The Tenth Member of the Fellowship -- (probably originally by Mrs. Took-Brandybuck)

PPC'd.  Right.  We don't own anything Tolkien or PPC (they belong to Tolkien and Jay and Acacia, etc.) or any mention of, say OFUM, and we're just using the concepts and characters.  Oh, and we don't own "The Tenth Member of the Fellowship" either, thank goodness.

---

Agent Jeanlily was lost.  She had been told by the sunflower to go to the Department of Mary-sues.  Supposedly, she'd find her new partner, Agent Twain, there.  She had been wandering around for hours, or she thought it had been hours . . . come to think of it, she had not idea how long it had been.  Jeanlily hoisted her duffle bag back up to her shoulder, and picked the small plastic tote back up from the floor where she had dropped it.  She vaguely remembered someone saying something to the effect of "Forget what you're looking for, and you'll find it much easier."  Or 'much more easily,' as most agents knew proper grammar.

"Anything's worth a try, I guess.  Here goes," she said, trying to think of something else.

She wondered what her new partner, this Agent Twain, would be like.  'Will she like VeggieTales?  VeggieTales is cool.  Oh, well, if she doesn't like it, I'll have something to do then: convert her!' she thought with a smile.  A second later, Jeanlily realized that she had apparently gotten where she was going.  'Hmm!  It worked!'

She knocked on the door, and then waited for her new partner to open it. A young woman opened the door, saying "I am Agent Twain.  It's a pleasure to meet you, Agent --?" Jeanlily noticed a slight British accent in her voice, and decided she liked it. It seemed to fit.

"Hi! I'm your new partner, Jeanlily," Jeanlily said, as she walked in, unloading her stuff as soon as she had.  "Can I put up some posters?  I've got a couple that I really like."  She was excited to finally have her own partner.

"It does not bother me… to an extent, that is."

“Let’s see…Ummm…I have a couple of French Peas, one Larry, I would have gotten more, but the store kept getting sold out. Oh, yeah, I’ve got an Archibald, too.” Jeanlily said, opening the tote, happy that her partner wasn’t looking at her strangely. ‘She must know about VeggieTales! Yay!’

Jeanlily finished putting up the posters, and decided to grap a snack from her duffle.  She had stopped at the cafeteria before coming here.  Jeanlily reached in and grabbed a Twinkie, then asked Agent Twain if she wanted anything.

"No, thank  you.  I'm not partial to sugar," Agent Twain answered politely.

Jeanlily bit into the Twinkie, then wrinkled her nose in disgust.  "Ew! A stale Twinke.  I guess that blows the idea of Twinkies being the modern Lembas out of wather.  Yuck."

Just then, the computer went:

[BLEEEP!]

"Already? I just got here," Jeanlily commented.

"Universal Laws of Comedy, Agent," Twain said, as she started bagging up her supplies.

"Ah," Jeanlily said, unpacking what she needed, then repacking it into her smaller daypack.

"Although, I'm always been one more for irony," Twain continued, when Jeanlily wasn't speaking. "Speaking of which," she added, peering at the words. "It looks like we're elves this time, unless you have a better suggestion."

" Wheee!!!!!" Jeanlily exclaimed, with obvious enthusiasm.

"I'll take that for a yes," Nienna said, answering her new partner's rather odd comment. "Agent, what are you doing?"

Jeanlily pouted, seeing Twain's look. "It's only chocolate."

"They don't *have* chocolate in Middle-earth. Put it away." Twain ordered calmly.

"But...but...other agents get chocolate!" Jeanlily attempted to defend her choice of foodstuffs.

"Yes, but other agents don't have me as a partner. Put it *away.* In any case, we're going to Mirkwood, and, if they haven't screwed up the canon, the food there will be just fine."

"Fine," Jeanlily answered unhappily. As soon as Twain turned her back, though, the chocolate was right back in her bag. There are some things a girl just cannot survive without.

Twain picked up two bows and threw one of them to Jeanlily. She stashed two nasty looking knives in her boots and another in her belt.

"Are you ready to go?" Twain asked, turning to her partner in a business-like fashion. She straightened her black uniform and prepared to go.

"Just a minute!" Jeanlily exclaimed, grabbing her things (and some extra chocolate.) Do you have any extra knives?"

"Didn't you bring any?"

"Uh . . . wait! I've got my own, never mind!" Twain watched in amusement as Jeanlily rummaged through her already-messy half of the room. "Got 'em." she said, making sure the knives she had strapped to various extremities were secure.

She pulled out her headphones, and turned on her Discman, listening for a while, before moaning, and clapping her hands over her ears, forgetting that that would only made the noise louder, " Ouch! I forgot about that High D!"

"Agent, are you with me? Take off your headphones." Twain commanded.

Jeanlily, looking a little sheepish, removed them. Twain could hear the . . . opera?

"Agent, what in the world are you listening to?" She asked, eyebrow quirked.

"Rossini," she answered, grinning brightly. "Do you want to listen?"

"No, thank you," Twain answered delicately. "I value my ears . . . and low volumes in headphones."

"It wasn't even that loud," Jeanlily said, shrugging, then she stashed her headphones away and followed the older agent out the door and into the hallway.

“It looks like we’re going to be elves today,” Twain said, looking at the words.

"Elves," Jeanlily said. "Fun. Where are we going?"

"Look at the Words," Twain answered, sounding tired. "Mirkwood, Rivendell and Lothlórien. That’s WITH an accent, thank-you-very-much."

"Or as Bilbo said: 'Thag you very buch.'” Jeanlily quoted, "I *do* know the book, even if I am a newbie."

"Were you a fan fiction writer before they recruited you?" Twain asked, sounding a little interested. "A lot of agents were."

"Sorta, never really got very far, though," Jeanlily answered, stepping through the portal. Then, she said, "What happened to my eyes? Everything is blurry . . ."

"And bright, according to The Words. Brilliant writing," Agent Twain added, pulling out a notebook.

"Overuse of the word 'she' . . . "she muttered, writing in it. "Agent Jeanlily!" Twain suddenly exclaimed. "Get out of the way -- the 'Sues will be able to see us as soon as they finish waking up!"

"She just did -- but . . . what is she doing?"

"Angsting. How fun. Her life is probably a mess . . ." Twain said, sarcastically.

Arianne Faraday groaned and opened her eyes. Everything was bright and blurry and she winced against the harsh light. As her mind gathered energy, she recollected drifting of to sleep the night before. She sighed wearily, wishing that for once she could just sleep through school that day. But knowing that her final year at school would count heavily with what job she would end up getting, Arianne rose…and stopped dead.

“Oh shit,” she whispered, and put her hands over her mouth forcing herself to mentally count slowly, 1…2…3…4…as she began hyperventilating.

