Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo! I am, once again, your humble hostess ElfHuntressAutumnBurgundy *ElfHuntressAutumnBurgundy makes a sweeping bow with her feathered cap*, known as EHAB for short. First of all, I and my partner Phe-chan, who form the writing team Wandering Minds, own nothing created by Tolkien or New Line Cinema or by any other major corporation in existence. Secondly, this is a sequel to "The Place to Be," which is a sequel to "Elven Dreams and Misadventures," which is a sequel to "Wishes of Golden Chain." "Túla Merna Eel" and "Prophecy" are collections of poetry that compliment our stories and that even, if you read them carefully, give hints of what is to come in our furthered plotlines. Thirdly, thanks to all our returning reviewers. We have one question to address, and it is a very good one. Peribebe commented on the fact that Gil-galad's character is, at this point, extremely weak; his wife, Sivi, is always protecting him. This is quite true, but we have two reasons for this that we feel are quite valid. The first is that Gil-galad, as a king of Elves, is completely out of his element in New York City. Peribebe acknowledged this, but it plays a larger role than I think most readers understand. The character seems weak because he is disoriented and ignorant (NOT stupid, but ignorant. There is a difference.). The second is that Sivi is an angelic power. She comes to his rescue all of the time because she can. Gil-galad could show valor and bravery and try to take on Morniwen, but since the latter is a sorceress being backed by a stronger power, it's unlikely that his physical prowess would defeat her. It's much easier for Sivi to simply assert her powerful spirit than it would be for Gil-galad to win a physical battle. However, there ARE times when Gil-galad's battle track record and abilities will come in handy.

Now, then, Chapter One: The Alarm

The alarm clock fell abruptly silent in the middle of a series of prolonged buzzing tones. It was the silence rather than the sound that wakened Orlando Turner. His chief thought was,

"I've done it again."

Surely enough, there was the knife, a small red Swiss Army knife, jammed deep into the top of the clock. Orlando sighed. WHY did he DO that? He had a hunch that it had something to do with his enigmatic past, the time that lay behind the voluminous curtain of amnesia from which he suffered. Well. The bottom line was that he would have to buy himself yet another alarm clock, and this time, he would hang it on the opposite wall where he could not POSSIBLY reach it in order to knife it.

He rose and moved to his day. He hurried; he had to be in the make-up trailer by a certain time, and now he had no clock. He never wore a watch for fear that he would leave it on one night and the next morning knife his own wrist. Generally, he had no trouble making himself wake early and even be somewhat cheerful about it, so that he didn't really know why he should need an alarm clock in the first place. He simply seemed to recall someone explaining to him that having an alarm clock was just something one DID, though who had told him that, when, where, or for what reason, was lost to his memory.

All these thoughts and more crowded in upon his mind, but he pushed them away and in a little while was ready to leave. And in his long day of getting into, running in, fighting in, riding in, and performing other various activities in an Elf-costume, nothing seemed strange to him. He had done these things before, r at least, so his subconscious told him. He had done all of these things and been with all of these people-Viggo Hidalgo and John Sallah and Elijah Dodger. They had all remarked to one another at their meeting, "But I know you!", or "Haven't we already met?", or "Surely we've worked together before -?"

Yet Orlando alone felt that there was someone, someone that had been in this group, someone that he had known, oh, so well, that was no longer there. Still... still, in this hectic day of acting, working, and "striving to find his character" - a character that almost seemed to strive to find him -, nothing was remarkable to him save that early morning episode with the alarm clock.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On the other side of the world from Mr. Turner, in a small apartment in New York City, an Elven girl - not a strange obsessive fangirl nor a period actress but a real flesh-and-blood Elf - lay shivering under her covers with tear-moistened eyes and wettèd cheeks, pining for a husband that had forgotten even her name. She hugged a pillow to her slight body, trying to force it by her wish to be her Pretty One, but she knew it was only feathers and fabric and not her golden-haired love.

'It's me, she thought in agony. It's me; it has to be. My daddy left, my husband left, and I'm all alone. I'm not meant to belong to anyone. There must be something wrong with ME. God, I'm so lonely, and I'm so scared. Whatever I've done, I'm sorry; I'm sorry. Please bring him home. Please, please - just bring him home.'