Discaimer: No, sadly, I must say that I do not own the characters/places of Lord of the Rings. That all belongs to J. R. R. Tolkein & Co!
Chapter 1
Middle-earth High
Deep in the land of Middle-earth, in the kingdom of Gondor, sat two brothers, sons of the Steward, Denethor. They were only seventeen, therefore never wanting to sit still, always lusting for the thrill of a mighty battle. Boromir, the eldest, glanced at his brother who was sitting opposite him at the stone table.
"Faramir," he began, "what do you want to do?"
His brother looked thoughtful.
"I don't know. What do you want to do?"
"Chase orcs?"
"Did that last week."
"Throw old wineskins down from Ethelion on the old women in the street?"
"Did that yesterday."
There was a steady silence as they both thought.
"I'm out of ideas." Boromir said aloud, slumping back into his chair.
"Me too." said Faramir.
Miles away in the kingdom of Mirkwood sat an equally bored young elf. He was only a few thousand years old, barely a teenager, and found that he was almost never taken seriously by anyone, especially his mother.
"Mother," he asked. "Figwit and the others are going to Lothlorien."
"I know, dear."
"Well, I suppose that since I am the prince I should be allowed to go as well. I could help!"
His mother smiled.
"Help me plant these junipers, will you, Legolas?"
The elf constrained a scream, stomping back up the stairs of his tree. When would anyone treat him like an adult?
It seems all over the land there were those with too much time on their hands, for in Rivendell, also, sat two young lovers, equally tired of the world.
'I am so bored.' Aragorn thought miserably as he hung upside-down on a tree limb. "When is Elrond ever going to let me do something important? It's getting to the point where assigning me chores would be a godsend.'
"Don't speak so loud." a silken voice whispered, almost knocking the young teen from the tree. Behind him stood Lady Arwen, an elf he'd had a crush on ever since he'd practically learned to walk. He slowly got down from the tree, forcing himself to take another breath.
"Forgive me, Lady Arwen. I did not know you were listening."
'Wait,' he thought. 'I wasn't talking . . .'
A look of shy indignance flashed across his face.
"I did not know you were reading my mind, at the time. You must forgive my lack of judgement."
The elf, though far older then Aragorn, found the young man somewhat alluring. She could never love a human, of course, but . . .
She found it extremely entertaining to see what she could find about herself from his thoughts. Too bad he'd caught on already; she was only getting started.
Aragorn, meanwhile, was trying to think of something else to say. He hoped he had not offended her; he was only being sarcastic.
'Oh, well,' he thought. 'I suppose even an embarrassing conversation with Arwen could be more interesting then sitting upside-down all day.'
Arwen smiled.
Slowly, as slow as the light of dawn stretches forth its hand to smite the clouds of night, ever so stealthily did this creep, a soft, quiet glow that encompassed the world of the young teens. Suddenly, before anything could be done, if there was something that could have stopped it at all, the young adults and many others, not yet met, were sucked out of existence. In another world, another millennium, there sat a group of friends around a short metal table. They were in a school, and it was barely morning as they sat, contemplating what their day of education would hold. It was here that the others, those of Middle-earth, were brought.