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Post by MinifigDesigner Sun Oct 20, 2013 1:53 am

Well, not entirely. Some are just interpretations, or elaborations on events, but some, MIGHT be fanfics. If I do make a fanfic...sorry JJ, you'll hate me. D;

But yeah, here's my first one, based on Celebrimbor and Annatar.


Beautiful Creations

Celebrimbor found himself, yet again, in the quiet halls of his studies, with Annatar close behind. He was wary, and altogether unsettled. Each year that passed, growth in the Gwaith-i-Mirdain's skill of craft grew. Annatar came to them in Eregion, telling the Nolodorian Elves that he was a Maia, a pupil of Aule, and was specifically sent to guide them, and aid them.

Hearing of Aule, the smiths were greatly intrigued...after much beckoning and questioning, he agreed to teach them his knowledge. Great crafts were made during this time, such as Durin's Door, which Celebrimbor, greatest of the smiths at the time, co-created with Narvi, a Dwarven smith. A magic was in those doors...a skill taught to him by Annatar.

He grimaced. Much of his skill as of late was coming from Annatar...while it was true that these secrets and techniques greatly boosted their skill, and their mastery was made supreme, during these recent years, Celebrimbor was feeling...restless, so to speak.

He glanced at the banners hung in the hall...each one bearing a many pointed star: the symbol his grandfather used. The same symbol on Durin's Door. The same symbol on his robe. The same symbol that marked his envious, prideful passion and goal.

He almost couldn't hear Annatar. He was talking about that yet again...Celebrimbor now grew aware of the hot breath on his neck. His voice was so enticing, so smooth...it wasn't natural, not even the greatest minstrels of the Eldar could match his bardic mastery. It almost made him want to scream nowadays.

"Do you recall the light, Celebrimbor? Everyone looked to him when he wore them...do you remember?"

Celebrimbor slightly stumbled, and much to his chagrin, Annatar didn't move into him, as if he knew he would be caught off guard by this. He was cunning.

Celebrimbor wouldn't give him such satisfaction of knowing that, though. Curtly, he replied,

"I do."

"Aren't you interested in how he did that? It took great skill after all..."

Celebrimbor sharply turned to face him, and met his bright, glowing eyes. Another distinction that greatly unsettled him, those eyes simply weren't natural, they held back a glow and fire much more than Annatar chose to display. However, his face was placid, and gave way to nothing. He had to call upon a certain firmness that only a Feanorian could possess, such authority that cowed even kings. Celebrimbor hated to use it...it frightened even himself, and only served to remind him of his heritage that he tried so hard to forget...which in turn was a contradiction to the truth, that which he so deeply despised.

"My grandfather was a greatly talented man, Annatar...but with it came a darkness that I myself do not wish to gain. I know my place. You yourself should understand yours, Maia though you be."

His voice would have cut deep to anyone, save the person in front of him, that looked so entirely disinterested, and yet almost amused at the same time.

"Do you now..."

Annatar was bold indeed, it wasn't a question, it was a sardonic statement. Annatar stepped slightly more closer, almost intruding Celebrimbor's space, and almost made him want to step back.

Annatar whispered with his silver-tongue...

"Yes, indeed, you do. Your place, Celebrimbor, his higher than your grandfather's...you could do so much more...more than I have shown to you. You could preserve so much in this land...create such beauty equal to Aman."

Celebrimbor was speechless. His hatred was hot in him, yet so much curiosity, so much desire was in him as well...he couldn't deny this.

He turned on his heels, with Annatar walking behind him, into his chambers, closed the curtains, and locked the doors that were always open in past days.

"You say much, Maia of Aule. But allow me to ask, at what price would you set for me to learn of such lore? Hm? My sanity? My people? My self?"

Annatar's face showed only the slightest of hint of emotion, at the curling of his lips into a thin smile. He moved close to Celebrimbor, much more than Celebrimbor liked, and then spoke softer than he did before, forcing Celebrimbor to drink in every word.

"I ask only...for your assistance."

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrow.

"We are already helping each other."

"...Indeed we are."

At this, Annatar grinned.

"But what I'm asking of...is a collaboration. Nothing like anyone has seen before..."

Celebrimbor forgot to breathe, and was now holding on to every word.

"We could make great rings...rings of such power that would surpass even the lights of the Silmarils."

Annatar moved a step back, allowing Celebrimbor to speak. Celebrimbor, however, was at a loss.


Celebrimbor slowly regained his composure, anxiety and wild intrigue flowing through him.

"...Power, you say..."

The idea was enticing...rings that could serve the will of those who wore them...rings that could create beauty beyond belief...

"...This....project. I cannot deny its potential..."

Thousands of thoughts flashed in his mind, but one seemed to ring throughout his entire being:


Celebrimbor gave a small smile.

"I will inform this to the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. We will begin on it soon."

Annatar gave a grin that almost revealed his true glee, his delight, his eagerness, but just managed to conceal it.

"...I look forward to it. Tomorrow, then."

Annatar turned, moved to the door, and simply was gone.

Celebrimbor nearly gasped. The door didn't even move.

Did Annatar even need to open it?


Celebrimbor slumped. He was trembling, and only after a few moments did he regain his usually calm, external demeanor. He glanced at the warning from Galadriel and Elrond that were on his desk. Did Annatar see them?

With a shudder, he stood still.

He began to wonder if they were right after all.

The one who penetrates the darkness, like the moon and the stars, giving hope to the fallen, and giving wings to the heart.
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Post by Frushy Mon Oct 21, 2013 1:15 am

Since it's like a quarter after one in the morning and it's Monday, I didn't read a single bit of that. But I'm just gonna say good job, keep up the good work and I'll probably read it later today Razz
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Post by MinifigDesigner Mon Oct 21, 2013 5:35 pm

Thanks, lol! I plan to make an "account" of sorts for the Fall of Gondolin soon. Awkward Smile


Ermagosh, what happened to your hair? DX Can you even see right now? XD

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Post by MinifigDesigner Mon Oct 21, 2013 7:07 pm

More fanfics! This time, its an Alternate Universe. :3 I thought about what would happen if Sauron won the war and assaulted Lothlorien, and thus this sort of got typed out... XP

"My Lady, all of Mordor is upon us. We cannot survive here any longer, if we are to reach Aman, then we must leave now! Already our borders are being crossed! My Lady?"

The captain stood before the Lady of Light, desperation was evident in him - nowadays, everyone was. Galadriel turned to face him, her face now appearing very old. Celeborn put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and whispered in her ear,

"Artanis, whatever you choose, I will stand beside you, no matter the costs. As Morgoth assailed Beleriand long ago, with me at your side, so again will I be beside you, even when the Darkness rises."

