Title & Chapter Number: Ripples on the Surface 0-1/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: GoddessByline's LotR Realm
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is written, invented and/or imagined by J.R.R. Tolkien. However, I do own what is my interpretation and abuse of his work. I do not receive any money out of it. This is written and published for entertainment and (hopefully) pleasure purposes only.
Warnings: Although the low rating, this story is intended for mature ladies who hopefully will be able to identify with the main character.
Betas: Dorothy Noland (((hugs))), Proof-reader: Mike Kelley *** kisses***, Cheerleaders: Terri and Kit ~~~snargles~~~
Cast: So far unnamed OCF and Elrond.
Timeline: AU While this story contains the environment and characters from the J.R.R. Tolkien canon, it does however not follow it.
Spoilers: None
Summary: What was the meaning behind her dreams of lately? Who was the man who called himself Elrond? And why was he so set on trying to pull her into his consciousness? After breaking up from her old life and decided to settle in a small cottage on the countryside her dreams had become harder to ignore. It was almost as if they had started to leak into her wakened hours as well. She was afraid. Afraid that she was slowly losing her sanity; losing her grasp of reality.
Notes:
Prologue
She had been driving in a slow pace, and enjoying it, the naked landscape passing and turning to face the sun and its renewal. Down along the northern slopes the ground had been last year grey, but in the valleys she noticed that the birches had grown green little mouse ears. Beyond the meadow fields, she saw the bay water glimmering in the sun, and she felt the breeze from the sea, the one that smelled like life itself.
An hour later, she reached the intersection. The gravel fumed in the rear view mirror as she drove up towards the cottage with a feeling of assurance. She was finally home.
The place was old, a small red wood house with white trimmings, protected by silvery birches and a single apple tree. During the course of the past six months, this place had become her centre, more home than anywhere else in the world. This is a good place to live she surprised herself thinking. So she silently added, and to die.
She got out of the car and stretched in the heated sun. Down toward the road and outside of the fence, the wood anemones laced the grass shaded from direct sunlight by pale green birch branches. Before unlocking the door, she had filled her hands with a bouquet and buried her face in it. Her face powdered with yellow pollen – she smiled.
This is home now.
No, this will not do she decided after having filled a blue glass vase with water and placed the white flowers on the dining table. She had never been one to pity herself or feeling remorse about things she could not change. The past was the past, and the future would find its own course if given time. She had made her decisions, and she had burned the last bridges.
With each trip she had made to the cottage during the past months, she had brought along with her bits and pieces of her life… her home. Later today, the truck loaded with the last things from her city flat would arrive and with that, there would no longer be any turning back. Her heart missed a beat at the thought, but she quickly composed herself again. This is what I want!
~*~*~*~
When had the dreams started? The fleeting face floating just under her vision, as if her sleeping unconscious eyes where just a little out of focus. She had grown so accustomed to its presence in her sleep that the times it was not there, she missed it. But how long had it been there? She was not sure.
She remembered the first time she heard the voice though! It had spoken to her in a low, almost whispering tone. Yet the voice had etched itself into her soul… Words she did not recognise nor understood, with an intonation she could not connect with any other language she had ever heard before. “Ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel. Ananta úva táre fárea, ufárea!” (Translation: For here is ending, and there will be an end. But yet it will not be enough, not enough!)
~*~*~*~
She woke up with a scream. Someone had touched her arm!
She rushed to her feet, clutching her right arm with her left hand. She looked around unable to orientate at first, the darkness of the night had fallen like a blanket over the room. Then she remembered where she was. She passed a sigh of relief when she found the wall switch and flooded the room with light. No one was there, no one but her. Everything looked just as it should, just as it had when she went to bed… What time is it? She glanced at the alarm clock by the bed. 1:28 am
She flushed her face with cold water and repeated it a few times, as if to wash away the slowly fading memory of the dream. It was a dream, was it not? She stared back at her own reflection in the mirror above the white porcelain sink. Her face was pale, almost a shade of grey. I need to try to catch some sun today. The thought surprised her. Then she quietly laughed back at herself in the mirror, laughed at the irrational thought as she grabbed for the red plastic hairbrush and slowly began to drive it through her hair.
She remained there for a while standing in front of the mirror in her old worn cotton nightgown, while she with rhythmical strokes brushed her hair, as if to sooth herself back to calmness. Back to reality, back to the place she had decided would be her home from now on. She brushed herself back to here and now.
