O, Cruel Fate: 2. Various Discoveries

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2. Various Discoveries

Círdan the Shipwright strolled leisurely and aimlessly down the northern beach of Mithlond, enjoying the crisp, salt breeze of the early morning. He had been up and about four hours before dawn, escaping the troublesomely enigmatic dreams that plagued his sleep. The Valar were somewhat overfond of sending him prophetic visions to assist with their various little schemes on Arda, but Círdan, being a practical, literal sort of person (like most shipwrights. Really, try building a ship out of your dreams and see if it even floats), seldom managed to interpret them. So more often than not the visions had to be relentlessly pounded into his mind over the course of a few weeks, with subtle emphases on particular parts whenever possible (without making everything blatantly obvious). It made for a rather disconcerting dreamworld that was only marginally less stressful than real life, and Círdan did not like it at all.





Lórien had been particularly forceful in the recent nights, to the point of virtually grabbing Círdan by the collar and yelling words of prophecy in his ear. It hadn't worked. Even now he had not the faintest inkling of what the Lord of Dreams had been so excited about.





"Mark ye he who rises from the ashes," the Vala had said (or rather, shouted). "He is the Servant of the Star, a Light against Shadow, the lone blossom in a field of green."


An anguished roar rent the air, sending the gulls wheeling overhead scattering in all directions, and rousing the Shipwright from his quiet musings. Did someone stub his toe on a plank again? He hastened in the direction of the sound.





The Shipwright found a figure lying unconscious on his back on the white sands. An elf, naked as the day he was born, with long golden hair brighter than Gil-galad's armor, and eyes as blue as the sky. That hair, thought Círdan. There is only one person in existence with hair that ridiculous shade of gold. He searched his memory for a name, and came up with nothing. He tried again, squeezing his eyes shut in concentration. He probed the dark recesses of his brain long and hard, and finally found what he was looking for, in the dusty section mentally marked "Blond People I Met in the First Age", and triumphantly dragged the morsel of information to his lips.





"Glorfindel!" he pronounced happily. Then he frowned. He was quite sure that this Glorfindel fellow was supposed to be dead; all the unwed ellith had wept for a month when the news arrived. And while the still figure before him certainly looked dead, he severely doubted that a body required several millennia to decompose. Círdan bent and placed two fingers on the side of Glorfindel's neck. Blessed be the Valar! This fellow had a pulse! Without further ado the Shipwright scooped the elf up in his arms (thousands of years of ship-building tends to develop arms of iron) and trotted back to the Havens.








* * *








Back in Valinor, Mandos wrung his hands in despair as he paced the length of his halls. He had spent the entire day soothing a very upset Vaire, and punished both Eöl and Maeglin by locking them up with Feanor for the next five hundred years. The situation was Very Dire indeed- it was the first time such a thing had ever happened, and Manwe was Not Pleased. He had been told to settle the problem as quickly as possible, Or Else. The question was… how? There were, after all, limits to even a Vala's powers.








* * *





Ellie awoke again for the second time in a day, this time to the sensation of something cool and damp being pressed to her forehead. Blinking, she found herself staring into a pair of mesmerizing blue eyes, which widened slightly when they saw that she was awake. The owner of said blue eyes was the most splendid male specimen Ellie had ever clapped eyes on, with flawless complexion, a finely chiseled face, and dark brown curls that gently cascaded over his shoulders. His only faults seemed to be his oddly-shaped ears and a peculiar penchant for wearing shiny diamante clips in his hair. He smiled, and at that instant Ellie's brain melted into a puddle of greasy bliss. Hello, Handsome, thought Ellie, grinning idiotically.





Handsome grinned back at her, and chattered something unintelligible in his melodious tenor. "Sorry, I don't understand," said Ellie, sitting up, and paused in shock. Her voice sounded strange to her ears; it was deep, silky and unmistakably male.





Slowly but surely, the jellied bits that constituted Ellie's hapless mind picked themselves up from the aforementioned puddle and began to function. Then she remembered. She grabbed a handful of the sickeningly yellow hair and glared accusingly at it. She felt about her chest (now covered in a nightshirt) and grimly noted that it was disappointingly flat and muscular. She discreetly felt further down under the sheets and reaffirmed the presence of something that really shouldn't have been there.





So, it hadn't been a dream. Ellie promptly concluded that she had been kidnapped by maniacs, given a sex-change operation, deposited on some foreign beach, and then rescued by a friendly local.





Dazedly, she gazed about her and noticed for the first time that the décor didn't vaguely resemble anything modern. Or any style from the past few centuries throughout the known world, for that matter. She turned to the bemused Handsome, and her botanist's eye observed something she hadn't been aware of before.





"You know," she began calmly. "You're actually vaguely incandescent." Handsome cocked his head, uncomprehending, and said something in his musical language. Ellie ignored it and continued, her voice slightly shaky. "Actually, I don't think you're human at all."











Then she turned her eyes to the ceiling and screamed, and screamed and screamed until something heavy descended upon her head with a tremendous whump, and the world went black. Again.

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.

Story Information

Author: Greywing

Status: General

Completion: Work in Progress

Era: 2nd Age - Rings

Genre: Humor

Rating: General

Last Updated: 04/07/08

Original Post: 10/10/06

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Comments

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O, Cruel Fate

Raksha The Demon - 02 Mar 07 - 11:34 PM

Ch. 2: Various Discoveries

Ellie's reactions are very funny, and the writing, the wry asides, make the situation readable.


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