Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: The Painting (#2319)
Author: LuthienTinuviel
Chapters: 4
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Archive: Tolkien
Category: Femme Fatale
Description: Shameless self insertion, a heavy mix of SouthEast culture with Tolkien's merry elves.
A horror story.
Chapter 4 finally up! Sorry, was stumped by the mother of all writer's block....
Published: 21 Oct 2005
Updated: 27 Sep 2008
Warnings: Islamic influences.
Type: Horror
Characters: Unknown Elleth, Cannon Characters, OFC.


Chapter 1 - The Painting

Disclaimer : This time, except for the concept of elves and a few mention here and there, I actually own most of this stuff. Lolz.

The painting was nothing short of exquisite. It depicts a slender auburn-haired elleth clad in a Celtic white dress surrounded by fields of gold. Her expressions were serene, looking out calmly to the sea. Sea gulls flew in the clear summer sky, and red blooms dotted the fields visited by small butterflies. The wind was strong, and yet it caressed her lovingly. Mountains at the background hinted at faraway lands.

I held a certain fascination for her, when I found it off the internet.

Somehow I feel that she suffers a longing for the sea.

I made it into the wallpaper for my desktop. As I open my laptop daily, I saw her gracing me with her presence. I feel at peace working with her around.

Inevitably, considering my imagination and tendency to dream she seeped into my visions during slumber.

There I was in the fields of gold with red blossoms and small butterflies, like in the painting only in 3D. At first I saw nothing but the scenery, but soon I felt the wind in my face, and heard the sea gulls crying out in the sky. For once, I thought, a good dream.

"Zira," my sights was immediately redirected to the source of that musical voice, and my eyes met hers. She's extremely beautiful. It was never determinable in the painting, but now I saw it clearly that her eyes were as brown as mine. 

"Mae govannan," I greeted her politely.

She held out her hand, beckoning me to follow her. I never figured what really made my usually cynical self trust her but I took her soft hand in mine, and followed her.

"The sea is calling," she said softly to me. "It calls so."

"Why? What does it say?" She smiled at me sadly.

"It beckons us to the land across the sea. Aman, it is where all elves are meant to go. To return...home."  What happened? Was she also a peredhel who chose a mortal life?I must be reading too much fan fiction again. Interesting notion, though. 

"Where? There is only water. Surely you do not mean death?" I asked, puzzled. Doesn’t seem like the Grey Heavens here.

"Death is the gift of Edain. Elves take the ships to Aman, elvenhome forevermore." Or fade, if my Tolkien facts are straight.

"Ah," I kept my doubts to myself. Her expression was now of great longing, and I felt sorry for her. "Then you must go then, if it is your home."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"You must go instead," her grip on my hand tightened noticeably, while I blinked with the unwarranted reply. 

"I am no elf, and you have not answered my question," her eyes darkened with my statement, and she was no longer fair to my eyes.

"Because this is where the painting ends."

I woke up with a start, confused. "Astaghfirullah," I muttered to no one in particular. I reached for my Guess? wristwatch; it read 4.00 a.m. My roommate was still asleep on her bed, her pillows askew as usual. I got up, grabbed a water bottle, gulping some water down went straight to my laptop which I had left on the night before. The elleth is still there, serenely staring out to the sea. I analyzed the picture for a moment until I was satisfied that nothing was out of place.

I figured that I'd do some extra studying and sat on my desk, stretching myself before the mental exercise. Then I noticed that my right arm is slightly sore so I pushed up the flowing sleeve of my caftan and attempted to alleviate the soreness to a more tolerable level.

I looked down, and there was an imprint of a hand gripping my arm. Frightened, I flitted back at my laptop's wallpaper. 

The elleth in the painting held my gaze grimly, and slowly turned back to the sea.

----------
Inspired by Jenny Dolfen's painting entitled "Fields of Gold".

Astaghfirullah - Arabic substitution for swear words when things go wrong(yea, something to do with God, but definitely not His body parts). Acceptable as polite.

Zira - pronounced Zhie-(ra from hurrah)

I read some Gothic mystery novels and came up with this. Part of the Islamic scripture forbids the illustration of people and animals on the decor of any home, clothing etc. I guess artworks that looks too alive is supposed to have life of its own, or something along the line, and I admit that sometimes I fancy large billboard models' eyes are looking at me! To my knowledge though laptop wallpapers doesn't count, but I decided to mess with it for fun. Hehe... hope you enjoyed it!


