A feeble attempt...

Here is my first attempt at a story. I never realized how much work goes into writing something like this. Feel free to read, if you want to. I know -- this is really long. Some of it is pretty good, some of it is pretty lame, but at least I wrote it. Enjoy!

Also, please note that this was for a school project...

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Aerin
Standing next to an aspen tree in the woods behind her house, Aerin leaned her head back against its smooth bark and closed her eyes. The fading sun’s rays tickled her face and played in her long black hair, begging her to pay attention to his light before he faded into the twilights of evening. Refusing to comply to his wishes, Aerin stubbornly squeezed her eyes shut and breathed in the smell of the decaying wood and crisp pine needles and ancient earth.
Quiet but bright, Aerin disliked her peers at school. She found them shallow and dull, and much preferred her books and day dreams to the boring reality she encountered daily within the walls of Dry-Creek High School. Although she chose not to interact with the youth of her own age, Aerin got along well with her elders. Possessing a quick wit and an engaging manner, Aerin easily conversed with those who could appreciate her mature humor, curious nature, and deep intellect. Thus the eighteen year old often found herself among the company of graduate students and thirty-year old neighbors, but even then, there were very few who she felt close to.
Out of all the people she had ever known, Aerin much preferred the characters she encountered in literature and myth. She was particularly fascinated by other worlds and realities, and studied the lost utopias of Shambhala, Eden, Camelot, and Atlantis and their peoples hungrily. She longed to know every aspect of Arthurian legend, and felt a special affinity towards the women of Camelot who were often misunderstood and judged severely. The pure fantasies of Tolkien and Lewis also sparked Aerin’s imagination, and she read and re-read the tales of Narnia and Middle-Earth. To her, the authors’ fabrications held more truth than the austere reality of the world she was forced to live in. She knew Aragorn, Aslan, and Arthur better than she knew her own classmates.
Aerin entered these woods daily. The separation from the hustle and bustle of the town and the timelessness of nature permitted her to believe whatever she liked. Away from the reminders of reality, these wood transformed into her beloved worlds, and she transformed into the heroines of her fantasies. She was the Priestess Morgaine of Camelot; she was the nazgul slayer Eowyn of Middle Earth; she was the Queen Mu of Atlantis, she was merely an enlightened being in the mists of Shambhala. She was whoever she wanted to be, surrounded by the ones she loved.
Buckling her knees Aerin slid her back down the side of the tree until she found herself in a seated position, her knees touching her chin and her slim calves folded comfortably against the backs of her thighs. She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, allowing her eyelids to flutter close and the welcome realm of sleep to overtake her.

Atlantis

A knobby hand bedded itself in Aerin’s silky hair. Startled by the uninvited intruder, Aerin awoke suddenly and sprung to her feet. A man stood before her. He was robed in a long cloak which flowed about his tall narrow frame like water, bellowing and rising, then ebbing and falling, although no wind tousled its fabric. The deep blue colors of the cloak seemed to shift of their own volition. The hand which had so rudely interrupted her sleep was now resting upon the gnarled head of a wooden cane, which was as twisted and mangled as the hand it supported.
Aerin studied the face of the stranger quizzically. In sharp contrast with the hand, his features were smooth and ageless, neither old nor young. He was a handsome man, with a narrow face and golden fair hair. His eyes were large and rimmed with dark lashes, but Aerin was shocked by their vivid amethyst color. As she stared into them, the purple turned to black and pinpoints of white light emanated from his gaze. She shook her head and they were merely eyes again, although their striking amethyst color remained unchanged.
“Let us go,” he said.
“Where?” asked Aerin.
Without answer, the man turned away from her and started down the path.
The trees of the garden she was standing in were the tallest she had ever seen. At least two hundred feet in height, they dwarfed the trees of her beloved woods at home. They were unlike any species she had seen or read about, although they reminded her of willows. Their bark was not brown, but a dark gold; their leaves were not green, but a deep teal.
Aromas and fragrances Aerin had never smelled in her life wafted about her, rising and floating on the warm breezes which sailed in the air. Crimsons, golds, pinks, violets, sapphires, and oranges sparkled from the petals of exotic flowers and from the feathers of tropical birds. Giant elephants bathed their grey leathery skin in a nearby pond, spraying water down their massive broad backs and trunk-like legs playfully.
