At 4,929 words (and growing) I will be breaking this up into 700 word chapters and posting this under my blog within the first week in May…or perhaps today (1 May 2015) if I’m looking for something to do. I have only broken up the first two chapters and have more work to do on this. For now, enjoy!
The Adventures of Elisereth and Anbethturil, simply put, is Lord of the Rings Fan Fiction. This is an on-going story that developed over a DM on Twitter with the lovely Elizabeth Rawls and myself. You can check out Ms. Rawls’ writing here!
After seeing her location on Twitter as “Rivendell”, I messaged her and, at once, a story developed. We simply kept it going. Five months later, I decided to record it here as it enfolds.
The events take place about three generations after The Return of the King. All the places are here. All the characters you are familiar with are gone. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as we enjoy creating this.
Chapter One in which our protagonists meet…
09 December 2014
Anbethturil: Ah! You’re in Rivendell! So jealous!
Elisereth: Hehehehe 🙂 Most beautiful place in the world ;D Why yes! Don’t you know my great great something something great uncle Elrond?
Anbethturil: Lol…I reside in the Shire. I prefer the company of the quiet smoker who serves me beer and food
Elisereth: The shire does sound more peaceful. The sound of the raging river through Rivendell does get a tad tireseome to the ears. Maybe I should find a summer home in the Shire for a peaceful escape! Lol
Anbethturil: The Sackville Baggins just moved out next door! There was…an unfortunate accident and they won’t be stopping in for elevenses anymore.
Elisereth: Oh, but the Baggins are such wonderful people…Why whatever on Middle Earth happened to them? I will miss their tea very much. But perhaps the house is up for sale now…I must visit the Shire soon and have a look!
Anbethturil: Love to have you! Don’t bring dwarfs.
Elisereth: No dwarves? But…but my uncle…he’s part dwarf (not quite sure how that happened). He would never let me leave Rivendell without him.
Anbethturil: He is welcome so long as he is accompanied by a wizard with a silver scarf and he brings pipe weed and salted pork 🙂
Elisereth: A wizard with a silver scarf might be a bit hard to find (they’re so busy nowadays helping the human race with their problems) but my uncle can bring lots of salted pork! I forbade him from ever using pipe weed again so I fear that part is impossible. As for a song…well… To put it mildly, a screeching troll is music to the eras compared to my uncle’s off-key voice.
Anbethturil: Lol…I am Anbethturil by the way (elvish name I was recently given). I am a short elf and was kicked out of Lothlorien because of it. So I settled in the Shire where most folk mistake me as a “strange hobbit”. I have slippers I wear that look just like hobbit feet so no one knows the difference. At home in my little hobbit hole, I take them off. I have a fine brew of ale I’m sure your uncle would enjoy 🙂
Elisereth: My, that is a lovely elvish name! Mine is Elisereth. What a dreadful experience you had, and only because of your height?
I should send a nazgul to spank Lothlorien bottoms! Slippers for hobbit feet? My, I’ve yet to hear of such a thing. How very interesting…
But can you swim with hobbit slippers on? My uncle will be more than thrilled to drink every ounce of ale you throw at him! There may be none left by the time we leave, though… Honestly, he’s like a sponge soaking it all up.
Anbethturil: See! you understand me so well. I can’t swim because of the slippers. I can’t even go outside when it rains.
I’ll be sure to have the ale stocked when you and your uncle visits. What of you? How are things in Rivendell? I imagine the winters
there are quite exquisite with the falls flowing beneath iced arches and snow covering the valley. Do you have winter in Rivendell?
Elisereth: It’s chilly in Rivendell at the moment. It can be frightfully cold, especially in the December-January months, and there is an icy wind, which rolls across the river and up to my window. Besides the discomfort, the scene surrounding me is enchanting and magical, a frozen wonderland of white beauty! The ice is a lovely bonus for the eye as it sparkles and shimmers, but rather troublesome for the foot as it makes the frozen arches and pathways difficult to navigate. I often find myself slipping and sliding most ungracefully—and you do know elves must appear graceful and elegant at all times.
