-THE GAMES OF THE GODS-
-Disclaimer:-
CS: My fingers are so cold it hurts to type.
Glorfindel: Then write the disclaimer and get it over with!
CS: Can't.
Glorfindel: Why not?
CS: Because I'm sitting on my hands.
Rachel: Then how are you writing this?
CS: With my nose.
Glorfindel: *sigh* Crimson Starlight owns nothing, and we're all very very glad of that...
-17: Time-
One thing I learned on that trip was that not only did it take a lot longer then one would think to get from Bree to Minas Tirith, but trips are a lot less enjoyable when you fear that someone might be following you. Compared to my easy ride from Rivendell to Bree, my trip from Bree to Minas Tirith was practically a race. It was good that I rushed, though - I barely had any food from Halena left by the time I reached the White City.
This time, since Halena and Bartholomew had paid me for my work in Bree, I was able to pay for a room for one or two nights while I looked around the city for a job. This time, to ensure there was no risk of me being recognized, I changed my name, and Liltalen's. I became Melira, and Liltalen, who I soon kept in a paddock outside of the city for a small monthly price, became Obsidian. My story was, for once, not entirely untruthful - I said that 'Obsidian' and I came from Bree, where my family, the Marsanon's, were, and I had traveled to Minas Tirith seeking change.
So, armed with my new identity and wearing one of my nicer dresses, I managed to get up into the 3rd highest circle of the city - quite a feat, considering most Inn's of the Prancing Pony's quality were in the 6th highest circle - and get a job at a seamstresses shop. I had very little skill in sewing, so my job was to handle the customers that didn't need to see the actual seamstress for anything.
Shortly after getting that job, the seamstress invited me to use the apartment above the store as my own, and I was able to move out of the Inn I had been staying in since arrival. I got quite comfortable with that job, and enjoyed it immensely, getting to know most of the inhabitants of the 3rd circle of the city, and a few from above.
My sleeping habits had to change somewhat for my new life style, as I had to work the entire day, instead of the afternoon and evening. So I would work during the day, and then go for rides on Liltalen in the evening or early morning. As time wore on, however, Liltalen became old, and eventually, sixteen years after my arrival in Minas Tirith, he died. Left without a horse to ride around, I started taking walks, or climbing onto the roof of the shop and watching the stars.
All good things must come to an end, however, and eventually the day came when the seamstress grew sick, and soon afterward, died. The business was left to her daughter and apprentice, who was willing to keep me on as help, but I knew I couldn't stay on any longer. I had been there since before the old seamstress' daughter was born, and people were going to start noticing how I wasn't aging.
So, sadly, I told the new seamstress that I needed to go north again to my family, and packed up my things and left. I did not, however, go any farther north than the other side of the city, and no farther away from the city than the 7th - and last - ring. The 7th ring was a rowdy place, but after spending close to 30 years up around the stuffy Lords and Ladies and rich merchants of the 3rd circle, I felt the need for a little excitement.
Excitement was what I got, that's for sure. About the only jobs in the 7th ring of the city were in taverns, and all those that weren't in taverns were already filled. So I found myself back to tavern life, serving tables, being hit on and shooting crude comments back and forth with the customers. I learned quite a few bawdy songs while I was there, too. I rarely sang, though. As the Innkeeper had noted one of the times when I had, my voice was far too smooth to sing such crude songs. So I stuck to joining in on the choruses, and then only quietly. Not like anyone could hear me, no matter how loud I sang, once the entire tavern of drunken men got singing at the same time, as they often did on popular songs.
Not surprisingly, I saw absolutely no one that I knew from the 3rd ring of the city the entire time I was working at that tavern, and was quite pleased to go about my business. I had changed my name when I'd changed from the 3rd to 7th ring, of course, to Enita, as well as my style of dress. I was feeling slightly annoyed with Middle-earth dress codes for women, especially after working in a seamstresses shop, so I adopted a homemade sarong-like skirt, also homemade tight short-sleeved shirts, and bandana's wrapped only around my ear-tips to not only hide them, but keep my now very long hair behind me and out of the way. I was suddenly thankful for the 30 or so years I'd just spent in a seamstresses shop.