More breathtaking than her most vivid dreams, Aerin looked about in awe.
“Come,” the strange man repeated, beckoning her with his twisted long fingers.
“Who are you?” Aerin asked, stepping up to his side and continuing to walk with him down the path.
“I am who I am,” he replied, “but I have many names. For this day and in this time, you may call me Taliesin.”
Somehow the name suited him, and she knew what he was called before he spoke it. I know him, but she quickly dismissed the thought and forgot it immediately.
“Where are we?”
A smile played at the corner of his lips. “Do you not know?”
Aerin shook her head.
“I think you do. We are in the sacred gardens of the Emperor of the Sea, Poseidon, where he lay with the human woman Cleito and conceived the King of this island, Atlas.”
Excitement bubbled up into Aerin’s throat and her heart’s beat raced. She had studied this land, read of its tragic fall, its single day and night destruction, and its mysterious disappearance.
“Atlantis,” Aerin breathed. “I can’t believe it.”
Taliesin led Aerin from the gardens to a temple just outside of the walls of the Gardens of Poseidon. The building was made of iridescent white stones and accented with sheets of silver. Tall, slender sculptures of maidens stood guard at the pediment of the temple. Narrow slits of windows circled the building near its roof.
In awe of the splendor, Aerin and Taliesin walked into the temple.
It was dark and hazy. Streams of blue and purple smoke swirled from the ends of incense sticks. The sun peeked inside through the narrow slotted windows, and illuminated the caramel colored ceiling.
“What is the ceiling made of?” inquired Aerin while examining its ornate beauty.
“Ivory, inlaid with Orichalcum, gold, and silver.”
“What is Orichalcum?”
“The finest and rarest metal on the Earth, and the source of Atlantis’s wealth.” Taliesin replied.
They proceeded through the atrium into the main room of the temple. At its center rested the proud Poseidon. Made of alabaster and gold, he stood in his nautilus shell chariot, which was fashioned from mother-of-pearl and sheets of Orichalcum and gold. As Aerin stole a glance at Taliesin to see if he was as awe-struck as she, she noticed painted rainbows dancing on his face from the iridescent surface of the god’s great chariot. Sculptures of winged stallions drew their master through the swirling stone sea over which he reigned. Surrounding the god were smaller statues of golden youths riding upon the backs of dolphins. From her extensive reading on Atlantis, Aerin recognized them as Nereids, the elegant attendants of the sea-god.
All of the sculptures were situated upon a colossal round platform surrounded by a pool of bright blue water.
“Those who have the gift of sight come here so that they might be shown the secrets of the future. They gaze into the water in hopes that it will reveal the secrets of tomorrow to them.”
“Do many have the gift?”
“Only those who have the blood of Atlas running through their veins, and that alone is not enough. They must also be pure of heart. In the blessed days of old, many had the gift. Now there are only a few who remain.”
“Do you have the gift?”
“At times,” he said in a solemn voice, “although only when I follow the code as it is inscribed on the great stone plaques which reside on the summit of Mount Atlas. You see, while I meet the first requirement, I often fall short of the second.”
Taliesin tried to maintain a stoic attitude as he said this, but a boyish smile twitched at his mouth and his violet eyes sparkled merrily.
Aerin laughed aloud. He was such a strange character, he seemed so mysterious and wise and unsophisticated and playful, all at once.
“How old are you, Taliesin?”
“Older than you may think. In this age, I am more than two hundred years old, but time is not a constant thing. I am still considered a youth in this land, and in your day I would not be more than twenty.”
“Time is a strange thing,” she said.
“Indeed,” he agreed.
Taliesin kneeled by the strange water and brought his forehead close to its surface. He held his knobby hands parallel to its surface with outstretched fingers. Aerin noticed how quiet it had become. Poseidon and all of his attendants seemed to look upon the crouched figure with interest. Taliesin began to tremble, slightly at first, but soon his whole body was vibrating violently. Suddenly, the water changed from bright blue to blinding white. Aerin shaded her eyes with her fingers to escape the painful light. As quickly as it came, the light was gone, and the water returned to its initial tranquil state. The kneeling Taliesin craned his neck and looked up at Aerin standing beside him. His usually assured face was marked with fear. His violet eyes were wide with alarm and blazed with an unhealthy glow.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Aerin asked with alarm
Taliesin paused a moment before speaking, and when he spoke his voice quavered noticeably.
