"So, how well do you remember The Silmarillion?"

"Not much. Just that it was like reading a history book."

A copy of The Silmarillion thumped down on the table next to the newly-refilled cups of chai.

"Take a look."

A pause.

"There's an awful lot of Elves."

"You don't like Hobbits, you don't like Dwarves, you don't like Elves..."

"I like Aragorn. That's already been established, hasn't it?"

"I'll meet you halfway. We can write about one of the human characters. Maybe we could rewrite Túrin so he's not such an idiot."

*******

Nargothrond was burning. The air was filled with the reek of smoke and the cries of the wounded. But Túrin strode, unseeing, from the hall, his face set grimly, his hand gripping his sword so tightly that the knuckles grew white. His mind was tormented at the thought of abandoning Finduilas to a terrible fate and ignoring the last wish of Gwindor, who had been a friend to him; but his mother and sister were in danger too, and he must go to them. He turned his face resolutely to the north.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said an unfamiliar voice behind him.

Túrin turned. "Who are you?" he asked with a curl of his lip as he surveyed the raggedly-dressed man who stood there.

The stranger gripped Túrin's shoulder and gazed at him intently with piercingly noble grey eyes. "I realize you do not know me," he said with becoming humility, "but one day most men will hearken to my advice. So listen to me now when I say that this course you are taking can only end in misery."

Túrin hesitated, chewing his lower lip. He burned to be off on his errand, and yet this stranger radiated such awesome wisdom that against his will, he was forced to consider the man's words. "But my mother and sister...." he said finally.

"Go and save Finduilas. I pledge myself to assure the safety of your family," the striking stranger proclaimed solemnly.

Túrin's doubt fled, and he clasped the man's arm in friendship. "I can see by your noble bearing that you are a truly great warrior," he said. "Perhaps even greater than myself. I will entrust you with the safety of my family, so that I may carry out my friend's dying wish. A thousand thanks! May I know the name of the man to whom I owe so much?"

"I am called Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Estel, Strider, Elessar...."

*******

"WHAT?!"

A hush fell over the coffeeshop as the other patrons stared. After an embarrassed pause, the conversation continued in a softer tone.

"Aragorn can't be there. He won't even be born for several thousand years!"

"He time-traveled."

"He can't time-travel!"

"Of course he can. He's the King, you know."

"But he can't—"

"King."

"But—"

"King."

"But he—"

"I said king!"

"Look, if Aragorn could time-travel, he wouldn't bother Túrin. He'd go back and stop Isildur from taking the Ring."

"Well, maybe he will!"

*******

Isildur and Elrond faced each other on the narrow stone ledge of the Sammath Naur. The air swirled with heat, and the glowing lava cast a hellish light upon the tense scene.

"Cast it into the fire!" shouted Elrond.

Isildur smirked. "No," he said simply, and turned his back.

"Isildur!!" Elrond bellowed in despair.

Just then, a vision appeared before the Man and the Elf. Suspended in mid-air was a radiant, kingly form with a face of surpassing and somehow familiar nobility.

"STOP!" cried the vision in a rough yet commanding voice. "Isildur, you must do as Elrond has ordered. It will save future generations from much pain and grief."

Isildur stepped back in awe. "What manner of apparition are you?" he whispered.

"I'm your great-great-great-great-great..."

*******

"...Great-great-great...let's see, how many is that?...Hey, where are you going?"

The door of the coffeeshop slammed.

*******

Aragorn started as a sharp Elven finger poked him, hard, in the ribs.

"Aragorn? I said the stars are veiled. Aren't you listening?"

Aragorn blinked and looked around in confusion. He was standing on the porch of Meduseld on a chilly spring night. Legolas stood beside him, the hood of his cloak pulled up and a concerned expression on his face.

"I think I've just had another vision," Aragorn said in a hushed voice. "Like when I saw Arwen at the river. Only this time I was imploring Isildur to cast the Ring away. Oddly enough, he seemed to be listening to me." Aragorn's brow furrowed. "And before that, I was talking to some fellow named Túrin...."

Legolas patted him on the shoulder. "Fanfiction again."

"It can force me to travel in time?" Aragorn frowned. "I do not like the fact that these 'fanfiction writers' can impose on me in such a way."

"Time travel is nothing, my friend. Let me tell you about a thing called 'slash'...."

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