A man strolled into the room; a room not Arianne’s. Though his hair was black streaked with grey, his face seemed that of a younger man. His eyes seemed to be lilac.

"Stupid name . . ." Twain kept writing as Jeanlily pushed her into the corner. "Arianne Faraday . . . sound's like the arachnid's brain is far away . . . who actually mentally counts as they can't breath? I mean, panicking, I can understand . . . angst is fine, but pointless . . ."

"She doesn't really have to swear, either," Jeanlily added, leaning over Twain's shoulder. I mean, there are plenty of other words one can use: beep, bleep, bweep, and, my personal favorite, [expletive!]".

A man strolled into the room (which both agents knew wasn't Arianne's. Who cared?) He was young looking, but old at the same time. But most astonishing were . . .

"He has lilac eyes," Jeanlily muttered. "How many people do you know who actually have purple eyes?"

"None."

"Plus, they only *seemed* to be that color. So what color where they really? I mean . . ."

Twain's sharp intake of breath stopped her. "She made the ellipses wrong." Twain muttered. "NO one messes with the ellipses."

Jeanlily stared, ". . ." and quietly thought 'Uh-oh, I hope she doesn't kill me for using so many of the poor things…'

"Precisely my point," Twain answered, back to writing down the many flaws that may or may not have existed in the first three paragraphs.

"You might want to stop writing," Jeanlily advised. "I may be a newbie, but it looks like you're going to run out of paper."

"Probably -- but Make-Things promised this would cover an entire chapter, and I have several more in my pack." Twain sighed and put down her pen anyway. "We must listen to the story in any case."

“Good morning,” he said warmly.

“Where the hell are we?” a familiar voice demanded.

Arianne looked over at her younger sister, Isabelle. On yet another bed beyond Isabelle, their elder sister Elienne was also awake appearing as perturbed as they were.

Twain twitched uncomfortably as the warmth of his words washed over her. Jeanlily didn't seem to notice, she was backing up as a new 'Sue popped up from The Words.

Jeanlily twitched, and Agent Twain took out her pen again, clicking her tongue, "Language . . ."

"You know," Jeanlily whispered. " 'Hell' isn't really a swear word. I mean, I don't like it, but . . . even out of context, its fine. I guess."

"Yes, but I am writing down the charge list," Twain answered. "And they're in Middle-earth now. In addition, you'd think the 'Sues would have a big enough vocabulary to avoid it."

"Other PPC agents swear, though," Jeanlily argued, "and much more than the Mary-sues."

True," Twain conceded. "But they have an excuse -- the 'Sues, on the other hand, don't have to deal with themselves."

Jeanlily laughed quietly at this, knowing a good point when she saw one (most of the time, anyway). "Agent Twain?" she asked, looking unsure. "What exactly are we supposed to be doing? I mean, aside from the charge list."

"Nothing, really," Twain answered. "We just have to track the 'Sue long enough to get enough of a charge list to kill her. Then comes my least favorite part."

"Killing the 'Sue?" Jeanlily asked, in her naiveté.

"Letting you do it -- you need practice." Twain answered firmly.

"Aren't you supposed to demonstrate first? I mean . . . show me how, kind of thing?" Jeanlily asked in surprise. She'd never killed anything before . . .

She was a little scared, to say the least. This was her first mission . . . what if she screwed up?

"The important thing is that the 'Sue ends up dead," Twain reminded her. "The rest is just detail. Oh, and I don't like torture."

"Torture? Me? I'm shocked you'd even think of such a thing." Jeanlily said, radiating innocence.

"Of course not," Twain answered doubtfully.

Jeanlily kept her straight face for as long as she could (About 4.2 seconds), then broke down into giggles.

Twain ignored her, and then commented, "Then you are better than my last partner."

Arianne looked over at her younger sister, Isabelle. For a moment, she could have sworn she heard talking . . .

"You know," Twain noted to her new partner. "All these people have very odd names."

Jeanlily nodded her agreement,

On the bed that hid Jeanlily and Twain from view, Elienne, the vowel-named, who didn’t exist for more than this short part of the story, awoke looking confused. She glanced around for a moment, but didn't comment on the giggling girl by her bed and the other, rather severe-looking one, trying to get her to shut up. She did, however, look rather perturbed.

The strange, purple-eyed, somewhat perverted man who had kidnapped not only three sleeping girls, but also their beds, smiled.

“Where does not exactly apply to your situation- however, I believe you would call this world, ‘Middle-earth’.”

A surge of excitement went through Arianne. Could it be true?

“And before you ask, I am known as Eru Ilúvatar.” He added.

Twain winced, elbowing Jeanlily until she winced also. "Nasssty grammar, preciousss," Twain muttered, beginning to write again. "She missed the quotation marks around where and messed up the dash. Mmm."

Jeanlily, instead of shutting up, began laughing even harder at the look on her partners face. Oblivious to anything but their rather stupid plotline, the characters continued.

"And before you ask, I am known as Eru Ilúvatar." The weird man added.

Jeanlily's laughter was abruptly cut off, "That's Eru?!"

Uncanon!Eru looked at her in surprise. He hadn't noticed her before. "Oh bugger," Twain said, activating the portal. "Hurry, get in before he gets us! Oh, the S.O.'s gonna kill us! By us, I mean 'you', by the way."

Jeanlily jumped through the portal, quickly followed by Twain. They fell out of the prologue and into chapter one.

"Uh, what just happened?" Jeanlily asked as soon as she landed. But not for long -- the earth lurched, throwing both agents off their feet.

"Time shift!" Twain gasped. "Hold on!"

Jeanlily whimpered a little, both from the pain of what was going on in the fic, but also because she had messed up in the first chapter of her first mission. She didn't want to get killed by the SO...She liked life.

As soon as the world had stopped (literally) spinning, Jeanlily climbed to her feet, looking over her partner's shoulder. "Do not worry," Twain told her. "The shifts get easier. Okay, this is what we missed: Arachnid agrees to Eru's evil plot to keep things interesting (goes to M-e, then forgets after dying) meets Glorfindel . . . la dee da."

"Aren't you . . . aren't you mad at me?" Jeanlily asked tentatively. "I mean, I messed up the story . . ."

"Mad? No, I try to stay calm most of the time. But I'm going to have to confiscate all ‘Double A’ batteries of yours for the next two chapters. I am sorry, but I cannot have you listening to music."

Jeanlily froze in the middle of her sigh of relief. No music? She would have to listen to MORE of the story?

"Oh, no . . ." she whispered. "Please, no . . . you can't do that -- it's torture!"

"No," Twain answered. "It is not. Torture would be taking the chocolate you snuck in. But I'm the senior agent here, and you'll do as I say."

"Hey, I never read anything about that in the rule book!" Jeanlily said, not making her 'I'm desperate' face any more. "Who ever said that?"

"I did," Twain answered. "And I carry the Portal Generator."