“I have never seen anything like it before. I often receive fragmented visions. It is rare to have the gift, and it is even rarer to see into the future fully. To see events and understand their causes is all but unheard of.”
Equally curious and frightened, Aerin asked, “What did you see?”
“Death. Destruction. For this city.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Let me explain to you more fully, Aerin. We are a proud people. Pride in of itself is not an evil trait, yet it can easily lead to vanity and conceit. The vain and conceited mistakenly believe that they are superior to others, and therefore do not hesitate to misuse, agonize, and affront those they consider to be inferior. We Atlanteans have lapsed into that downfall. Once we were kind to the neighboring lands; willing to share our deep understanding of the stars of the heavens and the precious metals of the earth. As time has marched on, we have become more and more unwilling to disclose our secrets to those we consider to be inferior to ourselves. The gods will not tolerate this behavior. Harmony will be replaced by dissonance and peace will be exchanged for despair. Death is coming to Atlantis.”
“What did you see, Taliesin?”
“A great flood. Atlantis will disappear into the depths of the sea. Payment must be made for our transgressions. Our beautiful land will become flooded with water and its people will die.”
Aerin was not surprised. She knew of the single day and night destruction of Atlantis, but she was still taken aback by the thought of this beautiful land decaying in the pit of the great seas. With all its splendor and majesty, it seemed impossible that such a perfect land could ever be altered.
“Are Atlanteans human?”
“Yes, of course. Why do you ask, Aerin?”“I thought that your people were sinless.”
“We are not descended from your Adam and Eve, if that is what you mean. Your fall was not ours, but that does not mean we are not fallen. There are other worlds than the one that you know, but they are all connected.”
“I don’t understand. How is that possible?”
“It will become clear.”
Taliesin stepped to Aerin’s side and grabbed her arm. Leading her up to the pool circling Poseidon’s chariot, Taliesin released her and then kneeled by its edge. He beckoned Aerin to kneel beside him. She sat next to him and gazed into the water. Suddenly, she lowered the tips of her fingers into it, and she knew no more.


Camelot
Aerin opened her eyes. She was in a large stone room with a single window opposite of where she was standing. It looked out into a great forest of burgeoning buds and evergreen trees. Seated next to the window was a young woman. Her hair was red and long, and it shone like fire as the sun’s rays snuck through the window and kissed the silky strands.
“Ah, you are here. I have been expecting you.”
“Expecting me? Who are you?”
“My name is Morgaine le Fey. And you are Aerin, if I am not mistaken. I am glad you have come safely. It is important for you to see this.”
She gestured to the window and pointed with a long slender white finger. Red banners and the brown shadows of men and horses were all that Aerin could see besides the treed forest.
“Who is that, and who are they coming to fight?” questioned Aerin.
“That is Modred and his men. He has come to battle the father that he hates, and the mother that he despises.”
That statement was enough to confirm Aerin’s suspicions. Without a doubt, she was speaking to the controversial Morgaine, who was both hated and loved in Arthurian lore. Surely this woman spoke of her treacherous son, the product of a dark misunderstanding, who now marched on his father to revenge his miserable heritage. Yes, it was true, she was in Camelot.
“You know he means to kill your brother, do you not?”
“Yes, Viviane and Merlin have told me as much. Arthur will be slain at the hand of our son.”
Aerin’s heart beat faster. What if she could change the story? She knew it well. Unknowingly, Morgan lay with her brother, Arthur, during a magical ceremony on the great island of Avalon. During the ritual, Modred was conceived. Enraged at being the product of incest, Modred could never forgive his father for siring him. Although he had served Arthur as a knight of the Round Table and even pretended affection, he dropped all pretense and was determined to rip his father’s beloved Camelot asunder and destroy the phantasmic land Arthur had endeavored to create. Morgaine, in an attempt to secure her son’s affection, had made the mistake of giving him the sheath of Excalibur, which made its bearer invincible. Arthur, vulnerable without his magical sheath, was killed by his son. Furthermore, he was without the usual counsel of Merlin, was often visiting Avalon to be with the Lady of the Lake, Viviane.
