Of dimensional transcendence, and the course of Arda relayed.
Prologue:
Flames howled across the battlefield, drenching it in showers of ash and scorching rock, as a tongue of the same whipped through the stones of Moria like so much crumbled paper and lashed out across the air.
"This foe is beyond us all..." stepping forward even as his words were swept away before the roar emerging from the dreadnaught of shadow and fire, Gandalf the Grey brought his staff to bare and clapped it thrice upon the ground.
The reverberations from his staff met and matched those of the colossal figure's own, so that as its foot crashed down upon the brittle stonework path, the rock crumbled from within between it and they.
In only a few steps the beast would fall to its own doom, for that was the only way in which they might yet succeed without suffering ill and drastic measures for that victory.
The course of Arda, that is fate by the workings of the Song of the Valar before the workings of the world came to truly pass, was there-after averted from the intended course by the actions of an outside force.
Lightening emerged from a wrinkle in the air, flashing ten and thrice across the air and smoting the path in which the fell creature would yet have stepped upon.
An accompanying boom of great thunder pierced the uneasy noises of the mine and spread across each and every hall within nearly a league of that point.
And, at last, the wrinkle exploded as shadow anew expanded from it, and took form and shape upon the heart of the opposing beast.
For the first time since their father, Gothmorg, had been slain many thousands of years ago thence, a Balrog was taken from this world and passed once more into the halls of the Maia, of Mandos, and was thereafter chained upon the Outermost Domain outside of Arda with its master.
A man-sized figure slumped to the ground in the wake of the fiery eruption of the Balrog's living shell, and though fragments of now-cooling lava and plates of fading darkness fell down around him, the Company looked on in not a little awe.
Gandalf had not moved from his position in shielding the others, but he lowered at last the hand that had been raised before his face, and he looked upon the stranger in wonder and vast concern, ere the beating drums of the goblins and the Orcs reminded them all of the danger that existed still.
"Fly, you fools!" The wizard ordered heavily, striding forward quickly and lightly and leaning down to grasp the strange raiment the figure wore.
It felt oddly textured to his aged fingers, but he felt a subtle power radiating outward even as the man- for man he now saw it was indeed, with beard to match the scraggly hair- lay unconscious before him.
For a hesitant moment Gandalf was undecided.
Then he swept an arm beneath each shoulder and forced the man to his feet, and together they passed back across the crumbling passage way, where Gandalf paused only long enough to smash his staff to the surface twice more and insure that their foes would have no little difficulty in chasing them further still.
Then he raced after his companions with all due haste, even as his mind whirled and tried to understand what had happened.
"What do we do with him, if indeed we can do anything?" Boromir asked uneasily once the company had departed from Moria at length, and come upon the open lawn of Parth Galen, carrying the burden of the new and unsettling arrival upon uneasy wings.
Foremost among their thoughts were that if such a being could appear, in such a storm from which no conditions were there to give it rise in the first, and that he could utterly ruin a foe of such caliber, would they not be wiser to hold true and maintain what measure they could in obtaining his services rather than abandon him 'pon the road?
Gandalf would not allow them to do so, and as the leader of the Fellowship, it was easiest for him to sway the Hobbits, and Aragorn besides, whom was equally as disturbed as his fellow man.
"We awake him, if naught else. You desired the object of our mission to aide Gondor in her time of need, Boromir, and surely you would not turn astride that which slew the Balrog so as a fitting replacement?" He commented into the silence.
A shadow passed across Boromir's face at the reminder of his embarrassment at Rivendel, and his hands clenched and unclenched in frustration. "But what say you of his allegiance? Where has this man, if truly his guise is such, come from?" He questioned grimly.
"Allow the guilty to speak of their own volition before you judge them unduly," the wizard interjected as the figure before them began to stir and shudder, and roll until he was on his stomach, reaching weakly hither and fro for an unseen desire.
"Bloody hell..." the man uttered in a tone unrecognizable, and very nearly incomprehensible to their ears. Only Gandalf himself truly understood, though he frowned at the unknown meaning of what was likely to be an oath of some kind.
Black eyes looked out from beneath the shaggy black hair, and the man pushed up quickly to his feet, and looked around at the others blankly if uncertainly, and his gaze darted from one set of eyes to another with a hesitancy to meet them for any length of time.