"Oh." Jeanlily glared at her. Her new partner seemed rather demanding . . . and not very nice at all. But she *had* heard of VeggieTales, so maybe there was hope for her yet. At any case, Jeanlily decided, maybe it would be better to go along with her for now. She handed over the batteries, and thought 'I need to get a portal generator, too.'

Disclaimer: see the Prologue. I can’t be stuffed writing it again.

Author’s Note: In case you don’t figure it out, the ‘secret’ language Arianne teaches her daughter is what children call ‘pig-latin’; that is, take a normal English word (eg Brat) take the first letter put it on the end (eg ratb) and add ‘ay’ to the end of that. (eg ratbay)

"Arg!" Jeanlily screamed, covering her ears. "Loud, loud, really, really loud."

"What do you mean, ‘stuffed writing it again’?" Twain asked indignantly, noting in her book that the author missed a rather important ‘into’. "And I like disclaimers. They are very . . . Disclaiming. And why do only children use pig-Latin? That's highly illogical . . . I doubt a child created the 'language' in the first place!"

"When is the story going to start?" Jeanlily asked. "I thought . . ."

“What are we looking for, Father?” the girl asked.

Agents Jeanlily and Twain stared at her. She . . . well, she was a girl . . . but had no other features aside from that. In fact, she apparently didn't even have a name yet.

Glorfindel looked around. “Other Elves.”

"Gack!" Jeanlily exclaimed. "Glorfindel is her *father!* Well, at least we know she's elvish . . ." Twain just looked sick.

“Are there Elves here?” the non-descript girl of undetermined age asked her 'father' again.

"Wait a moment . . ." Jeanlily said, using the ellipses AGAIN. "If Glorfindel is her father . . . and she's an elf . . . why would she be excited about seeing other elves?"

"Because she is a dim-witted 'Sue," Twain answered, rolling her eyes. "Probably. Actually, as she doesn't seem to have a name or identity yet aside from 'girl' and 'Glorfindel's daughter', it's kind of hard to tell."

"I think . . . oh, no, she is . . ." But Jeanlily didn't have to finish her sentence of Doom as the story continued . . . and explained (however unclearly) that Arianne and Glorfindel were in fact married (or so the PPC agents hoped) as Talwyn (the non-descript girl) was their daughter.

"Talwyn," Twain tried the name out. "It's not too bad, all things considered. But for a young female elf?"

"It's almost like 'Talc'," Jeanlily answered. "You know, the rock? They make soap out of it --"

"Yes, I know what talc is, thank you. And . . . I believe the softness of the rock might just be fitting for her."

All of a sudden, the scene changed . . . and they were in northern Mirkwood. "Now," Twain said. "That was interesting."

Jeanlily was trying not to be sick from the sudden jolt.

All the characters left or froze. "Scene change?" Jeanlily asked, still looking a little sick.

"Yes," Twain answered. "We now have a random amount of time until . . . Oh that is SICK! Who wrote this again? Where's OFUM when you need it . . . oh!"

"I'm guessing I shouldn't look at The Words, then," Jeanlily guessed. Her partner looked at her, and drew a blank face.

"No, actually, I think it could be very educational. Tell me, Agent, what do you thing is wrong with it?" As Jeanlily looked up, Twain un-creased her notebook (it was in rather bad shape from all the falls) and began to take notes again.

Talwyn strolled along, not bothering to not step on every single really loud twig in the place. "Why is it," Twain asked, "that everyone strolls in this place? Have you seen one person simply 'walk'?"

"Well, you do," Jeanlily supplied, pseudo-helpfully.

"No, I don't," Twain answered. "I usually stalk, but right now I find myself strolling -- and you're doing the same thing!"

Jeanlily walked a little ways, and noticed that she was, indeed, strolling, much to her disgust. "Bah…I DON'T stroll! I run, walk, leap, do weird things, but I DON'T stroll!" She continued to stroll.

From one side of the two agents came the sounds of laughing and splashing.

Talwyn, much to their disgust, headed *toward* the sounds and peered through the trees. Twain began to write desperately, as if it could stop the 'Sue . . . but followed her anyway, motioning for Jeanlily to do the same. "Keep your eyes to yourself," she ordered. "Please -- I don't want another new partner blinded in the same week."

"Ok, do I look like I'd like porn, exactly?" She asked, but she did comply with the command.

"I meant it will be all right at first, just be swift to look away when the time comes. Trust me; I have been scarred too many times by accident."

Talwyn gazed at the 'young boy-elves' swimming. She was intrigued . . . and a little embarrassed as they had discarded their clothes.

Twain twitched and pressed her hand against Jeanlily's eyes as the poor boys suddenly became naked.

Her own eyes were fixed VERY firmly on the 'Sue as Jeanlily pried her hand away.

One of the boys called out in a strange language.

"Now it seems that Elvish – the language Talc *should* have grown up with – is strange?" Twain asked.

Talwyn looked back nervously. None of them had gotten out of the pool yet. She made a split-second decision and ran for it.

Jeanlily threw a quick glance at the piles of clothing spread about the pond and kept her eyes on the Words, commenting "Joy, Naked!Legolas...I'm so thrilled."

“Father!” she yelled. “Mother!”

"I hope you found out it was Legolas by looking at the words," Twain added dryly. "And yes, that was sarcasm. I am quite sure my hand was in the way. Speaking of which (or not) how was that a split second decision? After all, if she's going to be a peeping 'Sue . . ." Twain kept muttering as she abused the poor notepad some more with her pen.

"You think I'd recognize him at that age?" Jeanlily was frankly disbelieving, and couldn’t seem to get past Twain’s comment.

“Father! Mother!" Talwyn yelled, interrupting Twain's reply of 'He probably looked like a shrunken Orlando Bloom anyway.'

"Well, she obviously ran while yelling. You know, usually a *silent* escape is preferable . . . so they do NOT know you're there, peeping Sue," Twain added.

She knew behind her the boys were jumping out of the pool and dressing roughly, grabbing their Elven bows and quivers full of arrows. They would be chasing after her any second- and they would catch her; they knew these woods and Talwyn was no good at keeping silent and running at the same time. She heard the boys’ shouts and tried a different tact. Changing direction, she found a tree with branches low enough for her to climb up some distance, and climb she did. When she was halfway up the tree, and there was no branch she could further reach. She became deathly still as the Elf-boys stood beneath her tree and discussed something amongst themselves. They all went different ways; except one. One remained standing beneath the tree- as though keeping a lookout in case she was to come by.

"Is it just me," Jeanlily asked. "Or is Talc kind of . . . clumsy for a half-elf? And why was she worried about being silent when she was yelling? And WHY did she think they would shoot her?"

