There is a story in all of us which must be told, a longing, a cry or sometimes a whisper under starlit skies. Some stories must be told with an ounce of embellishment or a hint of wonder, some stories are those of friends against foe, or of love and friendship, or bravery and valor or the stories telling us nothing at all. Some make us wander our imagination or the world we live others, the special kind, which push us out the door and onto our feet, running to an unknown destination. With the stars above our heads and the dust between our toes, not knowing where they'll lead us.
Our story begins in a land of magic, beyond anything we could imagine ,full of creatures of wonder, beauty and fear. This particular tale is that of friendship , love and how being a little brave and slightly crazy can get you to places you would never have imagined.
The rain beat the ground with a roaring drone. The sky- a shocking white- ballooned with clouds of monotone greys and blues with the wind howling icy and wet from the south, sending the trees into a frenzy and the rain pelting down onto the earth in a frenzy.
A tiny black bird swooped to the ground, its bright orange tail following it. It cocked its head to the side eyeing the long lump of black in front of it. The appeared to be alive, its body gently rising and falling with every shallow breath.
The blackbird pecked its pale, wet hand. It did not move. She tried again, this time harder, releasing a small pool of warm liquid. And jumped back as a loud, pained groan rose from the lump, its eyes fluttered open for a moment and squeezed shut.
The bird did not understand what had drawn it to the living lump. It radiated a different kind of warmth, as if it were a living part of the forest itself. The little blackbird hopped to the hand it had pecked and huddled itself inside, the long fingers of the lump gently curled around it, as if it knew not to hurt the bird. As if holding onto the only other life beside it. The blackbird made itself comfortable and cooed softly into the wind, its coo rising in three musical notes that gently radiated throughout the forest, calling to the other creatures for help.
The day passed much the same, dreary, and grey as the lump swam in and out of consciousness. Sometimes scaring off the little bird when it drew in a great, shuddering breath and collapsed into the darkness again. It was near the late afternoon when the downpour stopped, and a second bird joined the first, fluttering down through the dying sunlight that broke through the clouds. Together they created a heavy melody which caught the ears of a passer-by in the woods.
The blackbird heard it first.
The creature's footsteps were soft, avoiding the drying leaves, but squelching in the mud. The was one from the big folk that bumbled through the undergrowth. It replied to the bird's call in a descending tune and the birds sang their melody louder in response.
The bird's call grew louder, echoing the urgency of the man's whistle.
The footsteps sped up as the man broke into a run. He hurtled through the undergrowth, his grey robes tangling in the creepers and branches of the trees and his beard swaying this way and that as he sprinted. All the while whistling and wondering what on Aman had gotten the little creatures into such a frenzy.
With a final, dwindling note the man burst through the treeline and into the small clearing, nearly scaring the birds half - way to death.
"My friends!" came his soft voice, "What is the matter and who is this?" he asked, kneeling beside the soaked lump, and tentatively turning them over. The man's bushy, grey brows furrowed together; his wrinkled face aged as a look of concern came over him.
"It cannot be!" he quietly exclaimed as he examined the unconscious girl. Muttering in a quiet mix of confusion and awe. Her long blonde hair plastered around her deathly pale face. Her shallow breathing worried him, as did her freezing fingers.
The man gently pushed aside her hair to feel her pulse, the downpour forgotten as a large, pointed ear came into view. He could not believe who lay before him. It should not be possible. She had been gone for many, many years.
The bird's chirped uncontrollably, fluttering hastily in front of the old man, telling him that the elf was fading and fading quickly.
"Yes, I see. You two flapping about like headless chickens is not going to help her!" he said with a huff of annoyance before resting his hand on her stomach and chanting softly as the setting sun broke out of the clouds.
His chanting stopped and her breath became even and deeper, the two birds curled themselves in the crooks of her neck. Warmth began to spread throughout her body, her fingers and toes ached and painfully tingled as blood rushed back to her muscles. She slowly clenched and unclenched her fingers. Her pallor turned a healthy shade of creams and pinks as her face warmed up.
