid gloves (Aragorn thought that bickering with Boromir might kill Frodo), there was minimal unpleasantness to be had.
That is, until the agents heard the next sentence.
While Aragorn was strangling Boromir in his mind, Legolas heard the faint Hoofbeats.
“Ooh,” said Mara mockingly. “Hoofbeats with a capital H. Are these hoofbeats portentous, perhaps?”
“Pretentious, maybe,” Isaiah supplied. “Besides which, Aragorn suddenly wants to throttle Boromir? I don’t think so!” As this mysterious “Black Rider” approached, Isaiah barked out an abrupt, “Ha!”
Legolas uttered 'He's here' in Elvish, in hopes that the rider wasn't an elf.
Mara’s muffled laughter made for a very odd snuffling sound. “You know, sometimes I wish there were an Analysis Device that measured stupidity alone.” But the agents soon clamped their mouths shut, for the Black Rider was upon them at last.
The Black Rider had a very fitting name. The cloak surrounding the Rider was black as night. Blowing in the wind, gave the Rider a more ghostly look.
The Rider, who up until now was mysterious and deadly, began blowing imaginary smoke rings into the light breeze. Why this made the Rider look more ghostly was anybody’s guess.
A very worried Aragorn tried to get the Fellowship to out-paddle the Rider, but of course, the Rider’s horse was “almost flying” at an “incredible” speed. The red-eyed steed easily outpaced the Fellowship, and the Rider loosed an arrow attached to a rope. The arrowhead lodged in the side of one of the boats, and the Rider tried to reel the boat into shore.
All of a sudden, the Rider dismounted and, to the bafflement of the agents, actually sent the red-eyed horse away.
"Pull down your hood." Boromire commanded.
The Black Rider obliged, pulling down her hood. To reveal an astonishing sight.
The Rider was a Woman.
Mara let out a theatrical gasp. “A WOMAN? No, it can’t be!”
“I…” Isaiah pretended to clutch at his chest. “I might have a heart attack from the unpredictability! Oh, hey there, little fella.” He gave an affectionate wave to Boromire the mini-Balrog, who was trying to scuttle out of the scene as inconspicuously as possible. “Who let you out?”
Mara peered closely at Boromire. “This particular mini seems familiar,” she said. “Boromire, Boromire…oh, wow! Isaiah, look here!” She waved her partner closer, and thumbed her way down a digital readout of Miss Cam’s Ever Growing List O’Mini-Balrogs. “This is Acacia’s mini!”
“Acacia?” Isaiah blinked. “The Acacia?”
“The one and only. Oh, she’s not going to be happy about this.”
The agents tried futilely to corral Boromire, but the mini seemed to have a mind of its own. Resigning themselves at last to reading through the Sue-description, the agents winced at the Speshul nature of their target.
She was a stunning one at that. Her dark haired was long, at least to her shoulder blades, and wispy. Her eyes were a smoldering brown, making you feel like you were drowning in them. It was impossible to tell what she was wearing, for the black cloak covered almost all.
"Well." She said, her voice sounding like ringing bells, with her hands on her hips. "You've all been a lot of trouble."
“Charge one: riding a horse that should only belong to real Black Riders. Charge two: eyes that are both smoldering AND able to drown people. Charge three: having a voice like ringing bells. Yes, Mara, I believe we are well on our way.”
Mara made a stifled sound of amusement.
Isaiah put his hands on his hips, mimicking the Sue and her dramatic entrance. “What?”
“Well on our way, Isaiah? We just finished the first chapter.”
_
Since the next chapter was titled “Fair Lady”, the agents weren’t overly enthusiastic about entering it, but they hadn’t run all that way just to get the Sue out of their sights now. Gimli, with his built-in resistance to Suekind, grumbled to himself about the nerve of this Rider scolding the Fellowship out of the blue.
He sniffed. The Race of Man was intoxicating. Changing the land, thinking they own whatever they claim.
