Chapter 1
New
MarkWarrior
Well-known member
What a nice breeze. The air was neither too hot nor too cold, and the birds sang the songs of spring as the leaves rustled with the passing of the wind.
Wait? Breeze? I had gone to sleep in my house. The only breeze I should be feeling was that of the fan I always had at my bedside.
I opened my eyes to a paradisiacal wonderland. The trees were large, and their canopies sheltered many beneath boughs of emerald and brown. In the distance, a waterfall could be heard crashing down, and a creek happily bubbled near my feet.
The problem didn’t lie in my surroundings or the peaceful aura that enveloped the area. No, I knew what was wrong when I looked in the creek and beheld my reflection.
I was now an elf.
My face was barren, my beard erased as if it had never existed. All of my scars, the marks from mistakes made with a knife, were gone, and the aches and pains of the years melted away. Even my eyes were different. They were improved. I could see further than I had ever even dreamt of.
All of which meant one thing.
I had woken up in some sort of fantasy realm. And I didn’t even get to be myself!
I knew that my family was cared for in the event of my death or disappearance. But why had my beard been taken from me? And why? Of all things, had God decided to make me an Elf?
After what might have been hours or only a few short minutes, I composed myself and took a deep breath.
Standing up, I began to move in the direction of the waterfall that I could hear in the distance, eventually stopping at what was in front of me.
I stepped out of the gorgeous green canopy, and my mouth fell open at the sight before me. This wasn’t just a generic fantasy realm. No, I had ended up in a world I had only dreamed of as a child. There, before me, was a vision of loveliness and grace. Of a harmony of nature and construction. Something that skilled artisans had made with an eye and skill at working with someone’s hands that took decades, if not centuries, to develop. There, before me, was as close to perfection as anything I had ever seen.
It was indeed something else. There were streams that flowed in and out of stone canals, leading to deep waterfalls and pools of crystal-clear water. Whitewashed stone with nary a stain was carved into deep walls and towers. And that was just what I could see from this vantage point. Then, it clicked, and deep in the recesses of my mind, I realized where I was.
I had always envisioned Rivendell to be something special when reading the series as a kid, and it had only been cemented when it appeared in the films. But seeing the true Rivendell in person, even from afar, shook me. It left me unable to move, to speak. So, I stood there and waited as equal parts rage and sadness filled me. Finally, I crumpled to the ground and wept.
“Friend, why do you weep so?” A gentle voice broke the gentle noise of the forest. “Is today not a day for feasting and rejoicing?”
I turned and beheld a figure that radiated light, a warm smile on his face as he calmly seated himself beside me.
“I had heard that there was a visitor here,” Glorifindel’s light dimmed a bit, and he began to take in the sights with me. “But sometimes the whispers of the wind fail to tell me all that there is to the tale. I would have yours if you would tell it.”
At first, I didn’t know how to respond. After all, how do you explain to someone who has lived longer than your entire civilization and has experienced the greatest joys and sorrows of the minor things you faced?
Something must have shown on my face because the elf sighed, and melancholy filled the atmosphere.
“Youth does not diminish that which can crush a soul. The loss of family and friends is never something to be taken lightly,” I could see the mixture of mirth and sadness within his eyes. “Now come, you will find that a shoulder to help carry your grief upon will take it further than if you bear the burden of sorrow on your own.”
There was silence for a time as I reached for the words, only to stop as another wave of tears fell.
“I’m sorry,” I finally choked out.
“We may take all the time you require,” the Ancient elf replied. “Rivendell is not threatened, and we are not expected to appear for the feast for many hours.”
Gradually, the story of my life was poured out before someone who not only understood but did not make light of me and did not belittle me for my emotions or my failings. A calm, steady support gradually filled the air as I stumbled through the story.
And after hours of speaking, I finally explained my waking up in the forest.
“Oh, child,” he stood up and reached out a hand. “There is a place for every guest among Elrond’s halls. And your tale is no stranger than many that we have heard. You are not the first sojourner that Eru has brought through these lands. And I doubt you will be the last. Take heart, and enjoy the peace. Come, feast with us, and take solace in the joy of the moment. For even among us Elves, a moment is but fleeting.”
And with the support of a hero of old, I stood and followed into the House of Elrond, into the city of Rivendell.
As a child, I dreamt of being one of the Fellowship of the Ring. I had plans to save Boromir and ensure that the Ring made its way to Mordor. My sister and I had even transcribed Dwarvish runes and identified their characters in comparison to their English counterparts. But now, waking up in a room set aside for me in the house of Elrond, I knew that there was no place for me among the Elves.
While I was confident that I could spend my years in comfort here, something stirred within me, a drive to search out the mysteries that had gone unexplained in all of the tales of Middle Earth, and underneath all of that lay one burning desire.
I was going to grow a beard on this Elvish face. And there would be nothing and no one capable of stopping me.
Author’s Note: This starts out a bit sad, but I promise that we’re going to go in some very silly directions.