My style of dress was, naturally, quite popular with the men, since not only did it show my curves, but every once and awhile I'd flash as much as my entire lower leg while walking. The women, of course, quickly called me a slut, and a strumpet, and just about every other name they could think of. The name-calling tapered off, however, when it became quite apparent that I had no interest whatsoever with sleeping with any of the men I came into contact with. Besides the fact that my identity as an Elf would be revealed, none of the men looked even remotely nice.
Of course, I was probably biased in that opinion, what with seeing and getting to know the ohsoveryyummy Elf-lords of Rivendell.
That was probably one of the only things I missed as I lived in Minas Tirith, skipping around every 30 or so years to a new part of the city. I could never have any close friends, and romance was completely out of the question. I had to practically beat off one of the Ruling Steward's sons once, in fact. I started to feel lonely after awhile, but pushed it away, knowing that even if I did make close friends or get romantic with anyone, I'd just outlive them, anyways. I probably could have handled them if I was just going to outlive them for a hundred years or something like that, but I was an elf, and would outlive anyone I met by forever.
My immortality was by far one of the hardest things for me to deal with, actually. The crude comments, or the stuffy Gondorian Lords and Ladies, I could handle. But living forever? It was strange, to say the least. I had been so used to waking up every morning, and though not consciously thinking it, knowing that I had a limited number of days left. But for the first several hundred years, just about every morning I woke up with the thought in my head that I was immortal, and that I wasn't aging, and that this day wouldn't bring me one day closer to death. It made me much more sedate, and calm, and soon I found that I couldn't fit in as well as I used to with the rowdier crowds in Minas Tirith.
Then I got bored one day and decided to recite as much of the movies to myself as I could, and naturally, that lead to the remembrance of Haldir's death in said movies. So, recalling that I could die from wounds and nasty accidents, I promptly packed up my bags and switched identities - back to the 7th ring of the city. My love of life, rowdiness, and sense of humour, along with disrespect for formalities, returned after that, and I spent the next several hundred years quite happily skipping around the lower rings of the city, avoiding the Lords and Ladies entirely.
I'm still amazed to think back over those days in Minas Tirith and realize I spent over 500 years there, skipping from identity to identity, job to job. I'm quite surprised someone didn't recognize me from a previous identity and blow my cover, but I guess if you're not expecting to see someone, your eyes slide right past them if you see them, making up some excuse to your brain about how that can't be them. The ever-present Mary-Sue Factor probably helped, as well. I was annoyingly aware that it was still around, even after I'd left Rivendell, though its presence wasn't as strong as it used to be. Several hundred years - and cursing outs - seems to have taken some of the spunk out of it. I could actually make a mistake every now and then, and was extremely delighted every time I managed to do so. Yes, most people I met thought I was slightly touched in the head.
Anyways. I stuck around Minas Tirith until the year after Ecthelion the First rebuilt the White Tower, 2699, and then bought a horse and provisions - and hired an escort, Middle-Earth wasn't all that safe anymore - and traveled to the newly-established Rohan. Banking on the Rohirrim's knowing of the Dúnedain, I spent close to 60 years in Meduseld, helping in the Kings stables and thoroughly enjoying myself. The Rohirrim had a very different culture from Gondor, less refined, and more relaxed. I fit in perfectly.
I was sad when I realized it was time for me to leave, and so I encountered the one problem with my lifestyle that I hadn't even thought of - the urge for a home. My over 600 years of skipping from identity to identity had left me without any place to truly call home, especially once I left Minas Tirith for Rohan, and I had the sudden urge to head north again. That I did, making for Bree once more, and not a moment to soon.
The year after I left, Rohan was attacked and overrun, and Gondor was put under siege by the Corsairs. The winter that followed was one of the coldest in my memory, and I was extremely glad to be nice and settled in Bree by the time it came.