Anbethturil: Of course. The same is true in Lothlorien where they stood tall like unbending trees. They moved solemn and slow, unlike anything here in the shire. Here where they bustle like children on a holiday, hunched at the shoulders in delight over glazed crescent rolls and sweets. We’re preparing for our solstice soon. The ale glistens like amber rivers that flows from nearly every barrel, it seems. And the wives are hanging the balls of evergreen sprigs bound with ribbons of red and gold. The Puddlefoots have dressed the village tree with lights and ribbons for the festivities. With hobbits, very little happens beyond the food 🙂
Elisereth: The Shire sounds like a pleasant change from these empty Rivendell halls lacking festivities! Despite being a prim and proper elf, I enjoy food very much and savor flavors in huge mouthfuls (most unlady-like, as mother used to say disapprovingly). Perhaps that is why we elves are so skinny and lean: barely eating full meals for fear of gaining hips and a waist. Yet we serve guests lavish feasts. I do not think it fair. I long to immerse myself in a huge, delicious feast with no one around to judge me! 🙂
Anbethturil: You must come to the shire then! We have eating contests and perhaps, after dinner we can go on an adventure! Oh, I do so love adventures! But the need flows through me and the road calls to me. Not really being a hobbit myself, I have found no need to quell the urge. We could journey to the west, back to my home Lothlorien or visit the wood elves near Dale! We could climb the dormant mountain of Mordor and see the ruins of Isengard! Oh, how much I wish to see and walk in the footsteps of the great Frodo Baggins. How I miss the golden leaves of Lothlorien. And we could stop off in Rivendell. Ooh! Perhaps, if we arrive as guests, we can consume one of their feasts! You’ll have to wear a disguise *shifty eyes*
Elisereth: An eating contest and then an adventure? This is too good to be true! That’s the most marvelous idea I’ve heard yet! I would love to visit Lothlorien, and as it used to be your home you can show me around. I enjoy sight-seeing very much! I have never been to Dale, it sounds most enjoyable. I’d like to meet the wood elves there. The dormant mountain of Mordor and Isengard? My, you are a true adventurer! I may be a tad fearful of such dark places, but I will endure and become a stronger person because of it! I want to be like the amazing Frodo Baggins! Yes, I will need a very good disguise for Rivendell…Hmm…What could it be?
Anbethturil: We could disguise ourselves as bards or peddlers! There is a wizard I know of who sells spells we can use to change our appearance for a short time as we wonder the darkest of places. We must align out travels with the seasons. Lothlorien in the spring will take your breath and keep it until the summer sets in. It’s almost as if Lolthlorien sinks into the ground and glistens beneath the snow and emerges once more in the spring, pushing the mounds of snow aside as it grows from the ground like a tree. We can pick up our disguises in Bree 🙂
Elisereth: Lothlorien sounds the perfect place for spring! I would love to witness its rise from winter’s cold grasp and bloom to renewed life! I am very much excited for this adventure to begin! I bard will do best for me, as I’m unfamiliar with the ways of peddlers. I must say that seeing myself in the mirror with the face of a strange bard will be…most peculiar and strange, to say the least. Should I bring my ocarina? I’ve been meaning to take some time and learn how to play. Now would make a fine opportunity!
Anbethturil: Yes! Most definitely! Bring your ocarina! And I shall pose as a peddler who shares the road with you. I have a pony with fur as long as my arm and softer than Lothlorien silk. We can load her up with all sorts of treasures and then we can be on our way… right after elevenses.
Elisereth: Wonderful! What shall you do as a peddler? What goods shall you be hawking? Preferably something light-weight and easy to carry, perhaps…My, my, what sorts of treasures? I don’t know where to begin! The thrill of it all is so exciting my mind has gone foggy! Oh dear, I may be tempted to trim some pony fur and make myself a warm, furry collar for this coat I have…Right! Time for elevensies!! And then we’re off 🙂 I will meet you in the Shire soon.