The old man leaned back on his haunches as her eyes rapidly opened and closed allowing the late afternoon light in.
"Slowly my dear, there is no need to rush." said the old man with a strange twinkle in his eye. He moved to block the light," There, that should help."
"Wha- Where am I? " her voice was a hoarse whisper, "why does everything hurt? "
Was all managed to say before she turned on her side and vomited. Her head spun whilst she wretched, tears streamed down her face and her muscles were too heavy for her bones. The man gently pulled back her hair and rubbed her back before helping her sit up so he could clean her face with a cloth he produced from under his robes.
"Here, sip on this." He held the waterskin to her mouth with one hand, supporting the back of her neck with the other." Slowly now..."
The water tasted warm and leathery. She wanted nothing more than to hastily gulp down the cool liquid and forced herself to slow down, knowing that she would choke if she did not.
After a little more coaxing and telling her to sip slowly the elf turned to him," Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you?" She spoke in Westron and he answered in a tongue she had once spoken.
The man's face lit up, his eyes glinted with something she could not put her finger on, " I- I am Gandalf, though you know me as Mithrandir. And to answer your earlier question, you are in the forest surrounding the Great East Road, on Middle - Earth, or Arda as the Elven-folk call it."
It was at this point where the girl gave Gandalf or Mithrandir or whatever she was supposed to call him the most befuddled look he'd ever seen on such a fair face.
"Elven-folk? How do you know who I am? What do you mean Middle – Earth? And what do you mean that I once knew you? This... this must be a joke!" she fired questions at him before she could process what she was saying.
Her mind swarmed with them, this was all too much, she hadn't heard anyone but herself speak of such a place in years. The plains of Aman had become a mere fairy-tale to her. A place where she escaped to when the world became too busy, a place filled with memories and songs that were not hers. This could not be real.
" Oh dear Lord, what's happening?" She passed her hands down her face and stuck her fingers in her hair, she felt her lungs expand and flatten with each hastening breathe. " No no no no ! This is a dream!" hot tears escaped her eyes," No no no, Middle Earth doesn't exist! No no no!"
Gandalf gently pried her hands from her hair and held them in his much larger and calloused ones. He looked deeply into her eyes, giving her an assuring look, his eyes full of concern.
"Breathe with me, come on, in ...And out, there you go my dear, let's go again." She did as he did, one deep breath after the other until her breathing slowed, and her mind cleared.
Gandalf squeezed her hands reassuringly, and began to rise to his feet, "Everything is fine my dear, you can trust me. Now I need you go to stand; can you do that?"
The elf gave a slow nod and took his hands as he slowly pulled her up. The sun was now gone and the sky had cleared, revealing constellations she had only seen in her dreams. Or at least, she thought that she had seen them there.
She looked down at herself, her black jeans were brown, her shoes were caked with mud and her coat was practically a sponge. She grunted in dissatisfaction; it was her favourite coat.
Gandalf looked her over, before turning and sniffing the air, his face flushed with worry, he smelt woodsmoke in the air, it was heavy and scented. "No.. there is something foul at work." He said to no one in particular.
The elf was currently trying to shoo away the birds that were trying to sit on her shoulders, " Come on Lostoriel, we must get moving." said Gandalf as he picked up his staff and ploughed off into the woods.
Lostoriel? She knew that name, it was not hers, hers was Laura. Lostoriel was the name of a girl long lost and far away.
The elf, Lostoriel hesitated, her mind cried out for her to turn and run the other way. What are you doing following a strange, homeless man into the forest? Do you want to die?
Before she could continue to argue with herself Gandalf appeared at the edge of the clearing, he looked rather annoyed and unsettled all at once. He raised a hairy eyebrow, "Well, are you coming with or do you fancy being eaten by trolls?"
She didn't know if it was the ridiculousness of the notion of trolls or the stern tone of Gandalf ' s voice which spurred her feet on before her brain could register what was happening.