O, Cruel Fate: 1. A Series of Unfortunate Accidents

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1. A Series of Unfortunate Accidents

Ellie was the sort of person who never, ever got into trouble. In fact, trouble would have probably turned tail and fled screaming in the other direction in the unlikely event that it caught sight of the tip of her last toenail. Bespectacled, gangly, and just about as sociable or attractive as a 12th century hermit, she lived her days in blissful mediocrity, her most remarkable traits being her perfectly rational fear of cockroaches, a rather odd weakness for pretty, feminine articles of clothing, and the eccentric habit of reading entirely too much for her own good.


So it came to pass that one day, Ellie was contentedly admiring the microscopic detail of the hairs on the underside of a particular kind of fuzzy leaf (the scientific name of which was only known to three living human beings), when the PCR machine on the bench behind her decided that then would be a most appropriate time to explode.


Somewhere, Somewhen, Really Far Away, Possibly in Another Universe Altogether…


Vaire the Weaver gave another almighty sigh. Her breath misted on the upper-right corner of her tapestry, wetting and sagging the threads, thus inadvertently causing three random elves to suddenly and inexplicably fall into the Celebrant.


Vaire was Not Happy. One would think she was busy enough, weaving the fates of every living sentient being in existence. Her husband seemed to think otherwise. The Doomsman had been greatly impressed by a particular elf’s noble, valiant deeds, and had decided to release his fea from his halls and send him back across the Sea to do even more noble, valiant deeds (which would of course have to be woven into her tapestries). Vaire snorted in a most un-Valar like way. Her husband was really too soft-hearted for his own good. First that daughter of Melian’s, now this… what was his name again? Ah yes.


Grumbling under her breath, the Weaver put away the current tapestry, shook out another and began to pluck carefully at a few threads. Re-embodiments were so tedious. She had thought she was finished with this particular one since…oh, millennia ago.


A sudden, ear-splitting shriek made her jump. Maeglin again, thought Vaire irritably. That wretched creature was always getting frightened out of his wits by his father. Mandos should really know better than to house that little dysfunctional family together. She turned her attention back to the tapestry and started in horror when she realized that her nail had snagged the cloth- causing a great deal of irreversible, cosmic damage. Eyes glued to the horrific scene playing out before her, Vaire decided to abandon over a hundred millennia of cultivated divine dignity.


Her screeches of rage reverberated throughout every corner of Valinor. Eöl squealed like a girl and hid himself, Feanor cringed in his solitary cell and Manwe developed a pounding migraine. Even Morgoth, safely tucked away in the Void, shuddered involuntarily.



Somewhere across the Sea, Ellie awoke to the sound of waves crashing on a beach and the uncomfortable sensation of sand wedging in every conceivable orifice, including areas where the sun doth not shine. She groaned as she hauled her face out of the sand and sat up, clawing her masses of golden hair out of her eyes… wait a second. Golden hair? Masses of golden hair? The last she remembered, it was black, short, and vaguely mop-like. She twirled a lock of it in front of her in disbelief. Even coated in sand it had more shine than polished chrome. And what was she doing on a beach? And her body did not feel quite right, somehow. It felt…stronger.


Looking down at herself, Ellie was struck by her absence of clothing. Actually, she was struck by the absence of certain mounds of flesh that were meant to be at least partially obstructing the view down south. Say, were those abs? And good God, what was that… that thing between her legs? At the last discovery, poor Ellie completely lost it. She then did what any self-respecting, hysterical female would do under such circumstances – she screamed. Loudly. And then she fainted.

This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.

Story Information

Author: Greywing

Status: General

Completion: Work in Progress

Era: 2nd Age - Rings

Genre: Humor

Rating: General

Last Updated: 04/07/08

Original Post: 10/10/06

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