Chapter 2 - Aredhel

For Neniel;

-----------------------------------------------------------

The shock the elf gave me caused me to suffer of high fever for a week. I know not what did I say in my delirium but it was sufficient to give those around me in my campus alarm. 

My poor laptop was immediately given the full blast treatment, the Surah Yassin was read thrice, and the offending picture was deleted. Tumeric powder mixed with 'enchanted' rice grains were sprinkled on Chrysta, and she smelt of some flower-smelling concoction, also sprinkled for protection for weeks afterward.

The forest surrounding the campus was immediately ordered to be thinned down several metres around to give more buffer zone.

Life went back to almost normal porpotion after that, but my more religious friends took greater care with me, and they gave me various advice on Quranic verses for the warding off evil spirits, syaitans and djinns.

It was getting a bit too embarassing when not only my lecturers, but even the Dean knew of it and called me to her office.

Well, even the Spirit World caught up with Information Technology apparently.

I got my laptop back, and I replaced it with a picture of Anka Eissman's Aredhel. I figured, hey, she's known to be dead even in Tolkien's world, Dark Elf for husband and Maglin for son or no. She couldn't do any harm, isn't she? 

Or so I thought.

It was raining.The bed was so inviting I had apparently forgotten to recite the Quranic verses of warding, and I slept like nobody's business. I dreamed. It was raining where I was as well, and it was dark, very dark. There were trees of silver bark, and leaves of deepest green, I think. I heard the howls of a wolf, accompanied by the hootings of an owl, and I felt afraid. I don't know why my feet were rooted on the spot, for I was alone, and I did hear about some surviving tip is to stay put when lost. Then the there were thumping sounds associated with horses hooves, of which placed the cowboys inside my mind, but in mind screamed the one thought that I has; "No, NOT AGAIN!!!"

A black horse. An elf lady. Midnight tresses hooded in silver, as was the rest of her cloak. Aredhel. If it had been another time I would've admired those assuredly handmade garments and of course her gorgeous dress hemmed with flowery motifs. She wore handsome knee-length brown boots, probably soft leather favoured by all elves. Come to think of it, in my fear how I could've observed that is beyond me. 

She didn't stop. She merely leaned down on her left and without a word grabbed my almost healed arm and placed me in front of her. I squawked a protest, but she silenced me.

"Shh, he will know," I sat up stunned in my seat, her left hand keeping me steady while her right hand held the reins.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to get away from the dream. But, in my cowardice I could do nothing but stay put and let myself be led like a cow through it all. Oh, to wake up and change the laptop wallpaper into something that would NEVER drag me into one nightmarish dream that ends up being surreal. I feverishly came up with a solution. A picture of a white fluffy kitten. I swore it a few times. It must seem mad to my captor, or capturess when I was muttering "white fluffy kitten" to myself, but squeezing my eyes shut willing myself to wake up, I simply didn't care.

How long was the ride, I know not. Something smells funny, though, but it does seem like the horse. Either that or I have peed myself during the ordeal. 

"We stop here," I peeked from my hands which I had unconsciously buried my face in. The air smells musty, and it was kinda cold. Aredhel helped me down the horse, of which I executed somewhat gracefully, if you can call near falling on my ass that, and she went about starting a fire. I stood terrified.

"You're Aredhel," I said monotonously. She smiled at me and gestured to a log near the fire pit. I took that as an invitation, but it did not relax me one bit. My encounter with the read-head elleth still burned freshly in my mind, and I wasn't about to let myself be hurt this time. I looked at her. She looked expectantly at me. I looked back at the log, and the warm fire. Then I looked back at her. She gave an encouraging smile. I stared. It went on for a while, and finally she sighed.

"I will not harm you, child," she urged me gently, patting the log.

"That's what I thought the other one would too," my voice sounded small, and I hated myself for it. Her eyes took a subdued cast.

"It was not what she was supposed to do," she said grimly, "and for her part, I ask for your forgiveness." I held her gaze for for a while, trying to find in its depths any trace of malice, and found none. I warily waddled (hell, sitting on a saddle is painful, even in a dream) my way to her side, keeping a few inches of buffer zone.