"She used the semi-colon incorrectly," Twain muttered. "How hard is it to use the semi-colon correctly? And, yes, she didn't watch them *because she was running*. Coward of a peeping Sue." Twain wrote even more quickly now, while chasing after the Mary-sue. "Evil, evil girl. Please shoot her, Legolas."

Talwyn didn't dare breathe. The PPC agents stared at her in amazement. She still didn't breathe. After a while, Arianna's voice came shouting for her daughter.

The Elf-boy aimed his bow at Arianne as she came running.

"Go Legolas!" Jeanlily cheered, as Twain wrote about pointless one sentence paragraphs.

“Please- have you seen my daughter?” Arianne pleaded.

The Elf-boy seemed puzzled at her words and he remained at the ready to shoot her.

"Incidentally, have you ever heard Tolkien use Elf-Boy or She-elf?" Jeanlily asked, bored with the non-action.

"No, I haven't," Twain answered, adding that to her notes. "Nor have I seen the elves of Mirkwood so pointlessly hostile towards their own kind! And so young . . ."

She sat down and Jeanlily followed suit as they watched Arianne explain how her daughter was Talwyn, the peeping ‘Sue.

The "elf-boy" continued to hold Arianne and Talwyn "captive" -- even after Talwyn came down from the tree she had been *so* effectively hiding in.

"Can I please have my batteries back . . . this is boring!. I can still read the Words! I can't understand what I'm listening to, so it's perfect!" Jeanlily pleaded, her desire to impress (or at least, not disappoint) her partner becoming second on her priorities list- her boredom was first.

Twain looked carefully at her new partner. "Yes, but then you won't learn how Talwyn was totally justified in her peeping act," she answered gravely, looking directly into Jeanlily's eyes. "Don't you want to?"

"No. Not really." Jeanlily confessed, looking straight back into Twain's eyes.

"Good, then maybe it'll teach you to not make us leave the prologue so quickly. You can take notes, I would like a nap." So saying, Twain took out her own head phones, handed Jeanlily the well-used notepad, and headed off into the woods, leaving Jeanlily alone . . . well, except for the 'sue and company.

Jeanlily muttered and gnashed her teeth at the leaving form of her partner, "She's such a *nice* person."

She had been debating, for a millisecond, about whether she should just ignore it, and wander off to do something else, but 1) She was afraid of what the SO, or worse, Agent Twain, would do to her for that, and 2) She did have a sense of responsibility. With a sigh, she sat down, trying to make herself comfortable, and began to look at the Words for errors. Anyway, it was kind of interesting that Talwyn still hadn’t breathed yet. Impressive, actually.

"I wonder exactly how old Legolas and Talwyn are . . . Talwyn sounds about six . . .” she mused, writing down several possible charges on a separate sheet of paper, "I wish I knew the grammar rules better . . . I guess I'll have to ask Agent Twain about it. Maybe pick up a handbook when we get back."

She wrote down 'No Modesty on Legolas' part, and ‘overly-sexual thoughts for an Elven child.'

There was a time jolt, but luckily, Jeanlily had been reading ahead and was expecting it, so it wasn't as bad as it had been before.

She was sorely tempted to write down that Talwyn was an idiot for thinking one night of wearing a dress would make the boys think she was girly, and for thinking that all clothes had to be practical. "There *is* such a thing as dressing up with no concern for how easy it is to carry things!" She paused then added, "I know how you feel, though."

She did write down mixing up where/wear as a charge, though. And the 'alright's that were starting to pop up. She hated that 'word'. Plus, Talc had forgotten her question mark. Naughty girl.

She wrote down more semi-colon uses on the possible charges list, then she strolled (She was doing it again!) up to one of the tables that was filled by Random Elves, and snagged some food for herself, all the while keeping out of the sight of the OCs.

Arianne leant down to whisper in Talwyn’s ear. “He’s only saying that because he knows you’ve learnt the worst part of my swearing. It wouldn’t be good for you to offend the people we’ll be staying with for a little while.”

Down went 'teaching children bad language, while not teaching her any form of Elvish' on the charge list. "You'd think she'd teach Talwyn something useful, or at least have Glorfindel do it. Anyway, how can you grow up around Elves and not learn some Elvish?"

The girl to her left said something in Elven tongue, which Talwyn couldn't, for the life of her discern the words let along the meaning.

"I don't understand what you're saying." Talwyn replied.

the elf gaped and said something else that sounded like a reprimand.

Talwyn lowered her gaze to the plate in front of her.  The elf to her right, another girl, whispered something.  Talwyn looked at her helplessly.

"I'm sorry- but I don't understand what you're saying." Talwyn apologised, hoping the elf would understand. 

The elf whispered to the other elf next to her who shrugged.

"Somehow, I never quite thought of Elves as being the gossipy type," Jeanlily said, putting it down on the P.C. List. "And 'Let along the meeting'? And the rest of it is just so . . . simply written!"

Thranduil, who knew Westron himself, gestured to one of the servants to show them the way.

"I should *hope* Thranduil knows Westron, considering how old he is, and the fact that he's traded with Men…"

Arianne picked her seven-year-old daughter up and carried her all the way to the room within the roots of a tree.  The tree-root room was intended only for one to stay there, but Arianne lay Talwyn downa nd pulled a blanket over her, stroking her daughter's hair as Talwyn slowly cried herself to sleep.

'Ah, She's seven. Wait…isn't that practically a baby in Elvish terms? If Legolas is about the same age, what is he doing with a bow and arrows capable of hurting someone?! Jeanlily, you're trying to apply logic to an illogical world. Forget about it.'

“'Elven Tongue?!’ I could’a’ sworn it was Elvish!" Jeanlily said, as she re-sharpened her pencil with one of her knives.

"And bad transitions," Twain added, coming up behind her. "It woke me up. What do we have so far? Ah . . ."

Talwyn, taking a large portion of fruits and nuts from the plates nearby (including some from the elves' plates. They seemed not to notice. In fact, they ignored her entirely.) said "Iay antway eavelay,” running her to her mother. "Iay antway otay ogay ackbay otay ivendellray."

"Hyway?" Arianne replied, much to the confusion of the other elves . . . and PPC agents.

"What?" Jeanlily asked turning toTwain. "How can she just do that so fluently?"

"Especially for one who only knows one language -- Westron (which she thinks is English) and various foul words. I don't know."

Jeanlily looked over the Words, and then tried to translate, "I want leave? I want to go back to Rivendell. Which isn't capitalised..."

Twain glowered, making a note, but, halfway ignoring her partner, kept murmuring, "I imagine with enough practice, it would not be too bad . . . but that's just too quickly. Trust me -- I've learned several languages, but that isn't even a real language! It's a mutation of English -- and hard to understand without mentally translating. Either the 'Sue is intelligent or the author wishes to make her look so."