"What is going on here? Who... are you, and better yet, who am I?" He asked. That set of questions caused a sharp line to mar Gandalf's already well-aged brow, and he stepped forward and gripped the stranger by one shoulder tightly again, wheeling him about to look upon one another more clearly.
A flicker of recognition passed before his eyes, but then it was gone again just as quick as it had come. "Do you understand me?" Gandalf asked him.
Just as they were muddled in recognition of his words, so to did the words of they to him come out rough and distant, so that it was only by the power inherent in each of they two that the messages they bore toward one another were understood in full.
He nodded. "Man le estach?" Gandalf asked, and this time the meaning was entirely lost, so that he shook his head and stepped back, as if fearing some wicked spell was being cast upon himself.
Frodo it was who interrupted. "I bid that we bring this stranger forth, if it would hasten our journey forward. I do not feel at ease standing like a lone cornstalk above its fellows on a warm day, and I would that we decide toward west or east which path we should stride toward," he said quickly and entirely unintelligibly to the new man.
The original concept for Of Arda. Twas intended to be Sirius Black that arrived in Middle-earth. I eventually kept experimenting over the next week and began to work instead toward a Dresden Files/LotR XO, as seen below.
"There are Ways, and then there are Ways, Harry Dresden. Do you recognize this to be true?"
A frown spread across his features. "I know that. Someone rather close to me explained how wide the Nevernever truly is."
"I do not speak of the Nevernever, Knight. I speak of that which dwells beyond the Outer Gates.
The glint of gold shone in the sunlight as if possessed by an inner, radiant flame. As I held it in my fingers, I could feel a dire pull to put it on, to grasp the flow of undisputed power contained within, and to rise up greater than these lower mortals.
I tossed it back upon the stone platter with a light clatter and raised a hand. "Fires of Mount Doom, huh?" I asked the gathering of Men, Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, and now with my addition, Wizards in the plural, effectively bringing the shouting match to a grinding halt.
Numerable eyes fell upon my form, some in wonder, others still in outrage and concern.
Elrond stepped up warily. "That is so, stranger. I would wonder whence you came, for I felt no such presence 'pon this land ere the meeting began. Who are you, and to what have you come here for?" He asked harshly.
I noticed that no one seemed to approve of my sudden appearance at what was probably a secret meeting. Guess I forgot to knock, when I stumbled through the Way.
I turned my hand from the ring and curled the fingers back until just the index was left, and I pointed at my only nearest fellow among those here.
"You're Gandalf the Grey at this point, right?" I asked him. "And old Saruman the White is still pitched up in Isengard, stirring up Orcs and whathaveyou?"
Gandalf stepped forward quite quickly at my questions. "Aye, that is my name in Middle-earth, among several others-" He began, and I cut him off.
"Mithrander, Tharkun, Greyhame, Gandalf the Grey, The Grey Pilgrim, Stormcrow, and Olórin in particular, thanks for the confirmation." I interrupted him.
"Which means that you're Elrond," I pointed at the ancient elf, "Aragorn, Boromir, Gimli, Legolas, Sam, Frodo, the other two Hobbits hiding behind a bush, and an assortment of no-names that won't have any value or effect toward the outcome of this day."
"In otherwords, I'm in Rivendell."
I interrupted the scene here to try it again just below.
"Which means that you're Elrond," I pointed at the ancient elf, then spread my hands in general toward the land around us. "And I'm in Rivendell, before the Fellowship even sets out. Joy of joys."
Both Gandalf and Elrond stood up taller, and I could feel them drawing in power to do something. I drew in an effort of will of my own. "I forgot how uptight you two were at this point in the books. Right, excuse my bluntness, and allow me to try again," I said.
"My name is Dresden the Black," I said. "Namely because everything that gets in my way is burned to a nice, charry-crisp, over the last twelve years. You need to do something about the ring, which means marching into Mordor and slinging it back into a pit of lava, as Arda should go."
I looked around at them. "Who would take up the ring? Who would show the fortitude to resist Sauron's- excuse me, Mairon's, will?"
"Pyrofuego," I stated at last, thrusting my hand forward. Thick and voluminous flames ensconced and engulfed the surface of the stone where the ring dwelt, and I channeled Lash's power consciously.
After several lengthy seconds, I let the power go. A terrible scream rent the air in the middle of those seconds, almost toward the end, and a bright smile spread across my face as my fire faded and left little more than a pool of melted gold upon the slag.
