Get Real

Get Real

by M. Luna Fillman

Frodo was lying happily on the grass-covered hill and he rolled onto his back, still mashing the buttons on his Game Boy with a fury. Sam stopped just at his head, looking down at the Hobbit with a perplexed look on his face that had more to do with the fact that it was the normal state of his face than it had to do with anything else.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked in an accent that sounded unfamiliar even to himself.

"Over in the House of Inventions. It had gotten mixed in with some dicers and cutlery that never dulled. Brilliant device, really. I've lost entire days with this thing." His voice sounded much like an American trying to mimic an Englishman's accent, though it didn't appear to have any real regional attachment. "I do wish they'd get 'round to inventing batteries that lasted more than a few days though."

Sam snorted and looked around. The familiar faces of his companions in the Land of Imagination were changing again. And he was pretty sure the Lady Arwen had actually spoken more than two words just that morning, plus she was leading Lord Glorfindel's white horse, Asfaloth. Someone must be a-tellin' their story again. And as usual, a-changin' the details again. Not that he really minded. It could get real boring doing it the same way every time. But it did disturb him to have familiar faces disappear altogether for a few days till someone else got 'round to reading the original story and put 'em back again.

Prince Legolas of Mirkwood approached in the most subdued, quiet manner Sam had ever seen him approach. He looked like he might be annoyed or something, so Sam nodded in lieu of a bow, hoping the warrior wasn't annoyed with him. But the Elf only just seemed to notice him and frowned, then quirked one brow.

"Beggin' your pardon, mi'Lord," Sam said in explanation. "Is somethin' amiss? You're usually much more talkative-like. You don't have a song or a poem on your lips."

Legolas shook his head silently. His eyes looked strange. "Are they changing it again, Master Sam?" he asked in a silky soft voice.

"Aye, I believe they are." Sam squinted. "Looks like they gave ya blue eyes, 'stead o'green."

Legolas looked at him with amazement. "Stars and seas," he complained. "Why would they do something like that?"

Sam shrugged. Meanwhile, a woman walked by carrying a clipboard, a drink carrier filled with fresh coffee made just the way anyone likes it, call lists for the next two weeks, gaffer tape, a healthy snack in every pocket (except for the one holding extra touch-up makeup in every shade), a current weather report for all of New Zealand, light meters, band-aids, and a large binder ring upon which hung about 200 Polaroid photos bearing the images of actors in various stages of makeup for their roles. She paused to adjust a lock of Legolas' hair which had moved out of place and almost kept going when he grabbed her arm.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"You can call me whatever you like, since no one would ever actually remember my name, assuming I had one, which I don't. I'm the Perfect Production Assistant," she grinned, then went on her merry way again.

"Well," came a wizened voice from behind them all, "I suppose it's that time again, isn't it?" The lot of them turned and smiled to see that at least Gandalf didn't seem too terribly different than usual. In fact, he appeared to be fairly dead on to what one might call "canon." Still, he laid a hand upon Legolas' shoulder, with concern in his eyes. "I'm afraid you will be in for a rough time of it, my lad."

"Why, Mithrandir? Are they cutting out my character as well? I have already missed the sight of old Tom Bombadil and the lovely Goldberry."

"No!" the wizard exclaimed with his bushy brow raised high. "No indeed, lad. Though your words will come far and few between. No, you are going to be very busy indeed, I daresay."

"Don't tell me they're going to write a spin-off," Frodo piped up when his Game Boy's battery life finally gave out. "A series maybe, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer got after her film?"

"There was nothing wrong with that series," Legolas said, sounding slightly defensive. "It was far closer to Joss Whedan's vision than the film ever got."

Gandalf stopped their little tangent. "No, this is going to be far worse than a series or syndication, I'm afraid."

"What could be worse than diluting the strength of a character written for a one-time story by giving them the problems of daily life to deal with?"

