Elf of Fire and Light (Book 1 Fire) Hobbit/LOTR Fan-Fic

Chapter 1

Miranda's POV

Fire ignites, its strong heat keeps the world warm. Fire is love and passion, pain and aggression, hate and desolation.

~*~

I was sitting in my bedroom reading the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy for the umpteenth time. I sometimes wondered what it would be like to exist in another world, one with magic. This was a pipe dream of course, magic did not exist, only stage tricks and illusions. This never did stop my dreams. I hoped and prayed that all that existed here on earth was just that, a dream, an illusion, but that was never the case. I closed my worn paper-back copy of "The Fellowship of the Ring" and sighed heavily before collapsing onto my queen-sized bed. My life was doomed to be a life without magic.

"Miranda!" I heard my mother call out to me. I groaned and turned onto my side, tracing the designs on my comforter. "Miranda! It is almost time for dinner! You better get ready!"

I sighed again before pulling myself to my feet. "Yes Mother!" I called out. Before exchanging my skinny jeans for a long-sleeved, knee-length emerald dress. It was plain. Perfect for a dinner with my traditional father.

My father believed that women should wear dresses no matter what the occasion, however, my mother had somehow managed to talk him into letting me wear jeans and long pants as long as I wore dresses in his presence. It was a slightly weird arrangement, but I didn't complain as I no longer had to wander the forests around our house in a dress. Yes, we lived in the woods. My mother worked on a nature reserve and my father owned a huge business. I had grown up mostly alone, but I had never really wanted for anything.

I quickly pulled on a pair of tights and nude flats before slowly making my way down the stairs. My father didn't like it when people were tardy but if I ran down the stairs, I would get in trouble with my mother for running in the house.

"Beautiful," I heard my mother say.

I smiled at her softly before replying, "Thank you mother," tilting my head as I performed a small curtsy. I then brought myself to stand beside my chair to wait for my father to enter the room.

After about a minute, my father entered the dinning room. He was wearing a suit and tie, still holding his brief case. He nodded in my direction as he placed the suitcase by the door and took his seat. Mother sat down then I followed suit. I placed my hands in my lap. I had learned at a very young age that it was rude to eat before the head of the household. I sat patiently as my stomach quietly rumbled.

My father seemed to be especially taking his time today. Slowly moving his hands placing the napkin into position and correcting the silverware placement. He looked at my mother and I for what seemed like an eternity before he lifted his fork and knife placing them into the salad. He was testing us. He wanted us to make a mistake, to slip up and eat first. He must have had a bad day at work again.

I continued to sit quietly. Looking down at my overlapped hands, maintaining a submissive posture. I could still feel the ghost pain of the sting he left the last time I made a mistake. He hummed in acknowledgement as he finally slipped the forkful into his mouth.

After he finished chewing, he set both utensils down and waved his hands in our direction. "You may begin."