The swirling blackness went on and on, dragging Aramina with it. She closed her eyes against her sudden nausea.
Suddenty, it stopped. Nothing moved. Aramina opened her eyes, and found herself on a mossy forest floor, surrounded by large trees that had habitations and inhabitants in them. A small stream gently trickled nearby.
“Welcome,” the boy said. Aramina started. She had forgotton about him. He still held her hand. He was dressed differently now, in a tunic and leggings. Much like he would have if he had been…
Then it hit Aramina. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, swaying a bit, “We’re in Middle Earth, aren’t we?”
“Very good guess, and a correct one might I add. You are in the midst of Lothlorien, awaiting the Lady Galadriel, who will instruct you on all that is happening. In the meanwhile, my name is Galadin, son of Gandalf.”
“Say what?” Aramina was taken aback, “Of Gandalf?”
“Why weren’t you in the books?”
“Who wrote the books?”
Aramina almost said JRR Tolkien, but then stopped. “Frodo?” she asked softly. “So Gandalf never told him?”
“It would seem that way, Aramina, of the future elven house,”
Aramina spun around to try to identify this new speaker. Her jaw dropped when she saw who the musical voice belonged to. None other than Galadriel herself.