I had, out of nostalgia, started working at the Prancing Pony once again, though it was now owned by a different family entirely. Old Tod's ranch was still up and running, surprisingly enough, and even more surprising, it was called 'The Liltalen Ranch', and horses descended from Liltalen still roamed its pastures. After finding that out, I was quite unsurprised to hear that the owners of the ranch were rather frowned upon in Bree because they dealt with Rangers, selling them horses and even housing them if no Inn would take them. The ranch owners were, of course, quite rich by now, and didn't care what anyone else in Bree thought about them at this point. Many times I had the strongest urge to knock them down a few pegs by making some wild story about how my many-times-great grandmother had owned Liltalen, and therefore they owed their success to me, a common serving wench, but instead, I just watched with amusement as the ranch owners swaggered around town.
It was during this winter that I had my first run in with the infamous Gandalf the Grey. Oh, he had come to Minas Tirith while I had been there, but he always stayed up in the palace, and I never saw him. Even here in Bree, he picked the best Inn available - the Prancing Pony. He only stayed one night, apparently passing through on his way to the Shire, but he seemed unusually interested in me when he was at the Inn. He took careful note of my name when I told it to him, and I could practically feel his eyes burning into me whenever I was in the same room as him. This made me, rather irrationally, quite annoyed with the Maia, and glad when he left. The cold weather was probably getting to me, I decided, and pushed Gandalf out of my mind as I continued working.
We have all seen the evidence of what happens when you push incidences regarding well-known characters and the Prancing Pony out of your mind, however. They come back and bite you quite viciously on the rump. So it was that one night that next summer, when I was out taking I walk in the woods around Bree, my eyes on the stars, I had my second run in with Gandalf. I hadn't even known he was there, really, until his gruff, though kind, voice came from behind me.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?" I whirled around in surprise, and found Gandalf standing there, leaning on his staff and looking quite amused.
"Yes, they are." I said, recovering my composure. There was silence for a moment as Gandalf watched me from under his bushy eyebrows, and I looked back at him curiously.
"So, Laesa, are you enjoying your work at the Prancing Pony?" Gandalf asked after a moment, using the name I'd adopted on my arrival in Bree.
"Very much, Master Gandalf." I replied smoothly. Gandalf chuckled slightly at the title.
"Just Gandalf, child." he said. I held back my annoyance at the title of child - I certainly didn't feel at all child-like after spending 650 years gallivanting around Middle-Earth. But Gandalf's age was, I knew, in the five digit area, and I figured that gave him the right to call me a child if he wanted to.
"As you wish, Gandalf." I said with a smile. "So what brings you back to Bree? Passing through again?"
"Actually, I came to speak with you." Gandalf said. The small smile that had been forming on my face froze, and then disappeared entirely as I slowly arched an eyebrow at Gandalf.
"To me? Whatever could you want to come all the way to Bree simply to speak with me about?" I asked eventually, when Gandalf didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
"I was actually rather wondering what an Elf was doing working in a human Inn, pretending to be human herself." Gandalf replied. I stared at him in shock for a few moments before I reminded myself of what he was. Besides being very old, and wielding the Elven Ring of Fire, he was a Maia, just one step down from the Valar. Sort of like the Middle-Earthian version of an Angel...or possibly Archangel. It really should have been no surprise that he knew what race I truly was without even really getting to know me or spending any time around me.
I realized I was still staring at Gandalf, and that my mouth had dropped open slightly. I closed my mouth and blinked, shaking my head to pull my thoughts together and answer him.
"Trying to earn a living, like most creatures." I replied finally.
"Far away from any of your own kind, and denying your own heritage?" Gandalf asked, one bushy eyebrow crawling up his forehead like some freaky caterpillar.
"Who said I'm denying my heritage?" I asked, arching an eyebrow in reply. "I just happen to know that I wouldn't be accepted on equal terms by humans if it was known I was an Elf. So I hide my ears and sacrifice a little grace and cleanliness and am accepted."
"But why among humans? Why not go to one of the many Elven Kingdoms?" Gandalf asked, looking honestly curious.
"Because I dare not." I replied softly, turning my gaze back up to the stars that I could see through the trees.
"Why not? Were you banished?" Gandalf asked. I turned back to him with an amused smile.
"You're reminding me of a child, Mithrandir, always asking 'why'." I said. Gandalf smiled.
