Chapter Text
Dragons, hobbits, dwarves, elves, men, and all that one can fantasize. It all came from J.R.R Tolkien, a genius in writing. His books have been turned into movies, people make fanfics altering bits of his stories, and cosplayers are always on your for you page on TikTok. But his works aren’t real to the dismay of many. One could daydream for hours about being in one of his stories, like with Frodo and the ring, Glorfindel and the balrog, Bilbo and the lonely mountain, and so many more. His works have inspired many, including a man named Aylor.
I know, such a fantasy-like name, this is obviously going to be some regular self-insert where the main character is the chosen one and everyone is in love with him. But I tell you now, reader, it’s not. His parents were just huge history nerds who found the name Aylor to be just perfect for their new baby.
Aylor wasn’t born with some special mark on his forehead marking him as a ‘chosen hero’ nor was he a runaway prince from far away, and no, he isn’t the misunderstood man in New York with powerful magic who is the only one who can save all of Middle Earth and travels to the mystical realm to find purpose away from a family who doesn’t love him. Aylor was born on April 23rd, 2001, in Odessa Texas. He grew up semi-normally with nothing really special about him, except the fact that he can watch all of the Lord of the rings and hobbit trilogies in one sitting, but haven’t we all done that?
After he read the Lord of the Rings for the first time in 9th grade, he longed to be a writer. And he did just that. On April 3rd, 2020, Aylor published his first book, ‘Far from It All’. It was about a bunch of space aliens going on an adventure, BUT that doesn’t matter right now. What matters now is how his story correlates at all to the tags you read like 2 minutes ago. It all starts on February 17th, 2026, the day Aylor is moving to his new apartment.
“WAKE UP, SLEEPYHEAD!” Azia screamed in Aylor’s ear, making him fall off the boxes he stabilized himself on an hour ago while he made her move the rest of his stuff into the moving truck.
He fell face first onto the hardwood floor of his now old apartment with a ‘THUD’ and a ‘AW, DAMNIT, AZIA’ as he sat up, ripping off his headphones, and glaring up at Azia with a swelling bruise on his forehead.
She just giggled and picked up one of the last boxes off the floor. “Are these the last of it? We gotta hurry or ma is gonna kick our asses if we take any longer.”
Aylor pushed his headphones down to hang at his neck and slowly got up with a ‘huff’ damn, his knees hurt from that fall. Pretty soon he’d be the old man the kids would be mocking, and he was only 26 [insert sad face]. “Yeah, I just have my backpack in the other room then I’ll be ready to go.”
“Well? Go! I ain’t takin the fall when mom stomps up here, pissed about us being late to the reservation!” Azia pushed the front door open with her foot and walked out.
Aylor sighed. Why did they have to book an olive garden in the same couple of hours he was moving apartments? Whatever, it didn’t matter, this day would be over soon enough and all he would have to worry about was whether to order the mozzarella sticks or shrimp.
He walked into his old bedroom and picked up his backpack from the floor. It's been with him since he entered high school and graduated, and it was definitely time for an upgrade. There were several small holes, written with colored markers, and the original white bag was now a dusty stained grey one.
It was…well loved, but enough about the bag, what mattered was the contents of the bag. He used this bag every time he travelled, so he usually kept all of his essentials in it. Soap, a loofa, toothbrush and toothpaste, comb, deodorant, portable charger, extra earphones, and ipod and wired earphones (yes, he owns a lot of bluetooth devices), a sketchbook, pencils, extra led, and finally a pair of clothes for cold weather. He was just very prepared for situations that he’d never find himself in.
He slung the backpack on his shoulders and left the room, lifting the last box and exiting his old apartment for the last time. Aylor let out a yawn as he traveled down the stairs with the heavy box in both his hands. He rolled his eyes when he heard the familiar honk of the moving truck his mother had rented to help him move out. “I’m comin!” he yelled before letting out a sigh. “...jeez…”
“I HEARD THAT!” his mother screamed from the window of the truck, how in the hells did she always know?
He walked behind the truck and met with his sister opening up the back. “Mom’s gonna kill you when you get in the car, also your face is getting scruffy and your hair can fit in a ponytail now, it’s ugly.”
“Yeah, get off my back, you sound like ma…” he murmured as he placed the box down behind another one. Has he really let himself go? After his separation with his girlfriend of 5 years, it couldn’t be that bad…right? Okay it was bad. They separated over 8 months ago and he still couldn’t bring himself to delete the pictures he had of them together. They might’ve separated as friends, but in no way was he over her.
That earned him a slap to the back of the head before she rushed to the passenger seat of the truck, yelling. “I CALL SHOTGUN!”
Aylor stepped into the truck for a moment just to close the back and hopped off, going to the door of the truck to get in. Except, he didn’t make it. Aylor’s feet fell out from under him, and he landed on his face…but not on pavement? He raised his head from the soft grass, looking around only to not see the apartment building and moving truck, but a sort of clearing with a trail.
Okay…not the worst concussion sort of dream he’s had. He would like to wake up now, though. Hello? Wake up? Is the doctor gonna jolt him awake and say his surgery was a success? Right, just lay your head back down, and you’ll soon wake up in a hospital bed with your mother screaming at you to be more careful.
“HALT!” Thorin yelled, stopping his pony, and making everyone else stop.
Hold on. Aylor knew that voice. He KNEW that voice. He heard that voice every Saturday or Sunday he decided to binge watch The Hobbit. Thorin Oakenshield. No–RICHARD ARMITAGE! Honestly, it didn’t even matter if this was a dream anymore, he is in the presence of Richard flipping Armitage. Or THE Thorin Oakenshield. This was heaven and Aylor was dead. He didn’t even mind that too much right now.
