Eriador Forest - Road to the Elven Settlement3 hours after the meeting with Círdan
Marco Antonio Durán was quickly learning that walking with an elf was a sophisticated form of torture.
Círdan moved through the forest as if he were floating. His feet barely touched the ground. He made no noise. He didn't stumble. He didn't tire.
Marco, on the other hand, had tripped over roots four times, had bumped into low branches three times, and was sweating as if he were in a marathon.
"Are you okay?" Círdan asked without turning around, his tone suggesting that he knew perfectly well that Marco was NOT okay.
"Perfect," Marco gasped. "Just... appreciating... nature."
"Nature doesn't need so much noise to be appreciated."
[Marco, you're breathing like you've run a kilometer. Your improved fitness should handle this easily. You're letting the stress and injuries get to you.]
"I've got bruised ribs, TARS. Give me a break."
Círdan stopped abruptly. Marco almost collided with him.
"Your ribs are injured," Círdan observed . It wasn't a question. "The blow from the axe was more severe than it looks."
"I'll be fine. I just need—"
Círdan turned around and before Marco could react, she placed her hand on Marco's chest. A warm, golden light emanated from her fingers.
Marco felt warmth flowing through his body. It wasn't painful. It was... comforting. Like stepping into warm water after a cold day.
The pain in her ribs lessened. It didn't disappear completely, but it went from "sharp agony" to "moderate discomfort."
"That should help," Círdan said , withdrawing his hand. "I'm no expert healer like some of my people, but I can ease the worst of it."
Marco looked at Círdan with genuine astonishment.
"Thank you. Really. You didn't have to do that."
"We'd reach the settlement three times faster if you didn't limp every five steps." A small smile. "Consider it practical efficiency."
" Even so, thank you."
Círdan nodded and resumed his walk.
Marco followed him, now able to maintain a more decent pace.
After several minutes of silence, Círdan spoke:
"Tell me about yourself, Marco Antonio Durán. Your names are strange. They're not from Gondor or Arnor . They're not Rohirrim or from the eastern tribes. Where do you really come from?"
Marco had anticipated this question. He had prepared an answer using TARS during training hours.
"From very far away. So far away that you probably don't know the name of my homeland."
"Try."
"Mexico. Mexico City, specifically."
Círdan stopped and turned around, his eyes studying Marco intensely.
"I don't know that name. And I have existed for ages, I have sailed to distant lands, I have known peoples of remote places. Mexico..." he tested the word, "...doesn't exist on any map I know."
"Because it's not of this world," Marco said honestly. "I come from... another place. Another reality, if you prefer."
I expected skepticism. Disbelief. Perhaps accusations of madness.
Círdan , on the other hand, simply nodded.
"That would explain a lot. The Valar speak of the Circles of the World, of realities beyond Arda. I myself have felt echoes of other places when sailing in deep waters." He looked at Marco with renewed interest. "How did you get here?"
"I died," Marco said simply. "And something... someone... brought me here. Gave me a second chance."
"What did you do to deserve such grace?"
Marco laughed bitterly.
"Absolutely nothing. In fact, I died in the most pathetic way possible. Watching a football match."
"Soccer?"
"A game with a ball. My team lost in the last minute after twenty-three years of suffering. My heart literally couldn't take it."
Círdan stared at him for a long moment. Then, to Marco's surprise, he laughed. A genuine, musical laugh that echoed through the trees.
"You died for... sporting passion. That's..." he searched for the word, "...simultaneously tragic and absurd."
"Yes, it basically sums up my previous life."
elven weapons and combat skills you clearly didn't develop watching ball games."
"Let's just say my... benefactor... gave me the tools to survive. Training. Equipment. Skills."
"In exchange for what?"
Here was the difficult question.
"I'm a trader," Marco said. "I was given... access to resources. My job is to trade. To sell. To connect people with what they need."
"And what exactly do you sell?"
"Anything. Everything. If it exists somewhere, I can get it."
Círdan stopped again, turning to face Marco completely.
"That's a bold claim. Are you saying you could get, for example, pure Mithril from the lost mines of Khazad-dûm ?"