Chapter Three in which Elisereth journeys to the Shire
*Anbethturil packs her mule full of candles, cloaks, and fine trinkets of many sorts to sell along the road. She brushes her traveling cloak off and sets the tea on. After slipping on her “hobbit feet slippers” she paces the floor of her hobbit hole until the tea whistles. While pouring herself a cup of steaming Shire tea, there’s a knock at at the door. Anbethturil looks up. “She must be here!” Squealing, Anbeth sets the tea pot to the table, straightens her elevenses jacket, and runs for the door. Trips over her hobbit-slippers, picks herself up re-straightens her elevenses jacket and opens the door.
*Elisereth is waiting patiently at the quaint Shire home’s door, and hears strange noises of slipping and falling coming from inside.
“Anbethturil? Are you…okay in there?” The door swings open and there she is, Elisereth’s elven friend, looking quite interesting in her hobbit slippers and peddler’s garb. “It’s so good to see you! I made it here, at last!!” The friends embrace. “It was a chilly walk here, but thankfully Jack Frost’s winter is beginning to melt away…” Elisereth looks down at Anbethturil’s feet,
“Oh dear, I hope you’re planning on wearing sturdy boots for the trip, and not…those?”
“I do!” Anbethturil says. “I have Columbia bugga boots for hiking made to look like hobbit feet! I have a spare pair if you want a set.
“The tea is on. We’ll have elevenses and then we can be off!” Elisereth followed Anbethturil to the kitchen where they munched on crumpets and lemon cakes. “Here,” Anbethturil said while pulling out an aged roll of vellum. “I have this to show to you.” Beside the plates and the crumpets and teas, Anbethturil unrolled the vellum. A very old and ancient map lay before them. “What is it?” Elisereth asked.
“This…” Anbethturil smiled. “… is the map that will lead us to the lost Silmarils.”
“The lost Silmarils?” Elisereth asked, eyeing the old map and its yellowed, torn corners. “I fear I don’t know much about them…only that
they are the most prized wonders made by the elves. The most beautiful gems of all and with a prophecy behind them.” Elisereth paused
to recall. “Something about the fate of the world being woven about the Silmarils?” She quickly snatched the last lemon cake before
Anbethturil could. “Are we going to find them? Mmff, is that what you’re saying?” she spoke around the cake, a touch nervously.
“A quest that will bring us to such an amazing treasure…are you sure it can be done? The map could be fake–a very old fake.”
“Oh, it’s real,” Anbethturil said. “Gandalf pulled it out of Gondor’s hall of records.
“The Silmarils are three jewels that were lost to this world. One fell to the sea. One was buried deep in the earth.
“The third is adrift in the sky.” Anbethturil pointed to the moon that glowed so white even half past elevenses.
“There is a path to each of these and this map reveals those paths.” Anbethturil took up her cup of tea and sipped. It had grown cold.
“What say you?”
“The moon?!” Elisereth’s eyes grew wide. “The earth and sea I can understand, but a path to the moon? We are not birds with wings,
nor aliens with a space craft! Exactly how do you expect us to follow a path up there?” She noticed her own tea had grown cold as well, but
chugged it down anyways. “I’m up for adventure, while I’m still young enough to have it, so of course I say ‘yes’.
But I need explanations first before I go getting myself into what troubles and punishments await us. How can we reach the sky?
And what enemies will we make on this quest?” Elisereth leaned back in her chair, fingering a jar of cookies she discovered and waiting.
“Here,” Anbethturil pointed to the corner of the map where two words had faded almost beyond the point of being seen.
“It says ‘wollof lidnere’, Anbethturil read. “As for the earth, I’ve heard rumor of a great set of stairs that can take us down:
Durin’s Stairs. These stairs were built by Durin himself. They descend deep into the earth past the dwarven mines to the very belly of the
mountain. Here we must go for the Silmaril buried in the earth. To the sea there is an island where a Yavanna harbored her most precious of
creatures to protect them from Morgoth and all things evil with the earth. It is there we will find those who can lead the way
into the ocean’s depths.” Anbethturil drank back a long helping of tea after that intense monologue.
She then devoured a bit of the lemon cake as well.
“Durin’s Stairs…” the elf gave a shudder. “We would be traveling deeper into the earth than sir Frodo and Gandalf ever did!”
She shook her head pondering how immense the quest before them would be. “Is Yavanna still there, you think? Could we see her?”