Aylor raised his head, messy hair sticking everywhere, and his face showing numerous emotions. He was absolutely not dressed to meet an actor he looked up to. Or any of the actors he looked up to, considering most of them were behind Thorin on ponies (and one horse because of Gandalf)–GANDALF? Okay, this is what he gets for wearing a cat print sweater and grey sweatpants. Always stay in style just in case you meet someone famous–a note Aylor would remember for the rest of his life after this.
Um…you gonna say something? You kinda look like a fish with your gaping look. DON’T SCARE THEM OFF! Aylor immediately got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes, and smiling awkwardly at all 15 of them. “Ehm…Hello! Fellows?” crawl into a hole and die because what was that? Fellows?
“If you will pardon us, traveler, we have important business to attend to.” Thorin said as he maneuvered around Aylor without a thought. Thorin’s company followed his actions, not paying another thought to Aylor.
Wait. Was this real? Was this actually real? This was a really immersive dream. Aylor had to join them. He always daydreamed about being part of the company or the fellowship. Aylor wouldn’t let this opportunity pass him. But how could he make them bring him along? What could he say? OH! Aylor had the perfect idea. “Th-Thorin Oakenshield! Your name is Thorin Oakenshield and you and your company are going to Erebor to reclaim the mountain.”
That made him stop in his tracks (or make his pony stop) they all looked at Aylor, some with wary, and others with…suspicion. “How do you know that?” Thorin asked, stepping off his pony and walking right up to Aylor. Huh…he was actually shorter than him. Aylor stood at 5 '3 while Thorin stood at around 4' 10. “Master burglar!” He called Bilbo. “I’ve heard the race of men sometimes pass through here, does this look like one of those rangers?”
Bilbo looked a little startled about being brought into this but he shook his head. “No, in fact he doesn’t look like any of the tall folk around the shire,” he started. “Though, I don’t see many men walk these paths…but he very well could be one of those–”
Gandalf cut him off. “That’ll do just fine, Bilbo…” he got off his horse and stood beside Thorin, looking Aylor over. Gandalf stood a couple inches taller at 5’6. “Now, I wonder who you are…?” Thorin side eyed Gandalf, his look asking if this was a good idea.
Aylor took that as an invitation. “Uh–Aylor! My name is Aylor! And you are Gandalf the wizard, I’d say more of who you are but frankly I’m quite scared that you’ll turn me into a frog or something.” Aylor had the tendency to ramble when nervous, and apparently he was quite nervous around a powerful maiar like Gandalf.
“Hm,” Gandalf hummed. “And do you know the rest of their names, Aylor?” He pointed at the company with his staff.
Aylor nodded. He’s trained for this–trained for what, I am not sure! “Oin, Gloin, Dwalin, Balin, Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, Dori, Nori, Ori, Fili, Kili, and Bilbo!” AHA! Under a minute! His personal best if you ask me–
The company exploded into chatter and loud questions almost as soon as Aylor finished. “AND WHO ARE YE?” “HE BE A SPY FROM–FROM SOMEWHERE!” “AND WHO YOU’VE TOLD ‘BOUT THIS, EH?” “I'VEN'T TOLD A SOUL OF THIS QUEST!” “I BET YA IT WAS GLOIN’S LAD, GIMLI!” “I’LL PUNCH YOU SQUARE IN THE JAW–”
“SILENCE!” Thorin shouted. “Endless questions will get us nowhere.” he glared at Aylor. “Who are you, and who sent you?” his tone was cold and dark–how spine chilling! Awesome!!
“Now, now, Thorin, no need to scare the boy…” BOY? I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW– “Though, he does ask good questions, who are you, Aylor? Who was it that sent you?”
“Uhm…I’ve told you all there is about me. I was just packing the moving truck and I was about to–”
“And what is a ‘moving truck’? Some sort of steed? I see no steed around here.” Thorin spat as he circled Aylor like a shark.
“A-A truck? I mean, it’s kinda like a steed guess, just made out of metal and…whatever cars and trucks are made out of.” Aylor gulped.
“The lad is half mad!” Dwalin yelled from his pony. “He ain’t got the mind to answer ye, Thorin. Let’s get out of here, we don’t have time for crazed men like him.”
Thorin’s eyes narrowed and thought for a moment. “If he is mad, then how does he know all of our names?” Thorin got in Aylor’s face, his stare burning a hole through Aylor’s soul.
“Good question…” Gandalf pondered, rubbing his beard.
“I can prove I’m not crazy!” Aylor pulled out his phone, turned it on, pressed the camera app, and–wait how was this working? If he was indeed in this…Tolkien-verse, how was his phone working? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Aylor framed it perfectly to capture every crevice of Thorin’s glare and snapped a photo. He turned his phone around, showing off the photo.
15 wide eyed faces stared at the phone and soon…an onslaught of questions poured in once again. “WHAT IN THE ‘ELLS IS THAT?” “HA! HE GOT EVERY PORE IN YOUR FACE, UNCLE!” “IS IT MAGIC?” “HOW–”
“ALRIGHT!” Thorin shouted once again. “What kind of foul magic is this?” he asked, looking at Gandalf who looked quite bewildered.
“Interesting.” he whispered.
“Gandalf, I think you’re the only one to believe me if I were to try and explain what I think is happening.” I think the only reason you’re so calm about this is because you still think this is a dream. “I’m from the future! I know of all that’s going to happen! And this is a phone…”
Wonderful! Bravo! Perfect explanation! You did it, Aylor, let’s all hold hands and skip to Erebor!