The wizard looked gravely at the Elf and pursed his lips before finally uttering, "Fan Fiction."

Legolas allowed the faintest smile to cross his lips. "I'm no stranger to that, Gandalf. Why, I've been subjected to some very explicit activities that quite frankly are not at all to my tastes. I mean, what do these female humans find so intriguing about male pairings?" Sam and Frodo were snickering and the Elf shot them a withering glance, shutting them up almost instantly.

"It's not only that, dear boy," Gandalf continued. "There is the Internet these days. Fan fiction will be distributed thousands of times over. And role-playing games will have your character repeated several times over in many different ways. These games can go on for years thanks to E-mail. And that explicit activity, as you put it, is more popular now than ever, you know. The phenomenon will dilute your true character more than any sitcom."

The blue eyes Legolas now sported grew wide. "What can I do? Am I powerless in all of this?"

Gandalf thought for a moment. "Well, there is one way out. I don't know if you're going to like it though."

"Anything, Gandalf. I'll do anything to not be buggered by a Dwarf a thousand times a day. Shut UP!" he snarled at the Hobbits beside him who were rolling in hysterics.

"Anything?" he parroted. "Yes, well. Then the solution is simple. You must become real."

All laughter and chattering ceased. "I don't understand. I am real."

"Not to all those people abusing you and your noble name. You must leave the Land of Imagination and become one of the Real People."

"How shall I do that?"

The wizard grinned a bearded grin. "Come to me tonight by the light of the stars and I will help you."

That night, Gandalf stood upon the Bridge of Actualization. The Perfect Production Assistant had provided him with accurate weather reports for all of New Zealand and the timing could not be better. A storm was brewing there, in that Reality Place. Just enough energy could be passed through a flash of lightning to carry out the spell. In the Reality Place, a youthful actor barely into his twenties would be getting himself into character with all the seriousness he could muster. This was his first big role. He studied for it night and day. It would be quite some time before anyone noticed that he'd actually become Legolas Greenleaf. They'd just give him a good teasing for always being in character, at least until it annoyed them. And finally, they'd all be free of that poncy Elf's poetry and incessant singing.

On schedule, Legolas appeared at the Bridge, his hood drawn up to cover his head. Earlier in the day, a Mary Jane had gotten loose from the holding areas which were set up for them until their panties dried out or they turned their attentions to a boy band and were instantly transported to another region of the Land of Imagination. The Prince of Mirkwood was nearly married off that afternoon to some girl who dropped out of the sky and right into Middle Earth for no apparent reason. Evidently, her Author had considered the possibility that she'd need to have knowledge of picking locks, which is how she'd gotten loose.

"Let's not tarry," the Elven Prince said in a low voice, the memory of that Mary Jane's wild eyes obviously still fresh in his mind. "The sooner the better."

"Now remember, Legolas, once you are there, you must behave as though you are a human pretending to be you. Understand?" The Elf nodded, then stood in the circle Gandalf had already sketched on the bridge for the spell to work. The spell which would connect the two worlds just long enough to make him real. Gandalf raised his arms and began the incantation, calling up the powers bestowed upon him to cast the magick.

What he didn't realize, however, was that over in Extraordinary World, a neighboring land which had cropped up a few years ago thanks to some people's obsession with aging rock stars and high fantasy, there was a young character based loosely upon some Celtic persona that her Author used now and again. And she was casting a spell of her own. Usually this didn't pose a problem, but just as Legolas was connecting to the young actor, the girl's poorly-concocted yet highly-effective spell also kicked in. In a flash, with Gandalf believing fully that his own magick had done what he'd meant it to do, the Elf was gone, leaving nothing but a slightly charred mark on the Bridge. Gandalf clucked his tongue and hoped in the back of his mind that he hadn't actually burned the poor sod to a cinder. Then, he meandered away from the Bridge of Actualization, whistling a mournful tune which had come to him from the mind of a composer named Howard Shore....

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