Elisereth suddenly noticed there were no more cookies left in the jar, every single one down in her endlee pit of a stomach, despite her
slim elvish frame (not quite as slim at the moment, though). “You pointed to those faided words: ‘wollof lidnere.’ What does it mean?”
At last she was feeling full and finished with elevensies. Now, she rubbed drooping eyelids, waiting for Anbethturil to finish and explain.
“I am not sure,” Anbethturil said. “But I know who can help us. There are studies with books buried in the libraries of Lothlorien.
The tomes there can help us translate the map, but it is not a simple task.” Anbethturil went white with worry and took a deep breath.
“The halls are sealed and only the elves who reside in Lothlorien may enter.
And even then, only those who belong to Galadriel’s court may read the tomes.” Anbethturil looked at Elisereth and noticed her exhaustion.
She had traveled far, after all. “We will have to break in and steal the tomes if we are to translate these maps.
And I know just how to do it. Before I was banished, I worked in the hall of records.”
The words “break in and steal” roused Elisereth from her difting sleep. “Wha-what?! Steal from Lothlorien?” She sipped in a deep breath.
“I can imagine this will not improve your relationship with Galadriel’s people…hehe,” despite herself she chuckled. Her friend was quite
the adventurous and daring one! Taking risks beyond what the average elf–let alone hobbit, as she pretended to be–would dare attempt.
“Right. What have you got planned inside that plan-building mind of yours?” Elisereth leaned forward eagerly.
“We will disguise ourselves with the local guard and slip in through the cellars. There, we can descend into their archives hidden
beneath their central tree. I have disguises I stole when I left. Here.” Anbethturil led Elisereth to the bedroom where a great aged chest
rested at the foot of her bed. With a creeeak, she opened the lid and withdrew the cloak and armor worn by the guards of Lothlorien.
“I have two spears out back,” she said with a grin.
“My, my,” Elisereth shook her head with a little smile, “You’ve been planning this from the beginning! Even before moving to the Shire,
haven’t you?” The blonde elf held up one of the tunics and layers of armor up to her shoulders, brow creased wondering if the garb
would fit her unmuscular frame. “Fit or not, it’ll have to do, I suppose.” Elisereth stuffed her set of Lothlorien garb in a big backpack.
“Well! The hour is growing late, Turil. Shall we be off?” “What kind of nickname is that?” Anbethturil exclaimed.
“Hm? But I always call you that.” “I know. And it’s annoying.” Anbethturil flipped her hair, and Elisereth sighed. “But your name is so long
…I rather think ‘Turil’ is cute!” Elisereth beamed.
Turil sighs and rolls her eyes. Secretly, she had to agree. “Fine. Let’s hit the road, Reth.”
“…Reth?” The blonde elf blinks. “Reth? What the heck… Sounds like something you spread over toast…”
Anbethturil turned to her pensive friend. “If you’re calling me ‘Turil,’ then ‘Reth’ is your new name.” Elisereth’s lips puckered a frown.
“Yes, yes, very well.” She flipped blonde hair. “Let’s be on our way before busy-body neighbors come snooping about!”
“Ah, yes! The Sackville-Bagginses did well to train their offspring.” Without delay Turil and Reth donned their cloaks, collected their
supplies and ventured out the door once Turil gently rolled up the map and slipped it into a tube for travel. “Our first stop will be
Lothlorien. It will take us five days to get there.”
The day was clear. The sun shone bright and the spring breeze caressed the trees, stirring up all sorts of delightful smells.
The road ahead invited them on like an outstretched hand that promised them adventure and thriving thrills.
They trotted at an even pace with all the grace and speed of elves, long legs offering greater stride and more distance covered.
Although–Elisereth eyed sidelong the “hobbit feet” which her friend wore– those “slippers” were slowing Turil’s pace slightly,
with their weight and awkward build. Watching her friend ambling along in a run wearing them was quite comical!
“What are you smirking about?” Turil asked suspiciously. “Hm? Oh, nothing! Nothing at all. Heheh.”
The day passed into evening and soon the veil of night stretched overhead. They made camp, eating a lavish venison stew before bed.
And so two more days came and went in the same fashion. The fourth day, however, found them taking shelter from a torrential spring storm.