Mara bit her lip in a valiant effort not to giggle. “I’m…not sure what word was supposed to go there, but…”
“Intolerable? Obnoxious? It didn’t work, whatever it was,” said Isaiah, singularly unimpressed by the image of Gimli in a drunken stupor over the entire race of Men.
Gimli was right about one thing, the Fellowships's faces must have been truly a sight to see. Slack jawed, raised eyebrows, a slight gasp from some certain Hobbits.
Legolas and Aragorn were the only ones still in slight control of their senses.
The CADs erupted in a series of pennywhistle shrieks and indignant beeps.
Mara shook her CAD, wide-eyed. “Way to go, Sue! Six characters becoming horribly OOC all at the same time!”
"Who. Are. you." Aragorn demanded. His tone made it perfectly clear. If they didn't get an answer, this Lady was in trouble.
The Woman raised her hands, in a surrender gesture. "I come in peace." She said, calmly. Her eyes betrayed no emotion, just a swirl of brown, depth-less eyes.
“Hey, cool, her eyes are as shallow as the rest of her!”
Mara tutted. “I thought her eyes were so deep you could drown in them?”
“That didn’t stop them from being fiery at the same time.”
"That, My Lady. Is not a suitable answer." Boromir interrupted, snapping back to his senses. His hand also rested firmly on the hilt of his sword. If standing far off, you would think that Boromir and Aragorn were a sort of twins.
“Thanks for that entirely pointless description. Oh, look, Isaiah, she’s fluent in Elvish.”
Isaiah rolled his eyes. “Which makes Legolas retroactively stupid for using Elvish, thinking she wouldn’t understand him.”
Mara looked over to the hobbits, who unsurprisingly had been shortchanged in the fic so far. The hobbit lass formerly known as Merry was talking with Pippin, trying to escape the Sue (not that the agents could blame them), when Sam became weary of all of the talking, but even more so of Frodo.
“W…www…WHAT?!”
[W…www…WHAT?!] agreed the CAD. [Samwise Gamgee. Canon. Male. Out of character 84%.]
“Causing Sam to tire of his master,” charged Mara with a vehement scratch of her pen.
“To be fair, I think the Suethor meant to say that Frodo was even more tired of all the talking than Sam was-”
“Then she should have said it that way.” Mara looked on in disapproval. “Besides, this author holds neither Frodo nor Samwise in any great esteem. Look how Frodo’s being butchered now.”
Frodo was absently stroking the Ring. He answered dreamily, "The Ring calls to me, Samwise." Frodo looked almost in a daze. His eyes, usually a pale blue, were, if humanly possible, a even paler blue. Like they we covered with film.
Sam felt his inside start a turmoil. Frodo never called him 'Samwise.' "Mr. Frodo, Maybe you should stop-"
"No!" The Ring-Bearer cried, "I will not be parted with the Precious!" He screamed, his rant like a child's cry for milk.
If steam could have risen from the agents’ ears, it would have.
Isaiah’s Character Analysis Device gave a loud BEEP. He focused it on Frodo.
[Frodo/Gollum. Canon/Canon. Out of in out of in character 50/50/50/50 %?]
Isaiah fumed. “It doesn’t even know what character that is anymore. ‘Like a child’s cry for milk’, indeed. They’re not even in Mordor; the Ring’s power isn’t nearly as potent so far away! And look. Now the Sue has Frodo ‘screeching like a vulture’.”
Legolas cursed. Aragorn swore.'
“Suethor went through her thesaurus some more!”
Isaiah gave Mara’s rhyme a round of applause, which was drowned out by the Canon Analysis Device as the Words pronounced that the hobbits had a “tendency to stare on and not actually do anything.”
“So much for even the smallest person changing the course of the future,” sniped Mara.
Legolas racked his brain. "The Elves are too-"
He was interrupted when The Lady, (Her name was still not given) pushed past him, and lightly sprang into the other boat. Kneeling down beside the spelled Hobbit, she reached out.
"Don't touch him!" Sam cried, nearing hysterics.
The Lady paused. Weary of Sam, she was.
