Hey there! So this is my first fanfiction. I've been an avid reader of them for a few years, now, but I just got up the nerve to try my hand at writing one this past week... and here we are. This is another girl falls into Middle Earth story, but I hope you enjoy the twists I have planned for later sections. I've been reading the Silmarillion, over the past few months, so some of that will feature heavily here, as well. I'm planning for this story to go through all LOTR books and, if I haven't quit or died by that point, I might consider continuing. For me, this is for fun and to get me back into writing after a long time away. I hope you enjoy it!

"Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?

- John Keats, 'Ode to a Nightingale.'

ooOoo

Merrill was late. Perpetually so. She'd been late to her own birth (two weeks her mother harped on about to this day), she'd been late to her high school prom (hair dye nightmare; enough said), and she'd been late to her college graduation (due to an unfortunate choice of meal at Jimmy's Thai Curry food cart, which resulted in the obliteration of her best friend's Kia).

Currently, she was late for a dental appointment with Helen, who was the dental equivalent of Freddy Kruegger on a bad day. She smelt of something vaguely floral, but overpowering, cigarette smoke, Listerine, and disappointment. That last was usually reserved for Merrill and her half-hearted attempts at flossing, but she figured she was doing the stern woman a favor; Helen enjoyed scolding her patients. A good scolding, a mug of earl gray, and the caterwauling of Celine Dion, and she was one happy hygienist.

Merrill told herself her lateness this time was due to her own ideas of emotional philanthropy, but it was really because she'd started a new book the night before and hadn't yet been able to put it down. Even now, as she walked past bustling shop fronts, Merrill's nose was firmly planted in the pages. She'd stumbled into two businessmen on the hunt for lunch, a stroller (sans infant), and a curious mutt, whose leash nearly ended her dreams of nose modeling.

Between one apology and the next, Merrill didn't notice that the sounds of traffic had died away. Nor did she notice the sudden lack of sidewalk. What she did notice was something sharp pressing into her back.

She yelped and jumped forward, her book fluttering to the dirt. Wait - DIRT?! She turned her head so fast her neck cracked; her eyes darted about her, but all she could see were trees. Well, trees and a person.

Merrill took in a pair of dark brown leather boots, a pair of what she supposed were tan leggings, a long, blue silk tunic, embroidered with gold leaves, and a face that could launch a thousand ships. She thought he might have been holding a bow and arrow, but she couldn't quite process what she was seeing for long enough to register if that were so.

The man who stood before her was tall, slender, and strong. His skin was pale, but not sickly, and somewhat reminiscent of pearls, his shoulder-length hair was darker than jet and hung in waves down his back, and his eyes were the color of the pale morning sky; somewhere between blue and grey.

The man asked something, but Merrill didn't recognize the language. "I don't understand. Do you speak English?"

This received nothing more than another lyrical question and a quirk of the man's lips.

"Do you speak Westron, then?" he asked, his tone colored with amusement.

"I... guess?" Merril's voice was nothing more than a squeak, and she cleared her throat, "I mean, I speak English."

"What is your name?"

"...Merrill."

"Well met, Merrill. I am Radhrion of Mithlond," He bowed his head, his hand twisting over his heart in some manner of greeting. "If I might ask, what brings you to these woods? And so..." he considered her clothing, "...strangely attired?"

Merrill eyed her jeans and hoodie; they looked all right to her. "I'm not sure..." Her mind whirled; something was happening here that she didn't rightly understand. Taking a chance, she asked, "Do you know where we are?"

Radhrion blinked. "We are on the border of Imladris, home of Lord Elrond Peredhel..."

"Ah," Merrill nodded her head slowly. "Right. Imladris. Elrond... Righty... Allllright. Okay. No."

"No?"

"No!" Merrill pushed her hair off her face and held it there, taking a deep, calming breath. "Look, it's fine to be into cosplay. If you want to hang out in the woods getting drunk with strangers at renaissance festivals - it's all good. We all unwind in our own ways, and I'm not one to judge. But I honestly have no idea where I am or how I got here and I'm really starting to freak out, so I'm gonna need you to drop the 'Men in Tights' routine and help me!"

Radhrion glanced down at his pants, then back up. "Men in Tights?"

Merrill growled. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. That movie about Robin Hood? The bloke from The Princess Bride was in it? They..." Merrill cast about and finished lamely, "...wore tights?"

He cocked his head to the side and, in that moment, Merrill wanted nothing more than to smack him.

"Forget the movie - that's not my point, anyway. Just... can you drop the act, or whatever, and help me? Please?" She hoped she didn't sound as desperate as she felt.

