Some facts:
I won't be updating too frequently as I've not written ahead.
I also feed on feedback. Don't let the sci-fi/lotr writer starve!
More relevant facts: Water, Air, Fire and Earth. Four elements, right?
Yes, a few main characters are OC's, and no, Legolas will not be figuring, don't fear. There is no self-insertion. No romance - planned, anyway. And while I respect hardcore bookies and my stories are mostly book-verse, I am not averse to the movies either. Oh, and technically this could all be happening in the background of Tolkien's stories, so we aren't necessarily drifting into the AU.
Set just as the Nine are released by Sauron and the mad dash of the poor hobbits begins. We find ourselves early winter of the year T.A. 3018, when Frodo and Sam set out of the Shire, by my reckoning. Don't hesitate to correct me if I'm wrong. We find ourselves in that year, I say, and we catch a glimpse of what our old pal the white wizard's up to.
0. Prologue
The Isen wound and carved its tail from the Misty Mountains and twisted south. It coiled and sprung and calmed enough to flow through the fortress of Isengard, past gardens and vast trees and the lush fields, past the sharp, four-toothed black spike of a tower, Orthanc, and further before curving suddenly west into the Belegaer Sea.
The Isen flowed on southwest. Darkness fell, and the Isen flowed, heedless of the bright flashes at the spiked tip of Orthanc, where the white wizard stood before a high pedestal, long robes fluttering in a hollow wind. The black shroud atop the stand glowed, cloth failing to obscure the flames stirring the depths of the palantír. Saruman ignored the seeing stone, and leafed instead through one of the many ancient tomes splayed open before him.
On the crumbling, yellowed parchment rested a tiny pebble, rounded smooth as though by water. It resembled little more than a seed.
The white wizard angled his elegant staff, murmuring strange words, compelling and commanding, and produced another deep flash of light. A crack of thunder, and then all was calm again. The palantír seemed to burn out beneath its curtain. Dark, complacent eyes reflected a glint of green.
* * *
1. Welcome to Lorien
At first all was black. Talyn's head throbbed as she willed herself up, eyes adjusting to the dimness. Her head had been resting on a book on the leaf-strewn ground, a curiously battered book filled with runes of what looked to her dazed mind as incomprehensible Quenya.
There was no obvious source of light, but a faint glow emanated from the thick silver trunks of the immense mellorn trees about her. Talyn rose slowly, shaking their leaves off of her trousers, and impulsively stuffed the book into her leather jacket. Her head was still pounding steadily from the fall. She was lucky to be uninjured, cushioned by the leaf-strewn forest floor. It was eerily silent when the wind ceased, and yet she felt her neck prickle under someone's gaze.
"Ey, you!" she called.
A long, lithe figure sprang noiselessly to the ground, and the elf approached Talyn. His hair was light and braided, his green eyes solemn. He wore a green cloak, clasped with a jeweled leaf that glinted pale emerald. Talyn had never before glimpsed the light of the Eldar thus tainted in another's face, and the elf was both fair and frightening to her.
"Stranger," he said to her, "How is it you have managed to walk past our wardens alone? How have you come here to the very Naith of Lórien, uninvited and undeterred?"
His tongue was melodic, and Talyn understood most of the Sindarin thanks to prolonged study.
"I'm Talyn, from Dale," she said, and the words flowed (heavily accented) as water from her tongue, "I passed across the Misty Mountains upon the orders of Radagast. But I presume I am in Lórien?"
"Indeed, stranger, you have slept in the golden woods of Lothlórien. If what you say is true, you have nothing to fear. I will bring you to the city, and there the marchwarden may speak with you."
"That is gracious of you," said Talyn, and as they set off the elf's stern expression softened somewhat.
"It is procedure to take into custody wanderers, but in these times it is as much for your protection as ours," he conceded. Talyn fell into step just behind him, and for a while they walked in silence, save for her footsteps on the leaves. The forest glowed around them, and gaps of moonlight danced on the grey bark.
After a time, the elf cast his eyes on Talyn. "Pardon my curiosity, stranger, but it is rare that a wanderer, especially of your race, speaks our tongue. It is refreshing to see that Men have not forsaken our joined history as many of us believe. If I may ask, what do you purpose by journeying through Lothlórien? Few Men find welcome here."
"I was serving an errand for a friend," said Talyn, after a pause. Her migraine, which had abated slightly with the elf's presence, was drumming in her ears. "I was gifted with the task due to my study of your language, I think. And I would endeavor to speak with the Lady Galadriel, if it is possible."
The elf smiled thinly, and spoke sardonically. "If you do serve some vital purpose in what is to come, she will call for you herself. I sincerely doubt you've any reason to see her. But we have arrived."
They passed over a white bridge hung with many lamps and the elf directed Talyn around the main West gate to a side door, a spiral staircase hewed within the hollowed trunk of an immense mellorn. This they climbed, Talyn growing dizzy and breathless, until they reached a level platform which stretched a narrow catwalk through the trees, above the Caras Galadhrim, the city that shone brighter than the leaves of the mellorn in spring, the city of green towers.
"That was the Guard's stair," said the elf. "There is a hold you may use to keep your balance."
Talyn followed him on the narrow path through the branches, clinging tightly to the silvery rope as a rail until they finally reached a large platform between the splitting branches of another large tree. Another elf stood there, and part of the flet was sectioned off by a light plaited screen. Talyn's guide smiled warmly to him, and addressed him as marchwarden and brother. As they spoke, Talyn examined the flet.
"My brother Orophin tells me you wish to speak to the Lady of the Wood," said Haldir in Westron, once the elf had told him of Talyn. "I would investigate this further, but Rúmil has sent for me for there has been trouble on our Eastern border, and I see by your lack of weapons that you could not easily do us harm. Therefore you may rest, though Orophin will remain here to guard this flet, and on the morn we will speak again and address your request."
"Thank you, warden," said Talyn, and added a habitual; "May the grace of the Valar be with you."
Haldir frowned lightly. "You Men surprise me," he mused, "But I thank you for your kind words. Brother, stranger, until the morrow."
The elf, Orophin, gestured for Talyn to rest behind the screen. "There are skins to warm you, though I fear supper will have to wait for the morning." He himself remained outside. Finally her exhaustion began to take its toll, and Talyn walked in to find the makeshift tent pleasantly dim and empty, soothing her headache, guarded from the wind on three sides with the screens and on the wooden floor a cot of skins and cloaks. She curled up into the soft cloaks on the cot, book brushing warmly against her skin, and immediately fell asleep.
Next: dreams and questions answered. the plot actually begins to move and my poor, patient readers are given something more to work with. Especially soon if the said readers let me know how they feel.