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Alternate Realities
Summary: What happens when the distinction between the real world and the reel world diminish? Do the blurred lines mean that the actor becomes the character? Which then is the true reality, and can the reality in which you find yourself have the power to transform you?

Warning: a bit of bad language from a very pissed mary sue. =P

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He was dreaming again. He was in New Zealand once more, once again walking down that confounded red carpet that stretched forever and ever and ever in the hot blistering sun, making his way down to the premiere screening of Return of The King together with the rest of the cast and crew of the Peter Jackson production.

He found himself here a lot in his dreamscape. For some reason his mind refuses to leave the place... almost as if it were reluctant to relinquish his elven alter ego and return to the mundane world of the twenty-first century.

But it wasn't him that was walking, was it? No, no it wasn't. It was Elrond. He was Elrond. He wasn't Hugo Weaving anymore... he was Elrond. Feeling more than a little surprised, he glanced down at himself for confirmation and noted that the tux he had worn earlier that evening while preparing for the gala event had been replaced with one of Elrond's many ceremonial robes. But...

He's never worn this before. The Elrond he played in the movie had never worn this robe... and yet it was hauntingly familiar. The ghost of a breeze breathed through the long strands of his hair, and he-Hugo-Elrond shuddered.

"You look pale," the breathy voice of his co-star... or was she his daughter... greeted him, and he forced a smile for her benefit.

"Don't worry yourself," he replied, tucking a stray braid behind his delicately pointed ear. "I am fine, my light."

Arwen–Liv Tyler smiled prettily at him and walked on ahead, but not before gracing his forehead with a chaste kiss, and he, whoever he was at the moment, raised his hand to massage his gently throbbing temples. Who was he, Hugo or Elrond? He felt like himself, he knew he was himself, but who was he? He was Hugo... and yet, a part of him was Elrond. He was caught between the two, neither one nor the other, but both at the same time.

"Ah, Glorfindel," breathed in relief as a tall blonde elf came to stand by his side. "How are the preparations for tonight's feast? I hope our guests are well rested?" Glorfindel smiled and nodded his head respectfully at his lord.

"They have retired to their chambers to freshen themselves, and will be joining us shortly. Erestor is seeing to their things even as we speak."

"Good, good. It has been too long since our Mirkwood kin has graced the halls of Imladris."

"Too long, too long," Glorfindel mused his agreement. Relations between the elven realms had become greatly strained since the tragedy of the Last Alliance, a situation that Elrond greatly regretted. He had tried his best to hold things together, but there was only so much a half-elf like him could do, considering the Mirkwood king's open disrespect for half-breeds.

Their conversation was interrupted however by a burst of shrieking from the people that lined both sides of the red carpet. "ORLANDO!" they screamed as a handsome young man skipped blithely by, grinning playfully at his fans, and Elrond hid a smile at the youth's carefree attitude.

But wait... Orlando? Fans? But wasn't he in... Imladris then... planning... Letting out a low groan, Elrond brought his hands to his temples once again. This was getting too overwhelming.

"Mr Weaving, sir, are you alright?" Elrond looked up into the concerned face of one of the many medical personnel on standby at the event. "Sir, would you like to sit down, sir?"

Elrond blinked in confusion. Mr Weaving? Yes... yes, that was his name... Hugo Weaving... yes.

"I'm fine, thank you," he reassured the medic smilingly, though a part of himself felt just a little offended. He was one of the most skilled healers in Middle Earth. How dare the man assumed he knew better than Lord Elrond Peredhil!

A commotion to his left caught his attention, and before the medic could stop him, Elrond found himself drawn towards the group of girls staring wide-eyed at him. One of them was shivering in awe. By the looks of things, she was having difficulty breathing.

"Are you alright child?" he asked gently. She nodded. Elrond bit his lower lip doubtfully and lay a hand on her cheek. At his touch, the girl's knees gave way. Catching her as she slid helplessly to the ground, he lifted her easily over the barrier separating the crowd from him.

"Ada!" Elrohir's eager, child-like voice came floating down to him as his son trotted to keep up with his long, purposeful strides.

"The child has fainted, now run to my chambers and set my supplies out," Elrond ordered his son and watched approvingly as the younger elf's slight frame disappeared down the winding corridors of the Last Homely House.

Elrond carried her to the familiar wing that housed his private rooms, and lay her down on the large plush bed. "Who is she, Ada?" Elrohir asked in that beautiful lithing voice of his.

"I have no idea, my son. I was on the way to the premiere for the Return of The King this afternoon when..." the elven lord trailed off as he saw his son looking at him strangely.

"Ada?" Elrohir blinked in confusion. "You were on the way to the what for what? Ada, you the only time you stepped out of the house was to welcome the Mirkwood party this afternoon, and you haven't left your library since! I met Lord Glorfindel on the way here, and he told me himself that you were deep in study."

"I spoke with Gorfindel."

"Yes, he sent me to tell you that everything was going as planned, but I was... occupied... so he came to the library to tell you that himself," Elrohir said as a red blush crept prettily up his neck.

"Occupied?" Elrond raised an eyebrow teasingly. Elrohir's blush deepened.