"Probably. For the right price."
" Lembas of Lothlórien ?"
"Yeah."
"A weapon capable of harming a Balrog ?"
"Yeah."
"Knowledge of lost magical arts?"
"Yeah."
Círdan studied him with an intensity that made Marco feel completely exposed.
"Either you're the most audacious liar I've encountered in three ages, or you are exactly what you say. And I detect no deception in you."
"There's no deception. I am exactly what I seem: a trader with access to impossible resources."
"Impossible..." murmured Círdan . "That word has lost its meaning since Morgoth walked in Middle-earth. Very well, merchant of the impossible. We shall see what Elrond thinks of you."
He resumed walking, but Marco noticed that Círdan was now watching him with much more interest.
[Good job. You were honest without revealing too much. Círdan respects you more for that.]
"How do you know he respects me?"
[His body language changed. He stopped treating you as a curiosity and started treating you as... equal potential. That's massive coming from an elf who's thousands of years old.]
Elven Settlement - LinaewenSunset
elven settlement was exactly as Marco had imagined from the movies, but a thousand times more beautiful.
It wasn't a city. It was more like... architecture growing naturally from the forest. Massive trees with platforms built in their canopies. Wooden and rope bridges connecting structures. All designed with such elegance that it was difficult to tell where the forest ended and the construction began.
Elves moved among the structures with that characteristic otherworldly grace. Some stopped to stare when Círdan entered with Marco.
The looks weren't hostile, but they were definitely curious.
A human, partially covered in dried orc blood, walking alongside Círdan the Shipwright.
Yes, that definitely caught people's attention.
"Ignore them," Círdan said gently. "My people are curious by nature. A young human in our settlement is... unusual."
"Unusual bad or unusual interesting?"
"It depends on how you behave."
Círdan guided him through the settlement to the largest structure: a hall made of white wood that shone with its own light.
"Lord Elrond is inside. I have sent word of your arrival." Círdan paused in the doorway. "Some advice before you enter."
"Please."
"One: Elrond is kind but not foolish. Don't try to deceive him. Two: He is half-elf, so he understands both mortal and immortal perspectives. Use this to your advantage. Three: He is here discussing matters of the Rings of Power. It is a delicate subject. Don't mention it unless he does first."
"The Rings..." Marco felt a chill. "Have they all been forged already?"
"That information is sensitive."
"I understand."
"Okay. Let's go in then."
The doors opened.
The inner room was spacious yet intimate. There was a long, dark wooden table with intricately carved elven chairs . Maps and documents covered the surface. And at the far end of the table, standing and studying a particular map, was him.
Elrond .
She was younger than Marco expected. Or rather, she looked younger. Her face was ageless, trapped somewhere between thirty and eternal. Dark hair fell to her shoulders. Gray eyes held centuries of wisdom. She wore simple but elegant clothes in shades of blue and silver.
There was a band on her hand—subtle, almost invisible—with a red gem glowing softly.
Vilya . One of the Three Rings.
Elrond looked up as they entered. His eyes fell on Marco, and Marco felt as if every layer of his being was being examined in an instant.
" Círdan ," said Elrond , his voice rich and resonant. "You brought interesting company."
"My lord," Círdan bowed respectfully. Marco mimicked the gesture. "This is Marco Antonio Durán. I found him in the eastern forest, having just faced a band of orcs. Alone."
"Only?" Elrond raised an eyebrow. "That speaks of extraordinary skill or luck."
"A little of both, my lord," Marco admitted.
"You speak Westron fluently, but your accent is... peculiar. Not from Gondor . Not from the North." Elrond approached, studying Marco with that penetrating gaze. " Círdan , where does this human come from?"
"He says he's from another world, my lord. And I believe he speaks the truth."
Elrond stopped mid-step.
"Another world?"
"Yes, my lord," said Marco. "I know it sounds impossible—"
"Nothing is impossible," Elrond interrupted . "I've seen too much in my life to rule out any possibility. But 'another world' is an extraordinary claim. Do you have any proof?"
Marco thought for a moment. Then he had an idea.
"My lord, could you name something that does not exist in Middle-earth? Something specific that not even the wisest elves know."