And here we come at last upon the final piece before I truly settled into writing the version of Of Arda that was eventually posted.
There are Ways throughout the Nevernever, some of them relatively safe given the surroundings, and others quite deadly to even step one toe within, and then there are Ways, which are unknown and guide beyond simple afterlives and the like.
I had thought the Outer Gates were just that, the gateways to such things as did not belong in this understanding of our universe. I still don't know what they truly are, but I know what they aren't; borders to worlds we assume are myth, are mere fiction.
That would be the Ways I just mentioned. And I was stupid enough to stumble upon them by trying to catalog what was still accurate of my mothers knowledge, and to fill in what she had left blank in my own time.
I stumbled out of the hastily made hole back into reality and fell face-first upon the white stone, landing with a thud and a clatter as my staff rolled free of my fingers.
The noise I wasn't even aware of died down quickly, and several footsteps followed even as I rolled over and thrust out with my will, closing the Way that I had just stumbled out of and ensuring the goblins and heliowraiths and what-have-you were trapped on the other side.
An aged hand gripped my duster and quickly yanked me up to my feet, as an equally worn staff appeared under my nose. "Name yourself, outsider, and be quick of it! How have you come by this place, where only elf-friends may yet be welcomed?" A voice I recognized despite the years since it had last been heard spoke quickly and not a little harshly.
I looked from face to face and felt my disgruntled anger at the Way fade beneath a rising nergasm of nostalgia and awe. "It exists..." I murmured slowly, and then again louder and with more sheer exuberance entering my tones. "It exists! Middle-earth!"
Old Gandalf faced me beside Elrond, and next to him his daughter Arwen, looking as young as ever in a vaguely Sidhe-manner, and then Aragorn and Boromir, bearded, weathered, and strong as Michael in all possibility. Beside them sat Gimli, stout and firm, and reminding me rather of Mouse in an odd way, and Legolas, Sam, Frodo.
If Murphy were here she wouldn't stand much taller than the hobbits, and I smiled just a little wider as my gaze fell at last upon the stone pedestal at the center of the hearing, and spied the golden ring set upon its surface.
"Speak, stranger!" Elrond commanded and managed to remind me of where I was and what was happening. I remained in Gandalf's grasp and thought about the questions they had asked a few moments prior.
"I come by the Ways, the unwelcome paths beyond the reaches of Arda as it were naturally wrought, that in which connect all outside of the Outer Void with the myriad of creation in its true splendor," I managed to say fairly quickly. "I come from earth, a modern-earth, in which not even legends or true-tales exist of this magnificent place or its peoples, and I come by flat chance exploring the greater domains between here and there and the unpleasant things making such their own."
"I name myself Dresden the Black, wizard of the White Council, and warden besides."
I've one last micro-scene I figure I should throw in before concluding, a sort of what-if for the latest version of Of Arda.
I looked upon the Nine, and my spirit shivered. I hadn't expected to feel like I was standing before some sort of demi-god, but the emanations of power flowing from them was not that far from what I felt from Mab, dosed with a few hints of Mother Winter for good measure.
The equivalent here was, of course, Sauron and through him his own master, Morgoth. In the Nine, in their Rings, and through they to the One Ring and its ruler and master, the power flickered across the ages back toward the beginning of Arda, when Morgoth had spilled his strength into his greater servants to empower them beyond the elves and men, and Sauron himself had made the same mistake in the creation of the Rings.
I wasn't facing mere mortal champions like the Summer Knight and, technically myself, the Winter Knight. I was looking upon the Red King, and Duchess Arianna, and Duke Paolo Ortega, all rolled together and multiplied by nine.
I was facing a force of combined might the likes of which I was severely underestimating, and overestimating my own self, without the enhancements of Mab surging through my veins.
What I had, really, was the base power my godmother had traded me all those years ago, and the strengths I had gathered up to the last year or so in combat and strife and near-death experiences.
That said, I had so much kinetic energy stored up within my own bands, and the imagination and freedom to expel the flames of hell itself and creation too if I so desired, that I had little doubt that they would walk away with damage.
"Pyrofuego!" I shouted as I thrust my staff forward.
And that is that. I'm going back through my archives and working on rewriting some future Covenant Primes' scenes that I had jotted down a couple of years ago and I stumbled onto these again in between. I'll probably be updating Oneshots some more in the next week or two with more of the stuff I come upon.