This is so weird, Aerin thought to herself. I feel like I’m manipulating history, except this is a story. I’m rewriting it. We can stop Modred and save Camelot from destruction. We can save Arthur’s paradise.
“No,” said Morgaine. “That is not your purpose in coming here.”
Aerin started. “Can you, did you –“
“Your thoughts are not as private as you might think, Aerin.” Morgaine smiled knowingly.
“But we can save him, and Camelot! We can stop Modred, we know the story. We know his weaknesses.”
“The story has already been written. It cannot be changed; and the gods’ wills cannot be flouted.”
Rising from her seated position, Morgan grasped Aerin’s hand and led her outside of the small room down a winding staircase.
“There is someone I want you to meet,” she said.
They stood outside an old wooden door with strange runes engraved around its frame. Before Morgan could raise her hand to knock, the door opened and a tall cloaked figure stood in its threshold.
“Aerin, this is Merlin.”
The introduction was unnecessary. Aerin knew who this man (if he was indeed a man) was as soon as she saw his face. It was a wise face, although it looked nothing like Aerin had imagined it to look. His hair was not white, but dark and streaked with silver. His skin was not wrinkled and pasty, but smooth and tan. His eyes were not hidden behind half moon spectacles. They were beautiful eyes, clear and piercing. Their vivid purple color were quite unusual.
As Aerin studied Merlin, he engaged Morgan in conversation about the imminent battle with Modred.
“It will be difficult to defeat Modred. He has the scabbard of Excalibur.” Merlin said.
Morgan blushed. “I felt it was the only way to win his affection.”
Morgan explained how she had stolen the scabbard from Arthur to win her son’s affection. Modred felt shunned and hated. Not only a bastard child, but a product of incest, Modred was shamed of who he was. Morgan felt sorry for her son, and loved him despite his cruel nature. He was rude to his mother and father. Although he was one of the Knights of the Round Table for a while, he was eventually exiled by his father for betraying secrets of Camelot to neighboring lands.
Modred manipulated his mother easily. She wanted nothing more than for her son to love her, and was willing to do anything to win his affection. Wishing to undermine his father’s authority, Modred designed to steal the scabbard of Excalibur which made its bearer invincible. Modred demanded that Morgan steal it for him, or he would cut off their relationship. Fearful her son would be estranged from her forever, Morgan snuck into Arthur’s bedchamber and stole the magical scabbard while he was sleeping. Of course, Modred knew his mother would be to preoccupied with the potential loss of her son to consider the inevitable repercussions of stealing the scabbard. Invincible, Modred could be stopped by no one. Even the renowned Arthur would be incapable of defying Modred’s plans to take Camelot for his own. Arthur’s paradise, where goodwill, harmony, and freedom were cherished by all, would fall into devastation and despair. With Modred ruling in Arthur’s stead, the utopian Camelot would cease to exist.
Aerin was crushed as she listened to Morgan’s speech. These worlds she had idealized for her entire life were imperfect. They were as flawed as the reality she lived in from day to day. There was death, betrayal, and devastation in these fantasy worlds too. I can’t escape my world any longer. This place is no better.
“I must leave,” Merlin said, his vivid amethyst eyes flashing. “I set off for Avalon within the hour, to make preparations for Arthur. Only there can he be healed after receiving the near-mortal blows from his son. Viviane and I will ready the ceremony of healing.”
“Farewell, Merlin. May the gods’ favor be with you.” Morgan said.
“And with you, for you will need it.” Merlin replied. “Goodbye, Aerin. We shall meet again.”
“Good-bye.”
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Tears streamed down Morgan’s face as she told Aerin about the battle. Aerin had begged Morgan to let her ride with Arthur against Modred’s forces, but both she and her brother had refused to allow her to join them. They told her it was too dangerous, that they were doomed to failure, and that it was not her battle to fight. So Aerin stayed back at Arthur’s castle with his mother Igraine, and his wife Guinevere, praying that he would survive the day.
Now she and Morgan were in Avalon, looking over Arthur’s body. His face was pale, his breathing was ragged, and his eyes were closed.
“This is all my fault,” Morgan murmured. When she rode into battle with Arthur, she hoped to make amends for her actions. Although he had forgiven her, she felt no absolution from her sins.
