Of a Frustrated Fanfic Author
Disclaimer: All the characters – except the main heroine – belong to Professor Tolkien. I’m just borrowing them for a while to play.
Rating: teens, for this part.
These independent little chapters have very little to do with my regular stories, except the fact that the Tolkien-characters appearing here will behave the way they do in my other writings. None of this is supposed to be taken seriously. :)
Dedication: To all those who love Lindir… and who does not?
Things were going from bad to worse for our Frustrated Fanfiction Author (aka FFA as you certainly know by now). She was bitten by a brand new plotcritter, and the strange poison released into her system forced her to produce endless amounts of chapters based on the Great Maker’s earliest writings, which – naturally – say quite the diagonal opposite of about everything that appears in the later mythology. Which left her practically brain dead from all that research.
Then she made some stupid mistakes, lost a friend as a result and developed a barely controllable hunger for both unhealthy food and reviews. Exclusively positive ones, of course, for despite all hypocritical declarations, the only reviews that authors truly like to get are the positive ones. Some are just more willing to admit this than others.
Being depressed means for an author that their addiction to praise grows exponentially. It’s like hobbits and mushrooms – the more they get of those, the more they lust after them. The end result being an upset stomach or shameless wallowin’ in deep, honest self-pity. Depending whether you are a hobbit or an author.
Mushrooms not being an alternative, FFA was laying on her stomach in the bedroom, munching listlessly on some chocolate bunnies left from Easter, lacking the energy to even switch the TV on – when it happened.
She hadn’t have any more visitors from her own little corner of the Ardaverse for quite some time, so when the slender, quiet figure with pointy ears, pale blond hair and sea-hued eyes noiselessly appeared right in front of the open window, she first thought the chocolate might have gone wrong due to the recent heat wave, causing her hallucinations. But no matter how many times and how strongly she blinked, the beautiful and extremely cute Elf didn’t disappear.
“So, I guess you’re here for real,” she said. The Elf gave her a shy smile.
“It seems so,” he agreed, “though I know not how I got here. In one moment, I was sitting peacefully in Imladris, playing my flute, in the other moment I found myself standing here.”
“No blinding light, no portal, no nothing?” she asked, a little disappointed. Lindir shook his head.
“Nay… mayhap ‘tis because we minstrels can walk in other people’s dreams.”
“So, does it mean that I’m dreaming now?” she asked. Lindir shrugged.
“I know not. But I do know that minstrels are not sent to people without a reason.”
“For what reason? To pester me because I’m still stuck with your story?” she felt positively hostile. Plotcritter bites were painful sometimes, and they healed very slowly. Especially poisoned ones.
Lindir looked around in astonishment. “What a strange place!” he said. “No wonder you need to escape to us at times. I could not live in such narrow little holes.”
“You are an Elf,” she pointed out, not all too friendly. “I happen to like my apartment. So, why have you come?”
Lindir sat down on the bed and smiled hesitatingly. “I think they sent me because you are in need of some comfort,” he offered with his customary honesty. “Actually, I heard that Uncle Gildor was planning to visit you, but Glorfindel said you would need someone nicer than him. Then they had a very... educated fight, with many biting remarks, and since Erestor was covered with paperwork, I simply slipped out of the house, and… and ended up here,” he finished, a little embarrassed.
She laughed, despite her foul mood. “You are very cute when you are blushing,” she said.
“I know,” Lindir replied amiably, “you wrote me that way, and the others seem to like it. So… want to cuddle?”
She laughed again. “What would Erestor say?”
“Nothing, I deem. We would not have each other without you,” Lindir pointed out reasonably. “Besides, ‘tis just cuddling.” Without waiting for her answer, he toed off his light shoes and curled up next to her, snuggling close and pillowing his head on her arm.
When she awoke in the next morning, he was gone. But her pillow still had the scent of forest and autumn flowers.
The end – for now