Later, a little RE
-Ilarion-
Twenty-seven years old. Without a nine-to-five job, considered an absolute failure by my mother; a burden, and, above all, mediocre. So many times I had to endure that torment, day and night, without a single moment's respite from her insults.
But what was I supposed to do? No matter how much I searched, I only crashed against the wall of reality: the world demanded experience I did not possess. I always tried to please her, to make her feel that my existence was worth something, and in the process, I abandoned myself. I loved writing; that was my true profession, and I earned a decent living, certainly more than minimum wage.
But in my family's eyes, that amounted to nothing. I was a slacker defying the norm. To them, I had to leave my life in an office, sweat blood, and drag my feet in exhaustion upon coming home to have any worth as a person. The harassment became so extreme and cruel that I genuinely came to doubt my own value as a human being.
So, when the opportunity for a poorly paid job with a questionable environment presented itself, I accepted without hesitation.
If I am honest, I was just looking for a refuge to escape the mistreatment at home. But the labor exploitation I was subjected to there ended up taking its toll. It was then that I lost my sense of purpose in life. My passions withered, and with them, the last trace of resistance left in my spirit.
I simply surrendered to the world.
It was New Year's Eve. I was returning home, empty and dragging my feet, when I met my end at the hands of crime. I could have resisted, but what for? Was it worth continuing to fight? My subconscious decided it was not. That is why, when I felt the cold barrel of the gun pressing against my forehead, I felt no fear...
I felt peace.
...
The warm sensation I once believed exclusive to poetic verses or the sweetest ignorance suddenly enveloped me, sheltering me with the unconditional devotion with which a mother holds her newborn. A whirlwind of faint lights danced behind my closed eyelids. Moved by curiosity, I opened my eyes.
To my absolute astonishment, I found myself sheltered against the chest of a woman of unreal beauty. Before my eyes, any work of art from the world I left behind paled in comparison to her smile, crowned by a small, perfect dimple on her cheek.
Something deep in my chest began to stir, like the winds of a storm heralding disaster. That woman exuded a love so pure it was palpable. I decided to consciously ignore the fact that she looked gigantic from my perspective; the only thing that mattered to me was losing myself in the refuge those warm arms offered my withered soul.
Her tenderness was the pin that burst the armor I had locked myself in. I couldn't help it; I let out a sharp, agonizing cry. Entire years of torment, failure, and abuse began to purge from my being with every tear, with every uncontrollable sob.
At my crying, she cradled me against her chest more firmly, rocking me sweetly to try and calm me. But that compassionate gesture only caused the floodgates to open completely, accelerating the torrent with which I vented all the accumulated darkness of my past life.
Then, amidst the echo of my own weeping, I heard her voice caressing me in a whisper:
"Mom is here. It is over, my little Ilarion... hush now."
Ilarion, I repeated in my mind. That name seemed to weave itself into the deepest part of my being, instilling an absolute calm in me. I knew perfectly well what had happened: I had been reincarnated. And if that woman's pointed ears did not deceive me, I found myself in some high fantasy world.
'Freedom,' I told myself, savoring the word. 'Sweet freedom!'
The passage of time was merciful to me. It took it upon itself to erase much of the misery of what I once had. That broken and frightened man, always terrified of disappointing others' expectations, was gradually eclipsed by the light of the child I was now.
My new family was a vital balm in that process. My brothers surrounded me with protection and love. Furthermore, unlike my past life, in this incarnation I was the youngest of all; I no longer had to drag the suffocating chain of being the firstborn.
For a long time, I did not care at all what world I had been reborn into. At least, that was the case until the day I met my cousin.
Alatáriel. That was the name everyone called her by. However, thanks to my obsession with movie trivia, I knew perfectly well that was the name Galadriel bore in the days of Valinor.
It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. I was in the wonderful universe of The Lord of the Rings. But, judging by Galadriel's youth, it was obvious that I was many, many years before the events of the War of the Ring.
That was when my incompetence slapped me in the face: loving the film trilogy but never deigning to read the books. How many times had I been recommended to dive into the pages of The Silmarillion to learn of the epic and tragic events of antiquity... A careless oversight that now, trapped in this era, could cost me dearly.
Or at least that was my greatest fear during the early years. However, the worry over the unknown quickly dissipated. Feeling genuinely free drove me to wander here and there, strolling without the slightest shadow of fear through the vast territories of the Elven clans, from the high dwellings of the Vanyar to the pearled beaches of the Teleri.
It was during those years of exploration that the "purity of my soul" increased to the point of drawing the attention of the Valar, the supreme beings who served as gods or archangels of this world. To my eyes, they were infinitely benevolent deities, but two of them marked my destiny: Lady Varda and the great Tulkas.
The infinite delicacy and dedication Varda put into instructing me were beyond compare. By her side, I learned the secrets of the stars and the art of reading the firmament to always find my way in the dark.
And as for the great Tulkas... what more can be said of the Vala of the unyielding smile? He was an unreachable colossus, but above all, he was pure joy. Rarely was there a moment when his thunderous laughter did not make the fields tremble. It was he who forged me in the art of combat: he taught me how to flow in battle, how to keep a cool head, and where to land every blow.
But those golden years, brimming with love, learning, and an absolute peace, had been left irremediably behind.
The simple memory of the light of Valinor awoke in me a melancholy so deep that it threatened to devour my sanity. But I could not allow myself to falter. Now, leading the march of a wounded and exhausted host of the Noldor, the weight of survival rested on my shoulders; I had to watch over them before myself.
Though my mission to secure the support of Círdan and his formidable Elven seafarers had been a success, time was working against us. I still had to ride to the aid of my father, Fëanor. By now, it was almost certain he had already clashed with Morgoth's hosts.
I knew all too well the burning fury that consumed my father's spirit. He was blinded. It was an undeniable fact that he would not wait for our reinforcements; he would launch himself into a suicidal charge, seeking single combat, carving a path with blood and fire right to the very gates where the Dark Lord hid.
And knowing Morgoth's strategic mind... I knew that was exactly his plan. He wanted to unhinge the greatest and most powerful Elf of the Noldor, drag him to fight on his own terms, and, blinded by wrath, make him fall into the jaws of a deadly trap.
I had to hurry. The avalanche of thoughts made the palms of my hands begin to sweat, and worry broke the usual serenity of my face. I felt crushed by the pressure, much more so than in the worst moments of my past life. But now...
"Are you alright, Ilarion?" asked a soft and captivating voice.
I looked back. There she was: Galadriel. Her curls, in which gold and silver intertwined, shone with an immaculate warmth that managed to outshine the orange fire of the camp's torches. Looking at her, suddenly it no longer mattered how much pressure threatened to suffocate me.
"I am," I replied, exhaling my held breath.
Because now, unlike in my dark past life, I was no longer alone.
***
Sorry for the delay, but I'm focusing on the Aldril fanfic right now, so I'll be posting one chapter a week.