[I fought with myself over this…. I still don't know if I feel right about it! Writing fanfiction about my favorite anime series is ONE thing, but touching TOLKIEN's work….

This was done with the utmost respect to the author of this beautiful world and these wonderful characters. I just want to play in Middle-Earth a little while! Or, at present, Valinor.

This is not a movie-spawned fic.

Most of it is coming from the Silmarillion. This has been in my head a while, and seeing the movie (which I loved and thought was very beautiful!) just sort of brought it back to the surface. The way the Silmarillion is written is very much like the Bible. One gets the basics of the stories, but finds oneself wishing they were more fleshed out. So I amused myself by creating a scene…]

"Surrender!"

The clear, piping voice rang through the woods of Valinor. The grey-robed figure halted on his way, assuming that he was, in fact, the party being addressed.

"I beg your pardon."

The owner of the voice gave an exasperated sigh. "Surrender," was repeated, more distinctly.

"Well certainly not without good reason," he argued logically, leaning gracefully on his walking staff. He was, in appearance, quite youthful – younger than the gnarled staff he carried. But appearances are deceptive.

"If you do not surrender, then I shall vanquish you!"

"Whatever for?"

The owner of the voice paused. "It's good practice?"

"Practice for what?"
"Goodness you ask a lot of questions. For when I fight Melkor, naturally," the voice explained as though this was the most natural conclusion.

The grey-robed figure raised an eyebrow. "And when are you going to do that?"

"Once I've had enough practice, so let's get on with it! Are you going to surrender, or shall I vanquish you?"

He concealed his grin. "I'm most decidedly not up to being vanquished at this hour of the morning. Now, may I see to whom I have surrendered?"

The branches of a mallorn tree rustled, and an elf child stepped into view. Despite her boy's clothes – a bit large for her, as they were probably stolen from a sibling - she was most definitely a little elf-maid, just over a decade old, if that, holding a bow bound in silver, with which, no doubt, she'd intended to vanquish him.

"And since you have most kindly granted me this boon, may I inquire after her name?"

"Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin, son of Indis and Finwe," she replied proudly, throwing back her golden head.

"That is a great many peoples' names other than yours, young Galadriel," he pointed out, amused.

"Well what's yours?"

"My what?"

"Your name."

"Well, you might ask politely."

The little elf-girl glared at him. He could only imagine his laughter would further increase her fury, and so kept it well in check. "You may call me Mithrandir."

She blinked. "Grey Pilgrim. That's a funny sort of name, isn't it?" she inquired, wrinkling her nose.

Mithrandir laughed at last, a warm, comfortable sort of sound. "You're one to talk," he lapsed out of elvish into the common tongue[i] for a moment, "Sunshine."

The elf-girl bristled. "What did you call me?"

Mithrandir laughed again. "A rendering of your name in the common tongue [in another tongue]. Er… more or less." [ii]

Galadriel sat down on her branch and stared for a moment at the stranger. There was something clear and penetrating about her eyes, despite the fact that she was a child. Or perhaps, in part, because of it. "You aren't of the Eldar, are you?" she asked after a brief moment of contemplation.

Mithrandir blinked. It wouldn't have been his appearance that made her say this – he looked in every way like one of the elder children of Iluvatar. Except…perhaps, that his eyes were not the eyes of an Elf.

"This leaves us with two choices, really," Galadriel continued blithely, swinging her feet. "Either you tell me your true name, or I assume that you're a servant of the Enemy, and vanquish you here and now."

Mithrandir smiled. If the determined way her little chin was set was any indication, Morgoth had an enemy indeed when Galadriel grew up.

"My brothers, of course, will help me," she added, as if this was of little consequence.

Mithrandir had a mental image of himself arriving at the house of Finarfin with the fellow's unruly brood at his heels. He laughed once more.

"Olorin. Olorin of the Maiar."

[i] I realized, after several people pointed it out to me, that I was being dumb. Before the coming of the Elves to Middle-Earth, and before the coming of Men does anything capable of speaking live in the west? Nope. So this is all very wrong (see below) but it's too late!

[ii](Yes, I realize it ought to be "Brilliant Light" but…Sunshine was just TOO funny!)

[Let me know if I got any of the details wrong! Of if I'm evil for even writing this!

Should there be a subcategory of The Silmarillion since I technically shouldn't post this with the Lord of the Rings fics?]

[A very helpful reviewer by the name of "Nath" (who didn't leave an email address so I could thank him/her!!!) pointed out some historical problems with my fic. I've decided to include them, so everyone is aware of them, but have opted, for the moment, to let the fic remain flawed, as the flaws are sort of intrinsic. At any rate, Nath pointed out:

"The name 'Mithrandir' was only given to Olorin in Middle-Earth in the Third Age.
The word 'sunshine' is an anachronism; at this moment in time the Two Trees are still the sources of light in Valinor.
Elvish (or Quenya, to be precise) *is* the common tongue in Valinor."

Sorry about that, but thanks very much for correcting me! I'll do better next time!]