The two PPC agents followed Arachnid . . . sorry, Arianne . . . as she carried her daughter (who, at this point, had turned into a tiny child who was barely a toddler, and had begun to wail.) Then they ducked out of the way as Arianne left her distressed child.

"Lack of caring for her daughter," Twain, murmured, snatching her notebook from Jeanlily.

"Smart? Or maybe she just 'happens' to pick up fake languages easier than real ones?" Jeanlily asked, a little belatedly.

"I do not know," Twain answered, pondering this for a moment. "I've never gotten the hang of Pig Latin -- real Latin is so much more beautiful, and its age adds elegance."

"I never got it, either. That is, until I read this fic. Maybe we should give her a half point back for teaching something that I've been trying to figure out for years? That'd still leave her behind about a million negative points, though." Jeanlily said.

Twain tilted her head at Jeanlily, looking strangely like a curious puppy. "An interesting idea," she said. "ustjay neoay uestionqay: hyway?"

"Because I always thought Pig-Latin was interesting, possibly because of how weird it is. I don't know."

"A good point -- I know," Twain smiled with perfect 'innocence.' It looked almost odd on her otherwise expressionless face. "We can do the same thing with you. The point system -- the police use it too, only with no positive aspects."

Jeanlily looked at Agent Twain and practically smacked herself for bringing up anything that could even remotely have something to do with her messing up in the Prologue, "All right, what's my score so far?"

"Let's see . . ." Twain looked at her notes. For the first time, Jeanlily realized they weren't only for the 'Sue . . . and she'd had that notebook, too! "Fourteen."

"Is that good or bad?" Jeanlily asked, a little worried.

"It all depends on what you think is good and bad." Twain glanced toward the 'Sues, and, noticing the elder had carried her daughter out of the room, ran after them. "Odd," she said. "Whatever happened to the other Mary-sues?"

"I have been wondering the same thing since the beginning of this chapter." Jeanlily said, running after the 'Sues and her Partner.

"Then why did you not you write it down?" Twain asked in mock surprise, making another note in her little black book. Glancing at her partner, she stopped very abruptly. "Have you been wearing that hat the whole time?" she inquired sharply, referring to the rather large and un-Middle-earthy hat that her partner wore.

"Yeah . . . you didn't notice? My, aren't we observant today . . ." Jeanlily said, pleased that she had managed to find something that her partner hadn't noticed, then she took it off and put it in her pack, "Yes, I know it isn't canonical, that's why I'm taking it off. I was just curious how long it'd take you to notice it. I must say, you really disappoint me . . . I honestly expected you to notice long before now," Jeanlily 'tsked' several times.

"Don't lie to me," Twain snapped. "If you had had it when we first came, it would not only have been lost in the portal, but also after the prologue shift . . . unless you stored it in your pack," she added thoughtfully.

"Well, okay, but I've had it on since you left for your nap. You still disappoint me, we've been talking all this time and you never noticed." Jeanlily said, unfazed by Agent Twain obvious disapproval. She wouldn't let this evil agent scare her again…

Twain nodded. "All right, I hear your point -- and you may have one. Ah, here is the 'Sue . . ."

Jeanlily thought, 'At last, justice!"

The agents watched as Arachnid stroked her daughter's hair (rather like a dog . . .) until the younger fell asleep, and then she . . .

"She left?" Jeanlily exclaimed. "Her daughter is crying in pain (at nothing) and she left??"

"Please, take care with your question marks!" Twain admonished severely. She made another note, muttering "Not a very nurturing mother . . ."

Jeanlily didn't follow her partner as Twain walked away from the door, silently following Arienne. Instead, she peeked in the room they hadn't been able to enter -- it wasn't worth the risk to be seen. "Wait a second," she said to herself. "Did she just do what I think she did?" Jeanlily peered at The Words, but they hadn't changed. "Arienne pulled a blanket over her? Is she dead or is Arienne trying to suffocate her? Wait . . . Arienne, do it, do it!”

The PPC agents saw Arienne emerge from the (apparently) hollow tree root bedroom, and walk up to Glorfindel (who had mysteriously appeared all of a sudden,) and tell him that Talwyn wanted to go home. Glorfindel replied with something idiotic about how they weren't teasing her for her human looks.

"Agent Twain? How do I work one of these things?" Jeanlily asked, fumbling with her CAD.

"Ah, you point it at someone and then it explodes," Twain answered. "At least, that has been my previous partners' experience with them. I've always found that putting a sock on the end keeps them from over heating -- it blocks out the negative energy. I do hope you have quite a few socks."

Jeanlily frowned. She had only brought one extra pair of socks, and they were one of her favorite pairs.

Glorfindel nuzzled Arachnid -- sorry, Arianne -- for another minute before freezing for the night as his [wife?] left. Twain walked slowly up to him before waving one hand before his face. "That is so sad," she murmured, before making a note in her little book.

Jeanlily shrugged a little, after trying to figure out what to do with the Cad, and pulled off one of the socks she was currently wearing and put it over the CAD, then pointed it at Glorfindel. The device sizzled a little, but thankfully, it didn't explode.

[45.999% OOC. Idiot.]

"Joy. It commentates," Jeanlily said dryly.

".999?" Twain asked. "A little more sensitive than usual, are we?" She knocked on the Character Analysis Device which sizzled at her.

"Well, we have until tomorrow, what do you fancy doing?" Twain asked her partner, attempting to wipe her hand on Glorfindel's shirt without looking too obvious. It hurt.

"First, I'm going to get you some Neosporin goop and an ice pack, then you'll teach me any card games you know, followed by me teaching you my favorite," Jeanlily said, pulling out the Neosporin and the Insta-ice pack that she kept in her pack.

"Neosporin? I have never heard of it," Twain answered. "Just please don't let any characters see it or I will have to confiscate it. And Insta-ice? That is just odd. We can . . . talk about it. But not here; a Random Elf might walk by."

Jeanlily picked up her things, and then walked into the bush she had been sitting by, all the while looking at Agent Twain rather strangely. "You've never heard of Neosporin? It's that clearish-white goop that you put on cuts to help it heal and reduce scarring."

"Oh, and I would 'will' do something, by the way," Twain added softly. "In any case, Time heals all wounds, and we have plenty of time . . . while I beat you at Speed."

Agent Twain's mood seemed to have lightened considerably from just a few minutes ago . . . even the notebook disappeared.

Jeanlily grumbled, and then took out her cards, "I hate Speed."

"That is fine with me; I find it quite enjoyable. However, if you cannot play . . . What did I say about being discrete? Do you really think any elf would not notice someone sitting in a bush?" Twain asked sharply . . . but not without humour. "Being unnoticeable is being like all the others . . . what self-respecting elf would sit in thorny shrubbery?"

