Hi. Dragonfyre here. For those familiar with me, I have been writing the story 'A Dragon's Destiny' since April. I became interested deeply in many parts of the Lore of Arda during that story. This is a 'Girl falls into ME' story. It is NOT, however, anything like I've seen before. Call me biased…but give me the chance to get to chapter two before you cast judgment. :) I do my best not to make anyone a Mary Sue. I try not to make people super heroes, or give them exorbitant amounts of talent. Everybody is good and bad at something. Some people have multiple talents. I will endeavor to draw a balance.
I am excited to start this new story, and am a little nervous to be working on this one and still working on A Dragon's Destiny at the same time. I will probably alternate updating when I catch up to where I have written with this story.
Chapter 1 – A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes
Cerena Michaels had never been one of those people that stood out in a crowd. She was quiet in public, a productive member of society with no penchant for secret troubles. She had been a decent student, a reliable co-worker, and an all-around good person. She disliked hubbub and hustle, which was why she lived in a small house in the country she had inherited from her grandmother upon her passing. She had her books and her music, and that was quite enough for her.
She rather liked to compare herself to Bilbo Baggins in a way. Well, before that whole fiasco with the dragon, anyway. She couldn't say that she would have followed after Gandalf and the Dwarf Company. Or perhaps she was more like Harry Potter; meek and subservient to a fault, allowing people to walk all over her and use her for their own gain. Hmm...no...she wasn't a wizard, nor did she have a Dark Lord after her blood, thank you very much. Well, whoever she most resembled was no matter.
What did matter was the storm that had just started blowing in outside, making her drive back into the country seem unbearable. She did not like storms. They were noisy, and messy, and they made her yard unkempt and sometimes kept her up at night.
"See you tomorrow, Tom!" she called to the back of the store. She worked in a mom and pop general store in their small town. She did not like the hustle of city life, having lived in a medium-sized city growing up. She preferred the quiet boisterousness of this town, and then the solitude of her cottage house.
"Drive careful, Cerena!" Came the muffled reply. Tom was probably going through inventory again.
Cerena didn't consider herself a great beauty, but she was no beast, either. She was of mixed ethnicity, dark-skinned with more curves than a country road. She blamed her mother for her coke-bottle curves. And for her thick, kinky hair. Her mother had been a wild-spirited, proud black woman. Her father was a mild-mannered accountant, white as a driven snow. She was never quite sure how they had fallen in love, but fallen they had. She was the result of their union, their only child. She felt like she got her mother's assets and her father's attitude. It was a strange, discomfiting mix for her.
She usually wore her cloud of curly hair braided back to the base of her skull and then pulled into a fluffy ponytail. It was easy to maintain and simple to do. Her eyes were plain and brown, her eyebrows thick and arched like her mother's. Her one secret pride was her lips. She had gotten her father's arched upper lip, and her mother's full bottom lip, creating a permanently sensual smile that was definitely her best feature.
The moisture in the air didn't help her hair sit flat as she walked briskly to her sensible sedan, hoping not to encounter the rain. Her relief was palpable when she shut the door with a thud, pushing the key into the ignition and firing up the car.
"Little town, such a quiet village. Every day like the one before..." she sang quietly to herself as she backed out of her parking spot. The rain started as she pulled out of the town limits, starting her twenty minute drive home.
She didn't normally listen to the radio on her drive home, preferring the silence, but the sound of the rain was distracting, so she decided to turn on some kind of music. She pressed the button on her radio, waiting for the sound of the static. Nothing. Making a soft noise of annoyance, she glanced down, pushing the button harder. She was disappointed again.
It happened so quickly. She glanced back up to the road, abandoning her radio. One moment the road was clear, and the next he appeared as if from nowhere. She screamed, turned the wheel and slammed on the brakes, but she still managed to clip him with her left headlight. Her car swerved and came to a stop, and for a long moment she could not breathe, holding onto the wheel so tightly her knuckles were pale.
