Elvenandom
By Archet
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Tolkien, or any other references I have made in here. The Plush Toy Collaboration idea was originally by Crackinandproudofit and Duilin. The title of this story is dubbed off Tolkien's work Roverandom.
I would like to say thank you to Crackinandproudofit for betaing this, and for inspiring me to actually write.
Chapter 1:
Archet sat at her desk, slumped over a pile of English homework and a tattered library copy of The Outsiders. Even at the best of times, she couldn't concentrate on her work, but today seemed to be worse than usual. And scribbling pictures of Balrogs in the margin of her paper wasn't really helping.
It was a freezing Thursday night, akin to every other evening in January. The ground outside was covered in a couple centimetres of snow, and tiny flakes swirled in lazy circles down into the dusk. The sky glowed pale with the last light of day. It was overall rather gloomy outside, despite the wan sunset.
Huffing, Archet kicked her socked foot against the leg of her desk in frustration. It hurt. But with the mild distraction of her throbbing toe, she briefly forgot how much she hated homework, and so was yet again able to concentrate. She bent back over her work, only to resume doodling Balrogs and mountains and ships after a good minute or so.
This sort of scenario had been continuing for the last hour, to little avail.
She was never going to get her homework done.
Meanwhile, in decent places where Tolkien maniacs didn't reside, a rather large package had just arrived at the post office. A heavy cardboard box, unadorned except for an address, free (as far as the postmaster could tell), had "just appeared, like magic" in the back. According to Leavitt.
Leavitt wasn't exactly the reliable type.
The postmaster sighed audibly, glancing at the tattered label tacked to the top of the box. Leavitt peered over his shoulder. The young man was in his early twenties and had only worked at the station for a few days. Every single package or customer that arrived seemed to delight him, and he was always grinning, always joking with customers, and drinking coffee by the gallon.
The postmaster had hated him instantly. Of course, Leavitt didn't care.
Well, he probably didn't even notice.
"Can I deliver it?" he asked, eyes shining, "I swear it came out of nowhere. I need to know where it goes".
"Yeah, yeah," said the postmaster flatly. "Just be back within the hour. No lollygagging. No stopping. Get back quick."
"I promise." Leavitt attempted to pick up the box and carry it out the back. After a couple of miserable attempts and pitiful looks toward his boss (who ignored him), he ended up dragging it outside and hauling it into the backseat of the mail-truck.
The box shook ever-so-slightly.
A good twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of an average-looking house. Note that 'average-looking' does not mean a kindergarten drawing of a square, two windows and a door. It's more along the lines of 'looked like every other house in a several kilometre radius'. That's suburbs for you. The lights were on in the front room, and a car was in the driveway.
As Leavitt got out of the truck to deliver the package, Archet was already hurrying down the stairs to open the door. She had seen the vehicle pull up and was desperate for any excuse to avoid her dreaded homework.
"Mom, there's a mail truck outside," she called loudly as she skidded down the last few steps. "Have you ordered anything?"
A faint call of "Pardon?" was heard from somewhere in the house. Archet smiled to herself, not bothering to repeat the question. It would only result in more confusion.
She rounded the corner just as Leavitt rang the doorbell, taking a quick moment to peep through the window before opening the door.
A fairly tall guy stood on the porch, straining to hold up a large cardboard box. His hair was sticking out in a hundred random directions, and he looked like he hadn't slept in a week. Nonetheless he looked rather happy. And insane.
Archet stared at him. She stared at the box.
Leavitt considered staring himself, then decided it was rather rude. Instead, he started to put the package down and pulled a clipboard out of his bag.
"You live here, right?" he inquired, handing her the clipboard. "I need you to sign if you're going to take this inside".
Archet shifted her gaze from the box back to the man's face. "I- yeah," she said, "erm, I didn't know you were allowed to ship live animals".
"Animals?" Leavitt looked confused. "No, no, of course not. Why do you ask?"
"That box just moved."
Leavitt instinctively took a step backwards. "I, well, that's strange," he said, shuddering. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. If you have any questions or...complaints or anything, feel free to call." He hurried back to the truck, feeling like an idiot and wishing he had brought a jacket.
