The Lord of the Rings : The Journey of a Transmigrator

I didn't know exactly why I'd sneezed all night, but if I had to bet, I'd say:

someone, somewhere in Rivendell, was really mad at me.

I wasn't a prophet. Just a bit paranoid.

But when all my telekinetic objects suddenly dropped, as if a wave of magical energy had surged through the system, I got it:

something had happened.

And judging by my current karma, it probably had something to do with me.

Like… say… an Elven princess telling her immortal father she wanted to marry a ranger from another world.

Anyway.

I didn't sleep. I vaguely meditated. Trained my psychokinetic accuracy on a cufflink.

And in the morning, just as I was wondering whether I was sick or just haunted, an Elven messenger arrived.

"Lord Edward. The White Council awaits you."

Ah.

The White Council.

Middle-earth's VIP club.

The G20 of sages, wizards, millennia-old Elves, and people who take themselves way too seriously.

And me.

Edward Highland. Human. Interdimensional tourist. Fake ranger. No plan.

I put on a clean cloak, fastened my dagger to my belt (looked official), and headed down to the great hall.

Elrond was waiting.

Well, "waiting" is a bit much. Let's say he was present. Leaning against a pillar. Looking as serene as someone who'd just been dumped by destiny.

I bowed politely.

"Lord Elrond. Good morning."

He looked at me. Long and hard. His eyes gleamed like icy blades.

I sat down without waiting for a reply. I'd known silent people… but he was setting records.

Gradually, the hall began to fill.

Then suddenly, Saruman entered.

Dressed in white. Practically floating above the ground. Staff in hand, chin high.

Like "I am too pure for your problems."

He walked silently to the central seat. Didn't even glance at me. Not even a raised eyebrow. I was a speck of dust in his field of vision.

Cool.

Elrond remained silent, eyes fixed on the valley. Saruman, irked that no one was acknowledging his greatness, sniffed haughtily like he expected a standing ovation.

No one flinched.

Then… Galadriel entered.

And this was no discreet entrance.

No. She radiated. Literally.

White light surrounded her. Silver hair floating softly. Eyes glowing.

She met mine. And gave me a little wink.

A wink.

I nearly melted on the spot.

Saruman, clearly irritated, stiffened as she greeted him in a frosty tone:

"Saruman. It has been a long time."

Translation: I see you. I tolerate you. Don't push your luck.

Saruman sniffed again. If this were a drinking game based on his sniffing, we'd all be drunk in five minutes.

The seats slowly filled. Only one guest was missing.

Then, hurried footsteps echoed.

The doors opened.

Gandalf.

Pointy hat. Worn grey coat. Beard white as snow. Crooked staff like a snapped-off tree branch.

He looked like a crazy old man who'd escaped from a children's book.

But the moment he entered, the atmosphere shifted.

It was him.

The scout.

The disruptor.

And more than anyone here, the most unpredictable man in the room.

Elrond welcomed him with a broad smile:

"Gandalf!"

Gandalf tapped his arm, all casual. "Sorry I'm late.

You know me… Always busy.

Before coming, I stopped by Dol Guldur. I had… a feeling."

Galadriel immediately joined him. She glowed. He… glowed too, but in a different way. More inward. Like a lantern.

He greeted her with an almost shy murmur:

"Lady Galadriel… time may change men, but your beauty remains untouched."

Even I had to admit that was smooth.

Saruman, meanwhile, clenched his jaw.

And, unsurprisingly, he fired the first shot.

"Gandalf! Always arriving just in time. But do you truly think your little schemes go unnoticed?"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"Schemes? Me? Come now, Saruman… I'm just an old wizard with a staff that's too short."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Even Galadriel stifled a smile.

But Saruman was in no mood.

He tapped his staff lightly on the ground and declared:

"You advised Thráin II to head to the Lonely Mountain. Then you met his son, Thorin. In Bree.

You encouraged them to stir the ancient fire.

Did you think you could fool us?"

Silence.

Even the birds in the trees seemed to hold their breath.

I sat up a little straighter. Thorin?

The Hobbit was about to begin.

I was sitting in the pre-prologue of The Hobbit.

And I'd been invited to the table.

Gandalf sighed. Not guilty. Just… weary.

"I deceived no one. I merely acted on my conscience.

If we do nothing, Sauron will rise again.

And this time… he will not come alone."

His eyes gleamed. Just slightly.

And for the first time, Saruman had no reply.

Me? I didn't understand everything.

But one thing was clear:

The White Council was about to decide the fate of Middle-earth.

And I, Edward Highland, dimensional exile and wannabe ranger…

was here to witness it.