Quest for The Aelûna

In the village of Dalefern, where the most exciting event of the year was when old Bertram’s sheep escaped and ran through the town, there was one person who believed his destiny lay beyond the quiet valley. That person was Eryn, a dreamer, a daydreamer, and sometimes just a plain sleeper—especially when there was work to be done.

Eryn had long been obsessed with the ancient legend of the Aelûna, a Dwarven stone said to be buried deep beneath the Dusty Mountains, glowing with the light of the first stars. While others in Dalefern were content with farming, fishing, and occasionally discussing the weather, Eryn had his head stuck in the ancient tomes that nobody else bothered reading.

“He’s got stars in his eyes,” the villagers would say, shaking their heads as Eryn walked past, always mumbling something about “Dwarves” and “hidden treasures” while staring off into space.

One chilly autumn morning, after having successfully dodged several hours of farmwork, Eryn decided it was time. Time to find the Aelûna, prove everyone wrong, and return as a hero! He imagined songs being written about him, statues erected in his honour, and maybe—just maybe—free drinks at the local tavern.

He packed his bag, which consisted of a loaf of bread (half of which he’d already eaten), a slightly cracked lantern, and a sturdy but questionable map he’d sketched based on vague descriptions from a passing Dwarf he’d met years ago. He grabbed his old wooden walking stick, which, to be fair, looked like it would give up halfway through the journey, and set off into the Dusty Mountains.

After two hours of climbing (during which Eryn regretted not preparing for the journey by doing, well, anything involving exercise), he reached the entrance of the cave mentioned in the tales. It was smaller than he expected, and there was a sign nailed beside it that read, in shaky handwriting: “Definitely NOT the entrance to a Dwarven treasure. Turn around.”

Eryn blinked at it. “Seems legit,” he muttered to himself, ducking inside the cave.

The first few minutes went smoothly, aside from bumping his head on a low-hanging stalactite and narrowly avoiding stepping into a deep puddle. But after a while, the tunnel began to twist in ways that made no sense, until, eventually, he stumbled into a large cavern, the very heart of the mountain.

Fumbling his way forward, he stubbed his toe on something solid. “Ow! Who puts a rock in the middle of a—” But then his fingers brushed across something smooth and cold. The stone!

Eryn quickly grabbed the object, lifting it high in triumph. “The Aelûna!” he declared to no one in particular. But instead of the soft, star-like glow he expected, the stone gave off nothing more than a dull flicker.

Confused, Eryn squinted at the stone. He was sure this was it. Then he turned it over, revealing a tiny engraving: Made in Dalefern. Premium Lantern Co.

“What on Little-Earth…” Eryn groaned, dropping the lantern battery replacement stone he’d mistaken for the legendary relic.

Just as he was about to collapse in despair, there was a rustling sound from the far side of the cavern. Eryn froze. The sound grew louder, like something very large—or possibly very annoyed—was heading his way.

“Who dares enter my domain?” boomed a voice that echoed off the walls. It was deep, gravelly, and sounded suspiciously like it needed a cough drop. Out of the shadows appeared the unmistakable outline of a Dwarf. A very grumpy-looking Dwarf.

“I—I’m Eryn, from Dalefern,” he stammered, suddenly feeling very out of his depth. “I’m, uh, looking for the Aelûna. You know, the famous Dwarven treasure?”

The Dwarf rubbed his temples. “The Aelûna?” he repeated, exasperated. “That old tale again? Listen, kid, there’s no treasure here. We sold that glowing stone to some Elves years ago. They loved the shiny stuff. Good business, too. They gave us a wagonload of lembas in exchange.”

Eryn blinked. “So… there’s no legendary treasure?”

“Nope. Just a big, empty cave. And that,” the Dwarf said, pointing to the stone Eryn had dropped, “is a piece of old mining equipment. The only glowing thing in here is my impatience.”

Defeated, Eryn sat down with a sigh. “I’ve come all this way for nothing…”

The Dwarf shrugged. “Happens more often than you’d think. Honestly, we should put up a proper sign, but every time we do, someone insists on calling it a ‘quest’ and coming back with more questions. It’s exhausting.”

Eryn rubbed his face. “So, no legendary riches, no statues of me in Dalefern…”

The Dwarf chuckled. “Tell you what, lad. You’re not the first to come hunting for treasure and leave empty-handed. But how about this? I’ll give you something truly rare.”

Eryn’s eyes lit up. “What is it?”