"My name's Azira btw," I said belatedly remembering my manners. She nodded silently. "Uh, so..." I didn't know how to start. I have so many questions in my mind. "Since when do elves know IT and the Internet?"

She looked at me stumped. I felt like a fool. For all I know, she might still be in her age of her time and I'm somebody they summon or literally dropped off by the will of the Valar with a purpose 'unknown in the wisdom of Ea' written in one of those "How to NOT write a Mary Sue" essays by purists. Then she laughed, her laughter trinkling in the chilly air, reminding me of those Christmas jingles. Only prettier.

"Isn't a picture still a picture and is worth a thousand words?" she asked me smiling broadly. Now I truly felt like a fool. 

"uhm, yea but uh, why my wallpaper and my laptop?"

"Because you're one of those who listens," she replied gravely. "Not many believe in the old ways anymore."

"Oh, before I forget, aren't you supposed to, ah, um, be, you know..." how do you not offend anyone by asking them aren't they supposed to be dead?

"Oh, that was a long time ago even in elven life, Mandos has released me since," she spoke as if it was a natural thing to ask. Oh, ok.

"Btw, listen? I've stopped seeing filmy mists in the shadows, a long time ago, and am VERY happy for it. No large-eyed toyols, no furry HUGE djinns, no red-eyed monsters. I don't hear no weird cackling, laughter, whispers, chains clinking, et cetera no more, and I don't intend to. The red-head did tell me something about going across the sea, but I can't. I simply can't. I know you probably need help or something but I'm sorry, ok? I'm not brave. I'm not even that smart. I'm just...me, and I can't help you." I'm babbling, and I knew it.

"Those who still see are old and frail, and terribly old-fashioned. They cannot do what the Straight Way will ask of them." Old-fahioned? That, coming from millions-old elf? Good grief!

"Saes, please listen to our need."

"You're supposed to be in Aman, happily living peaceful lives, what happened? Hell, assuming old Tolky was right in stating that LOTR was the history long forgotten of the world, why now? What happened?" Aredhel stared into the heart of the fire with eyes of memories past by, and she answered me in an enthralling story-voice.

"Long ago, as you well know, the world was filled with magic and enchantment. The Valars walked with the first and secondborn, there were wars between both gods and their charges, and their messangers, the Istar gave guidance to the races or in your current age, species.

Then, the elves, as you have read took the ship to Valinor, the Straight way of which there is no return. Then Men were left to rule with the wisdom of Aragorn Telecontar, and all was well. At least, when we left them.

However, some remnants of magic still remained. Some, as you well know, landed in your land, though you seem to be of the peoples not known back then. The Harads ended un in Middle east, the men of the West all over the world, the race of dwarf and hobbits dissapeared, and the world was astray again for the race of men forgot that they were once one, and fought with each other always.

You see, some elves stayed behind for the love of their home, and their feas turned to spirits known as guardians and beloved by men, while the Atari, the dark elves turned to darkness. The elven guardians bequethed some magic into some few men and their families the ability to see and hear, like you once did, so that should anything happen, we could come to your aid, and likewise. Some time among your forefathers, they were counted as elf-friend, and we are in need of your aid."

It was hard to imagine, being in this position. A 19-year-old law student, being asked by a magical being to aid her in a quest to save the paintings, or something like that. Bloody brilliant.

"What do you want?" I said finally.

"We seek peace. We seek release from painful memories, whatever essence is it left in this world."

"You ask for something happy to remember you by," something clicked in my mind. "You're not exactly the real Aredhel, aren't you? You're just a memory in this painting. She smiled faintly.

"We are not truly gone, our sorrows and joy, our greatest accomplishments and follies, all still here. It is usually in the minds of those who believe in us, but it serves our purposes to meet within this painting."

"You want a happy ending." Uncannily, I suppose she did look kinda like Avril Lavinge.

"No, a happy remembrance."

"Then what is that nonsense the red-head was talking about the sea then?"

"Because you will have to take the Straight road to make it," then she seemed startled, as if she was wincing from some onslaught of the mind. She hastily stood up and gripped my shoulders gently, "He is coming, you must leave. Remember, if you have any questions, choose your pictures wisely. You may also come back to this picture by leaving it as your wallpaper with your laptop on, if you have any more questions to ask."

"I will," I replied rather dazzedly.

"Good." She pulled me upright and sang an elvish song, while pressing something in my hand. 

