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The Tumblr Crackficlets 4 - Far Over Misty Mountains Cold

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Far Over Misty Mountains Cold There are still those living today who remember Bilbo Baggins. “Oh aye, he’s one of the Ringbearers,” They will tell you, if you have the courage to ask.  They’ll take a look at the picture of John Watson and they’ll smile fondly at the memories.  “Mad Baggins, we called him.  Just a little too much Took than Baggins, but he’s all right.  Bore the Enemy’s Ring all those years ago and faced a dragon and did all sorts of mad things.  But he’s all right.  A fine Hobbit.” They know these things.  If an Elf can be sent back from the Houses of the Dead, then surely, there was a place for Hobbits in the Halls of Mandos.  Reincarnation, a spirit taking on a new form and a new life - it’s not a very hard concept to grasp. And if anyone could be sent back into the world of the living, then why not one brave hobbit?  Sherlock’s another story.  Thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit set out from the Shire to brave a dragon but he’s not part of that group.  There was wisdom and courage to be found a-plenty in Thorin Oakenshield and his companions but none of them in any way resembled a certain consulting detective.  Although perhaps if they’ve ever heard Sherlock speak, they will remember flames burning dragon-hot and pride and boundless curiosity, just enough to allow room for one hobbit.  And perhaps they’ll tell you the story that was never written down, never passed on, if only because to end the story with “and then the dragon Smaug came to live with the Hobbit in the Shire….” was too preposterous to be believed.  And then, there’s One who can look at Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and tell you another tale.  An older story that’s not quite the little, joyful, fairy-tale like adventure told to children at bedtime.  This One sees John Watson and He remembers a man, quiet and unassuming and quite terriblyordinary.  So ordinary that a great Elven King looked down on him with scorn for daring to love his only daughter, fairest of all the Elves to ever live.  So ordinary that the Elven King set for him an impossible task - to recover a jewel wrought of the First Light to ever touch the world, set in the crown of a Dark God.  And yet, this man, ordinary, quiet, hopelessly in love, was brave enough to set forth on that task.  And through much pain and sorrow and suffering and with impossible courage, wrought great deeds and won his Lady’s hand. And lest you think that the Lady simply waited for her beloved and pined from afar, then you would be mistaken.  She was there with him nearly every step of the way.  She was there when her beloved took his last breath and it was she who stormed the Halls of the Dead to bring him back. And perhaps this One will look at John Watson’s partner now and laugh quietly at the little jests of Iluvatar.  Because Luthien Tinuviel, reborn on this earth, is still as fair as he ever was, still wise, still possessed of sharp wits and boundless courage to match one reborn Army doctor.  And in this new, different form, he is still quite formidably perilous. But perhaps you will not believe and you will laugh this off as a silly, foolish notion and the One telling you the story will only smile. And perhaps you will feel a certain chill as you look into your Storyteller’s eyes and if you are a little wiser and a little more observant, you might divine that your Storyteller knows these things because once, He wore a crown set with Three Jewels that contained the First Light to ever touch the World.  Perhaps it’s better not to ask.  ******* …As Beren looked into her eyes Within the shadows of her hair, The trembling starlight of the skies He saw there mirrored shimmering. Tinuviel the elven-fair, Immortal maiden elven-wise, About him cast her shadowy hair And arms like silver glimmering. Long was the way that fate them bore, O’er stony mountains cold and grey, Through halls of iron and darkling door, And woods of nightshade morrowless. The Sundering Seas between them lay, And yet at last they met once more, And long ago they passed away In the forest singing sorrowless. - “The Lay of Luthien,” J.R.R. Tolkien Picture Sources:  Aithine and Cumberbatchweb

Far Over Misty Mountains Cold

There are still those living today who remember Bilbo Baggins.

“Oh aye, he’s one of the Ringbearers,” They will tell you, if you have the courage to ask.  They’ll take a look at the picture of John Watson and they’ll smile fondly at the memories. 

“Mad Baggins, we called him.  Just a little too much Took than Baggins, but he’s all right.  Bore the Enemy’s Ring all those years ago and faced a dragon and did all sorts of mad things.  But he’s all right.  A fine Hobbit.”

They know these things.  If an Elf can be sent back from the Houses of the Dead, then surely, there was a place for Hobbits in the Halls of Mandos.  Reincarnation, a spirit taking on a new form and a new life - it’s not a very hard concept to grasp. And if anyone could be sent back into the world of the living, then why not one brave hobbit? 

Sherlock’s another story.  Thirteen Dwarves and a Hobbit set out from the Shire to brave a dragon but he’s not part of that group.  There was wisdom and courage to be found a-plenty in Thorin Oakenshield and his companions but none of them in any way resembled a certain consulting detective. 

Although perhaps if they’ve ever heard Sherlock speak, they will remember flames burning dragon-hot and pride and boundless curiosity, just enough to allow room for one hobbit.  And perhaps they’ll tell you the story that was never written down, never passed on, if only because to end the story with “and then the dragon Smaug came to live with the Hobbit in the Shire….” was too preposterous to be believed. 

And then, there’s One who can look at Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and tell you another tale.  An older story that’s not quite the little, joyful, fairy-tale like adventure told to children at bedtime. 

This One sees John Watson and He remembers a man, quiet and unassuming and quite terriblyordinary.  So ordinary that a great Elven King looked down on him with scorn for daring to love his only daughter, fairest of all the Elves to ever live.  So ordinary that the Elven King set for him an impossible task - to recover a jewel wrought of the First Light to ever touch the world, set in the crown of a Dark God. 

And yet, this man, ordinary, quiet, hopelessly in love, was brave enough to set forth on that task.  And through much pain and sorrow and suffering and with impossible courage, wrought great deeds and won his Lady’s hand.

And lest you think that the Lady simply waited for her beloved and pined from afar, then you would be mistaken.  She was there with him nearly every step of the way.  She was there when her beloved took his last breath and it was she who stormed the Halls of the Dead to bring him back.

And perhaps this One will look at John Watson’s partner now and laugh quietly at the little jests of Iluvatar.  Because Luthien Tinuviel, reborn on this earth, is still as fair as he ever was, still wise, still possessed of sharp wits and boundless courage to match one reborn Army doctor. 

And in this new, different form, he is still quite formidably perilous.

But perhaps you will not believe and you will laugh this off as a silly, foolish notion and the One telling you the story will only smile.

And perhaps you will feel a certain chill as you look into your Storyteller’s eyes and if you are a little wiser and a little more observant, you might divine that your Storyteller knows these things because once, He wore a crown set with Three Jewels that contained the First Light to ever touch the World. 

Perhaps it’s better not to ask. 

*******

…As Beren looked into her eyes
Within the shadows of her hair,
The trembling starlight of the skies
He saw there mirrored shimmering.
Tinuviel the elven-fair,
Immortal maiden elven-wise,
About him cast her shadowy hair
And arms like silver glimmering.

Long was the way that fate them bore,
O’er stony mountains cold and grey,
Through halls of iron and darkling door,
And woods of nightshade morrowless.
The Sundering Seas between them lay,
And yet at last they met once more,
And long ago they passed away
In the forest singing sorrowless.

- “The Lay of Luthien,” J.R.R. Tolkien

Picture Sources: 

Aithine and Cumberbatchweb