Isaiah glanced from the scene to Mara and back again. “What is with this chick? Does she just hate hobbits, for some reason? I mean, the only way she portrays them is either useless or annoying!”
“Now, now, Isaiah,” Mara patted his shoulder. “That’s only because she is the one who is useless and annoying, so she needs to knock the hobbits down a few pegs as a distraction.”
“Knocking the hobbits down a few pegs is now a charge.” Isaiah glanced back at his partner. “You’re taking this unbelievably well.”
Mara’s grin was all teeth. “No, Isaiah. I’m just saving my strength.”
The Narrative Voice announced that the audience was going to be entering Frodo’s dream. An instant later, the agents were dizzily introduced to what the Words thought of as a dream state, which was more like a colored pinwheel riding a rollercoaster.
Bring me.. the ring.
Frodo opened his mouth to speak. But the words that were spoken, were not his.
"Leave him alone!" The Lady commanded, somehow appearing beside Frodo.
Isaiah’s head was spinning, but even he could tell that this made no sense.
“This was supposed to be a dream, not a Ring-vision,” he mumbled. Beside him, Mara was one sick-looking Uruk-Hai.
Sauron hissed. Who dares enter the spirit world? The land of shadows!
“No, no, NO!” cried Mara, gathering enough strength to shout. Her voice was still barely audible against the wailing wind. “Frodo can’t enter the spirit world! He hasn’t put on the Ring! And this Lady, whoever she is, hasn’t put on one, either!”
The agents gradually adjusted themselves to the movement of the world around them as the Sue faced off against the true Lord of the Rings.
"Rhachon le!" (I curse you) She cried.
Roselyn Drakeheart, Lady Of the Black Riders, Go now... You do not belong here! Sauron cursed, as much as an eye could curse.
Isaiah looked at the Eye of Sauron. “Wow, that’s one of the only things any character has said that made sense. Maybe we can get him on our side.” He paused. “Wait. Did I just look into the Eye of Sauron?”
Mara nodded. “Yep. In any other instance, we’d be trembling in our shoes, but she’s sapped his power so much that he’s little more than an annoyance. I’m afraid he won’t be able to help us.”
"Edro gûr lín, Frodo!" (Open your heart Frodo) The Lady, Roselyn, whispered to The Hobbit. (Open your heart)
“Yeah, we heard Your Royal Over-the-Topness the first time.”
The agents clung to their sense of reality for dear life as Frodo actually felt the world revolve. Then they were back in the “Mortal world”, where the Sue was speaking Elvish so quickly that the Fellowship’s resident Elf and its Ranger couldn’t understand her.
“Quick-muffle the CADs. They’re going berserk!” said Isaiah.
Mara stashed her CAD in her back, then went for her charge list. She paused, looking from pen to clipboard. “I don’t know what to charge first.”
Moments Later, Frodo's labored breathing eased. The Lady opened her eyes. Much to Legolas's surprise, they we blue. Clear blue, like the River. Like hers.
He blinked, and once more, they were brown. Legolas's brow furrowed. It was not like an Elf's eye to play dirty tricks. Something was unbalanced here.
Isaiah nodded in agreement. “I think the story knows, at a subconscious level, that there’s something terribly wrong with this world. If only we could get it to break through. Oh, nice, thanks so much for translating the world ‘mellon’ for us. Because we totally didn’t know that it means ‘friend’.”
Meanwhile, the sky turned black, as if it knew that the Sue had come to stay. What white clouds still dotted the sky were rapidly fleeing the scene.
“Wow,” said Mara, impressed. “It’s not very often you see a story try to get away from itself.”
The Lady stood. "Frodo will recover. Soon." She said.
Sam interrupted, quite rudely too. "How do we no this?" He asked, suspicious. "For all we know, you could have killed him!" For such a little Hobbit, Sam was making incredible noise.
Mara let out a sigh of deep mourning. “The Suethor is now out-and-out saying that Sam is rude for interrupting the Sue…after she has already finished speaking.”