Radhrion approached cautiously, his hands held up ever so slightly before he placed them on her shoulders. "Merrill, I would be pleased to assist you in whatever way you require, but I'm afraid I do not understand any of what you are saying. What is... cosplay?" his mouth fumbled the unfamiliar word, and Merrill had to stifle the urge to laugh. Or cry. Or both, as was most likely.

"That isn't..." Merrill stopped. She needed to calm down; hysteria wouldn't help her figure out what had happened, and she was bordering on panic. She inhaled through her nose, counting to seven, and then exhaled through her mouth, counting to seven. Merrill did this three times more before she felt capable of speaking in a tone that wouldn't make dog's ears bleed. "Okay. How about you bring me to wherever you and your friends are camped - I mean, Imladris - and you can answer some of my questions on the way. Sound good?"

That amusement was back, and it made his already painfully attractive face shine all the brighter. "I had planned to escort you to Imladris, regardless, so this is something to which I can easily agree." He gestured to the path in front of him politely, and Merrill walked past, assiduously ignoring her clammy hands and knotted stomach, and doing her best to regulate her breathing.

And so they spoke. Radhrion asked for clarification on several terms she'd mentioned, and Merrill pumped him for information on, well, everything else. He confirmed her suspicions, though: he was cosplaying Lord of the Rings, though Merrill did not recognize his name as being that of one of the major characters and he continued to insist he had no idea what cosplay was. But she couldn't accept that, no matter how truthful he appeared. Instead, she listened quietly while he spoke and did her best to humor him in his delusions.

ooOoo

Radhrion had pointed ears. Elfy, pointed ears; all delicate, and graceful, and POINTED.

She really couldn't stress that last part enough.

Merrill had questioned him when his dark hair had fallen across his shoulder, revealing the tip of one, gracefully arched ear, and Radhrion had stared at her as though she'd just kissed a dwarf.

With tongue.

Then he had pointed out something of his own: Merrill had pointy ears, too. Though he had said it much more kindly, and had dealt with the resulting mental break with a restraint Merrill found impossible to comprehend. Even when she had begun to scrabble wildly at her ears, shrieking, "GET 'EM OFF! GET 'EM OFF!" Radhrion had remained cool and calm, wrapping her tightly in his arms until she tired.

That had been an hour ago.

Merrill was silent once more. She was an elf. A bloody, freaking elf. She had pointed ears, she was in Middle Earth, and she was making her way to literal Rivendell.

The tantrum she had thrown over Radhrion's revelation had left her throat raw (from screeching her denial), and her hair a mess (she'd tried to jump off a tree, thinking to wake herself from what was clearly a fried chicken induced nightmare. Radhrion had disapproved). Merrill had also broken a toe: the result of a philosophical argument between a rock and her foot. The rock won.

Then she remembered her cell phone. For a brief, shining moment, all was well and she was back in control. Google maps and her Uber app could surely solve any problem, including this one. Grinning stupidly, she ignored Radhrion's pointed questions and tapped the screen awake with fingers that shook. The bubble screen saver faded and Merrill stared at the flashing warning pulsing across her screen; roaming. It was bloody well, bloody freaking roaming. With a cry of despair, she ripped the back off to conserve the battery and shoved it into her hoodie.

Radhrion glanced back over his shoulder every thirty seconds, his beautiful face twisted up in concern and confusion. Merrill stopped making eye contact and focused, instead, on putting one foot after the other without screaming.

She was hiking. In the woods. With a stranger. That stranger had pointed ears and poreless skin. That stranger also insisted they were in a fictional world, on their way to meet a fictional character, who lived in a fictional elven city. And her cell phone didn't work. Merrill's heart nearly stopped in her chest as realization slid down her throat like an ice cube: what did her mother think had happened to her? Had she been missing for a few hours? Or a few months? Was Helen going to charge her a late fee? Had they towed her car? Oh, gods! Who was feeding Howard? Howard was Merrill's dyspeptic turtle. He lived in a glass tank in her small living room and suffered from frequent bouts of irrational anger and depression. Whenever Merrill spent the night out, she would return to find Howard in a full-blown turtle rage, his sharp jaws crunching furiously upon a stray bit of his breakfast lettuce as though imagining it was her face. She could only imagine what her extended stay in a fictional world would do for his temper.

Her mother, on the other hand, would be distraught to find her only daughter missing. She was an English professor at the local community college who had decided opinions on just about every subject, and who took great delight in wiping the floor with anyone who challenged her to scrabble. She had raised Merrill almost entirely alone, her husband having left her when Merrill was seven. To this day, Merrill wasn't sure what had happened between her parents, and her mother never spoke of him. But Merrill had never wanted for anything; her mother supplied her with all the love and support she could ever need, and gifted Merrill her pert opinions, her morbid sense of humor, and her bright hazel eyes.

