Burning Bright

Burning Bright
FEEDBACK DESIRED AND APPRECIATED (non-flaming yet critical reviews are ALWAYS welcome, no matter who you are…;) )
Third part of the Fahrenheit 451/LOTR crossover
Characters: F-451: Clarisse, Montag; LOTR: Erestor, Glorfindel…
Rating: PG-13, later chapter NC-17…
Warnings: Violence against BOOKS, reference to suicide, graphic sex later.
Disclaimer: this is so not mine…Tolkien, Bradbury, and Ozzy own everything.
Summary: Twisted plot bunny came to me as I was reading the Ray Bradbury story for the third time…
// Are quotes from Fahrenheit 451 and Tolkien. //
-mind speak-

In the book, Clarisse lived in the house next to Montag for the first half of the book. She lived there with her uncle…the whole family disappeared at some point after her death. Montag believes that they were arrested and removed.


~~~

Don’t tell me stories ’cause yesterday’s glories
Have gone away, so far away
I’ve heard it said there’s a light up ahead
Lord I hope and pray I’m here to stay
(Ozzy Osbourne)

~~~


// “All right, you can come out now!”

Montag stepped back in the shadows.

“It’s all right,” the voice said. “You’re welcome here.”//

Montag opened his eyes only to be blinded by the glare of the sun. Placing his hand over his eyes, he shielded them enough to look around. He was on his back…in the middle of a grassy plain.

What?

He sat up quickly, becoming dizzy by his action. With his left hand he felt the grass, allowing his fingers to feel each blade. With his right hand he covered his eyes so that his movements were blind. Only his nerve-endings would ‘see’ where he was. A burr pricked his finger, and he brought it to his face and peered at it with morbid fascination.

There it hung by one little needle to his skin, a small droplet of blood forming around the intrusion. He could not tear his eyes away, the pain drawing his attention. Was this feeling?

Finally, his eyes roamed the area for a brief moment. He must have wandered off, but to where? Here there was no smog or the sound of cars speeding by, nor the sight of billboards marring the scenery.

His head spun, and he wearily grasped it between his hands, hoping to still it. Opening one eye, he looked back around him. He could see mountains in one direction, forest in another, and a field of insane greenness around him.

And a fire…

Some very tall slender beings, with long black hair, sat around the fire. And they were looking at him, motioning for him to join them.

Confused, Montag did not move, but eyed them warily as both parties cautiously watched the other. One of the beings stood, and seeming to not touch the ground, glided over to him. As it stopped a few feet away, Montag could see its full height and figure.

Male or female, he could not tell, but it was tall, perhaps seven feet. Dressed in buff colored, soft leather trousers and shirt, the creature seemed more surreal and soft than anything in the city. Skin as white as stone caused him to shiver, never having seen something so pure in his life.

Except for Clarisse.

“Why are you here, human?” The being did not question, more than demand the answer. Coal black hair framed its face, hanging to its waist. Unsure as to how to answer, not really knowing the answer himself, Montag stared up from his position on the ground.

“Why are you here, human?” Another being the mirror image of the first joined them, asking the exact same question, though more gently. Their musical voices made it difficult to discern the sex of either one.

And they glowed, or seemed to in the evening sun, a bright golden aura surrounding them.

“I-I-I d-don’t know…” Montag finally stammered out. “I m-must be l-l-lost…”

They exchanged sympathetic looks, and then extended one hand each to him.

“Do not fear us…”

“…We will do you no harm.”

Warm, muscular hands grasped each of his and pulled him on to his feet. The effortless ease with which they pulled him up was evidence of how powerful their bodies were. Smiling gently at him, they made Montag feel helpless and childlike as they guided him to the fireside.

Sitting at the fire was another being, as striking and powerful looking as the first two. Inky, bottomless eyes met his as he eased himself down next to the fire. The dancing flames caught his attention, and he quickly forgot the others as he became entranced by its orange beauty.

//It was not burning, it was warming.//

This fire was not destructive, but warmed him to the bones. Snap. Pop. Crack. Sizzle. The flames took on the forms of dancing people, taunting him to join them. Join them in death like so many he had seen before. Montag could not tear his eyes away from the glowing embers, the light they gave off never still.