She turned off the car, threw open her door and scrambled out. He was lying on his back on the grass, having been knocked down by the force of her car. With a cry she fell to her knees next to him, tears mixing with the rain. He was breathing, but he was clutching his side. He was an older man, dressed in dark grey robes. Christ, had she hit a priest or monk? He had a long white beard, bound in the middle with a piece of beaded twine. His hair was long, iron grey and thick. His grey eyebrows were bushy and drawn into a grimace.
"Can you hear me, sir?" she asked. He opened his eyes, and she was struck with how beautifully blue they were. "I'm so sorry. I didn't see you. Do you need me to drive you to a hospital?" she asked. He grimaced.
"Nay, nay, child. I have certainly been hurt worse, though I don't seem to be able to recall any of the situations right now," he said, giving her a small smile. She sighed in relief that he seemed okay. Perhaps since she had just clipped him he was not seriously hurt.
"Is there someone I can call for you? Are you sure you don't need a hospital?" she asked.
"I am but a wanderer, my dear. No anchor anywhere. I need no healer," he said, sitting up slowly. He was holding his chest still, his face twisted again into a frown.
A wanderer? A hippie, maybe? He appeared to only have a worn leather pack with him, so perhaps she was correct.
"Then at least let me tend to you for the night," she blurted. She would never understand where that had come from, or what possessed her to say it, but she would admit it was comforting to see the relief in the blue eyes of the old man.
"Now that I will not turn down," he murmured. She helped him to his feet, holding his arm as she led him to her car.
"Where is the horse for your carriage?" he asked. She paused, looking at him in concern.
"A...are you okay?" she asked. He looked at her with those unnerving blue eyes, and then laughed aloud.
"Forgive me. I am only feeling a bit groggy. I was tired, you see. It was why I didn't see you coming," he demurred. She looked at him with a concerned gaze for a few more moments before accepting his excuse. She opened the door of the car for him, helping him sit down. She didn't bother with the seat belt, because there were no cops out here. They stayed close to the town, anyway. "Oh, my dear, my staff has fallen by the road. Could you retrieve it for me?" he asked.
She nodded, walking quickly to where he had fallen. The staff was lying in the grass, abandoned when he fell. She picked it up, noting how warm it felt in her hands. Then she noticed a lump of wet grey cloth. She picked it up, noticing it was a hat. A pointy hat. She was suddenly feeling much less okay with driving a stranger to her house in the middle of nowhere. Apparently she'd picked up a guy dressed as a wizard. Great.
The rest of the drive was quiet. He seemed tense for some reason. Perhaps the pain was greater than she thought? She pulled up into the driveway of her little house and saw him admire the little gingerbread cottage. She parked the car, rushing to the passenger's side and opening the door for him. He eased the long staff out of the car, using it instead of her to help him to his feet. He clutched the wet hat in his hand, the staff thumping against her walkway.
She opened the door and let him in, shaking raindrops out of her ponytail when she walked into the house.
"Do you want a shower, sir?" she asked. "I might have some clean clothes that belonged to my grandfather sitting around somewhere," she added.
"I would not turn down a hot bath or a bit of food if the kind lady were amenable," he said, his blue eyes twinkling merrily.
"Cerena," she said suddenly. His bushy eyebrows twitched upwards. "My name is Cerena," she added.
"A lovely name," he said in his deep, gravelly voice. He seemed to be debating something. "You may call me Olórin," he said. She smiled nervously.
"Your parents must have been Tolkien fans," she said weakly.
"How so?" he asked.
"Well, that was Gandalf's name. His...original name," she said. He stared at her for several moments.
"I can't say that I know Tolkien," he said.
"I'll just...go find those clothes," she said, backing away and nearly scampering from the room. The blue eyes of the stranger shot about, taking in the strange but cozy sitting room. Books were neatly lined up in several large bookcases, and a piano that had a well-worn bench sitting in front of it. He could hear the girl puttering around in the other room, and the sound of running water.
She knew his name, that much was true, but there was something about the way she reacted to it that made him suspicious. Was she a servant of the enemy? The strange, horseless metal carriage she had taken smacked of dark magic, but she did not reek of ill intent. In fact, she seemed very innocent.