At this thought, Merrill's eyes grew wet and her vision swam: Would she ever see her mother, again? Her friends? Her tiny, inconvenient flat? Or her mental turtle? Or would she disappear, as so many young women did, never to be seen, or heard from, again?

Radhrion clasped her shoulder and pointed into the branches of a nearby pine; a gray, bushy tailed squirrel gazed down at them curiously, an acorn clutched between both paws. Two smaller squirrels raced after one another, dashing up the tree in a spiral pattern, their tails flicking and their whiskers twitching in glee. Below, and further back in the tree line, stood a young buck with three points on his antlers and a staid, wise look in his sloe black eyes. He chewed on a bunch of leaves and made no move to flee at their approach.

Merrill's nose scrunched up at her guide's knowing look, simultaneously pleased and upset that he'd interrupted the beginnings of her panic, but she did as he seemed to suggest and gazed around the clearing. There would be time for panic after she had spoken with Lord Elrond.

The woods were lovely, if you liked that sort of thing. The trees ranged from silver barked beeches, to towering oaks, to some type of pine, whose needles were a deep and vibrant green.

It appeared to be autumn, as the leaves had just begun to shake off their greens in favor of rich gold's, burnished coppers, and startling reds. The pine needles shuddered in the breeze, the oak leaves clacked against one another, and the beech leaves whispered and tittered as though living. Merrill felt a swell of something unknown rise in her chest: the trees were glad at their meeting, but ready for the long sleep of winter.

She blinked back to awareness and met Radhrion's cryptic smile. "What the hell was that?"

He took her hand in one of his own and gently urged her to continue walking. "You spoke with the trees as our kin have done since the first stars were kindled in Varda's night sky many, many ages ago. Have you not done so before?"

Merrill shook her head emphatically, her eyes glazed.

"How is such a thing possible? You are one of the Firstborn in appearance, but your fëa seems lost in dreams of mortality. Every elfling can speak with the trees; it is inherent to our kind. But you..."

Radhrion halted suddenly and Merrill ran smack into his back.

"Ouch!" She rubbed her nose and glared at her guide. "I think your tail light's out."

He turned so quickly she felt the breeze of his movement buffet her, and she hastily took a step back.

"You make no sense, Merrill."

Merrill groaned. She was exhausted, hungry, and scared out of her wits. Her feet were sore, her eyes felt blistered from crying, and her chest ached. She couldn't handle any of this. Not now. Not ever. "No, I imagine not."

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Radhrion sighed and rubbed both hands up and down his face; a strangely human gesture for so ethereal a being. He cupped her elbow and brought her to his side. "This is Imladris."

Merrill's lips parted at the sight. A valley of silver and white lay below them. A sea of trees whose leaves were resplendent in gold and crimson surrounded the valley, and nestled right beside it was a magnificent waterfall, whose noise was softened, somehow, and mellow. A river burbled and danced joyfully along the cities length, its waters sparkling like glass against a backdrop of blue and lavender stones, and chimes of birdsong echoed against the mountain.

Merrill searched the skyline somewhat frantically. There were no cell towers, no streetlights, no skyscrapers, and no planes that she could see. She narrowed her search to the cities' main level; there were no cars, no roads, and no concrete.

Well, that settled it. This was definitely NOT earth. There was just no way. Which meant Radhrion might just have been telling the truth, after all. Merrill gulped.

"It is here that you may find answers; where we both might."

Merrill released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and looked up into Radhrion's face. It was still and full of sorrow. "You're here for answers? I thought you lived here."

Radhrion's focus never left the valley. "I have a feeling my stay here will be of some duration, if Lord Elrond allows it, of course. My questions are..." His eyes flickered to hers and he appeared to hesitate, "...Complex. Lord Elrond might know more. God ána wát." (1)

Merrill bit her lip to keep from asking anything further. It was clear he would say nothing more.

"Come, little one. Fate awaits."

As they began to descend the mountain, following the white road laid before their feet, the golden, autumn glow of sunset burst and shed its rays upon the pale stone until it appeared as though the city pulsed with the light of a thousand, dying stars.

Merrill turned her burning eyes away and squeezed them shut. Perhaps Lord Elrond would know why she was here. Perhaps he'd know how to wake her up.

A/N:

(1) God only knows.

...So? *stares around empty room* How'd I do?

If you have any thoughts, comments, or just random squees of happiness you're considering sharing, please leave them! Comments = Life.