"How else is one supposed to come to know things?" he asked. I chuckled.
"Too true." I said. Silence fell again, and I turned back to the stars.
"You did not tell me why you dare not go to one of the Elven Kingdoms." Gandalf said eventually.
"Because I am cursed." I replied bitterly. Gandalf looked extremely intrigued with that answer.
"Cursed? I did not know Elves were susceptible to such things." he said.
"You'll find I am quite different from any Elf you've ever met." I replied, turning my gaze back to Gandalf and smiling ruefully.
"I'm sure. What is the nature of this curse?" Gandalf asked.
"That I may never set foot in Elvish owned lands ever again." I half-lied briskly, not wanting to explain the whole Mary-Sue deal to Gandalf. Hell, I didn't even want to remember it. Gandalf, however, was not so easily put off.
"Or else what?" he asked.
"What?" I asked in reply, blinking in momentary confusion.
"What will happen if you do set foot in Elvish owned lands?" Gandalf elaborated.
"You don't want to know." I answered, somewhat angrily, turning my eyes stubbornly back to the stars. Silence fell again, and I felt Gandalf's eyes boring into me.
"I heard tell of another strange Elf several hundred years ago." Gandalf said eventually in a conversational tone. "I never met the Elf, myself, but I heard of her strangeness from the sons of the Lord of Rivendell."
"Really." I said flatly, guessing where this was leading.
"And also from the one son's wife, who had apparently been the Elf's friend before she left Rivendell." Gandalf replied. I was sure he had some suspicion as to my identity, now, but if he expected to get a response out of me with that little tidbit about Kari and Elrohir being married, he was sorely disappointed. I had long ago decided that, unless things had gone horribly wrong, Kari and Elrohir would have married by now. So I just turned a dispassionate gaze to Gandalf and arched an eyebrow, silently asking if this was going anywhere. Gandalf continued without seeming to notice my silent question.
"I heard that she ignored all rules of propriety, doing what she liked, and managed, in a matter of days, to turn Lord Elrohir purple, along with her friend, and tame the wildest stallion that had ever come of the Rivendell horses." Gandalf commented. "Unfortunately, not long after her arrival, she apparently jumped from the cliffs north of Rivendell and perished in the plunge. Her horse escaped that very same night, and later traces of his blood were seen here in Bree, in the horses raised on what is now called the Liltalen Ranch."
"How very interesting." I intoned. "So I'm not the only Elf in Arda that is - or was - different from normal. Hardly a startling revelation." There was silence again as Gandalf stared at me thoughtfully, me returning his gaze with a stony one.
"Why ARE you running?" Gandalf murmured, almost to himself. "What have you to be afraid of?" I stared back at him stonily. After awhile, Gandalf shook himself and smiled lightly at me. "Come, it is late, I am sure you need to return to the Inn as much as I." I nodded solemnly and followed Gandalf as he headed back to the Prancing Pony. Once we were inside, he bid me goodnight, and went to his room, while I slipped off to mine.
----To be continued...with 38% more sporks!----
(Not to mention Boromir, Faramir and Denethor...)
-Authors Note:-
My hands really are so cold it almost hurts to type, so this is going to be short and sweet and to the point - thank you to all my reviewers; especially Splendifer and my sister (who I apparently forgot to tell about this fic), everyone who replied to my question in the Author's Note for last chapter (Spry Sprite, TrybalOak and celebren), and all those who noticed that I didn't exclude Legolas from the random Mirkwood Elves (you all get Legolas clones - 'cept for Rinny Leonhart / Rikku, who gets the original 'cuz she was first to notice).
Anywho, now that I've said thank-you, let me repeat what I've said in just about every chapter in every one of my stories (probably even my X-Men ones...): PLEASE REVIEW!!! I appreciate all your reviews incredibly much - unless you're a writer yourself, you probably don't know how GOOD it feels to read a whole pile of nice things said about your writing. As an added incentive, if you give a detailed review (like Aislin's) or catch my attention somehow, I might just write back.
Well, so much for keeping this short and sweet and to the point...