Only on the way back did he realize he had forgotten to tell the girl that her package had seemingly come out of nowhere.
Meanwhile, Archet hauled the box into the front foyer of her house. The snow had made little damp splotches in the cardboard. Archet stared at them, unsure whether to open the huge package or to wait for her parents. The box shook slightly. Archet swallowed as her decision blossomed in her mind. She scampered to the kitchen, returning with a pair of scissors.
Slowly, the girl cut the tape down the side of the box and opened the flaps. With a scream, she jumped back in horror, dropping the scissors. Packing peanuts flew around the room.
There was a body in the box.
Four, actually. Four bodies.
And one was trying to get out.
Archet's mom, upon hearing a scream, pounded up the staircase from the basement to see her daughter staring shell-shocked at the disaster in her living room.
Being a mother, the first thing she noticed were the peanuts. The strange man came a few seconds after.
"Who're you?!" she shrieked, pointing an accusatory finger at the being. "What have you done to my daughter?"
The man (Well, actually, he was an elf, but Archet's mom didn't know that yet) looked at her, confused. He then noticed Archet, and nodded.
"Ah, I see," he said. "This is your daughter? Hello, Archet. I am Maedhros."
Archet unfroze to look up at the man frowning down at her. She opened her mouth, and then, finding no words to say, closed it again. A sort of amazement came into her eyes.
Archet's mother, however, was not impressed.
"I will call the police right now if you do not tell me this instant what you are doing on my property. In fact- I will probably call them anyways, but that's beside the point, because you should be long gone by the time I-"
"Mom?" Archet interrupted, "He's a friend, I think. Give him a chance to talk. He was mailed here."
"Mailed here? Archet, what kind of nonsense are you-"
"Yes we were," said Maedhros. "Here." He took a large sheaf of papers out from inside the box and handed it to Archet. "I believe the bulk of it is in these files, but you did apply for the PTC program, no?"
"I don't believe so," Archet flipped through the papers. Her mom went off to make herself a cup of hot tea. Stress was not good for her.
"Well, then, someone must have applied you. Basically, what happens when you are chosen to participate is that you are mailed...some elves-" Maedhros glanced behind him at the cardboard box and folded his hands over his chest. "-who reside with you for a certain period of time. Six weeks, I think."
"But they're dead," said Archet, imagining all the horrible ways the elves might have died. "Except you of course. Why are they dead?"
"I was coming to that." Maedhros brushed a hand through his reddish hair, which had been cut short. He looked rather uncomfortable. "PTC stands for the Plush Toy Collaboration. They- and I- are plushies."
He began to fidget with something in his jacket pocket. In the kitchen they heard the kettle start to loudly whistle. It was rather annoying.
Archet paced the room slowly, and then went to look at the box. She lifted a limp arm out of it and gave a quick squeeze. It was fabric. What the heck.
"So, you're not real?" she asked Maedhros quizzically. He glared at her, and she shrunk back.
"Of course I am real," he said. "Do I not look real? Am I not talking to you?" He grabbed the scissors off the floor where Archet had dropped them, and pressed the sharp part to his arm with his left hand. Archet noticed for the first time that his right was missing.
"See? I bleed. That makes me real."
The young author sighed, utterly confused, but not the least dismayed to have elves living in her house. She glanced back into the cardboard box.
"Who are the others?" she asked.
Maedhros looked thoughtful. "My brother Tyelko, and Finrod Felagund. The other is Dior EluchÃl."
"I have to have Celegorm and Dior living in my house at the same time?."
"Well, yes." Maedhros tried to give the girl a consoling smile, failing miserably. "It's not forever, though."
"When will they wake up?" Archet resumed pacing the carpet anxiously. She could no longer meet the elf's eyes.
"Soon, I believe. I assume it's up to you to figure out when and how they-I mean we, wake up."
"Ah." Archet patted the pile of papers she had rested on the coffee table, "Well, in the meantime I think I have some reading to do."