Isaiah peered at the Words. “Wait, he’s rude for interrupting…because he’s worried that this totally unknown woman in a black cloak riding a Ringwraith’s horse, who has chanted a spell at his best friend, might have ill intentions?”
“Exactly,” said Mara. “How dare he be concerned about his master being in the hands of a complete stranger?”
Isaiah nudged her. “Looks like she’s being polite to Aragorn, though.”
“But of course. He can understand Elvish. At least,” with a cough, “when she wants him to.”
Boromir, who was back to his old non-mini self, still managed to land the role of Designated Bastard, throwing “spiteful” words at the Sue by suggesting that she should be on her way. (Whether he would graduate to Designated Misogynistic Bastard was still up in the air.) “Mary”, an entity now completely under the Sue’s control, pleaded with him to let the Sue stay. The Sue cemented her “importance” to the Fellowship by claiming that she was the only person that could deliver them all safely into Mordor. They all, naturally, believed her.
Aragorn turned toward her. "Will you?"
There were several more moments of tense silence. Everyone was waiting on the final decision. The Fellowship's fate was resting in the hands of a stranger.
"Yes."
“Dear. Eru,” said Isaiah.
“That much ego-stroking must be hazardous to one’s health,” said Mara.
Isaiah tightened his grip on his scimitar. “Wait until you get to the author’s note.”
The ANA device lit blue as the author helpfully informed the readers that “you may as well say your goodbyes” to Frodo and Sam, because the readers wouldn’t be seeing much of them from that point on.
Mara raised an eyebrow. “Well, with her portrayal of one as a boorish fool and the other as a gibbering, weak-willed version of Gollum, it was so hard to see this coming. What do you think, Isaiah?”
“Okay, now your complacence is starting to worry me.”
_
The White Dove
A dove soared above the trees. Doves were rare sights these days. Being a symbol of Peace and good fortune, the birds seemed to all have gone extinct.
“Gee, Mara,” said Isaiah. “I don’t think that symbolism was obvious enough.”
“I’m not sure something that obvious even counts as symbolism.”
It was now time for the great and timeless romance of Legolas and Roselyn. First, the narrative rendered Legolas more vulnerable than normal by making him uncharacteristically twitchy. Then, when it turned out he was bad at hiding his feelings, Roselyn began to comfort him.
Roselyn pointed out the Dove of Symbolism flying overhead.
Legolas' feelings of doom were fading away, thanks to Roselyn and the Dove.
Unfortunately, the agents’ feelings of doom were surging forward.
At first, the story tried to lull them into a false sense of security by replaying several minutes of The Fellowship of the Ring word for word. As usual when this happened, the CADs quieted down and a sense of tranquility hung in the air. However, no Sue was content to sit on the sidelines for long.
As Boromir and Frodo began their final confrontation, the agents spotted the Sue striding self-importantly in their direction.
Frodo stared. "I know what you would say. It would seem like wisdom but for the warning in my heart."
Boromir took a couple of steps forward. "Warning? Against what?"
Frodo backed off. He felt the walls closing in.
"Boromir." Came a clear voice that rang through the forest. Roselyn jumped down from a nearby tree, her riveting brown eyes fixed on the Warrior. "Why don't you go back to Camp. I'm sure that load must be heavy, and everyone is worried from Frodo's disappearance."
Boromir glared back. "And leave you alone with, Frodo?" He hissed. "I don't trust you , Girl."
"The same to you." She said, raising her chin. "Man."
“It’s official,” said Isaiah. “He’s a hopeless Designated Misogynistic Bastard.”
Mara eyed OOC!Boromir with trepidation. “I dearly hope Acacia isn’t close to finding her mini yet. The consequences…Flaming Denethor, they’re still at it!”
"Gondorian!"
"Woman!"
"Why are you even here? You just temped by the ring!"
"Why are you here, Woman! You should be washing clothes and baking, not fighting!"
"I do what I will!"
"Go Home! No one likes you or trust you!"
The argument continued while Frodo slipped off.
“Yes, best leave them to it, Frodo,” advised Isaiah. “They could be at this for hours.”