~Crimson Starlight
-Disclaimer:-
CS: My fingers are so cold it hurts to type.
Glorfindel: Then write the disclaimer and get it over with!
CS: Can't.
Glorfindel: Why not?
CS: Because I'm sitting on my hands.
Rachel: Then how are you writing this?
CS: With my nose.
Glorfindel: *sigh* Crimson Starlight owns nothing, and we're all very very glad of that...
-17: Time-
One thing I learned on that trip was that not only did it take a lot longer then one would think to get from Bree to Minas Tirith, but trips are a lot less enjoyable when you fear that someone might be following you. Compared to my easy ride from Rivendell to Bree, my trip from Bree to Minas Tirith was practically a race. It was good that I rushed, though - I barely had any food from Halena left by the time I reached the White City.
This time, since Halena and Bartholomew had paid me for my work in Bree, I was able to pay for a room for one or two nights while I looked around the city for a job. This time, to ensure there was no risk of me being recognized, I changed my name, and Liltalen's. I became Melira, and Liltalen, who I soon kept in a paddock outside of the city for a small monthly price, became Obsidian. My story was, for once, not entirely untruthful - I said that 'Obsidian' and I came from Bree, where my family, the Marsanon's, were, and I had traveled to Minas Tirith seeking change.
So, armed with my new identity and wearing one of my nicer dresses, I managed to get up into the 3rd highest circle of the city - quite a feat, considering most Inn's of the Prancing Pony's quality were in the 6th highest circle - and get a job at a seamstresses shop. I had very little skill in sewing, so my job was to handle the customers that didn't need to see the actual seamstress for anything.
Shortly after getting that job, the seamstress invited me to use the apartment above the store as my own, and I was able to move out of the Inn I had been staying in since arrival. I got quite comfortable with that job, and enjoyed it immensely, getting to know most of the inhabitants of the 3rd circle of the city, and a few from above.
My sleeping habits had to change somewhat for my new life style, as I had to work the entire day, instead of the afternoon and evening. So I would work during the day, and then go for rides on Liltalen in the evening or early morning. As time wore on, however, Liltalen became old, and eventually, sixteen years after my arrival in Minas Tirith, he died. Left without a horse to ride around, I started taking walks, or climbing onto the roof of the shop and watching the stars.
All good things must come to an end, however, and eventually the day came when the seamstress grew sick, and soon afterward, died. The business was left to her daughter and apprentice, who was willing to keep me on as help, but I knew I couldn't stay on any longer. I had been there since before the old seamstress' daughter was born, and people were going to start noticing how I wasn't aging.
So, sadly, I told the new seamstress that I needed to go north again to my family, and packed up my things and left. I did not, however, go any farther north than the other side of the city, and no farther away from the city than the 7th - and last - ring. The 7th ring was a rowdy place, but after spending close to 30 years up around the stuffy Lords and Ladies and rich merchants of the 3rd circle, I felt the need for a little excitement.
Excitement was what I got, that's for sure. About the only jobs in the 7th ring of the city were in taverns, and all those that weren't in taverns were already filled. So I found myself back to tavern life, serving tables, being hit on and shooting crude comments back and forth with the customers. I learned quite a few bawdy songs while I was there, too. I rarely sang, though. As the Innkeeper had noted one of the times when I had, my voice was far too smooth to sing such crude songs. So I stuck to joining in on the choruses, and then only quietly. Not like anyone could hear me, no matter how loud I sang, once the entire tavern of drunken men got singing at the same time, as they often did on popular songs.
Not surprisingly, I saw absolutely no one that I knew from the 3rd ring of the city the entire time I was working at that tavern, and was quite pleased to go about my business. I had changed my name when I'd changed from the 3rd to 7th ring, of course, to Enita, as well as my style of dress. I was feeling slightly annoyed with Middle-earth dress codes for women, especially after working in a seamstresses shop, so I adopted a homemade sarong-like skirt, also homemade tight short-sleeved shirts, and bandana's wrapped only around my ear-tips to not only hide them, but keep my now very long hair behind me and out of the way. I was suddenly thankful for the 30 or so years I'd just spent in a seamstresses shop.