"Hey, is he, Eol?"

I woke up sweating and I glanced to my wristwatch, 4.a.m. on the dot. I remembered that Aredhel pushed something in my palm, and I slowly uncurled my hand.

It was a lovely yellow tulip, impossible to grow in the tropical climate of Malaysia.

A gift to convince me I wasn't crazy.

----------------

A/N = Ok, a little background check. We are basically Southeast Asian Malays, and we are more or less devout Muslims. We believe truly that the supernatural exists. Even the Christians have enough sense to acknowledge it after seeing it with their own eyes for a while, and the Indians, well, they probably are experts of these things. Technically, we have our own network, usually consisting of Ustazs (those learned in religious affairs), and sometimes bomohs (witch-men/shaman/whatever you call them) to deal with supernatural encounters.

Some say when the Kuala Lumpur City Center, formerly the highest building in the world was built, the 44th floor was inexplainably haunted. All the appliances seemed to have 'assembled' themselves when the workers left the equipment to be dealt with the next day overnight. Then the office pens, pencils, and paper flew about. Lights turned on and off on its own will. Several persons were known to have stayed in the lift for hours without realizing it, and some has heard laughter, the kind that makes your hair stand on its ends without any known source. It took the Ustaz Harun Din, one of the greatest Ustazs in the country himself to persuade them to leave the building and live in the forest allocated for them, and some to the sea. 

Either way, this story is extremely fused with what you might call eccentricities of the Malay culture and Islamic religion unique to Southeast Asia. I hope you liked it!


Chapter 3 - Luthien Tinuviel Part 1

A whole new universe of possibilities opened up to me. 

Aredhel opened my eyes on the power that I have and its pontential.  I am granted the gift of being able to access any member of any race, society, age etc in the entire Middle Earth; elves, hobbits, dwarves, men, elves...now. A commentary, most respectable Elf Fancier like me would go about enriching their love lives by now or at the brink of some war where romance galore would flourish, but unfortunately this is no such story. 

I was tempted though. Oh, to shag a certain blonde/brown haired elf.

Then my conscience kicked in, smacked me mentally and gave myself a typical Spiderman lecture on how great powers comes great responsibilities.

It couldn’t hurt, can’t it? Well, theoretically it sounds goooood…

--

It licks. 

It is a demanding little thing. 

It purred excessively.  

Then again, having a fluffy white furball to cuddle and rub your face is much, MUCH more preferable to elves and silly notions of quest and the sea.

I picked a rather fetching picture of the said kitten playing in a forest, and I deliberately entered it willing. I supposed I wanted to test that whether what Aredhel said was true.

“Meow….prrrrrrr….” the little kitten butted its head towards my hand not too gently. 

‘You thought I’d really go for it, didn’t you? Legolas certainly didn’t know what he was missing.’

I smiled, and kissed the kitten’s forehead.

---

I weighed my options rather seriously. Much that I’d love the males of Arda and Aman to shower me with praises and adorn me with elven fineries, (which is bloody unlikely to happen) I have a more pressing issue to tend to.

Who to see next?

I considered Eowyn, but she’s human and de jure would not apply. I considered Galadriel, but I like my private thoughts the way they are, thank you. I considered all the canon characters that might be perfect for my appointed task. I wanted to get this over and done with. At least I could get my nights as my own again without worrying whichever part of the abyss I landed.

So I decided on Luthien Tinuviel. Duh, you say. She’s my favourite, you say. Well, she is half-Maia, her father was the Great King of the elves, and de facto, should be the obvious choice, if the descriptions of her are event remotely accurate.

There’s plenty of fan art of her, that’s for sure. 

Anke Eissman’s Luthien was the final pick. I wanted to know her when King Thengel is accessible, even though I ran the risk of being found out by her guards. That means that I will have to go to her depiction of being imprisoned by her own father…somewhere. I began my preparations. I dressed warmly in a pair of jeans, well mindful of archaic sensibilities I pulled on a long sleeved shirt and a sweater on top, also just in case it was autumn. I packed some biscuits and a flask of warm tea inside a sling bag I carried. I don’t really know whether it was necessary, but better safe than sorry, right?

I decided that my roommate would definitely suspect something if I place a First Aid’s kit, so I threw in some plasters and that was that.