In the distance, just beyond a fog stirred up by the rain, Elisereth could make out the Misty Mountains.
that loomed overhead. The white snows promised jagged precipices that threatened death. Turil couldn’t help, but feel anxiety so she ate of
her elven bread and went to bed.
Eons away, across the sea to the isle of Valinor, Eru shifted with unease upon his throne. “Someone hunt the Silmarils,” he muttered.
“Someone not of Feanor’s blood”. He shifted his great eye to the east and the Misty mountains. Great worry pulled his face into a frown.
The birds welcome the morning an hour before sunrise. Well rested, Reth watched Turil don her merry hobbit slippers then they harnessed the
ponies and were off. The forests filled the land at the mountains base, making the walk to the mountains somewhat complicated once they
left the road. By the days end the trees thinned, the earth turned up toward the mountain where Lothlorien waited on the other side.
“So…” Reth pulled up her hood against a chill breeze coursing its way down the mountain side. Her gaze climbed up and up to the
snowy peaks vanishing up into a gathering low cloud. “That’s impossible to climb, right?” Turil waited for her friend to recall their plan.
“Then, that means we…” The blonde elf tapped a finger on her chin in thought. As if the light bulb in her head switched on, she snapped
her fingers. “Yes, that’s righ! You said we would pass through Moria, did you not?” She turned to her friend. “What sort of path is it?
Surely not the same one Master Frodo once took?”
“The very same,” declared Anbethturil as she led her company around the mountain side. “Around the mountain side,” Turil repeated because
that was a fuuuun preposition. Their place slowed as they came to the great doors inscribed with Elvish. “The language of old,” Turil said..
The very same words inscribed here by Feanor himself. *sigh* Reth notice the admirable gleam in Turil’s eye. The pool of water behind them
is silent and black. The doors have been smashed as if something from the outside broke in the doors. There is rubble and debris at the base
of the doors. There is not getting through there. “Well, now what do we do, Turil?” Elisareth asks.Turil scratches her hobbit wig in thought
“Oh my, that hobbit wig really does make you appear…different,” eyed Reth.
Turil turned her head to see the hint of a smile she was trying to hide. “You were about to say ‘odd’ or ‘strange,’ weren’t you?”
Reth firmly shook her head, denying it. Turil huffed, “Well, you look no better in your wig–don’t forget that.”
“How are we getting through?” Reth asked again, changing topic. “Hmm,” Turil puzzled the problem.
After a long 10 minutes, Reth sighed impatiently, “Oh dash it all, I’ll do it myself!”
Elisereth pushed her friend aside and stood before the blocked doors. She lifted her hands and the whites of her eyes began glowing.
Clouds overhead broiled and condensed. Without warning a bolt of white light struck down from the clouds,
bursting the debris and opening the doors wide. Soon as the storm came it vanished, and Turil was left to stand there staring slack-jawed
at the blonde elf. “What? Elrond is one of my uncles, afterall,” Reth said simply.
“That is so FRICKIN’ cool, Reth!” Turil said overcome with passionate awe at the bad-ass spectacle.
“The most I can do is give it the glare of despair.” And with that, Turil positioned her glasses to the bridge of her nose and glared at
rubble. Nothing happened.
“Shall we go on then my most, loquacious friend?” After lighting a torch, they bid the ponies good bye (after all) and cautiously crept
into the mines. Bones, covered the floor and ancient writings that had all but faded lined the walls. The bitter stench of mold and dampness
clung to the air with the old smell of death that had long since passed through these halls.
“Now,” began Turil in a low breathy melodramatic whisper for enhanced affect. “According to the map an old friend of our family, the mines
go on for days, but there is a short cut he guarded so closely, he didn’t even share it with Gandalf and company when he passed through
with them ages ago.
Reth stared with her powerful (and uber-awesome) eyes in wonder while Turil careful moved through the bones for dramatic…pause.
Then Turil bent and kicked aside a skull, the skull flying through the air and making Reth scream. “Wha-what’d you do that for?!”
“For this!” Turil’s hand pressed against a circular knob of stone set in the floor, previously hidden from sight beneath the skull.