But Galadriel knew what she would do. She already made up her mind long before, even when news of the failure of the Fellowship had reached her - she knew within her heart when Frodo and Sam were brought before Him, and slayed slowly and mercilessly. She felt the sickening, almost impossible surging of Sauron's regained power. Gandalf had stood firm with Gondor until the end with Aragorn, his fate was known to her. So many had been cast aside like wind upon earth...would this truly be the fate of this world?

The sound of more crashes of debris in the woods brought Galadriel back to the present. Even so, they could not get through - but for how long? Nenya's power could not hold them off for long. She could already sense the arriving malice of the Dark Lord approaching...

"Evacuate the city. Everyone must leave now if they are to cross the mountains into the Grey Havens. Cirdan will wait."

The Captain seemed relieved. But just as well, he felt his question wasn't fully answered.

"But what of you, my Lady?"

"I will stay."

Celeborn seemed struck aside.

"Galadriel, my love, you cannot-"

"I must. Long ago, Sauron killed my brother. And now, he kills off my closest friends...he will regret what he has done."

Celeborn stared into her eyes, despite his best efforts, he couldn't keep the despair entering his voice.


Galadriel gave a weak smile. She pulled him in close, and whispered,

"Remember our meeting in Doriath. Look for me in the Halls of Mandos...now...go. Sauron will break the barriers before long."

Celeborn restrained the water forming in his eyes. He kissed her passionately, then stared into her eyes one last time. Galadriel did the same, forcing herself to remember his silver-hued eyes. She gently pulled him away.

Celeborn nodded, then exited the chamber. The captain bowed low.

"My Lady...it has been an honor. I will look for you in the Second Music."

Galadriel gave a laugh.

"As will I. Now leave! The Enemy will wait for none."

The Captain dutifully left the room. Galadriel was now all alone. The cries of the Orcs could be heard throughout Caras Galadhon, while Galadriel silently walked under the fading, now pale golden leaves of Lothlorien, recalling its creation. All of it began with a single mallorn tree...

Galadriel stopped, nearly twenty meters before the edge of the ravine. Before her, was the greatest host of orcs she had ever seen...she steeled herself before what she saw:

Tall and mighty, was Sauron before the borders of Lothlorien, and he held a great mace at his side. Galadriel could feel darkness being exuded from his being, as it sought to enrapture all life in the forest. With her elf-eyes, she could the smirk on his lips. All fell silent when he raised his hand, and suddenly a great flash of light came forth from the One Ring, and the barriers of Lorien were broken. Galadriel glared at the coming host, and gave a fey laugh that silenced the jeers and shouts of the orcs, and just as Sauron did, held out her right hand:

The orcs were blinded by a luminescent light, and were cowed by the sight of Galadriel. She unveiled her power, and appeared no longer as a grey clad Elf, but as an Elf lord of old, clad in white robes, with the light of the Trees in her hair, and a single star of Varda rested on her finger - which now was unveiled as Nenya, one of the Great Rings of Power. Dauntless she stood before them, and her voice rang out to all of Mordor:

"I challenge you Dark Lord, Sauron, cowardly lord, servant of the defeated! Fight me as you did my brother, or are do you fear me even now, when you wield the One?"

Sauron came forth across the bridge, reluctantly, his form towering above Galadriel. Even now he was afraid, for he recalled her power before, and knew that she was once the mightier. He gave a low laugh that put fear in all, even the orcs, but his display served little to move Galadriel. He then put on a guise of once fairer form, a mockery of elder days when the world was younger.

Galadriel stiffened at the sight.

"This was my form when I murdered your brother, was it not? I recall his cowering eyes when I struck him down...he was helpless."

Galadriel felt hot wrath in her being, but did not move to the taunt.

"Perhaps so, but where were you when your master fell? I do not seem to remember you being present when Angband was laid bare. Nay, you fled like you did when I destroyed Dol Guldur. But I shall not follow suit. I will guard my people, and my home, before the end."

Sauron's eyes then lit with a sudden anger, and a cry rose from his lips, and began chanting forth words - a sudden fire sprang forth and sought to engulf Galadriel, but she sang with all her might and a sudden sphere of brilliance countered its wrath, and it crashed upon the globe like water on rock. So began the Battle of Songs. Galadriel sang with a passion, and cast forth her true power and form, and bright lights lit the entire area; Sauron chanted of darkness, madness enveloping, but was constantly countered by Galadriel - so the battle went.

But it came at last, that when the battle was its peak, Sauron's voice rang like a dark cathedral's bell, and moved to smite Galadriel with his mace. Galadriel with her last power moved to disembody Sauron, to absolutely destroy his being - and marred his form. But Sauron was not defeated, and his mace smote her brow, and the last light of Galadriel's beauty left Middle Earth, and she thus passed at last into the Halls of Mandos.

Those who saw from afar viewed the great battle, and it passed into the last tales and songs before Dagor Dagorath...

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Post by MinifigDesigner Tue Oct 22, 2013 11:34 pm

Fall of Gondolin Short Story


Something clearly wasn't right, Idril knew, Maeglin had suddenly become far too open for his personality, too friendly. He greeted all with a smile, and actually made an attempt to talk to people. She noticed that others of Gondolin recognized the change as well, most reacted awkwardly to his cheerfulness. It simply wasn't right.

Today, however, was even more different, and more disturbing than the past week. Everywhere she went, she found his gleaming eyes stalking her every move, and when he wasn't watching her, he had a fake, cold smile on his face - no, that wasn't it.

Idril frowned. What was it then? Idril would soon find out, her walk taking her towards the North Gate where Maeglin's house stood. He built it there for convenience, because he and his miners often ventured from the North Gate to the Echoriath mountains, where their deep mines were delved. Idril gave hasty smiles to people who greeted her as she passed through the Alley of Roses where a few of the citizens of Gondolin dwelt, easing their minds in the aromas of flowers and deep hued roses. But Idril had no time for being idle, thus she sped along the roads all the more quicker. Her question had to be answered.

It was at last, nearing the Sun's fall, that she reached her cousin's home, tall it stood, both proud and dark, the roof rose in the manner of Elven architecture, no flora were at his windows. Banners of his House were hung at either end of the doorway, dark curtains covered the circular windows on the walls. Idril knocked. No answer. She knocked a bit louder, more impatiently this time, and suddenly the door cracked open a bit. His piercing eyes met hers, strands of black hair fell unkempt around his pale complexion. He stood awkwardly, and stuttered to answer Idril. His eyes looked red...but from what?

"Uh, yes, cousin?"

His voice was throaty and hoarse. From what, Idril couldn't begin to guess, not yet. But she almost felt as if he had been crying...but yet again, about what? Idril then silenced her inner voice. No. She couldn't be distracted from her mission.

"Maeglin, may I come in?"