The agents got a quick movieverse break when Frodo held out the Ring to Aragorn, who refused it as he should have. This caused the story to revert back to the Sue…who was still arguing with Boromir.
Not afar off, Legolas came upon a startling scene. Boromir was in a furious discussion with Roselyn.
"Women." He declared, "Are meant to stay home!"
"I am not that kind of Women." Roselyn argued. "I simply Cannot live that life!"
Legolas felt an amused smile stretch across his face. Roselyn was unlike anything he had meet before.
"That is besides the point!" The Warrior snapped. "Women have their place in the world, and Men have theirs."
"I have my place. And So you you." She replied, hostilely. "Though I can not see where yours fits in."
Boromir expression rivaled that of 'If looks could kill" "Watch your tounge, Women!" He cried, lifting his hand to slap her.
"Boromir. Roselyn." Legolas called, making his presence known. Although, if you thought about it, a herd of cattle could have passed by without the knowledge of the two.
“Or a herd of orcs,” scoffed Isaiah. “How much longer do we have to put up with this?”
Pondering her charge list next to him, Mara got an idea.
_
With a last parting shot of “Women,” Boromir skulked off to be killed by the Uruk-Hai…or rather, the orcs. The Suethor decided to cut out his heroic death sequence, since “I prefer not to relive the death of a good character.”
“She thinks Boromir is…a good character,” Isaiah repeated. “So why’d she make him out to be a woman-hating twit?”
Mara said, with a shrug, “When it comes down to it, no matter how much a Suethor likes a canon character, a Suethor will always like her Mary Sue more. It’s not so much about hating Boromir as it is exalting the Sue at every turn.” She indicated the scene playing before them. “The Sue’s here for the death scene, by the way.”
“She’s…here…what…the…death scene?!”
_
"Boromir." She gasped.
The Gondorians breathing was labored. "Rose.." He managed.
"Shh.." The Lady, whispered. "You'll be fine." she soothed.
"They took the little ones." He gasped.
"Hold still." She breathed.
Boromir breathed heavily. "Frodo?" He choked out.
"He's gone. Aragorn let him go." Roselyn mumured softly, Her hands on his cheek. The Warrior's head was in her lap.
Isaiah let out a guttural Uruk-Hai snarl as the Sue made Boromir “whimper like a lost puppy” as he died. All of his nobility, his great speech of loyalty to his king, vanished. Aragorn was mentioned fighting an orc, which apparently meant he was absent for the passing of his friend-contrary to book and movie canon.
“We get her,” Isaiah said, a hard edge to his voice. “Soon.”
“Don’t worry,” said Mara. “I’ve got this. On my signal.”
Isaiah braced himself against a tree, readying his scimitar, waiting for the final ravaging of the story.
"You are a wise woman." Boromir commented. "You could be a great leader My Lady."
Roselyn sighed. "You will not be forgotten, My Lord." She promised.
"You smell like Roses, Lady." He whispered, drawing in a shuddering breath.
Roselyn turned her glance, noticing his weapon. "Here." She said, pressing the hilt of the blade to his hand. "Go in peace, My Lord. And my your spirit ever find rest."
Boromir died, smelling the Roses.
“GRRRAAAAUGH!”
With howls that would have made Helm’s Deep proud, Mara and Isaiah rushed forward.
The Lady Roselyn looked up from cradling Boromir’s head just in time to see two Uruk-Hai flank her.
“Hah!” she said. “I shall turn you into pincushions, you-”
“You’re too close to shoot us,” said Isaiah. “And the orc that’s been giving Aragorn so much trouble is no doubt good for a few more minutes.”
Roselyn drew herself up. “Who are you to tell me what to do?”
“Roselyn Drakeheart, Lady Of the Black Riders,” Mara clapped a weighty hand on her shoulder, “where do we begin?”
“How about with that name?” said Isaiah.
“Fair enough. I’ll be right back, then.”