"Saes, Ada, do not tease me!" he cried, his face flushed with embarrassment. "I was merely seeing to it that our guests were comfortably settled."

"Indeed."

"Ada!" Elrohir howled pitifully. The child had only just reached his majority some seasons ago, and still found it painfully embarrassing to acknowledge his growing interest with the opposite sex. Eventually Elrond knew that his son would warm up to the idea, but as of now, the elf was still adorable in his innocence.

The figure on the bed stirred, instantly silencing their conversation. Out of the corner of his eye, Elrond saw Elrohir peer curiously at the girl as her eyelids fluttered open. His son had never seen a human girl before. The race of Man guarded their women zealously from the elves, probably fearing that their women would loose all interest in their own men once they looked upon the acrogenous beauty of a male elf.

"Fuck," she whispered, making Elrond wince painfully. "Oh bloody shit, where the hell am I?" she trembled, horrified as she took in her surroundings. "Who the fuck are you? Oh my god, I'm... I'm... I'm in a madhouse. What the hell is going on?"

"Hush, child," Elrond crooned, laying a soothing hand on her shoulder, but the girl squirmed away in panic.

"You're crazy!" she cried, pointing a quivering finger at the two elves. "Dressing up like that and... and... with the ears... and all... *this*" she cried gesturing to the distinctively elven décor. "Freaks!" she breathed, scrambling to the far end of the bed, and grabbing the bedclothes protectively around her. "God, you're freaks! Freaks! What kind of nutcase would dress up as Elrond and..." she waved her hand at Elrohir, "whoever you're supposed to be... and do up their goddamn house like bloody Rivendell!"

Elrond cast a quick glance in his son's direction and sighed. Elrohir was staring from the girl to his father, his jaw agape in obvious distress. "Go find your brother," he told him softly, "and make sure there's nothing else he needs," Elrond said, dismissing his son with a small wave of his hand.

"Look," he said wearily to the girl once Elrohir had left. "I'm confused, I'm tired and I have no idea what's going on, so I'd appreciate it if you'd stop glaring at me like I was some homicidal maniac intent on outraging your modesty if there were such a phrase."

"Who the hell are you?"

"This morning I was Hugo Weaving getting dressed. And then suddenly I was Elrond in the study. And then I was Hugo at the gala. And then I was Elrond in Imladris. And then I was *Elrond* at the *gala*. And now I'm stuck here with you and I think I'm supposed to be Elrond cos that boy you saw there, well, that's Elrohir and he's my son," he said. "Well, Elrond's son," he corrected. "But I feel he's *my* son so that would mean I really am Elrond at the moment. I think."

"Who the fuck are you?"

"I can throw the question right back at you."

"I'm... I'm... god, I don't remember. What the fuck did you do to me, you freak?"

"You're a self-insertion. A mary-sue."

"Am most definitely NOT a mary-sue! I *hate* mary-sues."

"But you are one, nonetheless. Look at you. I don't remember blonde hair and bustiness at the gala."

"Hey," she cried, insulted. "I don't have blonde..." the girl looked down at herself, stunned speechless. "This isn't me," she finally managed to stutter. "I'm normal. I'm plain. Okay, so maybe I'm pretty, but I don't look like a fucking Baywatch model!"

Hugo shrugged. "This isn't me either."

"I wanna go home."

"How?"

"How the fuck would I know! You got me into this! Now GET. ME. OUT! NOW!"

The Elrond in him sighed and rubbed his temples. "Oh, wonderful," he moaned inwardly. "Just what Imladris needs, a vulgar fangirl-turned-mary-sue. Elbereth, help me."

How in all of Middle-Earth was he going to cope with this? Already the delicate political situation hung in the balance. All it took was one ill-timed word and Imladris might find itself at war. The Sue was a time bomb, a tragedy just waiting to happen. He had to find a way to get her out of here as quickly as possible, but until then, he had to make sure she was restrained.

But how? Part of him was tempted to just tie her up and leave her in the most secluded wing of the house, but what if the dignitaries found out? They would surely report it back to Thandruil, and the king would take delight in spreading the news far and wide. "Look at the hypocrisy of Rivendell," Thandruil would say, "that their seemingly humanitarian leader would keep a human captive locked up for his own sadistic pleasure."

Elrond rose to his feet and sighed. "I'll be in the library if you need me. I'll have Lindir watch over you at all times. Please stay out of trouble. The situation is precarious enough without you interfering, so please just keep to yourself until I find a way to get you home again. I'll be giving orders for a room to be readied, please do not leave the room once you're there. Dinner will be brought up for you. If you need anything else, call for Lindir. Under no circumstances do I want to find you wandering the hallways: Elbereth alone knows what chaos you could wreck," he said tiredly.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said, suddenly remembering. "No seducing Prince Legolas. STRICTLY no seducing Legolas, I don't care how much an Orlando Bloom fan you are."

The Sue scoffed indignantly. "I am most certainly *not* a Legolas fangirl! I have no inclination to chase after him, or to make him chase after me!"

"Maybe you weren't a Legolas fangirl in your world, but here you are a Sue. Be careful, lest the Sueness of your character catches you unaware..." he said cryptically, and with that, Elrond pushed aside the heavy drapes and disappeared into the corridor.

~End~