Tales from the Vault

The Worst Fanfiction Ever Written

A long, long, long time ago, I set out to write a Lord of the Rings fanfiction. It was so long ago, I had to turn on my family's ancient dinosaur boxy laptop to get it out of the files. So long ago, I don't think I had even read the books yet. I had just watched the movies for the first time and was raring to write a fanficiton.

The only fanfiction I had ever read in my life was a friend's LOTR fic. She literally just quoted the movie for word-for-word. So because of that, I virtually did the same thing. I was so young and stupid, I didn't realize a fanfiction means you can do whatever you want.

So here it is. In all its awkward, boring, main-character-who-serves-no-discernible-plot-purpose glory. My comments are going to be limited but those that exist will be in bold.

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Chapter 1-the screams ("the screams")

      All my life I've felt like NOTHING has ever happened to me. Here at Rivendell, life is so beautiful, so peaceful, "anything you could ever want," Elrond tells me. But no, not for me. I want adventure, not the peaceful, slow lives of elves. When my parents died when I was a baby, I was rescued by the elves and raised as one of them. But I'm not one of them, as I was about to find out.

I'm spellbound by this opening hook.

      The story begins on a sun-drenched summer afternoon. I know that sounds pretty cliché, but that's actually when it begins. (Note to 13-year-old self: pointing out that it is cliched does not make it any less cliched.) Anyway, the Lady Arwen and I were out riding horses through the thick, deep green forests. After awhile I noticed that Arwen had fallen behind, so I slowed my horse until her own white horse appeared.

      "You ride well, young lady," she said, giving me her graceful smile. "As if you were one of us."

      I smiled in return. In most areas of life, I feel extremely awkward-small and clumsy compared to the tall, elegant grace of the elves. But here in the forest, everything is different. Even though I'm 12 years old and very small I'm already very skilled with horses and with a bow and arrow. If only I could get the elves to realize it.

      I turned my speckled gray horse, Silverwood, around and broke into a canter, the warm, sweet-smelling wind whipping my face. We skimmed across cool green grass, leaping over a crystal stream.

Okay quick note. For a really really long time, I always put a speckled gray horse named Silverwood in my stories. None of those stories were ever finished, so I would just reuse the name because it's cool and Middle Earth-ish to me. Silverwood finally found her permanent home in the Seventh Realm series here on Wattpad.

      "Lady Margaret!"

Do elves even have "ladies?" I honestly don't remember.

      I slowed to a stop, twisting around to peer over my shoulder. Arwen sat a few paces away, a troubled look in her blue eyes. "Ride back. I must go now."

      Without a word of explanation, she was gone, vanishing into the forest. For a moment I sat motionless in surprise. Silverwood's broad back quivered. "Come on, boy," I whispered, leaning forward.

      Almost soundlessly we moved through the forest, following the tracks Arwen's horse had left. Suddenly, off in the distance, the peaceful summer air was split by an unnatural shriek that made me shudder. Silverwood reared up in fear, and I pulled up on the reins, trying to calm him down. "Shhh," I whispered into his ear. "It's all right. It's just the wind."

      In my heart I knew it wasn't the wind. Several more screams followed, each one more bone- chilling than the last. "I'm a human," I whispered shakily, licking my dry lips. "I'm destined to be a ranger. I can handle this."  I leaned forward. "Come on Silverwood." We ventured out of the forest, closer to the sound.