With Agent Twain's powerful words, (alas, she had once been an editor, and knew how to mutate other people’s stories to fit her own words!) the nice, big, mostly comfortable bush, with the big opening in the middle, just the right size for two people with their baggage, had turned into a small, thorny 'shrubbery'. Jeanlily wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Couldn't you leave it the way it was? It was perfect."

"I don't like such brush," Twain answered. "Have you any idea what's in there?" she gave her partner a more-than-slightly evil grin. "Spiders the size of my hand with cunning minds and piercing fangs. Around them slither the Wild Things, like creatures from a fairy tale, only one of horror unbounded. Together the pair hunt for any and every unknowing possible prey which wanders into their midst. Only the wisest can avoid them, and only the youngest need to."

She lowered the tone of her voice even further, to intone: "Look, look young children, here they come from hive and den. What monstrosity has created this? And they crawl, and they creep, and they come . . . they come . . . they come . . . and no words of yours can stop them, only the keeper holds the key to the end . . ."

Jeanlily snorted. "Do you really need to resort to telling me children's fairy tales to get me to move? If you didn't want to sit here, you should have just said so."

Twain just smiled calmly, and pointed to the bush, which was now positively oozing with the creatures she had just described. Then she whispered, "Ah, the power of words."

Jeanlily shrieked, "Those were NOT there before!" She moved her stuff, then started talking about a nice, weird-animal free bush.

"But it is too late," Twain said, walking after her. "Remember what I said? 'Only the keeper holds the key to the end' you cannot stop them with any words of yours." She gave a short, barking laugh. "Watch out, young one -- fairy tales come true! But not this one -- this bush is completely normal, and will stay so, until you sit down there again."

"I hate you. Lessgo." Jeanlily mumbled, then started walking toward a big tree, hoping that it, at least would meet with Twain's approval.

"You know," Twain said casually, as if nothing unusual had happened. "This tree doesn't look much look much like Mirkwood. Speed?"

"All right. We can play Speed, but you'll need to give me a refresher course on how to play. It's been a while. After that, I get to teach you Slamwich," Jeanlily said, a slightly evil gleam coming into her eyes as she said 'Slamwich'.

"It would be a pleasure," Twain said, noticing the gleam in her partner's eyes, and wondering what she was getting herself into. Not that she couldn't handle it, of course, but she liked knowing beforehand. What kind of a name for a card game was 'Slamwich', anyway?

Agent Twain refreshed Jeanlily's memory by completely whomping her at Speed, then Jeanlily, in turn taught Agent Twain Slamwich, and won easily. They played these games until they were bored, so they decided to sleep until the next day, when Talc (oops, Talwyn) got an archery lesson.

The next day (they actually got up as soon as the day started, so, all things considered, it was quite dark) Twain, being a morning person, dragged her partner out of bed and got instructions from a Random Elf on where Talwyn and her mother were. It didn't take long to find them -- they just had to look for whoever was shooting arrows the worst while being lusted over.

"You know," Twain said, actually forgetting her notebook for once. "You'd think that if Talc was born in Middle-earth, she'd at least learn *something.* But no, it says here that she isn't even familiar with the land! Look --" she pulled out the passage. 'Talwyn’s studies up until that point were literary only. She had learnt much about the world her mother referred to as ‘middle-earth’, of its long history, the peoples, the beliefs, the geography and so on.' I mean, honestly! And ‘Middle-earth’ should be capitalized! It’s a name, for heaven’s sake." Jeanlily just stared at her blearily.

"Umm . . . yeah. Oh! Yeah. You'd think she would, anyway. I'm sorry. I can't think until about ten in the mornings . . ." Jeanlily said, trying to wake up, but failing. She did note, however, that Talwyn knew who Elbereth was, at least. Though she didn't seem to understand that saying "there that the morning" made no sense, if it was followed by a period.

"Ah," Agent Twain answered, pulling out a . . . [pink?] notebook. "Interesting." She began to watch again as Talc took aim . . . and missed the target horribly.

"She's lived with the elves her entire life, and is half one herself, and she cannot even remotely hit a target!"

"How's about we skip this part, skim the Words, and go straight to the Council, m'kay?" Jeanlily asked, already pulling on her pack and picking up her Words.

"What, you don't want to see . . ." Twain scanned the words. "Her kissing Legolas and running around with him like a fool then suffering terribly when he leaves and withering away from sorrow when she returns to Lórien and away from her Love? How about him kissing her 'softly'?"

"Nope. Besides, the Author makes lots of goofy mistakes."

"Which is precisely why we need to stay here and document them!" Twain exclaimed.

"Can't we just skim the Words?" Jeanlily asked plaintively.

"You mean you don't want to find out first hand how . . . 'Talwyn’s grandparents were the Lord and Lady of Lórien'??" Twain stared at the Words in disgust. "That is rather out of canon!"

"No, especially since I don't remember Glorfindel being related to Elrond or Celebrian."

"Maybe she thinks the relationship is on her mother's side," Twain said, glaring (and wincing) at the paragraph. "Maybe she thinks she's marrying her great, great, great, great, great, great grandfather! Maybe we need to kill her! Well, no 'maybe' on *that* one. . . . Right," Twain made some quick notes in her book. "You're right -- let's skip ahead. I already have everything I need (and more) from here. This is sick! Five hundred years ahead, it is."

"Good, thank you." Jeanlily said happily.

Agent Twain pulled out her Portalling device, pointed it at an open space, and pressed a few buttons. "This should bring us to the next chapter." she said, just before the device buzzed and zapped her. "Ow!" she exclaimed dropping it, and running her hand through her mouth.

"Are you okay, Twain?" Jeanlily asked concernedly. "The Portal's open, we better go through."

"Yes, that is fine, go ahead," Twain glared at the device.

Jeanlily was about to step through, but she couldn't resist saying something, "You should have used a sock, like you told me."

Twain glared at her. "All yours were dirty."

"I didn't say MY socks." Jeanlily glared back.

"What happened to going through the portal? Or maybe we should just wait here," she answered, sounding a bit sour. "And yes, *your* socks. I do not plan to waste my own."

"Gee, thanks. Maybe when we get back to HQ, we should invest in a bag of cheap socks."

"We can't go back to Headquarters until this story is done," Twain answered, using her annoying way of always saying entire words, not just their initials. "The Portal . . ."

"Oh, right . . ." Jeanlily said, stepping through it. "Are you . . ." what ever she was about to say was cut off by the even of her head disappearing into the Portal.

"Am I what? Deaf?" Twain asked rhetorically, knowing full well her partner couldn't hear her. Looking mournfully at the 'lovers' one last time (out of pity for Legolas) she stepped through after Agent Jeanlily, still rubbing her hand and wishing she had Aragorn's healing powers. But he wasn't even alive yet!

The first thing that struck Twain when she appeared on the other side (quite literally) was the blatant lack of a disclaimer and the author's note: "Can’t think of anything except- sorry this took a while to write. You can thank my nagging little sister that I’m still writing it (that and my desire to avoid summer homework!). Hope it’s still good."