As she pressed the knob down into the floor there was a low rumbling. Reth trembled, already jumpy from the flying skull, and nearly
screamed again when a section of the left wall lifted up, revealing a gaping black tunnel. “The secret way!” Turil announced unneedingly.
Reth timidly neared, a cold air brushing her hair back. “Away we go~!” “What?”
Turil suddenly grabbed her hand, pulling Reth along as she dove head first into the tunnel.
Reth shrieked as it slanted down and they slid belly-first down it. It was a great slide! Slanting, curving and spiraling down, down…
Then up! So quickly that Reth and Turil were certain they would be sick. And all at once, after the downs and the ups, the twists, and turns
it stopped. Simultaneously, Reth and Turil gave an “oomph” as they landed on their bellies. All was silent, their surroundings dark. Reth
became uneasy and attempted to shift when Turil placed a hand on her arm and said, “Shhhh.” Curious, Reth shimmied between Turil who pulled
back what appeared to be an ancient cloth. Light spilled into the tiny room, blinding their eyes and white shone overhead. “Where are we?”
Reth asked Turil. “This,” Turil said, “is a short cut. We took the Falling Slides up to the top of the Misty Mountains and this…”
Turil gazed at the sky through the hole. “This is way down to Lothlorien.” While heavenly awe-inspiring music played, and Elisareth gaped
in wonder, Turil pulled herself up from the floor, collected her bags, and began to climb out through the hole just large enough from a man.
“Well?” Turil stopped looking back over her shoulder to Reth. “Are you coming?”
“Y-yes,” Reth stuttered. “I’m just surprised is all. I mean, falling down to go up, only to go back down. It’s quite…dizzying.”
“Get over it, or you’ll be left behind~!” “Wait! Don’t leave me alone in this dark room!” Reth scurried after her friend through the hole,
a rather uncomfortable squeeze. She had to exhale, emptying her lungs before her chest could fit through.
Even then, there was the unsettling feeling of the mountain’s weight bearing down on her,
one tremor of the earth and it would crush her as she squeezed her way through. Once out, Reth took in a breath and tried to shake the
horrible feeling off. Around her and down were the mountain’s lower and lush green slopes. Going down them would soon take them into
Lothlorien. Turil didn’t wait, already skipping ahead, and nearly stumbling on the steep decline.
Reth paused just long enough to pick a yellow flower, a lovely little thing and a sign of fortune. “Fortune…the first Silmaril awaits.”
Soon they found themselves amidst the forest at the mountain’s base, with Lothlorien just ahead…
“There,” Turil pointed to the distance. “The road is there, but it will be heavily guarded.” Turil began her descent in the opposite
direction away from the path. “There is a back road that will allow us to sneak in through the Wood, to the main palace. There we can sneak
in undetected.” Reth nodded and obeyed, as the two elves made their way down the mountain. At the forest’s edge, they paused and peered into
A grim shadow stretched deep into the woodland realm. “Let’s go,” Turil mutters and slips into the trees with her swords raised, Reth
follows Turil’s lead and, while she slips through the dark wood behind Turil, takes up her own weapon of choice…
Unlike the average elf, who preferred elvish blades, bow and arrows, Reth used a curious weapon she had came across many years ago:
a weapon from the east, the katana sword. She held it close now on her hip, ready to draw at any second. The air felt thick,
the shadows choked away light; it was like stepping into another world. Turil kept at an even, quick pace;
Reth behind her kept scanning the trees, their trunks growing thicker and wider the further on they traveled. Suddenly Turil felt a hand
catch her shoulder, Reth stopping her.”I hear something,” she said quietly for her ear, “…I don’t know what it is, but it’s following us.”
Turil carefully looked in the direction Reth seemed to be indicating with her eyes…
As there eyes shifted a blade was raised to their tender throats. “You will go no further,” a voice muttered, but when they looked about,
Reth and Turil saw nothing. Both furrowed their eyes and looked down. There, no taller than their knees, a creature stood holding a long
1m 1 minute ago
blade up so the tip touched their throats. “Who are you?” Turil asked curious about the creature, despite being slightly amused at its
Regardless of the threat, Reth worked hard to quell a laugh.
20 May 2015