"You, my good sir, are a complete, total, and utter nut."
The slender man with long, dark hair turned to scowl. "And why do you say that?"
The elderly man chewed on his pipe a bit. "Well, I'm not too sure, but it looks as though you're going to fall."
One leg on a boat, the other on the dock. The frightened rower was trying to balance the boat as it floated even more from the dock. "I dare say you may seem to be right," came the flat reply.
"Will ye get in the boat already!" the rower yelled, clinging to the opposite side. "Who do ye think ye is, some elf'r something?"
The dark-haired man laughed. "Elf? Why, surely not." His right foot left the dock, and he ended up in the boat with ease. The rower was hanging over the side, muttering about this ordeal not being good for his health.
The elderly man chuckled. "Why, you certainly seem to be quite like one."
There was a whirl of blackish brown hair as the man turned around. "What?"
"You certainly seem Elvish to me," smiled the old gentleman from the shore.
"How on Earth would you know?"
"I have my ways."
Desperately, he grabbed the row from the poor rower and paddled quickly back to the dock. "What do you mean?" he asked sharply. A little too sharply.
The elderly man tsked. "Not like you at all."
The slender man twitched in anticipation. "How would you know?"
The elderly man paused a moment.
"HOW??"
"Rather late to start getting all twitchy, isn't it?"
A dark-haired head met a nearby tree with a thunk.
"Whoever told you? Anything. All of it."
"Told me? Who told me anything?"
He walked away.
------------------
Years later, the same dark-haired man was in a bookstore. Something between used and new bookstore. He hadn't seemed to age a day, which really was his curse. Being stuck here.
He walked idly past shelves of books, past the hyper children in their section. Past the graphic novels where people read, enraptured. One male seemed particularly so; apparently large breasts were interesting to him.
-Never did a thing for me.- But that was digressing, now wasn't it?
By chance, or perhaps fate, he wandered into the section labeled "Fantasy." He ran his finger across the spines—
-Hold on. What's this?-
The Return of the King, it read, by JRR Tolkien. On the cover was a scruffy-looking man, who bore a resemblance to someone the man was sure he had at least seen once from afar……….
-Wait.-
How would this Tolkien know this? And where had he heard "the Lord of the Rings" before?
Frantic, he flipped through pages. Familiar names went by. He bit his lip at one in particular. He looked up, and spotted yet another. It was by the same author. Wondering, he set Return of the King down and picked up The Silmarillion.
-That word……..-
He opened it.
-How did he………
That man.-
He flipped through the pages, half-forgotten memories suddenly flashing back. Not all was told; some things were, of course, left out. But it brought everything back. Things he had nearly forgotten that were joyful. Things that he wished he had never remembered at all.
He found his family tree at the back of the book. He traced the Sindarin names with a long finger. His name. The name he had not used nor heard in ages. Names he had not heard in ages upon ages.
Tears rolled down his face and onto the fine paper.
"Are you ok?" Came a tentive voice. "Hey. You alright?"
He nodded, wiping his eyes. "I'll be fine," he mumbled.
Unexpectedly, the concerned person petted him on the head. "Yes," came the voice again. "I believe you will be."
He looked up to see, but the person was already gone.
Wiping his eyes of tears, he put Return of the King back, but stood there with Silmarillion. Pondering. Fingering change in his pocket. Figured he had enough.
"Thank you very much, sir," the woman smiled, handing him the bag. "Have a nice day."
Walking down the street, he did not try to hide his ears behind his hair, not this time anyway. There was a faint squeal off to his side, though, and a hyper girl barreled into him, but it was just some silly chasing game teenagers play.
He got to his small apartment, made some tea (since it was cold out), & sat down and opened the book.
When he awoke the next morning, Arien was shining through the curtains, the book was half-read, and there were tear stains on his face.
He got up, stretched. And for the first time in many a long age, he hummed a little tune.
owari.
A/N: this may seem totally & utterly pointless; goemn nasai ;;; I know many have already done the noldor-finds-sil-book thing, but I like the thought of it…….. I didn't use names on purpose. I was trying to make it "mysterious" or some such other thing…. R&R, ples?