DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any associated characters, trademarks, ANYTHING. I only own a few characters here, and not many at that. So far the tally is a girl named Vasha.
This is not an SI, nor is it a Mary Sue.
The realization came to me one night while watching the Fellowship of the Ring, council of Elrond scene. Where were the embassaries from Rohan? They had Gondor, they had Dale, and they had the Beornings... But no men from Rohan. That was the seed that started this madness. The rest just kind of developed in my head while I was at work.
Dates and ages are accurate! I went through with a calculator and my copy of the timeline from the back of "Return of the King". Anyone wants to know the finished timeline, I'll post it... It has a lot of stuff not in the real timeline, but mentioned in other places.
Please, comment. I love comments. They're our friend.
Vasha sniffled, wiping a tear away, trying to hold back her sobs. She carefully picked up her broken and smashed crayons, trying, in her childish innocence, to fit the pieces back together so that the crayons would be whole again. When the crayons remained in pieces, she began sobbing harder, but still, she tried to muffle the sounds. Mother might hear, and if Mother heard, Mother might come and beat her again, might take away the crayons this time instead of just trying to destroy them. Vasha's crayons were the only bright spot in her life, the only thing that brought the small four- year-old happiness.
Gathering up what pieces she could, Vasha stood and stumbled into her closet, fighting the age old fear of the monster that she knew lived in there, so she could hide behind boxes and bags, blankets and clothes... Hiding from the outside world and Mother.
She knew it wasn't allowed, that if Mother found out there would be hell to pay, no sleep at all for many nights from the pain Mother would inflict upon her. Still, Vasha had to escape. Just for a little while. With a trebling hand, she took up one of her crayons, and began to draw the outline of a door on the wall of her closet. A door just big enough for her. It wasn't a regular door, of course, but round. Vasha liked curved things; they weren't usually as sharp and as painful as anything with corners. And regular rectangular doors were scary. They held a special pain. And for Vasha, different shapes, different colors, all made different doors... Doors that all led to entirely different places.
For Vasha was special. She had several talents, none of which should belong to a girl, let alone one so little. For every doorway that she drew became real. A gateway to a different place, some strange and wonderful, some horrifying and terrible. Also, she could change her shape; take on the form of animals. It was this latter that had earned her her most recent beating, for Mother didn't like strangeness. Mother didn't like Vasha much either, for Vasha was the epitome of strange in Mother's ordered world of parties, business, adults, and algebra. Mother had beaten Vasha numerous times for her strangeness, for being a skin changer and for being able to make the doorways she feared and hated. Though, Mother beat Vasha for many other reasons as well. Sometimes, for no reason at all.
The door Vasha drew in green crayon was crude, as was the scrolling ironwork she had determined served the dual purpose of hinges and fortifying the door, helping hold it together while decorating it at the same time.
She did not know why she put the doorknob in the middle of the door; she merely did so because a whispering voice in her mind told her to, that there would be something good on the other side of such a door. It was the same voice that had helped her choose green for the color of the outline, a green wax outline which had blurred and bled and turned the entire door green, turning it solid as soon as she was finished. Turning it into a door anyone could easily walk through. For Vasha, green doors usually meant nice places near forests, or beautiful fields and meadows. Blue meant places by the seashores or a river, while black and red... Those were the doors Vasha dreaded. She never drew those doors, except for the door that would return her home. Black and red doors meant horrible, scary places.
And then, the door was done.
Feeling no hesitation, she opened the door and stepped through it, leaving her crayons behind.
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Authors Note: Short chapter, yes, I'm sorry. Some chapters will be like this, but only a very few.