Merlin came up behind Morgan and laid his hands on her shoulders.
“This would have happened whether you had stolen the scabbard or not, Morgan. His fall is no fault of yours. And it will work out for the best. The ancient magic of Avalon will heal your brother. This is a land of healing and beauty, and he will be happy here, although Camelot will never return to its former glory. The magic of this island is tied to the sea. It is in the blade of Excalibur as well as its scabbard, and it is only this magic that will heal Arthur. Avalon is only a part of the island that used to exist; the magic that resides here protected it from destruction. The rest of the island fell into the sea when it became corrupt and turned away from the ways of the gods.
Aerin had to get away. She could almost feel death when she stood next to Arthur, and his presence reminded her that the Camelot she had dreamt of her entire life was no more. Avalon was a beautiful island. It was enshrouded in a thick mist that made it invisible to all except those who were pure in their motives for seeking it. They must have great need or be selfless in their hearts, minds, and incentives. Heavily wooded and foggy, Aerin could barely see her hands in front of her as she made her way through the trees.
Aerin heard a branch snap behind her. Startled, she whipped around with a racing heart. Merlin stood before her, his amethyst eyes twinkling with amusement.
“You scared me.”
“I apologize, but I need to talk with you. We need to go. The battle is not finished, and there is still work to do.”
“You mean that I get to fight?” she asked excitedly.
Merlin smiled. “Yes, but not in the way that you might expect.”
Aerin raised her eyebrow and looked at him curiously, but he made no attempt to explain his obscure comment.
They walked together in silence towards the shore, where a boat waited to take them back to Camelot. The thick mist blocked most of the sunlight, and the waters were dark and cloudy. The boat proceeded slowly through the gray mists.


middle Earth
Aerin’s head began to ache and throb. She raised her hand to her head and rubbed it vigorously. As she did so, the throbbing increased until she was almost blinded with pain. As suddenly as the headache came, it left. They were now out of the mists, and the sun seemed abnormally bright after the dimness of Avalon. Aerin looked over her shoulder at her companion, and was shocked to see that Merlin had disappeared, and was replaced by a strange figure wearing a tall blue hat, a long grey cloak, and a silver scarf. He had a long white beard and busy eyebrows that stuck out beyond the brim of his hat. His bright purple eyes shown keen an merry from beneath the hat’s shadow. He held a pipe in his right hand, and was blowing a series of perfectly formed smoke rings into the air.
“Hello,” said Aerin, “who are you, and what is your name?” “My name! Have you not guessed it already? You have heard it before, I think. Yes, you have heard it before. But come now, what of your tale?”
Aerin told him of her discontent with her life, and her deep longing for a more beautiful world. She told him of her love for imaginary lands, and how she had somehow landed herself in a beautiful dream where she was finally meeting the famous characters of fiction that she had known her entire life.
Aerin and her companion were no longer on a small boat, but on a large ship. She recognized it to be the one of the fleet of the black ships of Corsairs that Aragorn sailed down the river Anduin to the port of Umbar to bring aid to Gondor. People were bustling all about her and the man (if he was indeed a man), but oddly, they seemed to take no notice of he who stood beside her.
After Aerin had finished telling her story, her companion explained why he was here. He introduced himself as Gandalf. He had been sent on a mission to Middle Earth to bring down the reign of Sauron and to restore Aragorn as king, but had fallen into darkness in the Mines of Moria while fighting the Balrog. His task incomplete, the Valar of the Blessed Realm sent Gandalf back to Middle Earth to complete his assignment.
Aerin listened with great amazement and interest.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Aerin whipped around.
“We are glad to have such a lovely lady on board, but my I inquire what you are doing here?”
Aerin blushed, and explained herself. The man who addressed her was Aragorn, and he made himself known to her. She was awed to be in his presence, and ecstatic to meet him. Aerin turned to tell Gandalf how excited she was, but he was not there.
“Where did Gandalf go?”
“Gandalf? Why, Gandalf was never here. I have not seen him for quite some time, although I expect we shall see him when we arrive in Gondor. We are heading into battle.”
“The battle of Pelennor fields?” Aerin said knowingly, as she wondered to herself where Gandalf had gone.
“Yes. It will be a difficult battle, to be sure. Yet we have the Oath Breakers to aid us.”