~*~*~*~
When the morning arrived, she was already up and dressed. She had decided that tonight, on her first day of freedom, the first day of the rest of her life, she would celebrate with a festive dinner just for her own pleasure and with her own company. She was going to spoil herself rotten. She smiled slowly at her frivolity, so unlike the old her.
When the sun was getting close to noon, she had cleaned the whole place. She thoroughly ran down all indoor walls with a broom, taking care to capture the dusty spider webs in the corners. She really hated spiders. Oh God, how she hated spiders! The old raw pine floors she had polished and varnished a month earlier. It had taken her a whole weekend, but it was worth it. Now all she had to do was to go over them with the vacuum cleaner. The old multi-coloured rag carpets, a find in a second-hand store a couple of months back; she had taken out from the trunk of the car and spread out on the grass in front of the porch. She allowed them to breathe fresh air for almost an hour before giving them a good shake and then throwing them over the vacuumed pine.
The windows turned out to be the hard and slightly yucky part. It was the beginning of May, and spring had arrived with full force. When she opened them fat, just hatched bluebottle flies tumbled down. Momentarily stunned before they realised they where set free they crawled on the window board before taking off with a loud buzzing. When done with the windows, she had to take a shower to get rid of the creeping feeling on her skin.
Driving the car in to the close by town only took 20 minutes. As always, she enjoyed every minute spent behind the steering wheel. She found a free parking spot close to the entrance of the small local supermarket. She was in and out again in what felt like no time at all.
What happened to all the years, they flew by so quickly, too quickly! Lost in her own thoughts she filled the refrigerator with the evening’s expectations. One pound of fresh shrimp, it was luxury she admitted that much but she loved grilled shrimps. Veal chops, perhaps she could put them on the grill as well. Yes, she had made an effort. Strawberries, it was extravagant since it was the wrong season, and she knew just by the slightly artificial sweet fragrance that sipped through the plastic wrapping that they would not taste right. At the sight of the imported fresh potatoes from Spain, she had managed to halt herself. It would have to do with last years potatoes in the winter black sack. Maybe she could bake them in the oven to make them taste better.
After unpacking the groceries, she hurried together a pot of Earl Grey and made herself a couple of cheese sandwiches to go with the tea. Deciding that she was full enough to last until dinner she made the dishes and made a quick go at the patio furniture. They were easily cleaned, since all she had afforded to buy was cheap white plastic chairs and a matching round table.
The clock had not yet passed three in the afternoon. It was too early to start the preparations for dinner. She felt worn, the back ached slightly and her head was starting to pound. She allowed herself to consider an afternoon nap. She had made good use of herself today. Beside that, was she not supposed to start thinking about herself? It was just a week ago that she solemnly promised her doctor to not overdo herself and to get plenty of rest.
~*~*~*~
Chapter 1
She was floating, floating on her back in what felt like… warm water.
Once when she was young, only twenty-two years old, she had a two weeks long vacation in Jerusalem. Peter had invited her along and paid for the whole trip including a tour to the Dead Sea. The water was almost impossible to swim in because it was so saturated with salt. All she could do was float. To be able to move around, she had flipped over on her back and paddled her feet and legs. She remembered that the water had been close to the same temperature as her body, so if she closed her eyes she almost had the feeling of floating in mid air. It had been intoxicating. A once in a lifetime experience that gave her a feeling of being safe, being cared for; as if she was floating in her mother’s womb.
The realisation surprised her, she was not afraid at all. She was feeling very safe. More content than she had been in many years, perhaps more so than she ever had been.
There was the face again. She smiled in recognition, though it rather annoyed her that she could not quite focus her eyes. She squinted and tried to force her sight to obey, yield under her command. But every time she thought she had caught it, the face floated away. Long dark hair… Strands of raven silk… Woman’s hair… The eyes… The eyes of a man. Many things seen and unseen rested there, lurking just below the dark grey surface. The eyes like water reflections; observing and aware pools of kindness held her, caressed her. She felt like a deer trapped in the headlights of a car, unable to flee. Mesmerised, she was no longer sure she wanted to escape.
She tried to talk, wanted to ask for a name. So many questions rested within. But her mouth was no longer under her command, her tongue no longer under her will. Then suddenly, she heard words coming from her lips, words that had never rested in her mouth. Thoughts she had never thought, entered her mind. So many years that she had lived, with the person she wanted to be. So many women she had acted and tried to become, but never succeeded in doing it well. She must dare to just “be”, with memories of the child she once was but never became. Dare to let life choose, and dare to say yes.