“Lady Roselyn,” said Isaiah, “you are charged with being a Mary Sue, with having an obnoxious name, with being a Lady of the Black Riders, which makes no sense, with entering the Shadow world without the aid of a Ring, which makes less than no sense, not to mention staring down Sauron, using tress instead of trees, over-capitalization, creating three mini-Balrogs, general bad grammar, in-text author’s notes, causing canon characters who are more fluent in Elvish than you will ever be to have a hard time understanding you just because you talk quickly, and did I mention horrendous characterization? I don’t know where you got the idea that Legolas is fragile, Boromir is hateful, Samwise is rude, Frodo is mad, Gimli is stupid, Pippin is useless, and Merry is…well…Mary…but it’s going to stop now. Also, you are charged with failure to distinguish between orcs and Uruk-Hai, a distinction which I think you’ll find is of some importance.”
Roselyn’s eyes blazed with fury. “What do you know, Man?”
Isaiah gave her a brittle smile. “I know that a change in species is enough to make all of those orcs you set loose original characters, rather than canon characters. But since you paid no attention to them, you have no control over how they act. All they need is someone to point them in the right direction.”
_
It wouldn’t take much to rile up the orcs, now that the story was starting to curl in on itself. Mara’s rough boots tore up the forest floor, scattering leaves around her ankles while her bristling armor snapped small twigs as she passed. It didn’t take long for her to locate the largest group of orcs away from the Fellowship. They couldn’t run like the Uruk-Hai.
Mara glanced at a crumbling stone monument and held a silent moment of appreciation for Alan Lee and John Howe. This Middle-earth really was beautiful.
The agent rushed to the top of a hillock, while the horde of orcs milled around. She bellowed as loudly as she could.
“HEAR ME, ORCS!”
It didn’t take long for them to spot her. Even in the daylight, she had made it easy for them to tell that she was not one of their number.
“Who are you?” shouted one, waving a battle axe.
“I am a hunter of Man,” answered Mara, “as my master decrees. What is your business out in the daylight?”
The orcs surrounded her, unsheathing their weapons…and began to look at one another in puzzlement.
“I…er…I don’t rightly know,” said one sheepishly. Several orcs shook their heads; others cursed in their own tongue.
“I think we were…nah, s’not right…”
“Saruman sent us to hunt…wait! Saruman didn’t send us anywhere!”
“Wot the bloody ’ell are we doin’?”
Bit by bit, the orcish personalities began to defy the Sue-logic.
“Oi, wait a moment!” said one of the orcs. He sniffed the air. “What’s that awful smell, boys?”
“Manflesh?” suggested a third orc.
The first orc wrinkled his nose. “Naw, smells like…like manflesh…and roses…”
“Roses?” said an orc behind Mara in disgust.
The orcs looked at one another.
“GET IT!” they hollered, and dashed downhill after their quarry.
_
Roselyn the Sue, however, had not given up. She had saddled her unlikely black horse with red glowing eyes, and ridden hard out of the forest. One furtive glance back told her that the orcs were still in hot pursuit. She drew in a deep breath. She was a Mary Sue. There was no way she was going to die so easily.
Closing her eyes, she began speaking her rapid-fire Elvish. She was going to become invisible. She was going to go into the spirit world. She would defy the Dark Lord himself, as she had before…
Unfortunately, her pursuers ensured that she couldn’t concentrate fully…thus meeting the Eye of Sauron at full strength.
Roselyn screamed as her non-existent soul was bared to the all-encompassing power of the Eye. The flames devoured her vision, the ceaseless searching glare more than she could stand. Her feet gave way beneath her. Frodo, the brave and noble hobbit, had barely withstood it when Sauron was only searching for the Ring.
Now, Sauron poured all of his rage at the Sue who had dared to make a fool of him…into one, single, stare.
I SEE YOU.
“AAAAAAAAAH!”
THERE IS NO LIFE IN THE VOID.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
ONLY…DEATH.
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The End
Whew, that was fun. Good to be back, fellow PPCers!
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Badfic: The Black Rider
By Darklight Dragons