He nodded reluctantly, and opened the door for her to enter. The room was dark, unusually so, he often at least had a few torches burning.


Maeglin quickly lighted some of the torches, and at last the room was revealed. Much of the items seemed scattered, tools were strew on the floor, a small workbench was about a wall where blades and other equipment Maeglin had crafted were held on the walls - but this was normal for him. The odd part was that his furniture seemed turn over, to which he hastily apologized once more. He set upright a few chairs, and they both sat, in a still silence.

Idril broke the quietness tentatively with carefully chosen words.

"Maeglin...I hope you don't take offense, but...I've noticed that...you don't seem yourself lately."

Maeglin's eyes twitched for a moment, but then resumed their normal, distant stare. Idril felt a stirring in him, and truth be told, was rather uncomfortable.

"I'm fine."

"I didn't say you weren't. I'm just saying that something about seems a lot different than usual. You're more friendly, but...I've noticed your grimaces. I know something isn't right. Not only that, but you'll often excuse yourself to just simply leave...Maeglin, its scaring me. Can't you tell me what's bothering you?"

She reached out a hand to him, but he recoiled. He tried forming words, but his eyes told the truth. Now she knew that something definitely wasn't right, and that he certainly wasn't "fine".

"Idril, I told you, I'm alright. You have no reason to worry."

Idril was about to speak, but then a knock was heard at the door. Idril raised her eyebrow at Maeglin, but he wasn't even paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the floor.

Getting up, Idril moved towards the door, and hoped to glance outside to who it was, but it was simply too impractical. She opened the door to reveal an elf clad in bright mail, blue cape, and a shield on his arm that had a moon, a heart, and a star - the banner of Turgon. The elf spoke rapidly, as if in a hurry, but was clearly confused. He was obviously expecting Maeglin.

"Er...greetings, Lady Idril! King Turgon sends word for Maeglin. In fact, he requires both of you at his halls. All of the lords will be gathered he said, for a council."

At this part his eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Preparations for the festival of the Gates of Summer are to be made after all. That is the end of my message. Farewell!"

The messenger/guard bowed then left the household, and Idril closed the door. It couldn't be helped. She would have to ask him after the festival. Maeglin slowly moved out of his chair, and retrieved his black cloak, and they both set out for the palace in the King's Square. The walk was long; neither of them spoke to each other, and simply walked in cold silence. Many Elves were moving to get ready for the festival, some were on the walls already, eagerly waiting.

Once they reached the palace, the sun was setting, and the white pavement gleamed gold, whilst both the trees in the square caught the rays and glowed with an ethereal light. The guards allowed them to pass, and they both entered the white palace; the inside opened up into a vast court, the walls and pillars white-washed, and a single path of gold led to the throne. There stood the lords of the Houses of Gondolin, including Tuor and Turgon. Tuor mouthed the words to Idril, "Where were you?" and eyed Maeglin, but Idril simply shook her head, gesturing, "Later". Turgon smiled fondly, then spoke with a voice of gentleness, that paired nicely with his faintly wrinkled complexion and bright eyes.

"Now that everyone is present, we may begin. The festival is tomorrow, thus we need to station the Houses."

The lords nodded, and listened with loyal respect. Turgon eyed all of them, hen continued,

"Salgant, Egalmoth, and Duilin - I want your Houses on the North Walls. Glorfindel, Ecthelion, I want your Houses to be on the Northwestern and Northeastern Walls, respectively. Penlod, Galdor, and Rôg, I want your Houses on the East."

Turgon then looked at Maeglin, and Tuor with a gleam in his eyes.

"Lastly, Maeglin, Tuor, I want both of your Houses with mine on the Main Gate's wall."

Turgon then smiled.

"That is all. Gather what rest you may, the city will gather on the walls at the first light of dawn. You are all dismissed. Be merry! Time of great feast draws nigh!"

The Lords then left the palace, Maeglin speeding ahead away from the others, Salgant, this time, not following close behind. Idril began to follow, but then thought better of it. She would have gotten her chance to follow, tomorrow. Besides, she thought.

Eärendil will be seven! The thought instantly cheered her mood. Idril felt a gentle hand clasp her shoulders, and she turned to see her husband Tuor, his dark hair curling around his ears, and his brown eyes twinkled with a questioning light.

"Was he alright?"

Idril shook her head. She glanced at the open doors where Maeglin left, into the evening air, and turned back towards her husband.

"No...I don't know what's wrong with him. But Tuor..."

"She stared deep into his eyes.

"I feel worried for him. He looks restless, and seems like he's suffering. But of what, I cannot tell. Also..."

Idril looked around, then dropped her voice to a soft, low whisper,

"I fear that the Secret Way will be needed soon."

Tuor's eyes widened, and he nodded.

"These are dark times indeed..."

His face softened, then he whispered quietly, not in secrecy, but in intimacy,

"Dark as they be, let us forget them for a while."

Idril raised her eyebrow questioningly, then he laughed aloud,

"No, love, that is not what I meant. It is our son's birthday! Come, let us celebrate with him - I am sure he has missed us long enough."

He embraced his wife, and they both began to walk outside the palace. However, they were halted by Turgon when they were about to leave the palace gates.

"Idril! Tuor! Wait!"

"Swift as an arrow, Turgon strode up to them, and he had a fantastic grin on his face, and his eyes gleamed with fatherly love.

"Word has not escaped my ear that my grandson is now seven...it would be horrible if I didn't have a gift for the occasion."

Idril and Tuor gasped. He pulled from his robes a finely smithed dagger sheathed in oak-colored leather, that matched the handle. He unsheathed the blade, and revealed a finely smithed dagger of elven mastery, that had twirling runes on the blade - while for a normal person it would have been used like a knife, it was large enough for a shortsword to be used by a child.

Tuor graciously handed the blade to them with care, and Tuor gently took the dagger.

"Turgo- I mean father...he will be delighted to have it. I'm sure he'll use it as much as he can."

Idril frowned slightly at the last comment, thinking of her dark dreams...but then was interrupted by Turgon's laughter.

"He's getting near the age of training! Hopefully his early start will serve him in his rising years. Now then! While I wish I could celebrate it with you, I have pressing matters to attend to. Do not forget to send my love to my grandson! Farewell!"

Turgon hugged his daughter and son-inlaw, and then left the gates. Tuor glanced at Idril, and noticed her troubled expression.

"What's wrong, dearest? I assure you that Eärendil will not be swinging a blade until he is much older...Idril?"

He lifted her chin, and she stifled a tear.

"I'm grateful for what Turgon gave him, but...him learning the art of war...I-"

She began to cry, burying her head against Tuor's shoulder. He held her tightly, and whispered,

"I know. Idril, I promise you...no matter what happens...even if all our enemies were to stand at the very walls of Gondolin...I wouldn't let a single one hurt him."