She returned after several minutes, holding a bundle of clothes.
"I found some things that should fit. They're clean, but haven't been worn in a while," she said. He set the staff against the wall, walking stiffly towards her and receiving the bundle.
"My heart rejoices in its thanks for you," he said gratefully. She smiled shyly.
"The tub is full of hot water, and you're welcome to any of the products there, though I doubt you'll want to smell like peaches," she returned. "Second door on the right is the bathroom."
He bowed to her and left the room. She watched as he entered the bathroom, and heard the shuffling of someone fiddling around in the room. She was nervous, this much was true, but she didn't get a bad feeling from this man. He seemed like a harmless old traveler with a penchant for strange clothes and a strange name. Perhaps he enjoyed dressing that way because of his name? Some people just had quirks...
She fiddled around in the kitchen as he bathed, making a few hot sandwiches and preparing a bit of lemonade. She didn't much like sodas, and didn't keep them on hand, but she was usually prepared to spoil herself with a little lemonade. After a time he emerged from the bathroom, and she almost laughed aloud. The robes had looked much more at home on him. He looked out of place in a pair of corduroy pants and a button-up shirt. His hair and beard were damp but neatly combed.
"I made sandwiches, but they're hot," she said. He nodded amicably and sat down at her table. They ate in silence, and she was aware that he was studying her.
"Tell me more about Tolkien," Olórin said gingerly, sipping his lemonade. She swallowed a bit of ham and cheese.
"Well, he is widely regarded as one of the best fiction writers of all time. He is most famous for his series called 'Lord of the Rings,' and to a lesser extent the companion piece, 'The Hobbit,'" she said, setting her sandwich down. "He created the land of Middle Earth in his writings."
"And how does it relate to...to here and now?" he asked, stuttering only slightly over the question.
"Well, Tolkien said he fancied that Middle Earth was just Earth a long time ago. The series ended right as the Fourth Age began, and he said that modern times were in the sixth or seventh age," she commented. He stopped chewing, his face a bit surprised, before nodding gently. "I know a lot of the history of Middle Earth. I've read the books many times. I've seen the movies. You could be a relation to Ian McKellen," she commented. "He's the actor that portrays Gandalf, the wizard."
"Wizards? Sounds a bit far-fetched," he ventured. She smiled.
"Well, the wizards were very kind and helpful to the people of Middle Earth. They were sent by the Valar to help them combat Sauron."
"And did they?" Olórin asked casually. Cerena smiled wider.
"Well they would have had to for it to be the Sixth Age. If Sauron had conquered Middle Earth then he would have destroyed it," she said. He nodded, seeming both comforted and troubled.
"And what of the wizards?" he asked.
"Gandalf sailed with the elves into the west. Saruman was killed, and Radagast's fate was unknown. Alatar and Pollando were also never mentioned," she said, before standing and taking her plate to the sink.
"There were elves?" He asked.
"Oh yes. They were created first in Middle Earth by the God, Eru. They sailed to their own paradise after Sauron was defeated, and the world became darker without their light," she said as she retrieved his plate and glass.
"You sound as though you know a bit about the Elves," he commented lightly. She grinned.
"Every Tolkien fan enjoys the elves to some extent. But I have a secret soft spot," she said with a secret smile. She reached into the cabinet and pulled out a pack of cookies. She placed it down on the table between them. "I have a sort of obsession with the orcs."
He spluttered. "Why ever for?" He asked. Then he noticed the strange look on her face and caught his mistake. "It sounds like a dreadful word...orc..." he trailed off lamely. She blinked, but continued.
"Oh they were dangerous, and I make no assumptions that they were anything other than miserable creatures. But why would they not be? They were corrupted elves, their bodies twisted and tortured with dark magic beyond the understanding of Men. They hated their own existence and despised the ones they were made from. They could only create war, and hated the masters that kept forcing them into fighting. They had no voice in Middle Earth. They couldn't be reasoned with and no one tried. It's just sad," she said softly. Olórin took a shivering breath.