My style of dress was, naturally, quite popular with the men, since not only did it show my curves, but every once and awhile I'd flash as much as my entire lower leg while walking. The women, of course, quickly called me a slut, and a strumpet, and just about every other name they could think of. The name-calling tapered off, however, when it became quite apparent that I had no interest whatsoever with sleeping with any of the men I came into contact with. Besides the fact that my identity as an Elf would be revealed, none of the men looked even remotely nice.
Of course, I was probably biased in that opinion, what with seeing and getting to know the ohsoveryyummy Elf-lords of Rivendell.
That was probably one of the only things I missed as I lived in Minas Tirith, skipping around every 30 or so years to a new part of the city. I could never have any close friends, and romance was completely out of the question. I had to practically beat off one of the Ruling Steward's sons once, in fact. I started to feel lonely after awhile, but pushed it away, knowing that even if I did make close friends or get romantic with anyone, I'd just outlive them, anyways. I probably could have handled them if I was just going to outlive them for a hundred years or something like that, but I was an elf, and would outlive anyone I met by forever.
My immortality was by far one of the hardest things for me to deal with, actually. The crude comments, or the stuffy Gondorian Lords and Ladies, I could handle. But living forever? It was strange, to say the least. I had been so used to waking up every morning, and though not consciously thinking it, knowing that I had a limited number of days left. But for the first several hundred years, just about every morning I woke up with the thought in my head that I was immortal, and that I wasn't aging, and that this day wouldn't bring me one day closer to death. It made me much more sedate, and calm, and soon I found that I couldn't fit in as well as I used to with the rowdier crowds in Minas Tirith.
Then I got bored one day and decided to recite as much of the movies to myself as I could, and naturally, that lead to the remembrance of Haldir's death in said movies. So, recalling that I could die from wounds and nasty accidents, I promptly packed up my bags and switched identities - back to the 7th ring of the city. My love of life, rowdiness, and sense of humour, along with disrespect for formalities, returned after that, and I spent the next several hundred years quite happily skipping around the lower rings of the city, avoiding the Lords and Ladies entirely.
I'm still amazed to think back over those days in Minas Tirith and realize I spent over 500 years there, skipping from identity to identity, job to job. I'm quite surprised someone didn't recognize me from a previous identity and blow my cover, but I guess if you're not expecting to see someone, your eyes slide right past them if you see them, making up some excuse to your brain about how that can't be them. The ever-present Mary-Sue Factor probably helped, as well. I was annoyingly aware that it was still around, even after I'd left Rivendell, though its presence wasn't as strong as it used to be. Several hundred years - and cursing outs - seems to have taken some of the spunk out of it. I could actually make a mistake every now and then, and was extremely delighted every time I managed to do so. Yes, most people I met thought I was slightly touched in the head.
Anyways. I stuck around Minas Tirith until the year after Ecthelion the First rebuilt the White Tower, 2699, and then bought a horse and provisions - and hired an escort, Middle-Earth wasn't all that safe anymore - and traveled to the newly-established Rohan. Banking on the Rohirrim's knowing of the Dúnedain, I spent close to 60 years in Meduseld, helping in the Kings stables and thoroughly enjoying myself. The Rohirrim had a very different culture from Gondor, less refined, and more relaxed. I fit in perfectly.
I was sad when I realized it was time for me to leave, and so I encountered the one problem with my lifestyle that I hadn't even thought of - the urge for a home. My over 600 years of skipping from identity to identity had left me without any place to truly call home, especially once I left Minas Tirith for Rohan, and I had the sudden urge to head north again. That I did, making for Bree once more, and not a moment to soon.
The year after I left, Rohan was attacked and overrun, and Gondor was put under siege by the Corsairs. The winter that followed was one of the coldest in my memory, and I was extremely glad to be nice and settled in Bree by the time it came.