Several blinks later, I found myself in a forest which shone brighter than any forest I knew, sweet-smelling and remarkably dry in a good way. I sat on my ass fascinated by the greenery of it all, until two beautiful creatures armed to their blessed teeth appeared. 

They looked at me, I looked at them.

In typical Azira fashion, I creased my face into a grin and waved a cheerful ‘Hi’. I had swords at my neck before I can say Oopsie daisy. I noticed that the brown-haired one with a twinkle in his eye was more surprised in a good way than the silver-haired who looked as if I just ran his brother through with a sword. They both wore the usual Robin Hood getup appropriate for the outdoors.

Obviously guards, I thought. What ran through my mind was variations of “Shite, I’m screwed,” and whether their dungeons are as bad as those I read about Medieval prisons. I saw an opportunity. I did what every good Muslim would, pray to God on repentance should I die, and proceeded with universal unwritten procedure by jumping to my feet, turning around and bolting. That is, until one of the elves effortlessly lifted me from under my arms and laughingly shook his head to his serious companion’s brandished sword. 

“He is a child!” I can understand pen neth anywhere, thank you.

Yes, he sheathed his sword before he picked me up, boy that elf was fast!

“Edhel-neth, Garth,” and spoke more elvish I didn’t understand, but I picked up something about the King and the law and paled visibly. Then the conversation lengthened on what they were to do with me, I suppose, that is until the most beautiful voice I have ever heard and can only be described as sweet as honey, light as joy, bright as sunshine, gentle as a doe, refreshing as newfound spring cascading down gently downhill as it flows, interrupted their debate.

“Is that how you would treat my guest?” elleth’s bilingual, thank Allah.

“Arwen-nin,” the nice elf gently deposited me right in front of the otherwordly being, but my knees won’t hold as my eyes drank in the sight of her, so it was said that my first meeting with Luthien Tinuviel was in an undignified heap of everything human. And what a being she was, as I feasted and drank and loved and elated on the beauty that is her. Screw ivory skin, hair darkest colour of midnight etc, her beauty transcends perfection and more. In her eyes, there was wisdom beyond my wildest dreams mixed with youthful vigour, genuine kindness with firm authority.

She was all of that and more.

I could do nothing but gape at her like some country/kampong bumpkin who has never seen the world.

My escorts were, as I noticed later looking at her with something akin to godlike adoration probably at par with the Valar themselves. Ah, I envied them for a moment, to spend even a scant moment with her. Then I remembered that it wasn’t forever that she lived in the circle of the elves, as she followed Beleg in the end. Then, I mourned.

“Does my father’s wrath extend to denying me guests as well?” lucky as it was at the time, I recalled that there was trade between these uppity elves and the rest of Middle Earth as well, so I played along. 

“Milady, it is for your own safety that these measures are taken,” it was in elvish, but Luthien filled me in afterwards.

“It was not my choice,” she replied quietly.

“We have never seen this boy before, and the boy’s garments are strange. It would not do to allow strangers in your company,” the nice one had a point, I thought and to that she laughed with the slightest irony marking the sound.

“I have danced even before the light of Anor reached these shores, alone without escorts. Now thanks to Daeron I cannot even see friends without a list of those allowed!” 

“How did she slip through 40 of Thengel’s best warriors?” ah, the not-so-nice one doesn’t look too happy.

“Urm, ah, mae govannen? May I have a say?” 3 pairs of eyes my way with the lady nodding her consent. Good. “Someone was kind enough to give me passage here. No, I do not have papers, etc, but suffice to say that Aredhel sent me here.”

“Aredhel?” it was almost a whisper, but not quite. “She lives?”

“All paintings still live in the hearts of those who view them, I think,” she looked baffled. “Well, someone didn’t fill you in, didn’t they?” Then my effort is wasted, I thought.

“The one we were waiting for…” she flitted her head from the guards to me and the most persuasive tone washed over me, “you are SHE?” She looked at me closely. “Are you sure you are not one of the little folk?”

“I can assure you I’m a different variant of homo sapiens…race of men,” I corrected myself. “Human still, either way.”

Then they studied me closely, in the most uncomfortable manner that you can imagine, and I felt something prodding in my mind. Nope, won’t letcha in, lady! It’s my head, don’tcha know. She looked startled, and nodded softly to her guards. Unheard exchanges. I can positively speculate, this girl is cool, yo, and she’s not to be poked by arrows or swords under any circumstances. Something like that, I hope.