Elrond considered this.
"Very good. Name... the exact composition of the stars. Not their arrangement, which we know. But their physical nature, what they truly are."
Marco smiled.
"Stars are massive balls of gas—mostly hydrogen and helium—that generate energy through nuclear fusion in their cores. Extreme pressure and temperature fuse hydrogen atoms into helium, releasing massive amounts of energy in the form of light and heat. Some stars are thousands of times larger than our sun. Others are only slightly larger than planets. And when they die, they can collapse into black holes or explode in supernovas."
The silence in the room was absolute.
Elrond and Círdan stared at Marco with expressions that ranged from astonishment to disbelief.
"Nuclear fusion," Elrond repeated slowly. "Hydrogen and helium. Concepts we don't even have words to describe in our languages."
"Because in my world, science advanced in different ways. We don't rely solely on magic. We understand the universe through observable natural laws."
"Fascinating," Círdan murmured . "And terrifying. Such knowledge could change everything."
Elrond added . "Knowledge without wisdom is dangerous."
"I completely agree," Marco said. "That's why I don't plan to share such knowledge freely. I'm a businessman, not a teacher."
Elrond studied it for another long moment. Then he nodded, as if he had reached a conclusion.
"Very well. I accept that you come from elsewhere. That explains your impossibly high-quality elven equipment , your strange knowledge, and your... peculiar presence."
"A peculiar presence?"
"There is something about you. An energy. It is not elven magic . It is not the power of the Valar . It is something else entirely." Elrond bowed his head. "What exactly are you, Marco Antonio Durán?"
Marco decided to be partially honest.
"I am human. But... I have been enhanced. Trained. I was given access to abilities that normal humans do not possess. And I was entrusted with a task."
"What homework?"
"Trade. Establish myself in Middle-earth as a merchant of rare resources. Connect people with what they need."
"And what do you gain from this?"
"To survive. To thrive. And maybe..." Marco hesitated, "...to make a difference. My old world didn't allow me to be anything special. This world... this world gives me a chance."
Elrond considered this. Then he walked to the table and pointed to the chairs.
"Sit down, Marco Antonio Durán. We have a lot to talk about."
Marco sat down, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.
Círdan also sat down, observing the interaction with interest.
"You say you can trade rare resources," Elrond began . "Give me specific examples. What could you offer me, for instance?"
Marco activated his Merchant's Eye subtly, sensing Elrond with his Nen .
The information flowed:
Power Level: EXTREMELY HIGH Primary Needs: Protection for his people, knowledge about the Rings, ways to resist Sauron 's influenceMost valuable resource: Vilya , the Air RingEmotional state: Worried, cautious, but open to possibilities
"I could offer you," Marco said carefully, "enchanted weapons capable of harming creatures that can withstand ordinary steel. Armor that protects against dark magic. Knowledge of military strategies from civilizations that perfected the art of war. Medicines that heal wounds that even elven skill cannot fully cure."
"Impressive list. And what would you want in return?"
"It depends on the item. Some would cost gold. Others, rare resources. Some..." Marco looked directly at him, "...would cost favors. Information. Access."
"Access to what ? "
"To your people. To other leaders. To opportunities to establish my reputation as a reliable trader."
Elrond leaned back in his chair, pondering.
"You're honest about your motivations. That's rare. Most businesspeople hide their greed behind smiles."
"I'm not greedy. I'm pragmatic. I need to settle down. I need to survive. And the best way to do both is by being useful to powerful people."
"And what makes you think I need your services?"
Marco decided to take the risk.
"Because Sauron is playing the long game. The Rings of Power were a trap. And you know it. He's looking for ways to protect his people from what's coming. I can help with that."
The air in the room turned freezing.
Círdan tensed up.
Elrond leaned forward, his eyes intensifying dangerously.
"How do you know about the Rings?"
"Because in my world, the story of Middle-earth is known. Not completely, but enough. I know about Sauron . About the One Ring. About the coming war."
"That is knowledge you should NOT possess," Elrond said , his voice heavy with warning.