He lifted her face, and he met her starry eyes.

"I swear it."

Idril gave a small laugh, and Tuor frowned suddenly.


She wiped her eyes, and smiled.

"You're a wonderful father, Tuor. I wouldn't have any other man."

Tuor blushed lightly.

"I was serious!"

"I know; and I love that about you most of all. Beneath the surface, you're a loving, kind father and husband."

Tuor winked.

"I try."

At that he grinned, and both the lovers laughed, and walked home to their son who was eagerly awaiting them.

Chapter Two

Night enveloped the world, and no light was present, except for the stars.

Maeglin meanwhile was dealing with his own darkness. He trembled in his bedroom, and the curtains were closed as usual. He felt more at peace in the dark, unlike most Elves, he could see clearly in it.

But no comfort could come to him right now. He shivered uncontrollably, his eyes couldn't focus on anything; his arms were wrapped around his knees trying to calm the rocking motion he was doing. Tears streamed freely down his face, and his mouth quivered heedlessly, his breath came in short, rapid breaths.

He was dealing with another panic attack. Every day, they were becoming more frequent. He had to keep it under control soon, or else-

No. I have to clear my mind, I have, I have to. Peace, calm...I-I-

Maeglin frantically clawed his hair, blood was pumping his ears, he couldn't sustain himself, he had to, he had to-

Heedless of what anyone might hear, he screamed. He cursed Morgoth. He cursed the Valar. He cursed Tuor. But most of all of the names that came through his line of swearing, his name came the most often.

He searched frantically for something to vent his excess of emotion towards, he grabbed a chair, and threw it at the wall. It shattered into pieces. He grabbed one of the legs and began beating it at the wall.


He dropped the leg. Heedless of the blood on his hand, he held his face, whimpering softly.

Idril, Turgon, Aredhe- mom...I'm...I'm so...sorry...

Despite his pleas, no help came to him. Maeglin at that moment, like so many other times, was alone in the world.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

WIP - (work in progress)

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Post by MinifigDesigner Mon Jan 06, 2014 2:08 am

Ahhhh, my Gondolin story. I swear I'll finish that sometime, but here is a headcanon I had for Sauron, especially upon reading this quote from Gandalf: "For nothing is evil in the beginning. Not even Sauron was so."


He remembered vaguely those times long past, when he was still Mairon. He felt the leaves, and the golden red robe - what he wore when was the Admirable. He couldn't help himself, and grasped the leaves, and lifted up the circlet - it was old and withered now, but they still held the light of Valinor. His hands shook, and he attempted to lift it up to his head. He closed his eyes, and his breath became heavy. The Noldor waving to him. His study under Aule. His walks under the trees.

He cried out, and threw the circlet to the floor. He held his head with quiet hands. Why did he still think back on it? His mouth morphed into a hideous frown. As much as he hated Valinor, the Elves, the Valar, he sometimes still thought of the leaves. Sometimes he'd put it all back on again. But now, no nostalgia came to him. Instead it was fire - a hot desire to burn everything in a sheering flash of light.

He moved to destroy the circlet, then held himself back - was it really worth it? He decided against it. Instead he picked it up with delicate motion, and sneered. He enjoyed the smoke coming from the leaves, the burning sensation. He allowed it to smolder until it was but ashes. He didn't care anymore about that time. He didn't want to think of Mairon. He was Sauron now. No remnant of the past would sway him. He grimaced at the robe. No, he would keep that for another time. He tried convincing himself that he would need it, at some point, but he knew otherwise. No matter how evil he was, a small good remained in him - no, it remained in the past. Mairon was gone, consumed in a darkness - now only his hate for the world was left in him.

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Post by MinifigDesigner Mon Jan 06, 2014 2:51 am

I feel like I'm cheating here, since I actually wrote these chapters out a whillleee back, but never bothered uploading them. Without further ado, here is the rest of Chapter Two and Three of the Fall of Gondolin:

Eärendil cried with glee at the sight of the gift. He clutched it lovingly, and brandished the sword.

Tuor laughed, watching his son's childish, innocent display of joy. Idril smiled with unhindered happiness.

"You'll be a fine swordsman one day, Eärendil."

Eärendil looked enthusiastically back at his mother, with shock in his eyes.

"You really think so mommy?"

"I know so."

Eärendil looked triumphantly at his dad, with his blade raised above his head.

"You hear that daddy? I'll be a great fighter someday! Maybe even Ecthelion can teach me!"

Tuor ruffled his bright blonde hair - he looked so much like Idril. But his eyes, were neither from his parents - they were a deep sea green, that reflected his mariner's heart.

"Perhaps he might! I could ask him to personally give you lessons. Someday..."

And in an undertone, he added more quietly,

"Maybe someday..."

A punctual, soft hand rapt on the door.

Idril shrugged towards her husband, and called, "Come in!"

Outside was Salgant and Ecthelion - while both weren't particularly often seen together, Eärendil was fond of Salgant, and Ecthelion was a friend of Tuor, ever since they met at the gates. Eärendil didn't pay any heed to them, slicing the air, and doing a series of thrusts and slashes. Idril and Tuor welcomed them in, Ecthelion brought a pie made with ingredients from the fruits of Glingal with permission from Turgon's attendants. Its aroma was rich and was enough to make Tuor's mouth water, even Eärendil was distracted from his swordplay. Idril brought the pie into the kitchen where a small table sat upright. Tuor apologized for the lack of chairs, and brought more from other places of the house. It was a small squish for all of them to fit, but none of them minded.

Apparently, Ecthelion's skill with the blade was just as good as his skill in the culinary arts. The fruits were similar to peaches, but slightly sweeter, and just a tad spicy. Soon, the pie was gone, and all of the guests had a full belly.

Tuor remarked both honestly and mockingly,

"Well well, I never knew you that you were as fine a warrior as you are a chef. How come you don't bake for the king?"

Ecthelion smiled wide,

"Well, after living for over 400 hundred years, one might try their hand at other arts and crafts. While the flute is still my passion, as is my blade, I nonetheless wanted something different."

He simply shrugged. Idril felt her eyes begin to drift off, and she fell asleep. Tuor gently nudged her; earning a shock from Idril, and loud laughter from the others. Eärendil grabbed his shortsword and began practicing. Ecthelion watched him with a master's glance.

"You need to keep your blade in close. If you continue doing wide arcs, you'll leave your torso and other vitals unguarded. Here, let me show you how."

Ecthelion taught the child a few proper techniques in swordplay, and patted his head lovingly,

"If you continue practicing, you'll be a fine warrior someday. Maybe you might even be better than me!"

Eärendil's mouth gaped, and he suddenly stopped. Then he turned to face Salgant and shouted,

"Did you hear that, Salgant? I might even be better than Ecthelion! Just watch! Someday you'll have to sing a tale about me!"