“Come.” She offered her slender ivory hand to me, and I took it without question. She was tall. Tall even for elves, and I wondered what kind of human Beleg was to have her for a mate and be worthy. “It may be that you will meet him someday, through our children,” she replied to my unspoken question. “They will not know of us, of course.”

She led me to a rope ladder which led to a large talan. I tried not to look down. Allah, it is a LONG way up! Luthien made it look so easy, while I muttered to myself climbing it in a slow pace. I wasn’t even a quarter of the way out when she was up. Eventually she pulled me up, with me holding on to the ladder for dear life. She held out her hand for me when I was at the edge of the flooring, and I grasped it without a thought.

Again I found myself in a heap in front of the great Luthien Tinuviel, only this time, I was agape at her dwelling.

It was to be expected, for she IS what she is after all and her dwelling must be suitable to her station in life, isn’t it? Nothing prepared me for the luxury that I the beheld. The whole floor was made out of solid marble, though how they lifted it from the quarry all the way up a tree is a monumental task I know not how, the walls were made of wood in some colour I cannot name, carved in detail with birds, flowers, trees, elves adorning all surfaces. The rugs scattered here and there would’ve made the carpetmakers back in Persia to envy, the furniture doesn’t look as if it was meant to be used. I can go on and on about the ceilings, the sculptures…

“Wow,” I said, finally finding my voice, “you called this a prison?”

“A gilded cage is a cage still,” she said, smiling sadly. 

For a while the nightingales outside the window sang. I slowly stood up, trying to gather what dignity and grace I could muster to at lest not appear too much like a hapless child.

“At least they allow you to walk around the place a bit, I doubt back home they’d be as courteous,” I said, at loss at what else to say.

“True. Now, you must come here with a purpose, do you not?” she glided onwards, gesturing me to sit at a small (well, what passes for small there) table decorated with rosebuds on the sides. The chair was surprisingly ergonomic, the craftsman certainly know what they’re doing.

“Well, like I said, Aredhel sort of led me here.” She placed a three-tier surprisingly English-like tea set. On the topmost level were scones, then the bread, and then the chocolates, accompanied by tea of course. Blessing my strict wardens for their insistence on table manners, I dug in. “She mentioned on something about giving elves good memories, and meeting the Valar across the sea. I don’t see how it’s actually possible.” She sat down beside me.

“It’s a rather simple thing to say, and yet it is not easily done.” She sighed. “Are you sure, dear child, you are the one intended?”

“I’m here, am I not?”  She gave me a glance over.

“Your garments are strange enough.” Personally, I don’t blame her for doubting me. I’m from a totally different world where things I encounter here are bedtime stories. Of course I’m ill equipped! Why did she think I went to her?

“I was hoping that you’d help me, Luthien daughter of Thengel. I need a groundwork, research, i.e. I need to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Why did you not contact the Fellowship?”

“I don’t think I can handle the tostesterones,” I said half-jokingly. She gave me a baffled look. “Too many good looking males in close quarters do something to a homely girl’s mind,” I explained, and she laughed, a merry sound.

“No, you are not homely, but pretty for a human. You’re a shy one, aren’t you?” she gave me a genuinely happy smile. A too-knowing smile I decided isn’t really good for my health. I'm flattered, but not that flattered,

“I don’t think so, but whatever goes,” I scratched my head.

“What do you need to know for your quest?”

“First off, the Grey Heavens, would Cirdan agree to give me a ship to travel to Aman, or do I have to contact the Eagles from the mountains they live on, or somehow ask Superman to help me? Secondly, can I ask someone to accompany me? Thirdly, will I be alone on this quest? Fourthly…” She laughed again.

“Child....I shall answer it, if you but slow down.”

“LUTHIEN!” the most intimidating bellow came from below the talan. Immediately, Luthien’s expression paled.

I looked at her. She held on to me, hugging me close with me a bit puzzled with the sudden mixture of fear and friendliness. Her eyes expressed dread and fear.

“He knows.”


Chapter 4 - Gandalf Part 1

I woke sweating, wide-eyed, and missing a few screws in my head, if the look on my already awake roomate's was not a response to an invisible freaky act of nature.