"I know. And I don't plan to share it openly. But you asked me what I could offer you." Marco leaned forward as well. "I can offer you knowledge of the future. Not everything. Not every detail. But enough to prepare. To save lives."
"Knowledge of the future is dangerous. It changes events. It creates paradoxes."
"Or it prevents tragedies."
Elrond stared at him for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, he spoke:
"If you really know the future, tell me this: What's happening to Celebrimbor ?"
Marco felt his stomach sink.
I knew the answer.
I had seen the movies. I had read enough.
" Sauron tortures and kills him," he said softly. "He uses his body as a banner during the siege of Eregion ."
The color drained from Elrond 's face .
Círdan closed his eyes in pain.
" Celebrimbor is my friend," Elrond whispered . "A master craftsman. When does this happen?"
"I don't know the exact date. But... soon. Very soon."
Elrond stood up abruptly, walking towards the window.
"Is there any way to prevent it?"
"I don't know. My knowledge is... incomplete. I know about major events but not all the details."
"But you know that Celebrimbor dies."
"Yeah."
"And does Eregion fall?"
"Yeah."
"And Sauron wins that battle?"
"That battle, yes. But not the war. Eventually, he is defeated."
"At what cost?"
Marco hesitated.
"Thousands of lives lost. Entire kingdoms fallen. Centuries of suffering."
Elrond slammed his fist against the wall. The sound echoed like thunder.
"And you know this. You know our future. Our tragedies."
"Yeah."
"Why are you telling me this? You could have kept this knowledge to yourself. Used it as leverage."
"Because," Marco stood up as well, "in my previous world I couldn't do anything meaningful. But here... here maybe I can change something. Save someone. Prevent a tragedy." His voice cracked slightly. "I don't know if I can save Celebrimbor . But if there's ONE chance, I'd rather try."
Elrond turned, his face showing emotions rarely seen in elves: fear, hope, despair.
"Why should I trust you?"
"Because I have no reason to lie. Because I'm new here and I need allies. Because..." Marco searched for the right words, "...because in the future I know, many good people die needlessly. And if I can prevent even one of those deaths, I will have done something that matters."
The silence spread.
Círdan finally spoke:
"My lord, I believe you speak the truth. I have lived long enough to recognize genuine honesty. This young man may be many things, but a liar is not one of them."
Elrond stared at him for a long moment. Then he returned to the table and sat down heavily.
"Very well, Marco Antonio Durán. You have my full attention. Now tell me exactly what you know and what you can offer me to change the future you describe."
Marco sat down again, his heart beating rapidly.
This was his chance. His only chance to establish himself as more than just a simple merchant.
"First," Marco said, "I need to establish that I can't give you everything for free. Some knowledge, yes. But if you want resources, weapons, real tools... those come at a price."
"I understand. Please continue."
"Second, I don't know ALL the details. My knowledge comes from stories, not from living through the events. So there will be gaps."
"Acceptable."
"Third..." Marco took a deep breath, "...if we're going to work together, I need your word that you'll protect me. I'm human in a world of elves, orcs, and worse. I need allies."
Elrond considered this.
"If you prove yourself useful and trustworthy, you will have the protection of Rivendell . But," his eyes hardened, "if you betray me, if you use your knowledge for harm, there will be no refuge in all Middle-earth where you can hide. Understood?"
"Completely."
"Then we have a preliminary agreement." Elrond extended his hand.
Elrond 's grip was firm, his skin surprisingly warm for an elf.
[Marco... you just made a deal with Elrond . With. ELROND. Do you have any idea how important this is?]
"Yes, TARS. I've got it."
"Very well," said Elrond , releasing Marco's hand. "Now, let's begin with Celebrimbor . If there's any way to save him, I need to know EVERYTHING you know about his situation."
And so, as night fell upon the elven settlement of Linaewen , Marco Antonio Durán began to tell the story of Celebrimbor , Sauron , and the betrayal that was to come.
I didn't know if I could change the future.
But at least I was going to try.
Because if a taco vendor from Mexico City who died watching soccer could get a second chance in a fantasy world...
Then maybe, just maybe, I could do something that really mattered.
[END OF CHAPTER 8]