"Twain? Is your hand all right? I've got some aloe vera or some Solarcaine to make it stop hurting." Jeanlily asked, once Twain was completely through the portal.

"What?" Twain asked looking up from her Author's-Notes-wince. She looked at her hand. "Ah, yes, thank you. I mean . . . no?"

"Make up my mind. Do you need the stuff or not?"

"I suppose . . . no, I don't." Twain looked a little confused. Okay, really confused.

Jeanlily looked confused, too. "But...but, you just got badly burned, how is it that you don't need anything? Gimme that," she said, grabbing Twain's hand and turning it over, so she could see Twain's palm, where she saw only a small scar where the burn should have been. "I'm confused...time must have passed for us...but we're not supposed to be affected by the fic's time frame...right? Right?!"

It seemed, somehow, her hand had healed itself, in time . . . a lot of time. "We portalled five hundred years in the future," Twain said, frowning. "It would seem . . . yes," she added, looking up at her partner. "There is something wrong with the Portal Device . . . we actually aged with the story's time! I'm just glad we're immortal . . ."

"Typical, just typical. My first assignment, and something goes wrong . . . why is it always me?" Jeanlily asked, just as the story, awful as it was, started up again . . . apparently in the middle of a scene.

"The Universal Laws of Irony," Twain suggested. "Which, obviously, think it's funny to hide Talc with Sam while she uses run-ons. I mean, why?" Already, Twain seemed to forget both her hand and the time problem . . . or, perhaps, she realized there was no point in dealing with either . . . yet.

"Dumb Laws," Jeanlily muttered, then looked up quickly and said, louder this time, "He heh, I didn't mean that, honest."

They were standing in the middle of what seemed to be the Council of Elrond, though it was hardly recognizable for what it was, and the entire place was rather fuzzy from lack of (or, rather, no) descriptions.

"Shh!" Twain cautioned. "Although canon characters can't see us, Talc can, and so can non-canon (which, if I'm right about this story, is almost everyone here.) We should really be hidden."

Already, Random Elves were beginning to look suspiciously at the Agents, wondering if they should get them . . . but Elrond didn't seem to notice.

Jeanlily quickly got down behind some rather *convenient* bushes, hoping nothing bad would happen this time.

Frodo volunteered to take the Ring, and a couple others (who weren't even named!) said they'd go with him. Twain sat in the bushes by her partner, nearly lighting them on fire with her anger as some indiscriminant number of vague shapes floated up to Frodo.

“Mister Frodo’s not going without me!” Sam declared, crossing his arms defiantly.

From the other side, running out behind pillars holding up the balcony, Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck raced over. “And us!” they said, laughing and smiling.

"Line fudging!" Jeanlily said, wondering if she could snitch one of Agent Twain's extra notebooks.

"She screwed up Sam's line!" Twain exclaimed, in rather longer words than Jeanlily had used. "She killed Sam's lines and made Pippin and Merry say something stupid while running, laughing and smiling! Noooo!!!" She pulled out her rather ragged-looking black notebook (of which she seemed to have an infinite number) and scrawled down something uncomplimentary about the author.

The next moment, Elrond threw up his hands in a very un-Elrondy way, giving Jeanlily the opportunity she needed to snitch a notebook.

Jeanlily slid her hand down into Agent Twain's pack, using every pickpocket trick she knew to silently grab a random notebook and get her hand out before Twain noticed. She succeeded in grabbing a notebook (It was blue with purple swirls... Jeanlily wondered where Twain had gotten it), and pulled out her hand, but she wasn't sure if Twain had noticed. She rather thought not, considering how Twain was stewing over the OOC-ness of the characters.

She the realised that she had forgotten to grab a pencil. She was reaching forward when Twain seemed to calm down minutely, and so pulled her hand back, deciding maybe she should just scout out a pencil in her pack.

A wise idea, as Agent Twain was looking down again as Talc, quite predictably, said: “Well, now that you mention [if anyone else wants to go], Uncle,” Talwyn smiled politely, standing up from where she’d been hiding with Sam. “I’m going to go as well.”

Of course, the others objected, and eventually threw her out because she was female (typical stupid fic) and because . . . "Legolas wants to marry her? Why? She's a 'Sue!"

"Stupid fic. Maybe it's because we now find out that Talc's mother is dead, despite everything."

Jeanlily came up for air (Her pack was deeper than it looked), and commented "It's my theory that there might have been a few female people at the Council...after all, Galadriel was powerful...why couldn't any other women have been?"

"You mean aside from Eowyn, Arwen, and all the other powerful women? I imagine because the author is as dim as a blown-out flame in the depths of Moria!!" Twain answered with clenched teeth, nearly breaking another pencil.

Jeanlily nodded, then, taking a deep breath, dove back into her pack. It was safer there.

A few minutes later, Jeanlily still had her head buried, but at least one problem was resolved: Talc was not going with the Fellowship, Glorfindel wanted her to marry Legolas, and they had had that entire discussion in the middle of the council.

A moment passed, and Jeanlily was thrown half-way out of her pack by the time-shift.

"Ah, my favorite time of the day," Twain noted, looking quite a bit happier despite nearly being thrown across the room (yes, suddenly they were in a room,) "Dinner."

Jeanlily commented (A bit late), "I think that fit Talc had during the Council was about the best thing she could have done to prove to her father that she wasn't mature enough to go." After a pause, she added, "Oh...and what are our dinner plans? Do you have a table reserved for us?"

"Yes," Twain answered. "But now we're going to find out from Gossip!Aragorn that Legolas is formally proposing to the five hundred year old daughter of a twisted family with one head in the toilet and the other who knows where for no reason whatsoever for her existence except she has made me use a run-on sentence!" Twain took a deep breath. "Do I have a table reserved for us? No . . . but we probably have to sit next to the gossips."

Jeanlily stared at Twain, the dived back into her pack muttering something about how 'she had just about had a pencil when the shift came'

"Right," Twain said, pulling out another notebook (her earlier one had somehow disappeared inside her cloak). "Now let me see . . . Aragorn, Gimli, and Boromir are ALSO out of character, and . . . hmm . . ."

Jeanlily came up, with a rather triumphant look on her face, brandishing a mechanical pencil. "Ha! Found it! Oh, d'you suppose they'll have rotisserie chicken? I love that stuff."

"Why do you need a pencil?" Twain asked, looking down at her own quill. "They're not canon in Middle-earth, so put it away. And no, rotisseries weren't invented yet."

Jeanlily wondered when Twain had switched to a quill, then shrugged and put the pencil away. She then meandered off to find something that was interesting enough to make into a pen. She wouldn't use just any old feather...no, she wanted a special pen.