"Zira, are you alright?" she asked, concerned. "why are you fully dressed in bed, and the contents of your slingbag..." I lifted my left hand, palm facing her.

"No worries, Ainy. Just another one of those things," I replied smoothly. Her eyebrows shot up.

"But we already took care of that,are you..." she gulped, "are you seeking them out on purpose? Are you mad? You know what the stories say, the nicest of them are like the most evil of men!"

I sighed, knowing the truth of that statement, except that she's talking about djinns, and I'm dealing with elves. Surviving descriptions of djinns include blood red eyes, 2-storey heights, muscular body covered in fur, and hair longer than what elves' are used to, but you never know. Ainy was right to err on the side of caution.

"I'll keep that in mind," I frowned, musing over the "HE" that both Aredhel and Luthien was talking about. I considered He for Aredhel might be Eol, and that for Luthien it could possibly be King Thengel still pissed off at her for falling for Beren. Yes, that could be it.

"Zira."

"Hrrmmm?"

"Be careful, okay," my roomate held my gaze, and seeing the worry in her eyes, I smiled warmly back. No need to include her in the looney bin club.

"It was just a nightmare, love," I patted her arm, and went off to the shower.

--

Since I was rudely interrupted while talking to Luthien, so I have certainly failed in my 'mission' to acquire more information. Since my former choices are whacked, I decided to learn from my mistake and pick a picture of someone who doesn't have anyone chasing after him, and is wisest to boot.

Who else?

I'll need someone wise, someone still alive, and definitely someone nice.

I picked Gandalf, purely because he's such a superbly nice old granfatherly fellow that I figured I couldn't possibly detract and end up as another gaping graceless human girl session. With Gandalf, however, it is mighty tricky. That old Maia's been around a lot, and many, many battle scenes are available. 

I certainly don't want to end up anywhere near the Balrog, Witch King or the Mines of Moria, Allah forbid Mordor or anywhere fatally dangerous. The red haired elleth proved to me that getting hurt here means my physical self is hurt too.

Of course, I thought to myself. It must be after the War of The Ring. It must be somewhere nice and safe. It must be somewhere where no one would barge him, and plus, this Maia can do his shining light thingy and protect me from HIM, just in case this nameless foe wasn't chasing after the women that I was talking to.

I must admit though, I was tempted to pick a Lego inspire picture of Gandalf. It would be cute to talk to a square Lego Gandalf.

So, Billy Mosig's Gandalf it was then.

When I 'arrived', I was surprised to find that it was in colour, because the picture was basically a backgroundless sketch. Here, Gandalf was dressed in white, his beard and hair slightly wavy, and that twinkle in his eyes definitely spelled 'not human, missy'. My bare feet felt the rich damp earth, sprouts of new grass shooting through and it looks like we were at the remade Tower of Orthanc which the Maia Saruman had defiled and ravaged. Can't remember the new name. The sun was bright, yet gently so and the sky was blue. It even smells of daisies and dandelions, very nice.

Odd.

He looks like he was telepathically talking to a relatively young tree who I swear 'shhh shhh-ed' by rustling its leaves in return, his free palm flat on its bark, a crystal staff in the other.

"Greetings, Gandalf!" I said cheerfully. 

"Ah," I felt a gentle nudge in my mind and allowed him limited entrance, "Azira it is, hrmm? Hello, hello, welcome to my humble abode." He beckoned me to follow him, which I complied obediently. "Come, little one," he said in his usual way, changing in a new colour hasn't affected his personality much, it seems.

I followed him up the winding stairs, past a few massive closed doors until finally we reached his main study, a few floors shy of the highest point where he was, I knew, imprisoned by Saruman before.

A table appeared out of the piles of scrolls and books that was unceremoniously pushed down to a little hill of more scrolls and books on the floor beside it, another chair appeared for me, and from a room I couldn't discern Gandalf returned with a freshly made pot of tea, some honeycakes and little surprise there two pipes and some pipeweed, of which I politely declined.

We made small talk, the honeycakes were delicious, the tea wholesome, but back to business before something else pops up.

"Are you aware of my purpose here, Gandalf?" I asked him. He blew a perfect donut in the air.

"Hmm, yes, little one," he sighed, placing his pipe's mouthpiece at the very tip of his mouth, elbow on the table, a gesture which amused me very much. "For surely, you do not brave the tales of old without reason?"