"You are a compassionate soul," he murmured. She distracted herself by eating a cookie, and they were both silent for a few minutes.
"Well, I have enjoyed our story time," she said shyly. He looked at her intensely for several moments before a smile graced his face.
"Aye. It has been very enlightening."
She ensconced him in what she called a 'guest bedroom.' The bed was a little small but the hand sewn quilt on top of it was comfortable and had the scent of welcome and love about it. He might have even slept well had it not been for the most interesting dream.
He was in Irmo's garden, sitting at the feet of the Lord himself as the Vala spoke with him.
"Now when she gets here, it will be paramount for you to stay with her," Irmo said, twisting a handful of flowers in his hands.
"When who gets here, my Lord?" he asked. Irmo stopped fiddling with the flowers and looked down at him, seeming surprised at the question.
"Why, the Dreamer, of course," he said.
"Who is the Dreamer?" he couldn't help but ask.
"Olórin, we do not have time for this. You must make sure she is ready by the time she faces the Council. They will resist her, for many reasons, but you need to stand by her no matter what. It's important," Irmo declared. He finished the twisting for the flowers in his hand, and with a flourish he held out a circlet of flowers. "Give her this, and tell her that it is perfectly normal to experience a bit of nausea at first."
Olórin reached out and took the garland of flowers, only to sit up on the narrow bed with a gasp. He reached up with one hand and wiped sweat from his brow, before swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. Morning light streamed into the room through the flower-printed curtains, and he could smell the scent of breakfast.
His ribs still ached from the accident, but he placed his other hand on his stomach to ease the growling. That was when he saw it. The garland from his dream- vision, most likely,- was still in his grasp. The flowers were hardy little things, buttery yellow in the center and blue on the tips of their petals. The braided stems were bright with life, and the leaves seemed to hum with magical energy. He huffed.
She hummed to herself as she put some bacon on the plate. She had slept well last night, having a pleasant dream about a picnic with Lord Elrond of Rivendell. She was not surprised with it, having talked a lot about Lord of the Rings to Olórin last night.
He shuffled into the room, rubbing his side as she was pulling bread from the oven. He had changed back into his robes, and the heavy grey material swished as he walked, his worn boots thudding lightly against the linoleum floor.
"I got fancy and made buttermilk biscuits to go with the eggs and bacon," she said cheerfully. His stomach made its pleasure known. She saw a flush in his cheeks, and laughed as she put generous helpings on his plate and then poured him a large glass of milk.
She was a lovely young woman with her exotically dark skin and curly hair. Her baggy pants and shirt hid the curves that had been revealed in her simple outfit from last night and the pink, canvass shoes on her feet were disarming.
"I would like to thank you for your assistance and kindness last night," he said softly. She pulled out a chair for him and made sure he was comfortably seated before she took her own place.
"It was the least I could do after almost running you over with my car," she said softly. They ate in silence then, and Olórin enjoyed the rich and filling breakfast. The biscuits were fluffy and very good with the butter and jam that she had put out.
"Did you have pleasant dreams last night?" he asked conversationally. Her nose wrinkled as she grinned, revealing white teeth. Her brown cheeks flushed and she put her hand to her chest.
"Oh, it was so strange! With all of our talk about Lord of the Rings, I had a dream I was having a picnic with one of the elves!" she laughed. He took a sip of the milk, using the paper napkin she had given him to blot the white beverage from his fluffy mustache.
"And which elf was it?" he asked.
"Oh, while everyone loves to dream and drool over Legolas, I like the dark-haired ones best. And Lord Elrond is very handsome in that serious, darker way," she said with a grin. His eyebrows twitched upwards.
"Lord, eh? Is he important?" he asked.
"He's the Lord of one of the elven realms, called Rivendell in the Common Tongue, or Imladris to the elves," she replied. "You know? I've got a poster of him in my nerd room! I'll show you!" she said.
"Nerd room?" he asked. She flushed again.
