This story involves a huge disclaimer list, so I'm just going to get it out of the way here. Maedhros and Feanor and all allusions to Arda belong to Tolkien's estate, Ken and Lucemon and everything "digi" are copyrighted under Toei Animation, and Raistlin and Fizban and all their stuff is the property of Wizards of the Coast. Oh, and I suppose I should mention Finding Nemo, too. Whew!
This story is corny angst on purpose with stupid humor thrown in to alleviate the cheesy tension. The frail of heart and/ or literary critics would do well to turn away now, lest they fall into the shadows never to return.
Wait, what?
The Recovering Evil Madmen Support Group, Chapter One: Starting with a Bang
The dark-haired elf leaned back in his chair, fiddling absently with the artisan tools in his pockets, and eyed his eldest son with distaste. His son had cajoled him into going to this absurd meeting and, like a weak-backboned fool, he had submitted. There was no need for him to be here. He had done no wrong, he needed no help. The only reason he'd agreed was to get out of Mandos on a leave of absence, short though it may be. After long, tiresome millennia of waiting for the world to end, that place was starting to get really boring.
His cold grey eyes swept the room: apparently lots of other people had agreed with his pessimistic views, for the inter-planes-of-reality conference room his son had described as packed full at the first meeting was nearly deserted for this, the second. Aside from his son, busy preparing at the front of the room, his russet hair gleaming even in the dim torchlight, there were only two other figures in the room besides himself. The difference between the two people was striking. One was a young man, a boy even, sitting stiffly and seriously in the first row of chairs, his blue eyes downcast as he murmured to a small green bundle on his lap. His clothes were drab, grey, and formal; his dark hair fell in slash-like bangs into his eyes and mirrored the depths of the deepest ultramarine seas in its hue. Strangely poised and reserved, he nonetheless possessed an aura of…something…around him. Though human—the elf scrutinized—the youthful features were almost elvish in their seeming delicateness but barely hidden inner strength. This boy has a fire within him somewhere, thought the elf. Fire, but no discernable darkness. In his appearance and self-poise the boy seemed strong, intense, but pure. The elf wondered if perhaps the boy had found the wrong meeting; purity was not to be suspected in this particular room.
The expected darkness was instead provided by the other being, huddled concealed in the very back row of chairs in a mass of velvet black robes, his hood pulled over his head as he coughed softly. Frailty marked his every breath; beneath his hood his eyes glittered strangely.
The man's shoulders slumped in exasperation as someone began pounding on the wall behind him. "I say," came a doddering yet energetic old voice, "am I allowed in yet? Will you be leaving soon, or do I have time to go"
"You can leave in search of your hat, which I believe you misplaced during the casting of your transportation spell, and return in time to escort me away," came a soft but penetrating voice from somewhere under the folds of black fabric. "I assure you I have no plans to escape your supervision, and had I any you would no doubt be aware of them."
"Huh? Eh?"
"Just go if you want. I have no power to command you." The voice was bitter, with a touch of wistfulness.
"Awfully nice of you to say that. Be good while I'm gone. Drat! Where'd my hat go, anyway?" The voice outside in the hall faded away, the man in black robes slouched over again, and the elf smiled wryly. So he was not the only one chaperoned to this idiotic place.
His gaze wandered idly to the "clock" on the wall. The meeting would begin when the large arrow pointed at the 12 and the small arrow pointed at the 7, his son had said. That time…was now.
Apparently his son was also aware of it, striding around the table to face his "meeting." With his left hand, he made some last-minute adjustments to the papers and scrolls lying on the tabletop. His right arm hung at his side, no fingers poking out of the long sleeve. The dark-haired elf's son did not write with his left hand by choice.
Clearing his throat, the elf's son gestured for the man in the hooded cloak to sit farther forward. The offer was rejected with a shake of the black-cowled head, and the red-haired elf began to speak.
"I…ah…guess this is everyone." Disappointment registered clearly on his face and flickered in his grey eyes. His father smiled, knowing his son had lost their little fight. These meetings were pointless, and now the redhead knew it.
His son pressed on anyway—"Well, it's time to begin the second…"when suddenly, without warning, the door to the meeting room burst off its hinges as something outside exploded. The dark-haired elf was flung to the ground by the blast but was soon back on his feet, hand grasping at his side for a sword that wasn't there, that he was not permitted to take. Smoke filled the room, but as it cleared the elf looked around.
His son was fine, merely shaken and rather foolishly positioned; the table had been overturned and he'd apparently toppled back along with it. Climbing out, he wiped his eyes to rid them of the specks of dust floating everywhere.
The midnight-haired boy crouched in the shadow of a gigantic, winged, green, insect-like creature standing protectively over him. In one hand the boy clutched a strange grey and black device; it shone for a second and the creature was gone, shrinking to become the pale green blob the boy had spoken to softly earlier. He brought a monster, wondered the elf. How came this boy to have control over Morgoth's demons? Perhaps he did belong in this sorry gathering after all.
It was not hard to locate the black-robed man, as the dust made him cough and hack furiously. Pressing a handkerchief to his mouth, he struggled to stand, grasping for something, anything, to help him up. The boy ran over but was stopped from supporting the man with a single look within the dark hood—the man had glared, perhaps. Taken aback, the boy stepped slowly away as painfully but proudly the man rose to his feet, handkerchief still muffling his coughs.
"Am I late? The door was locked," chirped a childish voice from the doorframe. A figure stood silhouetted against the clearing smoke, then became visible.
The elf blinked. The elf stared. The elf downright goggled, which elves do rarely and he usually did next to never. His confounded look was echoed on the dumbfounded face of his son, on the expressive features of the boy, in the abrupt posture of the dark-cloaked man. If the youthful, pure-looking boy had seemed out of place in this sullen collection, the newcomer belonged on another planet altogether.
Standing in the doorway was an angel.
a/n: Hey! How'd an elf from Arda recognize an "angel?" It makes no sense! The authoress must be stretching things for her own twisted purposes…oh well. To conclude…
Wow, how'd you find this convoluted thing? It doesn't really belong anywhere. Anyway, I hope you liked it. Maybe you've read/seen all the stories I'm using, maybe not. If you have, I hope you recognize everybody and bear with my portrayal of the black-robed one. I've known about him for less than a week and am still trying to get under his (freaky golden) skin…even though in that one week I've read nine books featuring him…yeah. As I was saying, if you haven't read/seen the books/anime I'm referencing, I think I'm going to give enough information about all the characters for you to understand what little plot takes place. I know everybody's relatively anonymous in the story right now, but stick with me, please! They'll all be introduced soon enough…I won't reveal any identities/sources beyond what's in my disclaimer until they've all given their names. But you're free to guess.
See you all (hopefully) for Chapter Two, in which they recite the pledge…