"I am here to help find the Straight Way for elves, for all that I am mortal and from a different dimension," I said bluntly. I hope he's not going to speak in riddles some more.

"Ah, the Straight Way as they call is no mere road any could walk, it is a a path meant for only elves, or the immortal beings to pursue, and was never allowed for any other save three, Earendil the Mariner, his wife Elwing and elf friend Gimli son of Gloin."

"Mmmmkay," tell me something I don't know please, grandpa.

"You must seek the grace that was lost," he said in that whistling baritone voice of his.

"Lost grace?" I stupily echoed, stumped. "What lost grace? Losing one's virgi-err mind?"

He shook his head in equal comraderie of cluelessness. "Of all the gifts I was given, all-knowing is not mine, for that is Ea's claim."

I snorted. I should've known this was coming. Wizards and their riddles!

"GANDALF!!!" I nearly dropped my teacup at the bellow. 

"Stay there, little one, now, now, don't drop it, it's a gift from Eldarion," he chattered as if a raw, scorching voice yelling loudly from below with such intensity that it seems like it was yelled into one's ear was the most normal thing in the world. Oh, old wizard you are aware of how tall the Tower of Orthanc is, right?

"GANDALF!!!! I KNOW SHE IS HERE!!!"

I gulped, and looked wide eyed into Gandalf's calm eyes. He popped his head out a window and looked down, "QUIET DOWN, I'LL BE JOINING YOU IN A WHILE!" He deftly dropped another honeycake on my plate, "Now, eat another, you are too slender and I'll be up in a..." 

"I WILL NOT BE THWARTED!"

My jaw dropped as in my gut the most malicious, evil, threatening feeling fed upon my fleeting courage as I tasted irrational fear, the honeycake forgotten. My chest seemed to be clenched by an invisible force that my head reeled in reflexive adrenaline, the muscles of my entire body suddenly tightened in spasms and cramps.

I dropped my teacup and saucer, and as it crashes upon the marble floor my eyes teared up in pain, I was gasping for breath. 

I was seated facing the window behind Gandalf's study chair, and in passing I glimpsed a humungus beastlike shadow with wings going 'flap, flap, flap, flap', a loud breathing with growlings, almost like how it sounds like when people can't breathe, only much louder and feral.

Another attack seized me and I saw blinding lights, and Gandalf was bellowing something back at it. He chanted something, I guess, because just right before I passed out, I could vaguely registered a frustrated hiss saying  "Ssshee's miiiine, MAIA..."

--

Strange.

I'm floating in thin air, little stars raining, or more accurately in the same stasis condition I was in. I cupped one in my right palm an noted its puffer-fish like shape, round, the light in its midst, and the pointed edges sparkling. I looked down, and saw that I am dressed in a scanty white shift, no bra, and felt a little exposed. I looked beyond that and discovered nothing but the deep velvet violet of darkness that looked no different than a clear night sky. 

Maybe I'm in space, I mused.

Then something that looks like a black hole extended its blob of darkness towards me. Reflexively, I grasped the little stars and tossed one in its wake. It stalled, and recoiled from it. I turned around, and willed myself as far away from that dark blob that is possible. I then discovered that I had fluffy white wings, but I guess my first crash course on how to use them was borne of desperation as I somehow glided across the span of velvet night sky.

Several times it tried to reach out to me, and several more I managed to avoid it, an screamed out loud when one finally managed to grasp my hand. I stabbed it with one of the stars, it let me go.

I frantically searched for a safe haven, but there is nothing but empty space.

Again and again, it attacked me. Again and again, I somehow just managed to get away. I was flying, or gliding in circles, zig zags, anything I could think of.

'Help me someone! Please, help me!' I begged to no one.

Suddenly.

"Little one, return to the light," a voice called out to me.

'Where?'

"Come to the light," another familiar voice called to me. Who?

"Where, Gandalf, where?"

"Little one, return to the light," the blob had finally caught up with me, absorbing my insubstantial form into its darkness.

'Wait' I paused.

I saw a blinding light not unlike the sun, only in the cooler shade of the moon and instinctively reached out to it, my fingers barely touching its source and I felt like I was sucked into the midst of the blob. I felt stretched, as both the light and the blob played tug-of-war with my body.

It was getting colder.

'Ah.'

My right index finger touched on something warm.

My will failing me, I lost consciousness. 

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