"Let me show you," she said, standing from the table and grasping his hand. He laughed at her exuberance. He grasped his staff from where it had been set against the wall as they passed it, allowing her to pull him to the first room in the narrow hallway. She pushed open the door and led him inside.
His eyebrows nearly came off of his face. Against one wall was a massive map of Arda, framed in a rich black frame and behind glass. On each side, there was a replica of a wizard's staff. If he were correct, it was a rough replica of his own staff, and that of Saruman's. There were Tengwar letters below the frame, painted onto the wall.
Savo 'lass a lalaith. Have joy and laughter. She knew bits of Elvish, then? Interesting. There were many colored pictures on that wall, and she walked over to the wall, pointing to faces that he had known for a long time.
"This is Legolas. He's played by Orlando Bloom. He's the Prince of Mirkwood, which is right here on the map," she was speaking exuberantly. "And this is Elijah Wood. He plays Frodo Baggins." His eyes snapped up at the picture, widening as the narrow, haunted face stared back at him. The lad's hand was extended, and a simple gold ring rested on his palm. "Oh! Here's Elrond. Hugo Weaving is his actor," she said, pointing to the picture. The likeness was striking. The deep eyes that stared out from the glossy paper, the simple circlet on his brow, and the austere robes were so very…Elrond. She pointed to a shiny, blunt sword. "I like this one. This is a replica of Andúril. It's Aragorn's sword, re-forged from the shards of a sword called Narsil," she said.
He realized he was still holding the garland of flowers in his hand, and his fingers tightened about it. She knew quite a bit about what was, is, and was to come…
"This is my favorite wall. On this side I have some Harry Potter stuff, mostly wands from different wizards and a replica of Hermione's Time Turner," she said, pointing to a display case. "Some people go out and party, drink…I like to collect book and movie props."
"Oh! I forgot I had him!" she said, reaching under a squishy sofa. She pulled out a large stuffed animal, and when she turned it to him, he realized it was a large stuffed dragon. Its cartoonish mouth was open, revealing felt teeth and a felt forked tongue. It was red with shimmering golden wings, and with a start he looked into the gold button eyes and realized it was a replica of Smaug. "I made him myself! Isn't he so squishy looking?" she said, tucking the animal into a cushion of the sofa.
"I'm impressed," he croaked out. She looked at him, a proud look on her face. "And I…I have something for you," he added. This almost felt like a betrayal. She smiled in that guileless way and he held out the circlet with a flourish.
"Oh! It's pretty. For me?" she asked. He stepped towards her, holding his staff in the crook of his arm as he placed the garland of flowers on her head. She blushed prettily, reaching up and cocking the flowers against her braided hair. "Thank you!" she said. He kept staring at her, noticing as her smile slowly faded from her face. She blinked several times, reached up to rub her eyes, and then promptly keeled over. His staff lit up with blinding blue light, and he sighed softly.
"Sometimes, my dear child, our dreams become more real than we could possibly imagine. And when that time comes, we must ask ourselves what to do about it. Do we put our feet on the ground and meet it head on, or do we run and hide ourselves away? You are about to find out more about fair Arda than you ever thought you'd know," he said and knelt down next to her.
There was a flash of light and the smell of ozone in the air as magic crashed around them, and when the light faded, there was nothing to indicate either had ever been there except the remnants of breakfast dishes in the kitchen and a broken garland of flowers on the floor.
I hope that was original and not confusing. This story will have some heavy influences by the Valar, Lord Irmo in particular. For those unfamiliar with the lore of the Valar, Irmo is the Lord and Master of Dreams, Visions, and Desires. He is the husband to Estë the Gentle, Lady of Healing and Rest. There may be some cameo appearances by the others (There are fourteen) but these two are the greatest supernatural stars. :)
Cerena's name is pronounced just like 'Serena' but is spelled with a 'c.' *Shrug* Let me know what you think. Favorite, Follow, or if you have a bit of time, I'd love to have a review. For the sake of interest and hoping to catch more people, I will be posting Chapter 1 and Chapter 2 together. I hope to see you for the long run!