1. An Unexpected Visit
Many authors were stirring, the nuzgûl a-bite;
The fanfics were arranged by the forums with care,
In hopes that reviewers soon would be there;
The authors should’ve been nestled all snug in their beds,
But visions of plotlines still danced in their heads;
And I, yet awakeful, and clad warm in my cloak,
Settled in to write, with a snack and a Coke,
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter.
To the doorway I flew like never before,
Tripped o’er my slippers, threw open the door.
The moon threw some shadows ‘cross the carpeted hall,
Showing indistinct profiles: crowd of nineteen in all,
When, who to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a wandering Maia, by name… Meethadeer?
Gondlaf? Mithrodor? (he had such a presence of self):
Wait…Called Mithrandir by elves… and by Men Gandalf!
More rapid than jet planes, his fellows they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
“FRODO, and SAMWISE! MERRY, PIPPIN, BOROMIR!
GIMLI, LEGOLAS, ARAGORN! ELLADAN, ELROHIR!
THÉODEN, ÉOMER, ÉOWYN! ELROND, GLORFINDEL!
ARWEN, DENETHOR, FARAMIR! CELEBORN, GALADRIEL!
“Now, friends, here’s our goal,” the wizard spoke with graveness,
“Let us find the foul source of Arda’s terrible madness!
To the study o’er here! Ah! The palantír-box from hell!
Dash it up! smash it up! Bash up curséd ‘Dell’!”
Now with this kafuffle, I had gone unnoticed,
And thought, terrified, Can I get where the phone is?
So towards the back bedroom I carefully crept,
Thinking surely my story the cops would accept.
“Sir, a robber gang is invading my home,
Dressed in strange ‘Rings’ costumes, and I’m quite alone!
Please send a squad car, or I’m sure this weird band will—”
(Here I laid my right hand upon the door handle).
I’ve made it! I thought, with my heart pumping faster,
If I reach the cops, I’ll avoid sure disaster!
I gently twisted the knob, each second grown bolder,
And with swift dismay, felt a tap on my shoulder.
Her silence – how unnerving! Her face dark as hard steel!
And at the base of my neck, a cold blade I could feel!
Her mouth twisted up with icy hostility,
And in her blue eyes I could read the death of me.
“Who is this?” she asked, rolling accent just curious,
But beneath the calm tone, she was clearly furious.
Oh, God, this is Éowyn! Shieldmaiden of Rohan!
Can this really be it, is this truly the end?
“Westu hál, Lady of Rohan,” I said, shaking,
“I’m—” Her glare suddenly vengeful, I shut up, quaking.
Oh, I’m in for it now! I groaned to myself.
Farwell, too cruel world—Wait! Can that be my elf??
In throes of melodrama, I noticed the crowd,
(For none else had spoken to me: by one I was o’ercowed),
Staring at me strange: an oddity to purvey;
And ‘twas at that moment my eyes “elf” surveyed.
His hair (like proverbial “river of gold”)
Captured light of the sun; blue eyes fearless and bold
Gazed at me, one eyebrow arched in mild interest;
With that, and a small sigh, he turned to the rest.
“She’s one of mine,” he sighed (my heart quickly throbbed:
To be claimed as “his”… I wouldn’t mind being robbed!)
“It’s written all over her face, plain as day!
The lust in her eyes speaks more than words could say.”
“You speak true, Legolas,” (His name spoken! What bliss!)
“But this one is different, there are some details amiss.
Behold by the box: she’s read The Books soundly!
No commonplace fangirl… Eru, that confounds me!”
I glanced at the speaker, still a-swoon over elf,
In one fell swoop, my Inner Luster took control of myself.
Sweet Valar, it’s Faramir! my hopeless IL squawked noisily.
D’you think if I asked, he’d sign my… Well, would he?
‘Twas at that moment, control of self gone,
I caught another glimpse of the Lady of Rohan.
Her gaze (was it possible?): suddn’ly much more severe,
Horrorstruck, back I shrank, as tenfold grew my fear.
“She cannot be his,” and pointed at Legolas,
“Clearly, she’s Faramir’s, just from her gaze at his—
Oh, enough of this claptrap!” the irate lady cried,
“Let me—us dispatch her, and say that we tried—”
“By Béma, enough of this fluster and racket!
Good sister-daughter, she’s not like the packet
Of others: for she’s read The Books (see, they’re dogeared?)
Perhaps this one’s not quite so bad as we’ve all feared.”
Forth strode another Man, his face lined and old;
(Oh! It’s Théoden!), and white hair streaked with gold.
“Éowyn,” he said calmly, in tones reassuring,
“This one’s nearly adult; she’ll outgrow it, surely!”
As she replied in a murmur (gazing daggers at me),
My eyes wandered among this strange, motley army.
They were a varied, unlike bunch: a mixture of races,
With diverse expressions on each of their faces.
One might wonder, I think, why I yet stayed silent,
Well, truth be told, I wasn’t quite yet cognizant.
First meeting Hot Elf, and then seeing Magnificent Ranger…
Well… the Shieldmaid was mad, so my life was in danger!
I closed my eyes briefly, while gathering my wits,
And opening them again, I felt calmer (a bit).
With control reigning once more, and mind firmly fixated,
I set about judging how the power was situated.
“Elbereth! Will we stand here forever a-chatter?
This girl doesn’t even know what’s the matter!
Moment by moment we’re increasing her fear—”
My restraint died as I fainted: ‘twas the first Brother ‘Mir.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.