Salgant cocked his eyebrow, and grinned.

"Who knows? I might even have a song to sing right now."

"Oh wow!! Can we hear it now!?"

But by then Idril was wide awake, and had her opinion about it.

"No, sorry Salgant, but we need to get him to bed. Even though he's seven, he'll have to grow quite a bit more before being able to stay up as late as the Lords of the Houses can."

Eärendil stopped practicing, and made a pouting face at Idril.

"But mom! Its my birthday! Can't I stay up a little later tonight? Please?"

He then looked despairingly towards his father.

"Daddy, can't I please stay up? I promise I won't sleep too late tomorrow. I'll be up by dawn, I promise!!"

Tuor laughed, and patted his head.

"Sorry my little warrior, but your mom's right. Tomorrow is the day of the festival, and it would be bad if you were walking like an orc to the walls."

Tuor then mimicked an absent minded orc trudging along the floor slowly with his tongue hanging out. Eärendil laughed until he couldn't breathe.

"Well alright, I guess I'll go to bed. But before I go...daddy, can't you tell me of granddaddy? I want to hear about grandfather Huor..."

Tuor's face softened, while Salgant and Ecthelion looked thoroughly amused. Tuor pointed a questioningly glance at Salgant. He only shrugged, trying to hide his grin. Idril smiled at the mention of Turin's father. She remembered Huor during his time in Gondolin. He was a mighty warrior of men, and compassionate towards all. She wished that she could have had him present during her wedding with Tuor.

The room became quiet, as Tuor's voice softened, and a distant time was reflected in his eyes.

"I don't remember much of your grandfather, Eärendil, but mother - your grandmother - told me many tales of his heroics. It was around the time I was born that the Nirnaeth Arnoediad happened. Nearly all of Beleriand were at the plains before Morgoth's gates. My father was with his brother, my uncle Hurin at the time during the battle. They fought against orcs, and answered Fingon's call for aid when he was surrounded. He slayed many orcs during that time. But fate was not on our side during battle, it would seem. Fingon was cut off from Hurin and my father, by chance, an orc arrow...it..."

Tuor's voice faded, and his eyes seemed like water upon a mirror.

Eärendil was then brought back to the present by the sudden halt, and looked at his father.

"Daddy, why did you stop? What about the orc arrow?"

Idril walked over to Tuor and placed her arms on his shoulders. Ecthelion walked over to Eärendil, while Salgant stood by, his grin no longer present, placed by an awkward look of discomfort.

"Eärendil, your grandfather was a valiant, and heroic man. I know this; I met him long ago before your father was born, when Huor was just a lad nearing adulthood by man's reckoning. I was also there during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad...it was a horrible battle. Not many escaped the orcs and the balrogs...including your grandfather."

Eärendil looked confused, innocence was shown in his eyes.

"What do you mean he didn't escape? Wasn't he a great warrior? What happened to him?"

Ecthelion looked into his eyes with his own pale, water blue eyes, and spoke with a gentle tone...

"Sometimes, people leave this world...even the immortal Elves do. All of us do, at some point. The fate of our journeys, though, are not known to all of us after we leave. The Elves though, are destined to enter a great hall back where my kind once lived, until the end of time itself. But as for humans...they do not know. Not even the Powers of this world do. Now, this is the important part, so listen carefully."

Ecthelion placed his hands on Eärendil's shoulders, and gave a hopeful smile.

"Eru, the Father of us all, stated, long ago, long before even the world was created, that where humans go to when they leave this world...is a gift. Indeed, even the Elves envy their gift."

Salgant snorted, but Ecthelion ignored him.

"Even though your kind doesn't know where they go to, it is promised by Eru, the Father of All - yes, even you and me - that the human's afterlife is a place wonderful beyond imagine. Right now, your grandfather is there. Someday, who knows, even you will be with him, your father, and all of the Edain in a great place."

Tuor smiled at his son's joyous and amazed expression. Idril was smiling as well, but a small discomfort was in her heart...it was true though. Tuor was mortal, and she was of the Eldar. When they both died...they would not be together.

But looking at her husband and son's faces, she knew that it was a price she was willing to pay, if even just to share one lifetime with them.

Salgant gave a cough, and spoke,

"Well, this was, um, great. I apologize, but I have to meet with the rest of my House in order to prepare. Good night everyone, and happy birthday Eärendil."

Eärendil smiled and said goodbye to Salgant. Idril looked at her son.

"Alright, its time for you to go to bed now. You've been up long enough mister."

Eärendil, this time, didn't protest, and walked to his own bedroom, with his dagger in his arms. Idril caught him though.

"Wait! Hand me the dagger before you go to bed, I don't want to find out that you're missing a limb in the middle of the night."

Eärendil reluctantly handed her the dagger, and promptly left the room, giving a hug to his parents, and then walked to Ecthelion.

"Thanks Ecthelion for the pie and the story!! You're a great friend."

He hugged a surprised Ecthelion, and Ecthelion looked at Idril and Tuor as in "What should I do?" Idril and Tuor offered no help, and only gave small grins.

Ecthelion looked at Eärendil, and simply decided to return the hug.

Eärendil then pushed away, and began marching away.

"Goodnight everyone!"


His door could be heard being closed, and the room was quiet for a moment.

Tuor glanced at Ecthelion.

"Ecthelion, thank you for that, I'm not sure what I would have told him if that had continued..."

Idril gave an appreciating smile to him.

"I'm not sure what I would have done either. Eärendil is still so young...it would have been really difficult for him to understand what death is."

Ecthelion only offered a shrug.

"It was only right. I'm fond of Eärendil...it would sadden me to see him gloomy. And, we're friends after all. I enjoy my visits, if only occasional, here...but I'm afraid, this one will have to come to an end. Like Salgant, I must prepare with my House as well. Farewell! I look forward to a free day, and full of feasting and joy at that!"

He walked towards the door, and opened it, with Idril and Tuor saying their goodbyes.

"Goodbye! Remember to visit again soon!"

The door closed, and Tuor and Idril sighed. Both looked at each other. It had been a long, eventful, and wearisome day. Tuor grinned.

"Well, I'm almost as tired as a dwarf after working in the mines all day. And with the Festival tomorrow, we'll have to wake up early. We should get as much rest as we can."

Idril nodded.

"I can't believe he's seven already...the years are passing by so quickly. Quick as they are, I'm glad I can share them with you."

"Aye. I can't imagine life now without you, Eärendil, Turgon...everything. I hope...that we can share them here forever."

Idril gave a hopeful smile.

"I hope so...and yet. I still feel that foreboding in my heart...Tuor."

She stared straight into his eyes, as they embraced each other.

She whispered softly to him, her voice quiet and wary,

"I feel that the time is soon. Very soon."