I had, out of nostalgia, started working at the Prancing Pony once again, though it was now owned by a different family entirely. Old Tod's ranch was still up and running, surprisingly enough, and even more surprising, it was called 'The Liltalen Ranch', and horses descended from Liltalen still roamed its pastures. After finding that out, I was quite unsurprised to hear that the owners of the ranch were rather frowned upon in Bree because they dealt with Rangers, selling them horses and even housing them if no Inn would take them. The ranch owners were, of course, quite rich by now, and didn't care what anyone else in Bree thought about them at this point. Many times I had the strongest urge to knock them down a few pegs by making some wild story about how my many-times-great grandmother had owned Liltalen, and therefore they owed their success to me, a common serving wench, but instead, I just watched with amusement as the ranch owners swaggered around town.
It was during this winter that I had my first run in with the infamous Gandalf the Grey. Oh, he had come to Minas Tirith while I had been there, but he always stayed up in the palace, and I never saw him. Even here in Bree, he picked the best Inn available - the Prancing Pony. He only stayed one night, apparently passing through on his way to the Shire, but he seemed unusually interested in me when he was at the Inn. He took careful note of my name when I told it to him, and I could practically feel his eyes burning into me whenever I was in the same room as him. This made me, rather irrationally, quite annoyed with the Maia, and glad when he left. The cold weather was probably getting to me, I decided, and pushed Gandalf out of my mind as I continued working.
We have all seen the evidence of what happens when you push incidences regarding well-known characters and the Prancing Pony out of your mind, however. They come back and bite you quite viciously on the rump. So it was that one night that next summer, when I was out taking I walk in the woods around Bree, my eyes on the stars, I had my second run in with Gandalf. I hadn't even known he was there, really, until his gruff, though kind, voice came from behind me.
"The stars are beautiful tonight, are they not?" I whirled around in surprise, and found Gandalf standing there, leaning on his staff and looking quite amused.
"Yes, they are." I said, recovering my composure. There was silence for a moment as Gandalf watched me from under his bushy eyebrows, and I looked back at him curiously.
"So, Laesa, are you enjoying your work at the Prancing Pony?" Gandalf asked after a moment, using the name I'd adopted on my arrival in Bree.
"Very much, Master Gandalf." I replied smoothly. Gandalf chuckled slightly at the title.
"Just Gandalf, child." he said. I held back my annoyance at the title of child - I certainly didn't feel at all child-like after spending 650 years gallivanting around Middle-Earth. But Gandalf's age was, I knew, in the five digit area, and I figured that gave him the right to call me a child if he wanted to.
"As you wish, Gandalf." I said with a smile. "So what brings you back to Bree? Passing through again?"
"Actually, I came to speak with you." Gandalf said. The small smile that had been forming on my face froze, and then disappeared entirely as I slowly arched an eyebrow at Gandalf.
"To me? Whatever could you want to come all the way to Bree simply to speak with me about?" I asked eventually, when Gandalf didn't seem inclined to elaborate.
"I was actually rather wondering what an Elf was doing working in a human Inn, pretending to be human herself." Gandalf replied. I stared at him in shock for a few moments before I reminded myself of what he was. Besides being very old, and wielding the Elven Ring of Fire, he was a Maia, just one step down from the Valar. Sort of like the Middle-Earthian version of an Angel...or possibly Archangel. It really should have been no surprise that he knew what race I truly was without even really getting to know me or spending any time around me.
I realized I was still staring at Gandalf, and that my mouth had dropped open slightly. I closed my mouth and blinked, shaking my head to pull my thoughts together and answer him.
"Trying to earn a living, like most creatures." I replied finally.
"Far away from any of your own kind, and denying your own heritage?" Gandalf asked, one bushy eyebrow crawling up his forehead like some freaky caterpillar.
"Who said I'm denying my heritage?" I asked, arching an eyebrow in reply. "I just happen to know that I wouldn't be accepted on equal terms by humans if it was known I was an Elf. So I hide my ears and sacrifice a little grace and cleanliness and am accepted."
"But why among humans? Why not go to one of the many Elven Kingdoms?" Gandalf asked, looking honestly curious.
"Because I dare not." I replied softly, turning my gaze back up to the stars that I could see through the trees.
"Why not? Were you banished?" Gandalf asked. I turned back to him with an amused smile.
"You're reminding me of a child, Mithrandir, always asking 'why'." I said. Gandalf smiled.
