Michael T. Hare

Whenever we went to the mountains during the winter, my siblings and I would bring our Lord of the Rings weapons and play the roles among the stoney cliffs and snowy pines. It was one of our traditions, and looking back on it, it will always remind us of Christmas. I submitted this story to the Faithful Wanderer’s Christmas Writing Competition, and I am posting it here too!

---

All in a moment, I became a wizard while my siblings became elves, dwarves, hobbits, men, and kings. Cold, fluffy snow compacted under our boots as we fled our everyday lives and entered a vast realm filled with orcs, dragons, and magical rings.

I led our company across the bank of a lake, keeping a watchful eye on the rocky, snow-capped mountains. Evergreens dappled them like spears—tall, triangular, and dusted in snow, swaying as though a dragon were beating its wings in the everlasting distance. “We may rest here,” I announced, crouching at the foot of the bank. “Nightfall threatens the horizon, and the orcs will be coming out soon.”

In less than a minute, the whole party was prepared. The elf and dwarf stood at the far end of our camp, guarding, yes, but also debating how many orcs they’d defeated and who maintained the highest score. The hobbit hastened to make a fire, trading his little blade for sticks and flint. The two kings and the man sat beside me, and we spoke of our plans—we were to cross a wintry pass not far from here, somewhere in the distant mountains to avoid the mines.

“Are you certain this is wise?” one of them asked me, fingering the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not certain of anything,” I replied, “but I am sure of this—if we do not make it to the elven city before the orcs find us, we will lose more than the ring. Our company must continue despite certainty and despite risk. The ring must stay safe.”

We ascended the rugged pass at dawn, wading through snow drifts and fighting to keep our morale. To my great dismay, we found it impossible to cross the mountains, and per the man’s suggestion, we took the route of the mines.

There, we found nothing short of adventure, and we fought with valor to escape the endless orc ambushes. The elf battled with his bow, I with my staff, the kings with their swords, the man with his knife, the hobbit with his blade, and the dwarf with his axe. When we next saw sunlight, we were rushing from the craggy, dwarvish mines, delighted to find the elven city propped beneath a range of piney mountains.

Snow was caked between the trees, tracing sparkling, white lines along the mountains. We approached at a slow gait, aware our journey was nigh to its end. The elves greeted us upon arrival and offered protection against our enemies; we were even rewarded by their revered queen for our bravery.

All in a moment, as we gave the ring to the queen and stepped back through the elven gates, we found ourselves piling into the van, cozy in our seats as we drove back home. Christmas music played softly in the speakers, and we fell asleep, dreaming of wizards, elves, dwarves, hobbits, men, and kings.