Darkness began to lift as the faintest shades of night very slowly gave way to the dawn of the Gates of Summer. The white roads and mixed houses shades of silver white began to darken as the city was caught between the darkest hour of night.

The city was brimming over with excitement, each House was on the walls along with the lower classed citizens. All eyes were eagerly watching the East of the mountains where the sun would soon raise. Turgon stood on a dais planted in the middle of the Eastern walls, since he led the celebration. Idril stood on his left with Maeglin on his right. Tuor stood firmly beside Idril, both of them watching with anticipation. Eärendil stood beside Tuor, clasping his father's hand, with light in his eyes. He vaguely remembered last year's celebration, as he yet still had the fog of youth on his memory.

Guards surrounded the three Houses, with members of the Houses inside the circle.

Idril couldn't help but stare at Maeglin. The shadow of grimness seemed to have left him overnight, with only the faintest lines of darkness under his eyelids. But that wasn't what disturbed her:

He had a thin, almost sardonic smile on his face with an atmosphere of chilling intent on his face. Every so often she caught him glancing at her. She had to focus on the mountains to try to ignore him, but little help did it provide. Tuor saw her expression, and squeezed her hand, offering a comforting smile. She gave him a quick glance and smile.

Eärendil, however, was almost about to explode. He kept looking up at his father, and asking an overload of questions.

"Are you excited? When will the sun finally come here? Where's Ecthelion and Salgant? Can I go see them? Is grandpa Turgon excited? Can we play while we wait?"

Tuor had to stop himself from laughing, and he merely shook his head at his son. Eärendil raised his eyebrows, and couldn't decide what that meant, or if that even answered his questions. So instead, he busied himself by tracing the lines of the mountains with his eyes.

Turgon watched with anxiety, remembering Ulmo's words in his head repeat over and over...he could not shake the feeling of dread in him, even though he knew that Gondolin was well hidden and protected.

Even if anything happened, the Eagles would surely notify us. But still...

Turgon shifted uncomfortably in his ceremonial robes. While he forced himself to block out the prophecy, a vague, malicious spirit gnawed at his mind.

The whole air vibrated with intensity as a light began to rim the mountains in gold-silver, painting the pale sky pink and yellow. Wind gently caressed the city with a soft, warm current lightly dappled with frost from the mountain tops. And all at once, the sky broke into gold. Everyone gasped, and began to shout with cheer, smiles on everyone's faces.

Maeglin was the first to notice the off-colored change though. The sky painted with gold was at once softly dappled with red, barely darkening the sky. Idril noticed as well, and she glanced sideways.

No words could describe what she felt at what she saw. Horror, shock, anger, and sorrow hit her all at once, as if someone slapped her harshly. She failed to breathe for a moment. Tuor noticed her bewildered face, and both curiosity and fear replaced his earlier joy. At that moment he knew what she saw. He turned. He blinked. And beheld what he hoped to not see ever in his lifetime.

Red fire colored the northern mountains, and cries came forth. Everyone was silenced for a moment, and heard the low, dark cries issuing from the north. All at once the joyful cries before were replaced with murmurs of horror and dread. Cries could be heard from Elves, and Turgon closed his eyes.

He was a fool, he realized. He should have known that the Black Hand would have grasped his city at last in its groping and blind wanderings. But if indeed it was blind, how did it find them here?

None but Idril could piece together the puzzle. She looked back at Maeglin. A grim smile was on his face for a moment, replaced by mock horror. Both rage and amazement filled her being. But words could not be exchanged now as Turgon shouted above the cries.

"Everyone, do not satisfy the Black Armies with your fear! Remember who we are! We are the Gondolindrim, and as we stand here at our own home, it will not fall! Prepare for battle! Go now to your stations, get the women and children to safety!"

Turgon looked at Idril, and pulled her close.

"Idril, my daughter, the time has come. Spread word of the Secret Way, for no hope now lies for our city. We must evacuate as many as we can...you must do this."

Idril nodded. She sprang into the crowd followed by a few ordered guards, and she told the citizens to evacuate as quickly as they could, to bring only their needed possessions for the Secret Way. Glorfindel and his House followed with her.

Time was not on their side, and Turgon quickly told the Houses where to station themselves, the Swallow and Heavenly Arch did not need to be told where to go. They immediately called the archers of the city to the walls, and they ventured forth for their bows and quivers along with their knives. Tuor shouted orders to his House, along with Turgon, and they set out for the tower. Rôg and his House immediately set out for the North Gates, and many saw that crimson fury was on his face and all of his House as they set out. Salgant sought out Maeglin, but he was nowhere to be found. The Pillar and the Tower of Snow spread out on the walls to combat the fast approaching armies; Ecthelion and his House went to the city along with Galdor and his own. Idril and a mass following of Elves were quickly going to their houses to gather their belongings, and for a moment she was alone, and the guards were busy aiding the citizens. She left to her house, with Eärendil close behind her. She gathered a pack, and some supplies she packed in a bundle for this time that she foresaw.

Clothes, food and water, other supplies, blankets...everything is here.

Satisfied, she slung it on her back, left her room, and found Eärendil whimpering in the hall. She had to stifle her own fear, and walked to him. A small stream of tears lined his face. He spoke in a small, shaky voice,

"Mom, I'm scared..."

Idril embraced him, and grasped his face in her palms, and lifted his eyes to hers.

"Eärendil, its alright...its okay to be scared. This is just a change we'll have to endure. Right now, I need you to be my brave warrior. Can you do that?"

Eärendil stopped his shaky breathing, and slowly breathed. He nodded.

"Yes, I can. May I bring my sword? I'll protect you with it."

He suddenly became fierce and determined, Idril couldn't help but chuckle and grin.

"Of course you may. Now, where is that pack I made for you? Can you help me find it?"

He nodded and led her to his room, and to a corner beside the door where a small bundle was. Idril grabbed the bundle, and stood for a moment, then looked at Eärendil.

"Are you ready? We need to gather as many as we can."

Eärendil nodded and unsheathed his dagger-shortsword.

Idril looked outside a window as screams could be heard, that were then silenced. She opened her door for a moment, then stepped back in shock as she saw her cousin standing there. His eyes were wild, his hair unkempt. He staggered towards the door, drunk in his craze - Idril stared into his eyes, and perceived that it wasn't craze - it was desire. She stepped back further and further. He came closer and closer.

"Idril, cousin...its been so very long."

Idril backed into the wall, fear striking deeper than it ever had.

"What are you doing? Maeglin, please, I know what happened, it will be alright-"

"Of course it will."

Maeglin smiled wide, his breath hitting her face warmly. His voice was deep and menacing, bringing to light emotions he buried deep inside himself for so long.