"How else is one supposed to come to know things?" he asked. I chuckled.
"Too true." I said. Silence fell again, and I turned back to the stars.
"You did not tell me why you dare not go to one of the Elven Kingdoms." Gandalf said eventually.
"Because I am cursed." I replied bitterly. Gandalf looked extremely intrigued with that answer.
"Cursed? I did not know Elves were susceptible to such things." he said.
"You'll find I am quite different from any Elf you've ever met." I replied, turning my gaze back to Gandalf and smiling ruefully.
"I'm sure. What is the nature of this curse?" Gandalf asked.
"That I may never set foot in Elvish owned lands ever again." I half-lied briskly, not wanting to explain the whole Mary-Sue deal to Gandalf. Hell, I didn't even want to remember it. Gandalf, however, was not so easily put off.
"Or else what?" he asked.
"What?" I asked in reply, blinking in momentary confusion.
"What will happen if you do set foot in Elvish owned lands?" Gandalf elaborated.
"You don't want to know." I answered, somewhat angrily, turning my eyes stubbornly back to the stars. Silence fell again, and I felt Gandalf's eyes boring into me.
"I heard tell of another strange Elf several hundred years ago." Gandalf said eventually in a conversational tone. "I never met the Elf, myself, but I heard of her strangeness from the sons of the Lord of Rivendell."
"Really." I said flatly, guessing where this was leading.
"And also from the one son's wife, who had apparently been the Elf's friend before she left Rivendell." Gandalf replied. I was sure he had some suspicion as to my identity, now, but if he expected to get a response out of me with that little tidbit about Kari and Elrohir being married, he was sorely disappointed. I had long ago decided that, unless things had gone horribly wrong, Kari and Elrohir would have married by now. So I just turned a dispassionate gaze to Gandalf and arched an eyebrow, silently asking if this was going anywhere. Gandalf continued without seeming to notice my silent question.
"I heard that she ignored all rules of propriety, doing what she liked, and managed, in a matter of days, to turn Lord Elrohir purple, along with her friend, and tame the wildest stallion that had ever come of the Rivendell horses." Gandalf commented. "Unfortunately, not long after her arrival, she apparently jumped from the cliffs north of Rivendell and perished in the plunge. Her horse escaped that very same night, and later traces of his blood were seen here in Bree, in the horses raised on what is now called the Liltalen Ranch."
"How very interesting." I intoned. "So I'm not the only Elf in Arda that is - or was - different from normal. Hardly a startling revelation." There was silence again as Gandalf stared at me thoughtfully, me returning his gaze with a stony one.
"Why ARE you running?" Gandalf murmured, almost to himself. "What have you to be afraid of?" I stared back at him stonily. After awhile, Gandalf shook himself and smiled lightly at me. "Come, it is late, I am sure you need to return to the Inn as much as I." I nodded solemnly and followed Gandalf as he headed back to the Prancing Pony. Once we were inside, he bid me goodnight, and went to his room, while I slipped off to mine.
----To be continued...with 38% more sporks!----
(Not to mention Boromir, Faramir and Denethor...)
-Authors Note:-
My hands really are so cold it almost hurts to type, so this is going to be short and sweet and to the point - thank you to all my reviewers; especially Splendifer and my sister (who I apparently forgot to tell about this fic), everyone who replied to my question in the Author's Note for last chapter (Spry Sprite, TrybalOak and celebren), and all those who noticed that I didn't exclude Legolas from the random Mirkwood Elves (you all get Legolas clones - 'cept for Rinny Leonhart / Rikku, who gets the original 'cuz she was first to notice).
Anywho, now that I've said thank-you, let me repeat what I've said in just about every chapter in every one of my stories (probably even my X-Men ones...): PLEASE REVIEW!!! I appreciate all your reviews incredibly much - unless you're a writer yourself, you probably don't know how GOOD it feels to read a whole pile of nice things said about your writing. As an added incentive, if you give a detailed review (like Aislin's) or catch my attention somehow, I might just write back.
Well, so much for keeping this short and sweet and to the point...
~Crimson Starlight