“They have agreed to fulfill their oath?” Aerin asked.
“Yes, they have sworn to fight for us. They swore it at the rock of Erechs.”
“Aragorn, I know I saw Gandalf. I spoke to him. He explained to me that the Valar sent him back from the Blessed Realm to complete his task.”
“I do not pretend to understand that wily wizard’s ways. Indeed, it was not long ago that Gimli, Legolas, and myself met him in the woods after we thought him gone forever. We initially mistook him for Sauruman, and were relieved to find him to be our beloved Mithrandir. Perhaps he was here, Aerin. I know not. He is a strange person, and I would not be surprised if he sent you a vision of himself.”
A dark looming shape appeared at the horizon, and it was approaching their ship quickly. It’s dark flags bellowed in the wind to reveal a bright red eye, the eye of Sauron, burning in the black fabric. Aerin gasped in surprise and horror it sped towards them.
“Aragorn!” she exclaimed with fright.
Yet before he could even open his mouth to utter a response, the spirits of the Oath Breakers left the black ships of Corsairs and attacked Sauron’s fleet. The minions on board saw the deadly phantoms flying toward their ship, and hurled themselves overboard in fright. Those remaining on board turned the ship and sailed away from the terrifying black fleet of Corsairs and disappeared into the distant horizon.
By the time the sun was at its zenith in the sky, the black ships arrived in the port of Umbar, only a one league south of Gondor. Éomer, who was in command now that King Théoden was dead, saw the black ships arrive in the port, and despair filled his heart. He accepted the imminent defeat and mustered his last strength to fight the evil that he faced. However, just then a gust of wind snapped the banners of the black ships of Corsairs to reveal the white tree of Gondor, the seven stars, and the Crown of Elendil. Joy replaced gloom, and Éomer gladly received the aid of Aragorn, the Dunédain, Legolas the elf, Gimli the dwarf, and Aerin the maiden of the other world. It was not long before Sauron’s forces were driven back through the black gate of Mordor Morannon into the shadows where they belonged.
Aerin was glad to fight. In Camelot, she had hated waiting behind while Arthur warred Modred. She had felt useless then, but now she felt like she was able to redeem herself. Aerin loved feeling needed. Being useful to others made her feel worthy.
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Aerin was immediately put to work in the House of Healing. Many were wounded, and everyone’s help was needed to aid the sick. Two of the most gravely wounded were Éowyn and Faramir. Eowyn had been gravely wounded by the King of the Nazgul. Her face was pale, and her breathing ragged.
I’ve seen enough of death of those who I have idolized. Aerin thought to herself and she dipped a rag in cool water to wipe the beads of sweat off Eowyn’s alabaster brow. First Arthur, now Eowyn and Faramir. Why does death have to be present here too? A single tear slipped down her cheek.
Aragorn stepped up behind her and placed his strong hand on the slender girl’s shoulder.
“All will be well,” he said reassuringly. He wore a dark green gem around his neck, which sparkled and glimmered in the light.
“That is beautiful,” Aerin, mesmerized by the pendant and momentarily forgetting her troubles..
Aragorn looked the expression of wonder on her face, and his laughter rang out merrily.
“It was given to me in Lothlorien, by the lady Galadriel,” he said smiling. He held a small porcelain bowl in his hands, filled with crushed green leaves. When Aerin asked what it contained, he told her it was the herb Altheas, and that its uses were little known. He mixed the herb with water and held it up to Eowyn’s lips for her to drink. Her eyes bounced back and forth behind closed eyelids, and slowly a rosy glow spread to her cheeks.
“The hands of the King are the hands of a healer,” said Aerin without knowing where the words came from.
“I cannot claim my throne until the ring is destroyed,” replied Aragorn solemnly.
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Frodo’s quest seemed futile. Success seemed unlikely, and Sauron’s darkness send despair throughout all of Middle Earth. To buy Frodo and Sam more time to destroy the ring within the depths of Mount Doom, Gandalf and Aragorn decided to distract Sauron’s forces at the Gates of Morannon. Aerin rode out with the men of Gondor to make this final stand against the hosts of Mordor. Thankful to be allowed to fight, she was eager to put her sword to use. Aragorn held the shining Anduril high above his head as he galloped his bay stallion up and down the lines of troops.