-Brother, watch. He seems in awe of the fire…- Elladan met his brother’s eyes across the campfire, nodding discreetly to the human beside him. Montag’s face glowed with the heat, magnified in its orange hue by the setting sun, and impending darkness.

-Who is this man? He seems genuinely confused about being here…- Elrohir responded, watching the man. The man was young, he surmised, perhaps in his thirties. His curly black hair was peppered with strands of gray, and the lines of age already lightly crossed his face. Despite his feeble appearance when they found him, he seemed to be in prime health from what they had felt of him when they brought him to the camp circle. Elrohir let his gaze roam over the unusual garb of the man. -He wears the clothes of none I have ever met…-

Montag wore his fireman jumpsuit, complete with Salamander and Phoenix emblazoned over his heart. A brown leather jacket with a zipper-front kept him warm. The gray stains of thousands of smoking books covered him, as did the smell of kerosene.

He looked up and followed the glowing sparks of the fire as they flew up and disappeared into the night sky. This act brought the stars to his attention. The stars. Oblivious of the elves sitting around him, Montag’s eyes flitted from one star to another, tracing the outlines of the constellations.

Where was he? The last thing he remembered was the rain. And the smoke leading him into the book… Into the book?

Montag snapped out of his daze and whipped his stare around to each figure before him. Who the hell were these people?

All eyes were still on him, though they ate while they watched him. The smell of roasted meat reminded him that he had skipped lunch earlier that day. The being next to him noticed him staring at the meat in his hand.

“Would you like some, human?” The angelic voice soothed him, relaxed him. He nodded. Elladan reached to the fire with his long knife, cutting a hunk from the roasting bird. Montag took it gratefully. However, he’d never eaten meat cooked in such a manner. Everything in the city came pre-cooked, and all they had to do was warm it. This was freshly killed and roasted.

And it smelled divine. After a moment’s contemplation, Montag slowly bit into the juicy meat, savoring the flavor. Tearing off small pieces, he ate the rest slowly. The two identical elves lost themselves in watching him. He seemed like a child discovering something new.

When he spoke, he startled his companions.

“Where am I? You are nothing like I have seen before.” I cannot truly be in a book! I must be in the forest surrounding the city…hit my head somehow…it is preposterous that I could actually enter a book…

“You are about ten miles from the elven city if Imladris,” the other elf spoke. “We are on border patrol for the area.” Montag looked to the speaker, taking in his angular features. Unlike the other two, this one had chestnut hair, but was equally pale.

It was not too surprising that this man did not know what they were. Many humans did not know of the elves, except through legend. Montag’s confused expression was not lost on the elf across from him.

“Or Rivendell to you humans, only the elves really know it as Imladris,” Elrohir quickly responded.

Montag’s eyes opened very wide, as the familiar name crept through his mind. The wheels of his thoughts processed the name, pulling from what he remembered of the books he had skimmed through in fits of rebellion.

Rivendell. The ruined book mentioned such a place. And an Elven Lord…

“This is the city of Elrond?”

Elladan nodded yes, smiling as he replied, “Aye, and our father. I and my twin,” he pointed to the elf across from him, “Elladan and Elrohir. And our companion is Celegrod.”

“No…” Montag whispered softly.

“Yes,” chuckled Elrohir, “we are two and the same…” He smiled broadly, figuring their reputation preceded them.

“NO.” He said more forcefully, shaking his head. The elves frowned at him quizzically. “No…no, I mean, you are not real. You are just stories!” Montag began to mutter to himself, shaking his head erratically from time to time. He gripped his head in one hand, trying to steady it. His other hand curled in to a ball as in response to a throbbing migraine.

The elves looked at each and back at the muttering man, concern etched on their faces.

“We are not stories. I know that some humans have written legends and myths surrounding us, but we are not fantasies…”

Montag whipped his head up and in a flash grabbed Elladan by his collar, shaking the elf like a crazed man.

“You are NOT real!” He frantically spewed forth. “You can’t be! In a matter of moments, Beatty will be driving by…he will see this book on the lawn and all of you will disappear! He will burn us all away!” He knocked Elladan on to his back, clinging to the elf’s clothing, crouching on top of him. Elladan was too stunned for a moment to do anything.