Also, @Karmic Acumen I know you love beards. So, if you have any suggestions, they'd be most welcome.
Wait? Breeze? I had gone to sleep in my house. The only breeze I should be feeling was that of the fan I always had at my bedside.
I opened my eyes to a paradisiacal wonderland. The trees were large, and their canopies sheltered many beneath boughs of emerald and brown. In the distance, a waterfall could be heard crashing down, and a creek happily bubbled near my feet.
The problem didn’t lie in my surroundings or the peaceful aura that enveloped the area. No, I knew what was wrong when I looked in the creek and beheld my reflection.
I was now an elf.
My face was barren, my beard erased as if it had never existed. All of my scars, the marks from mistakes made with a knife, were gone, and the aches and pains of the years melted away. Even my eyes were different. They were improved. I could see further than I had ever even dreamt of.
All of which meant one thing.
I had woken up in some sort of fantasy realm. And I didn’t even get to be myself!
I knew that my family was cared for in the event of my death or disappearance. But why had my beard been taken from me? And why? Of all things, had God decided to make me an Elf?
After what might have been hours or only a few short minutes, I composed myself and took a deep breath.
Standing up, I began to move in the direction of the waterfall that I could hear in the distance, eventually stopping at what was in front of me.
I stepped out of the gorgeous green canopy, and my mouth fell open at the sight before me. This wasn’t just a generic fantasy realm. No, I had ended up in a world I had only dreamed of as a child. There, before me, was a vision of loveliness and grace. Of a harmony of nature and construction. Something that skilled artisans had made with an eye and skill at working with someone’s hands that took decades, if not centuries, to develop. There, before me, was as close to perfection as anything I had ever seen.
It was indeed something else. There were streams that flowed in and out of stone canals, leading to deep waterfalls and pools of crystal-clear water. Whitewashed stone with nary a stain was carved into deep walls and towers. And that was just what I could see from this vantage point. Then, it clicked, and deep in the recesses of my mind, I realized where I was.
I had always envisioned Rivendell to be something special when reading the series as a kid, and it had only been cemented when it appeared in the films. But seeing the true Rivendell in person, even from afar, shook me. It left me unable to move, to speak. So, I stood there and waited as equal parts rage and sadness filled me. Finally, I crumpled to the ground and wept.
“Friend, why do you weep so?” A gentle voice broke the gentle noise of the forest. “Is today not a day for feasting and rejoicing?”
I turned and beheld a figure that radiated light, a warm smile on his face as he calmly seated himself beside me.
“I had heard that there was a visitor here,” Glorifindel’s light dimmed a bit, and he began to take in the sights with me. “But sometimes the whispers of the wind fail to tell me all that there is to the tale. I would have yours if you would tell it.”
At first, I didn’t know how to respond. After all, how do you explain to someone who has lived longer than your entire civilization and has experienced the greatest joys and sorrows of the minor things you faced?
Something must have shown on my face because the elf sighed, and melancholy filled the atmosphere.
“Youth does not diminish that which can crush a soul. The loss of family and friends is never something to be taken lightly,” I could see the mixture of mirth and sadness within his eyes. “Now come, you will find that a shoulder to help carry your grief upon will take it further than if you bear the burden of sorrow on your own.”
There was silence for a time as I reached for the words, only to stop as another wave of tears fell.
“I’m sorry,” I finally choked out.
“We may take all the time you require,” the Ancient elf replied. “Rivendell is not threatened, and we are not expected to appear for the feast for many hours.”
Gradually, the story of my life was poured out before someone who not only understood but did not make light of me and did not belittle me for my emotions or my failings. A calm, steady support gradually filled the air as I stumbled through the story.
And after hours of speaking, I finally explained my waking up in the forest.
“Oh, child,” he stood up and reached out a hand. “There is a place for every guest among Elrond’s halls. And your tale is no stranger than many that we have heard. You are not the first sojourner that Eru has brought through these lands. And I doubt you will be the last. Take heart, and enjoy the peace. Come, feast with us, and take solace in the joy of the moment. For even among us Elves, a moment is but fleeting.”
And with the support of a hero of old, I stood and followed into the House of Elrond, into the city of Rivendell.
As a child, I dreamt of being one of the Fellowship of the Ring. I had plans to save Boromir and ensure that the Ring made its way to Mordor. My sister and I had even transcribed Dwarvish runes and identified their characters in comparison to their English counterparts. But now, waking up in a room set aside for me in the house of Elrond, I knew that there was no place for me among the Elves.
While I was confident that I could spend my years in comfort here, something stirred within me, a drive to search out the mysteries that had gone unexplained in all of the tales of Middle Earth, and underneath all of that lay one burning desire.
I was going to grow a beard on this Elvish face. And there would be nothing and no one capable of stopping me.
Author’s Note: This starts out a bit sad, but I promise that we’re going to go in some very silly directions.
Also, @Karmic Acumen I know you love beards. So, if you have any suggestions, they'd be most welcome.
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