“For Frodo, for Sam, for Gondor!” he cried. Aerin was reminded of Arthur and Excalibur as she watched the king use his sword to inspire courage within his troops, even though all besides Aerin were sure they were heading into a hopeless fight. Only Aerin knew the story, and knew what was about to come. Yet despite this knowledge, she felt afraid. After so much adventure, after seeing her idealized words were indeed flawed, after finding blemishes in the beauty of her imagination, she was no longer confident in the plot of the story she had loved so dearly.
Aerin needed not to fear. They did indeed draw Sauron’s eye away from the Ring-Bearer, and Frodo was at last able to cast the Ring into the fiery depths of Mount Doom within the heart of Mordor. The dark hosts fell back, and Sauron’s power was destroyed forever in an instant.
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After Aragorn’s coronation and wedding to Arwen Evenstar, Aerin set of with Gandalf into the mountains to search for a replacement for the white tree of Gondor. It had withered along with the stewards’ faithfulness, and it was now a mere shadow of what it was meant to be. Hoping an offshoot still existed somewhere, Aerin and Gandalf hiked up a winding path that lead into the foothills.
It was a clear day. With the defeat of Sauron, an oppressing darkness left the land. The grass seemed greener, the sky bluer, the mica flecks in the boulders sparkled brighter.
“Gandalf, do you know where we might find the sapling?”
“Yes, I have an idea. But you Aerin, will not accompany me past this point.”
“What do you mean?”
“Aerin, would you agree that your perspective on reality and imagination has changed since you began your journey in Atlantis?”
Aerin started. She had mentioned her previous adventures in other lands to no one.
“How did you know I was in Atlantis?” Aerin exclaimed with evident surprise.
Gandalf smiled and his purple eyes flashed. “I was with you. I have many names, I have lived in many ages, and dwelled in many places.”
The eyes. Taliesin, Merlin, and Gandalf all had shared the same penetrating gaze. A light of understanding filled Aerin’s face.
“All of these places are connected, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“Atlantis, Avalon, Numenor, they are all the same. Excalibur and Anduril, Arthur and Aragorn, Merlin and Gandalf.”
“I think you are ready,” Gandalf said.
“For what?”
“The final stage of your journey. Aerin, look up to those dark blue mountains. Do you see the single white mountain, that sparkles like crystal? In its shadow lies a true paradise, a land of understanding and enlightenment. Like me, it also has many names. You may have heard some of them – Eden, El Dorado, Shangri-La, the Forbidden Land. Aerin, it is only because of this difficult journey you have traveled that you will be able to see it. Had you not seen the face of death and pain, you would have only found blinding sand storms, and empty mountains.”
“How will I find it?”
“The Kingdom of Shambhala is in your own heart. Go now.”
Aerin turned away from him to start her journey to the white crystal mountain. Raising her foot to take the first step on the path of enlightenment, Aerin set off towards Shambhala.

Shambhala
The land of Shambhala was beautiful. It was the type of place that was not only good for your body, for your mind and soul as well. It was hidden in a lotus flower with eight petals, each of which contained a different region of this enlightened land. At its center was the capital Kalapa, which was home to the King Suchandra’s palace made of gold, diamonds, coral, and precious gems.
To most, Shambhala remained a hidden kingdom. It was the barrier between the physical and spiritual world, hidden from the non-believers by the mists of illusion. In Shambhala, war and injustice are unknown. Peace, tranquility, and happiness are embraced by all of the enlightened inhabitants.
Aerin felt that she finally had achieved a deeper understanding of why she had gone on this journey of dreams into other worlds, into lands that never were. She had immersed herself in fantasy worlds that she had constructed to be perfect in her own mind. While reading the stories and studying the lands’ history, she had overlooked any flaws or imperfections that the inhabitants had. Deep within her soul, she had a longing for a beautiful world where she could find deep connection with others, and peace with herself. Now in Shambhala, which seemed to be almost a state of mind for Aerin, she had finally come to realize that these dream worlds were not a replacement for reality, but merely an enhancement. Once she awoke from this fantastic dream, she would no longer immerse herself in a non-existent perfect world. She would instead accept reality, look for beauty in the blemishes, and keep the light she had finally obtained in Shambhala hidden deep within her heart.