- “Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier, ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë. Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?” she was speaking words she did not understand, did not even recognise her own voice. Chanting, words she should not be able to articulate yet they felt right. They felt like they belonged to her. (Translation: The long years have passed like swift draught, and all paths are drowned deep in shadow. Who now shall refill the cup for me?)
~*~*~*~
She woke up to the sound of her own voice, unfamiliar and unaccustomed words still rolling off her tongue. She had dreamt again.
This was unnerving. While peeling the shrimp and placing them in the bowl with lime-marinade, she kept finding herself smiling while thinking about the man from her dream. Now sure it was the face of a man that kept recurring in her dreams. In a way, it bugged her. Was she so starved for love, her body so hungry for attention that she had to dream up a lover? Would the lovers in her dreams eventually become younger, more handsome, more…?
- “I’m being pathetic!” she spouted out. Then shrugged annoyed with herself, trying to get her attention back on the task her hands were performing.
While the charcoal burned to a nice ember, she uncorked the bottle of red Cabernet Sauvignon she had brought with her. She knew she was not supposed to mix wine, or any other alcoholic beverage for that matter with her current medication. Nevertheless, she had decided to treat herself to one last bottle of her favourite wine. What harm could it really do? So, she poured herself a glass of ruby coloured pleasure and instantly dropped her nose into the glass. The wine had an intense bouquet of Cabernet along with spicy oakiness and a cherry nuance on top. On the palate, it was exceptionally well balanced, having a pleasant texture with modest tannins. It amused her how she today without effort, could properly name and describe the heart and soul of a wine. Peter had been a demanding and impatient teacher, and she had remained an ever-patient student. I guess it is like riding a bike, once you have it; the skill stays with you forever.
When the shrimp were ready for the grill, the rain started. Slowly at first but after a few minutes it gushed down. The embery coals fizzed and oozed in the pouring rain and by the time the veal chops were done, she had developed quite a bad cough. This was not how she had planned this evening. The feeling of loneliness, emptiness crept close until it had wrapped itself around her.
She had managed to save most of her dinner from being completely soaked. Now she was trying to get back into her previously cheerful mood. Things never or seldom turn out the way you have planned them. This was a lesson learned by life. She set the indoor dining table instead, and sat down, filled with a new determination to try to enjoy the wine and the food. As the wine bottle grew emptier, the headache from earlier in the day increased and she got up and grabbed a couple of the Darvon® pills that she found among the rest of her medication.
~*~*~*~
She was cold and wet. Her head pounded fiercely and she was captured by a nauseating dizziness. With an effort, she pulled herself up to her knees and hands. She badly needed to throw up. After what seemed like an eternity of heaving and vomiting, she tried to get to her feet, away from the nasty reminiscent of her dinner. Slowly she realised that she was outside, standing on all four on the lawn behind the house. Yes, she had been on her way to her car to… to… to get something. She did not remember what though. She understood that she needed to get inside, and quickly so. She was chilled to the bone, shivering uncontrollably.
The sound of her own coughing made her afraid that she was starting to develop yet a new pneumonia. That would count as the third one this year alone. While trying to fight the waves of nausea that once again fell over her, she clutched the grass and the dizziness increased as she was slowly getting up on her two feet. She took a couple of staggering steps, steadying herself against the wood panelling on the back of the house. Dry heaves raging her body. Badly needing to vomit again, she turned and bent away seeing the ground closing in way to fast as she with a muffled cry hit the dirt. Then there was nothing.
~ Next Chapter ~
~ Library Main ~
~ Author Index ~ Character Index ~ Title Index ~
~ Hall Of Fire ~ Gallery ~
~ Links ~ Shops ~ Map ~ News ~ Rules ~ Lists ~ ~
This page is in no way affiliated with New Line Cinema or Tolkien Enterprises, and no profit is being made.
The information contained herein is NOT to be used to spam or in any other way harrass its members. Be advised that abuse of this site will not be tolerated, and the appropriate legal action will be taken.
Hall-Of-Fire.Com v.4.0, Copyright © 2003, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2007, 2008, 2009 by Cristine Cook-Fireheart. All rights reserved. This web site may not be reproduced in any form, except as occurs in normal browser caching, without express written permission from the author.
Website by Infinite Connections Design.