Deciding that if Jeanlily didn't care about meandering away, she could just as well skip dinner (it was rather bland, in any case, having no real description at all.) She, on the other hand, was going to try to catch a character that wasn't under the 'Sue-'fluence. Hopefully, there would be someone . . .

Unfortunately, at that moment, Legolas (who was blushing) and Glorfindel came in, knocking Elrond out of character, and making Twain get up and follow her partner in disgust.

Jeanlily noticed out of the corner of her eye that Twain was following her. So, she stopped, and quickly plucked a large dried stalk of some Middle-earthy plant and trimmed it, walking over to Twain as she did so.

Twain turned and saw her partner. Maybe it was the lack of elven wine (strange allergies make people stranger) but Twain almost smiled. "What do you say we sleep in *real* beds tonight," she suggested. "And skip Talc running away, and bidding Legolas a sappy goodbye (at dawn, too!) and all that garbage. Let's sleep until the next chapter! And then see Elrond in character! And . . . well, portal to find Talc. But really! And we could miss Talc's foul and un-Middle-earthy language!"

"A real bed? That sounds nice . . . considering I haven't slept in some five hundred years and two days . . . lead me to the beds!" Jeanlily said, after blowing away the shavings from her new reed pen. Who cared why Twain was being nice?

Twain skipped off in a Random Direction (which she actually knew was the right one, thanks to previous crossovers she had done) to two beautifully made rooms and soft looking beds. Too soft in Twain's opinion, but she'd live. Or sleep.

Jeanlily sank down into one, sighing as she realized that she'd never sleep with her pack still on her back. She got up and pulled it off, along with her boots. "Don't wake me up until two minutes before we go, m'kay?" she said, drifting off to sleep as she spoke.

Not realizing that she was in a different room from Twain and therefore, theoretically, could not be heard.

Twain didn't sleep nearly as well, despite her eagerness to do so, and two hours later, feeling very tired indeed, and rather less perky, she got up and wandered out into the more open areas of Rivendell.

Even though she didn't particularly want to see Talc run away, nonetheless Twain followed the Sue to the river, and came up to her while she was talking to Elrond.

Jeanlily, meanwhile, was having a very confusing dream about Twain going over a cliff…several times.

A well-aimed punch knocked the 'Sue out for some hours, and Twain was able to speak to an almost-un-whammied Elrond until morning. It was actually quite restful, as the halfelven lord was confused, and therefore didn’t seem to mind another ‘elf’ to speak to. In any case, Twain was well-versed in diplomacy. Perhaps it would have been rather less peaceful for Twain, though, if she knew about her partner's dreams concerning her going over cliffs; but she didn't, and all was fine.

When Jeanlily finally woke the next day, the sun was high and the Fellowship long gone. She lay peacefully in bed . . . until she realized that Twain was probably sitting somewhere, cooking up something to get Jeanlily to look stupider, thus fully waking said Jeanlily, who got up, pulled on her boots, brushed her long hair into a low ponytail, and headed out to find Agent Twain, after (of course) picking up her pack.

"Author’s Note: I’m really very sorry it’s taken me so long to update this story. My own computer decided to pack it in a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t been able to get it working with the appropriate programs I use to write fanfic until now. My lil sis leant me time on her computer, but it was mainly on a story we are writing together. (check it out- “Five Rings to the Daughters of Another Land”). I promise I’ll write a better chapter soon."

Jeanlily jumped at the unexpected Author's note booming through the air. "She promises to write a better chapter soon . . . riiiiiiight. This I have to see . . . And boy, do I hope I don't have to check out that other fic . . . this author sure has a thing about giving names that immediately give you the winces . . . and I’m going to have to have a talk with her ‘lil sis’.”

Twain walked into Jeanlily's room, (predictably) not knocking, and said urgently, "They are already in Moria! Time travels differently in the Plot Holes. Hurry, and we can kill the ‘sue now; she is out of Rivendell with the Fellowship! We don't even need to bother portalling," Twain added, looking very sober indeed. "Moria is an instant's walk from here, thanks to the author's Handy Dandy Plot Holes."

"Joy . . .Geez . . . even in the movie, you can tell it's more than a few minutes . . . or at least, I can . . ." Jeanlily said, shaking her head, and pulling on her pack.

"If she's writing it, she should have read the book," Twain answered. "Let's go." She grabbed her partner's arm and threw her through a Random Plot Hole in the bedroom. Ah, the effects of no sleep were really coming back to her. Poor Jeanlily. This would certainly be an . . . interesting day.

As it turned out, the day wasn't very interesting at all, for when the two agents came out of the other end of the plot hole, there was only whiteness -- not Moria!

"Twain? Twain, what's going on?" Jeanlily asked uncertainly. "I don't remember this in the Words."

"I'm not sure," Twain answered, walking forward into nothingness. "I've only read about it . . . the story has been deleted! It's gone, as are the 'sues, until it is reposted, undoubtedly in a different fanfiction site!"

"So . . . Yay? Is that a good thing...for now?" Jeanlily asked, still confused.

"It's not a good thing or a bad thing," Twain answered. "Basically, until this story comes back (if at all) we don't have to finish it or deal with it, because the 'Sue is gone -- not dead! -- just gone. When it comes back, though, hopefully we can skip the beginning," she sighed and pulled out her notebook to look at the charge list. It was so . . . full! "I suppose, though, it's better than finding out how half-elven Talc is really related to hobbits."

They Portalled back to HQ, (rather uneventfully) where Jeanlily remembered suddenly, about the Portaller being broken. "Twain, you need to take the Portal Generator down to Makes-Things. Remember- it's broke."

"Broken," Agent Twain corrected automatically. Stupid past editing job. "I need to? Ah, well, in any case, I shall take it to Make-Things. In the mean time, we should stay elves -- I don't fancy turning into a 500 year old human!"

"You're right. And you're going to Makes-Things. I don't know the way." Jeanlily said firmly, sitting down at the computer, after taking off her pack.

"All right," Twain said, her bad mood having worn off from a disappeared 'Sue (watching newbies killing them wasn't much fun.) "I'll be back soon."

**BEEP**

"Make that 'Really soon.'"

~Finis~

Authoress' Notes

Agent Twain's Author's Notes: I think it curious that, my coincidence, the author's story would be deleted the day before we finished it (thank goodness for small favors, that it wasn't before we could kill her!) and on my partner's first mission! On the other hand, it is always a pleasure to know that one fewer Bad Fic is out there . . . even if it wasn't thanks to us. I find it interesting now that we're stuck as elves, and who knows what fic will come next? Probably one without elves, if I know the Universal Laws! (And I do.) If you wish to contact either of us for whatever reason, please e-mail us at agents_twain_and_jeanlily@yahoo.com or go to the comments section of the left. Oh, and feel free to flame us. I'm an editor,