The Dwarf smiled slyly and held out a small, glistening stone. “It’s called a ‘souvenir.’ Take it, tell your village it’s priceless, and make sure they buy you at least one round of drinks for your trouble.”

Eryn stared at the shiny pebble. It wasn’t the Aelûna, but it sparkled enough to fool the folks back home. And, really, what was a hero without a little embellishment?

With a grin, Eryn pocketed the stone, thanked the Dwarf, and began his trek back to Dalefern—ready to tell the grandest tale of his “great adventure” and hoping it was enough to get a free drink… or two.

Eagles Are the Answer

INT. CLINIC – DAY

Dr E. Agle sits behind a counter with a sign overhead that reads “Dr E. Agle’s Problem Solving Clinic”. Glen approaches.

GLEN: Hi, I’ve heard you have solutions to every problem?

E. AGLE: Absolutely! What seems to be the issue?

GLEN: (putting his phone on the counter) I can’t get reception on my phone.

E. AGLE: (nodding) Ah, I see. Have you tried using... an eagle?

GLEN: An eagle? How would that help?

E. AGLE: Just trust me.

The doctor pulls out a toy eagle and places it next to the phone. Nothing happens.

E. AGLE: Hmm, must be a hardware issue. Okay, well never mind, you know eagles fly high, right? They can carry your phone to a better signal spot!

GLEN: That... seems impractical. (taking back his phone) Okay, so I have another problem. My lawn’s overgrown and I hate mowing.

E. AGLE: Release the eagles!

GLEN: To do what? Mow my lawn?

E. AGLE: No, to scare away any visitors, so no one will notice your lawn.

GLEN: Erm, okay. Well, actually the real reason I’m here is that I have a much bigger problem. I have insomnia.

E. AGLE: (makes eagle sounds).

GLEN: Wait, what?

E. AGLE: Just listen to the calming sounds of eagles at night. They’ll soothe you to sleep. They’re like nature’s lullaby. Except louder. And more... eagle-y. And, if you had an eagle perched on the foot of your bed, wouldn’t you stay very still and quiet, hence falling asleep faster?

GLEN: Erm, maybe, but do you ever offer any non-eagle related advice? I mean, what about a failing love life for instance? There’s no way an eagle will perk that up.

E. AGLE: Learn from the song “Lyin’ Eyes”.

Dr E. Agle holds up a vinyl record of “Lyin’ Eyes” by The Eagles.

GLEN: Okay?

E. AGLE: And if that doesn’t work, get an eagle. Great conversation starter.

GLEN: I’m going now.

E. AGLE: And remember, if you are ever in a tight spot on top of a giant tower or a mountain erupting with lava... Call the eagles!

GLEN: Look, why is every answer about eagles? Alright, let’s put this to the test. What’s the capital of France?

E. AGLE: Paris... which was once visited by a very curious eagle.

GLEN: ...Right. What’s the square root of 16?

E. AGLE: Four. And do you know what has four talons? An eagle!

GLEN: Why is the sky blue?

E. AGLE: Ah, a classic question. The sky is blue due to Rayleigh scattering of sunlight. But do you know who loves the blue sky? Eagles!

GLEN: Well, I can’t fault your logic. Here’s the big test question. Ready?

E. AGLE: (makes an eagle sound).

GLEN: I need a romantic idea for my anniversary.

E. AGLE: Why not take a scenic eagle ride over the mountains?

GLEN: I was thinking more along the lines of dinner...

E. AGLE: Dinner on an eagle?

GLEN: No, I’m actually afraid of birds...

E. AGLE:  Oh, why didn’t you say so? Well, in that case, have you tried... therapy?

GLEN: Really?

E. AGLE: Yes, eagle-assisted therapy. They’re quite good listeners. (whispering) They’re eagle-eying us right now! (normal voice again) Have you ever seen an unhappy person on an eagle?

GLEN: (disconcerted) I’ve never seen a person on an eagle.

E. AGLE: Maybe that’s why you’ve got all these problems.

GLEN: (looking around awkwardly) Yes, I am seriously considering getting an eagle now.

E. AGLE: You should. They’re also great for tax advice, cooking tips, and fixing Wi-Fi.

Glen edges out of the clinic, now very well-informed about the capabilities of eagles.

The Dance upon the Hill

Who am I now, dear Tom Bombadil?

In golden woods where time stands still.