"Of course it will...don't you see? Gondolin will be ours, you will be spared, even the brat you call your son. We can live together, Idril...Morgoth has made sure of that."

Idril's eyes glinted with cold wrath. She knew where Eärendil was, she could see him just out of the corner of her eyes. If she couldn't protect herself, then who would protect Eärendil? Maeglin began giggling to himself as he eyed her, and Idril slowly moved, bringing her face closer into Maeglin's, and acted as if she were to kiss him. He leaned in eagerly, but Idril then aimed her knee at his groin, and he fell to the ground swearing. Idril hastily ran to Eärendil, and grabbed his arm, pulling him along with her. She had no thought but to escape into the city, even though more danger was present in that path - but right then, she would have rather been alone in Morgoth's halls itself than to be alone with her cousin.

But her thought was broken as she heard Eärendil's scream. She turned around to find Maeglin's blade right before his neck, his hand clutching his arm with an iron fist. Pure rage was in his eyes, and Idril almost thought he would kill them then. But it was not so.

"Do not...even attempt to run...lest you value Eärendil's life."

Maeglin layed there for a moment to catch his breath, then slowly drew himself up, with his blade still at Eärendil's neck. He ushered them forward, with his sword behind their backs, and he briskly ordered them to move.

Idril held her son's hand as they passed through alleyways and deserted areas, following Maeglin's commands.

Idril had lost all hope.

The one who penetrates the darkness, like the moon and the stars, giving hope to the fallen, and giving wings to the heart.
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Post by MinifigDesigner Tue Feb 18, 2014 10:53 pm

Warning, a slightly cracky fic below:

Lord of the Rings/Pokemon Cross-over Fic
It felt forever ago when Frodo and the Company set off to combat Team Red Eye. Frodo remembered hearing stories how Team Red Eye arose. Sauron, the apprentice to Morgoth – the former leader of the crime organization – called back the team, using the peak of Mt. Silver to send out the radio signal. It was as if the very mountain was a beacon of evil then. Thousands upon thousands of members found their way to the mountain, and Sauron established a giant red eye embroidered on a black flag as symbol to the revival – the Eye that was watching everyone, he said. He called back the Nine – his old assembly of informants, his Hand. They watched everyone – through their own networks, and they would carry out his will, inducing fear in all saw them. Their leader, however, was the worst. People called him The Witch, because of his almost sorcerous knowledge of the cities and his horrific choice of Pokemon. Frodo winced at his memory of encountering him. The pain in his heart still hurt whenever he recalled that event. The Witch and the other Eight surrounded him and his friends. They were no match for them…The Witch was so close to claiming Sauron’s desire – the Legendary Pokemon that Frodo kept safe within its pokeball. No one knew its true purpose, or its identity – all save the Company, the Wise, and Sauron. Frodo himself was terrible at battling, he’d admit. Most of the Hobbits were. If it wasn’t for Aragorn…well, Frodo didn’t like to think what would have happened.
He turned away from the giant building in front of him. It had felt like years since their stay at Cianwood, but really, no one could tell. Time felt frozen here, and the secret of that was with Lady Galadriel. The citizens of the city called her and her husband that only in respect, for they asked for no titles in return for leading them. However, it was known that Galadriel and Celeborn were noble by heritage, and the titles gave hope and courage in the war against Sauron. Many boasted that Sauron’s minions could never breach Cianwood, and so far, that seemed true. A mystical, mysterious barrier guarded the shores, only those that the Lady permitted could enter. Frodo lay down against a tree. All around him, the people sang. It was a language unknown to him, but Legolas told him it was a language similar to his own people, a language that wasn’t very well known outside the world of the Elves. Frodo loved the Elves, and all of the stories about them. It was in legend that the Elves were the first to befriend pokemon, and later taught this to Men. The Dwarves understood this as well, but how, none but they knew. In Kanto the Dwarves dwelt in Pewter city, near Mt. Moon where they harvested and mined for precious stones. But Mt. Moon was taken over by Team Red Eye, much to the disheartening and shock to the Company…Frodo shuddered to think back on it. Gandalf fell there, with the demonic pokemon…a pokemon rumored to have been Morgoth’s. Entei, it was named. Gandalf fought long against it, but pokemon after pokemon fell. It was then that Gandfalf brought out his ace.
“I am Gandalf, Professor of Kanto, and trainer of the Secret Being of Sinnoh! You cannot run, and you cannot hide, and I forbid you to leave this pass. You cannot run!”
The beast only roared fire in return. As Gandalf reached for his last pokeball, Entei attempted to charge at Gandalf. The weight of it though broke the bridge beneath it. Everyone thought they made it. Until Entei, quicker than the eye could see, leaped back tackling Gandalf with it. Gandalf yelled at them all to run, and run they did. It was a long journey, but eventually the Company, flying on their pokemon, went wide around Indigo Plateau, and into Johto seeking refuge. Team Red Eye outlawed usage of pokemon, but they made sure to stay out of their territory. Frodo cried longer than he could care to think about.
“Mr. Frodo?”
Frodo glanced up at Sam, and gave a weak smile.
“Sam, just call me Frodo. We aren’t in Pallet Town anymore. You’re not my gardener anymore.” Sam shrugged.
“Old habits die off hard. Mind if I sit with you?” Frodo gave him some room, and Sam plopped down beside him. Sam’s smell of grass and tools hadn’t quite left him, but Frodo didn’t mind He missed Pallet Town, and it was good to see a familiar face after being involved with all of the Elves. Cianwood was nice, but it wasn’t home. The buildings felt old, and the coconut trees whispered older tales. Even the shores felt alien. Boromir claimed it to be some old magic, but Frodo didn’t believe it. No magic existed in this world, save for that of pokemon. Sam seemed to be reading his thoughts and spoke up,
“I felt somehow odd when we met the Lord and Lady. I didn’t like her gaze. I felt as if…well, like she was reading me if you understand my meaning.”
Frodo nodded. Galadriel was something else that was for sure. Many people claimed it was her psychic powers, but Frodo didn’t agree. Galadriel was a psychic, to be sure, as was most of her pokemon, but there was something far more powerful she was hiding. Frodo could feel it, and so did the Legendary nestled at his hip.
“There was definitely something different about Galadriel.”
Frodo kept silent, and Sam eventually left to go check on his belongings. Eventually night fell, and stars dotted the sky. The Company ate with the Elves, but Boromir still was silent, but Gimli was surprisingly warm and full of laughter. Legolas smiled. Aragorn spoke to several Elves, but was otherwise quiet. Aragorn was rumored to be the son of a famous trainer, and heir to Indigo Plateau due to his unmatched skill. Legolas was prince of the dynasty in Blackthorn city, and Gimli was the son of Gloin, a famous dwarf that travelled with Thorin to reclaim Cinnbar, the lonely island and volcano from Moltres. Galadriel and Celeborn hosted the feast, inviting the entire city. Galadriel wore more formal clothes besides her silver ponytail band and her white outfit.
Later, once the feast was finished, the Company dragged out their pallets; most of them began to sleep. Legolas stayed awake to listen, and let out his pokemon as well, and spoke with Aragorn. Aragorn’s pokemon sat brooding, watching their surroundings. Legolas only had two, but they were agile and strong – Staraptor and Greninja; meanwhile Aragorn had three: Lucario, Azumarill, and Victini, which he suitably named the Western Blaze. Aragorn watched the palm trees sway to and fro with his pokemon, and glanced towards Legolas.
“Can’t sleep?”
Legolas only shrugged. “Who can in these times?” Aragorn nodded in agreement. Rest didn’t come by very easily anymore. Times were hard now that Team Red Eye was back in full strength – well, almost. Aragorn wrinkled his nose. Sauron was very close to accomplishing his ultimate goal years back – when he trapped Jirachi when it was making its cycle across the stars. He nearly made a wish – until Elendil, Champion at that time of Indigo Plateau challenged him, along with his son Isildur. Many minions were forced to flee Mt. Silver, and the people backing Elendil and the fabled Elf trainer Gil-galad were nearing triumph. It was then that Sauron hastily made to use Jirachi and wish, holding the pokemon hostage. But Elendil tried to free it, but Sauron’s pokemon killed him off. Isildur, and his pokemon, in fury, charged Sauron, with such might that even Sauron could not outwit him, and was forced to retreat. Isildur freed Jirachi. In his pride though, he sought to make Jirachi a trophy, a prize. It was then that Jirachi fled him, hiding for a long, long time…until it reappeared again, when Sauron made his comeback. Now…everyone was scared. Sauron’s forces were always moving, and so few cities were safe anymore. Legolas stared at Aragorn.
“No one blames you, Aragorn. There was nothing you could have done. Even now…well, if you’re going to lead us, I’ll be right beside you. Do you not trust your own friends?”
Aragorn gave a faint grin.
“I trust all of you. But that doesn’t make my path any lighter. I only wish that the road wasn’t so dark. So much is unclear to me.”
Both of them watched the waves roll into the sand, then fade back, and cycle again.
“Nonetheless, Gandalf had faith in you. That’s good enough for me.”
Legolas patted his shoulder, then left to join everyone else to rest. Aragorn soon followed suit…all except for Frodo. He couldn’t sleep, and kept glancing back at Jirachi’s pokeball. Looking around, he silently got up, and moved past several street lamps until he found a small clearing where brushes surrounded a small crater. A pool of water lay in the middle, and in that, was a stone pillar with a bowl on top. A silent Gothitelle stood sentry beside the pool, gazing at the night sky. Frodo watched it from behind, curious. Eventually the Gothitelle noticed him, and turned to face him. Frodo nearly cried out, discovering that its eyes were glowing blue.
“I see that you’ve found my Gothitelle.”
Frodo spun to find Galadriel behind him, her glowing eyes inspecting him. “Gothitelle watches the stars, and uses its psychic powers to meditate on time. It knows many things…not even I can tell what its thinking. And yet, her kind is sacred. Both my people and the Gothitelles value the stars. Might I join you?”
Frodo nodded cautiously. Galadriel let loose her hair, and sat down with a sigh. Her bright eyes watched the sky, and sometimes looked to the pool.
“You are troubled. All of your Company is. Tell me Frodo, are you afraid?”
Frodo nodded, admittedly.
“Good. Don’t ever be foolish in thinking that the enemy we face isn’t someone to be feared. Sometimes we forget that it’s okay to be afraid.”
“I know it’s okay to be afraid, but…I just wish I didn’t feel so hopeless.”
Galadriel eyed him.
“I wouldn’t blame you. Going deep into the heart of Mt. Silver isn’t an easy task…especially since that’s where Jirachi came down to earth. Your desire to ask it for a wish will only increase as you travel farther there, whether for good or evil is not up to you.”
Frodo absently stared at the pokeball that was suddenly in his hand. Frodo looked up at the Lady. He didn’t know, but…
“Galadriel…would you be the one to take it there?”
Galadriel watched him eerily. Frodo resisted the urge to shiver. Her brow furrowed, as if deep in concentration.
“I’ll admit…I have wondered what potential Jirachi has in its wishes. To have a very wish of my own…”
Galadriel’s hand slowly began to move towards Frodo’s open palm, but suddenly a screech stopped her. From the shadows, a blue floating pokemon unveiled itself from the shadows and darted towards Galadriel. Galadriel whipped back her hand, and stared at the pokeball with wide eyes. She looked at the pokemon, and she at once became calm again. She held the pokemon in her arms, and cradled it softly.
“Thanks.” She whispered towards the pokemon. Frodo watched them suspiciously.
“What pokemon is that?”
Galadriel serenely quipped, “This, my friend, is the secret to our defenses. Frodo, I’d like to introduce you to the Being of Willpower, one of the Three.”
Frodo gaped in awe. Azelf looked at Frodo with its pale golden eyes. “How did it know…?”
Galadriel gave a soft laugh.
“After spending a while with a person, you tend to get to bond with them. But with pokemon, that bond goes even deeper. I’m glad Azelf was watching too…Truthfully. I could have resisted the temptation, yet…well. Just be glad I did. In place of a Crime Leader…you would have a tyrant cruel and unyielding. Do not misunderstand me, Frodo,” Galadriel quickly added, “I would desire to give order to all of the regions, but…I do not trust myself to wish such a thing.” And more quietly to herself, she whispered, “I have passed the test…”
Frodo and Galadriel gazed into the sky for a while, silence passing the minutes.
“Well” Galadriel said, “I believe you should get some rest. Your journey is far from over, Mr. Baggins. A rest in Cianwood will most likely be one of the better nights.”
Galadriel whispered to Azelf for a moment, and the pokemon faded back into the bushes, and Galadriel left Frodo. Frodo reflected back on what she said, and quietly, got up and walked back to his own bed.

The one who penetrates the darkness, like the moon and the stars, giving hope to the fallen, and giving wings to the heart.
LOTR FANFICS Tumblr_n2puipk1qK1s1ayhao1_250
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Post by Ackbar Sat May 10, 2014 11:36 am

One thought seemed to RING throughout his entire being. Razz

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Post by MinifigDesigner Sat May 10, 2014 11:47 am

Oh my gosh I never even realized that until now. XDXD

My fondness for that fanfic has increased. Razz

The one who penetrates the darkness, like the moon and the stars, giving hope to the fallen, and giving wings to the heart.
LOTR FANFICS Tumblr_n2puipk1qK1s1ayhao1_250
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