Elrohir and Celegrod were not stunned and swiftly pulled out their knives. Celegrod, being closer, pulled the babbling man off of Elladan and held him at knifepoint.

“Who are you, human?” He growled, while Elrohir helped his brother up.

“And why do you speak such madness!?” Exclaimed Elrohir.

Defeat filled his eyes - or was it resignation - as Montag answered, “Montag. Guy Montag. And I only speak the truth. It seems I have gone mad, or I have truly entered into the book. Either way I suppose I am still mad.”

Not sure of what to make of the man’s words, Elladan motioned his brother over, while Celegrod kept a grip on Montag.

-We should alert Adar-…

-He’ll know what to do with this man…- Elrohir finished.

----------------

//Something the matter…?//

Elrond flew down the hall to his advisor’s suite. Pounding on the door, he bellowed…

“Erestor! Awake!”

The door creaked open, and Erestor stood momentarily shocked before his disheveled lord. Regaining his loss of composure at the sight of Elrond in his nightclothes and from being awakened from his reverie at a most unusual hour, the advisor bowed politely.

“My Lord Elrond, what do you wish?” He asked, blocking the doorway.

“The twins are on their way with a man…where is Clarisse?” Elrond ducked past Erestor. “Oh, good evening, Glorfindel…” He acknowledged Glorfindel’s sleepy awakening form upon the couch. The golden elf stood and stretched, then bowed to Elrond.

“And the same to you, my lord.” He replied as he paused at the door before exiting the room, leaving Erestor and Elrond alone.

Shutting the door, Erestor stood silently regarding his lord, folding his long hands within his robe. Elrond’s deep rich brown eyes bore into his.

“You asked after Clarisse, what do you wish with her?” A father’s concern was evident in his voice. “You said a man was coming with the twins…”

“Aye…” he started. “They described him to me, and I believe he is from the same land where she was born.”

Erestor’s whole body twitched slightly. He’d never been told any details of her former life. Of where she was born, where she’d come from…too many questions filled his mind. For a brief out-of-character moment, Erestor wished to shout and force Elrond to reveal all to him. But he held back.

Elrond reached for the door handle to leave, and Erestor placed his hand upon his, stopping him. “And what about them? Does Clarisse know this man?”

The lord looked up and gazed into Erestor’s fearful eyes. Within them he saw the same love and devotion he held for his own children.

“She does…and I believe she is expecting him. He wears the sign of the Phoenix…”

Closing the door after Elrond, Erestor slid down the door to the floor. He hugged his knees to his chest, contemplating his lord’s words. It can’t be…her wish could not have come true…? The idea was simply inconceivable; it had to be some other man, perhaps an uncle or some other unknown relative.

Slowly he stood, gripping the handle of the door. For a moment he wished he’d burned her book, and ended this fiasco. But he reminded himself, this man might not be him…but he wears the Phoenix…the symbol of the firemen, as he’d read in the book himself.

Opening the door, he stared down the hall toward her rooms. Knowing the twins and their ability for swiftness, he figured he had about less than hour before they arrived. He started the journey to her room.

“Ada?” Clarisse blinked her eyes a couple times, as her Adar made his way into her room, waking her from her reverie.

“A man is coming…”

“The Valar have answered my prayers…” she whispered, her eyes wide and hopeful.

Silence echoed for a moment while Erestor watched his daughter become lost in her thoughts. A knocked disturbed their peace.

“Clarisse…Erestor.” Came Glorfindel’s muffled voice. The door opened before they could respond. Glorfindel entered first, followed shortly by Elrond and the twins. They must have started sooner than he’d thought, Erestor surmised watching the twins.

Behind them stood a man, shorter than the elves, but still tall for a human.

“Guy!” Clarisse leapt from her seat position on the bed to the frightened man cowering behind the male elves. The twins moved to the side as she flung her arms around Montag.

Surprised at seeing the girl…woman…elf…? Montag was truly confused. This was Clarisse…or was it?

“Clarisse?” Was all Montag could manage. It was the same dark hair, midnight eyes, yet she was different. For starters, she was not dead.