Am I the echo of the thrush's call,

Or the silent watcher of leaves that fall?

 

Do I charm the fish in the babbling brook,

Or inspire the tales in the poet's book?

 

Do I guide the arc of the falcon's flight,

Or shroud the hills in the veil of night?

 

Do I whisper secrets to the moon's soft glow,

Or plant the seeds where wildflowers grow?

 

In stories woven, in dreams fulfilled,

Who am I now, dear Tom Bombadil?

 

Ah, merry one, in heart and soul, 

In every role you play the whole. 

As thrush's call, as leaves that fall, 

In golden woods, you are it all.

 

You charm the fish, inspire the verse, 

In nature's chorus, you rehearse. 

As falcon's flight, as hills at night, 

In every sight, you are the light.

 

You whisper secrets to the moon,

Your spirit’s song, a timeless tune.

In seed and bloom, in light and shadow’s play,

You are the dawn, the dusk, the sun’s last ray.

 

In woven tales, in silence still,

You’re the dance, my dear, upon the hill.

A Different Story (Gandalf the Great)

What would have happened if Gandalf had accepted Frodo’s offer of the One Ring?

Gandalf freezes, the shadow of the ring draws his hand nearer; and as the fire skips a beat, the ring falls into Gandalf’s pocket. “I shall keep the ring safe and unused. However if there is just cause to use it, I shall become the guarantor of peace,” announces Gandalf solemnly.

As night draws in, Gandalf looks back over the hills at the tiny flickering lights of the Shire. The wizard whispers to himself: “There is much to do. Much to do.” He notices the weight of his robes and the precious ring within.

Gandalf wanders, ruminating intensely upon the weaknesses of elves and men. He reasons that elves are incapable of comprehending the true power of the Ring, and would foolishly wish to destroy the golden future of Middle-earth. He knows that mere men are too easily corrupted by its power. Gandalf is absolutely resolved: he must keep the Master Ring his own secret, at all costs.

Gandalf sits on the crest of Weathertop. The days pass, the rain falls but Gandalf does not notice; he is lost in matters of deepest consequence. Then out of every corner of the darkness come the cries of The Nine: “The Ring. The Ring!”

Gandalf raises his staff and proclaims: “I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor, your master, the Lord of the Ring!”

“The Ring. The Ring!” chant The Nine. As the Ring slides onto Gandalf’s finger, the sky erupts with lightning. “I am the bringer of light,” exclaims Gandalf in triumph.

Gandalf of Many Colours imprisons Saruman the Traitor and unifies elves and men against Sauron, destroying the Dark Lord and his Dark Tower of Mordor. Much rejoicing is had by all. Gandalf announces that there is much more to do – to the consternation of Aragorn, who is executed for treason, with all his followers, kinsfolk and other suspected spies of Elrond.

Gandalf later wears an imperial gown of black and proclaims himself the Lord High God of all Middle-earth. He anoints his Ringwraiths the Lords of Middle-earth, as a temporary edict to ensure order while the new Great Age of Wisdom is being forged. He puts his vast prison camps of heretics and traitors to work, building a bigger more magnificent tower on the ruins of the Dark Tower, called The Great Tower of Unity – as an example of beauty and perfection to all. Gandalf sits at the top of the tower in his golden throne room and ever-watches, ensuring his subjects are forever obeying his great will.

Gandalf is regularly overcome with anger at the disloyalty and ingratitude of his subjects, which necessitates public demonstrations of his great power, much to the amusement of the uruk-hai. Transgressors of the laws of Gandalf are sent to Mordor to learn more of The Way of Gandalf – they are not seen again.

One day, as the Lord High God of all Middle-earth is amusing himself with the antics of his hobbit court jesters, he sips from a chalice of poisoned wine, carefully prepared by his servant Grima Wormtongue. He takes his last gasp as the Ring slips from his withered finger onto the finger of his murderer. The Great Tower of Unity is renamed The Dark Tower.

But Gandalf had foreseen and refused this fate, placing his hope instead on the unnoticed deeds of hobbits. “Will you not take the Ring?” says Frodo. “No!” cried Gandalf, springing to his feet. “With that power I should have power too great and terrible. And over me the Ring would gain a power still greater and more deadly.” His eyes flashed and his face was lit as by a fire within. “Do not tempt me! For I do not wish to become like the Dark Lord himself. Yet the way of the Ring to my heart is by pity, pity for weakness and the desire of strength to do good. Do not tempt me!”