Author's Note: This is...sort of, a fan fiction of a fan fiction. It is ArwenAria18's wonderful story A Sense of Belonging, the beginning anyway, with my characters thrown in. I have a chronic case of Wouldn't It Be Fun If?, and before Aria's story was done I had somehow created these two sisters who wanted in on the action. It's not ABSOLUTELY necassary, but you'll understand what's going on much better if you've already read ArwenAria18's A Sense of Belonging.
And that is how Belonging to Someone came to be; Really it is intended only to entertain myself and ArwenAria18, and while it wasn't originally meant to be a Mary Sue, yes, Rhian does do all the things I would do, and yes, Aria does do all the things ArwenAria18 would do, so sue us. This new author's note is to say that yes, these first few chapters are pretty awful, but I hope my writing has improved as the story goes on, and when it is finished I'm going to come back and revise the beginning. Just so you now.
Notes Pertaining to the Story: For those familiar with A Sense of Belonging, this begins at the point when Aria breaks down after the elves found the body of the drunk, when she had been in Rivendell for (if I got it right) a little over a week. As with ArwenAria18's fic, this whole first chapter has nothing to do with Middle Earth, you're just being introduced to the characters.
Prologue
"...and then he threw it at her, and they all laughed, Erin, even the teacher! I do not think I've ever been so angry, I almost walked out!" Rhian dumped her backpack in one of the kitchen chairs. "I should have. I would have, if I'd thought it would have helped. But I should have anyway. That was over a week ago and I'm still burning over it!"
"People are like that, Rhian."
"Well they need someone to take a stick to them. A big one. Right over the skull. Hard enough to knock some sense and respect into them." Rhian flicked her long black hair over her shoulder, where it hung down her back to mid-thigh. Large green eyes with thick lashes glared at everything as she banged through the cabinets. Throwing stuff around made her feel better. Her nature was fierce and impetuous, with the fiery Irish temper of her Celtic ancestry. Her twin sister Erin was just as fierce, but in a less obvious, quieter way; the two were almost opposite mirror images. Their features were identical, their height was the same, and they both let their hair grow long, but Erin's was pale blonde, and her eyes were gray. The two had never been apart through elementary and high school, until they had been accepted to separate colleges in the same city. So they shared an apartment. A brown tabby cat jumped up unto the table, and Rhian scooped him up. "Off the table Taliesin, you bad kitty." She put him on the floor. "Erin, do you know when Rosie's coming? If she gets here in time I want to take her to see you dance."
Rosie was their six year old cousin, a bright eyed, curly haired red head, whose real name was Rosalyn. "She'll be here any minute. I still have to get dressed." There was a knock on the door. "That would be her. I'll go get my costume on and grab my gear."
"'Kay." Erin disappeared into her room, and Rhian went to answer the second knock. Rosie hurled herself into her stomach with an ecstatic squeal.
"Cuzin 'Ian!"
"Oof! Hiya Rosie." Rhian scooped her up and tossed her in the air. "Hey Jon," she said over her shoulder to Rosie's big step-brother. "How's my favorite new cousin surviving?" The tall nineteen year old grinned. Dark eyed and dark haired, he looked like a younger version of his father, a broad shouldered policeman who was almost as quiet as his son. He'd married Rosie's mother almost seven months ago, and Rosie was instantly his biggest fan, and Jonathan's. Now he reached over to tousle her fiery red curls.
"We're getting on all right. Dad says we'll pick her up in a few hours, if you can stand her chatter that long." Rosie made a face at him, and he returned it in kind.
"We'll live. I'll take our favorite red head to see her cousin dance, how's that?"
"Yeah!" Rosie cried, and squirmed out of Rhian's arms. "Where's the kitty kat?"
Rhian laughed. "Attention span of a butterfly. I think Taliesin is hiding under the couch." Actually he was probably hiding under her bed, but Rosie didn't need to know that. Besides, he might be under the couch. Rosie darted off to look, with a cry of 'bye Jon-jon!' over her shoulder.
"I feel sorry for the poor animal," Jon said.
Rhian grinned. "Me too. See you later Jon."
"Bye. Bye Rosie!"
Erin stood on tiptoe, stretched her arms over her head, hands bent gracefully, and began a slow turn, sliding her right leg out and sinking until her body was parallel to the floor. Her ballet costume was blue and silver; blue leotard with its broad neckline with silver embroidered gauze ruffles pretending to be short sleeves, wrap skirt of blue gauze rippling gracefully past her knees, sparkling with silver embroidery, and slippers of blue satin. Her long blonde hair was twisted up onto her head. Rhian sat cross legged on the floor, and Rosie was curled up in her lap.
Erin had started dancing because her parents made her, just like they made her take gymnastics, piano, and the flute. Erin had continued dancing because she loved it. She still played the flute as well, sometimes accompanying other dancers, but dance, especially ballet, was her first love. Her sister Rhian had been forced into dance too, but she had preferred gymnastics, and then moved on to martial arts. But her passion was music, and her voice was a soft, velvety alto -- Erin sang with a crystal clear soprano, but now she got up from the floor, done with her prep, and called Rhian over.
"Get off Rosie, my legs are asleep." Rosie crawled off and climbed up into a badly worn wing chair. Rhian got up and stretched, wincing at the pins and needles in her legs, and hobbled to her backpack to get her lap harp. She flicked her hair out of the way so she could sit again, on a wooden chair this time. Gently her fingers caressed the strings, and her voice lifted to glide through the sun drenched air.
"Why weep ye by the tide, lady,
Why weep ye by the tide,
I'll wed ye tae my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride.
And ye shall be his bride, lady, sae comely tae be seen,
Ah, but I she rues, the tears doon fall,
For Jock O'Hazeldean."
Erin slid smoothly through the steps of her dance, the music washing through her and guiding her movements. As her sister's voice faded away, she opened her eyes and realized her hair had tumbled down, swirling around her arms and shoulders. Rhian smiled at her.
"Perfect."
Erin was still in her costume when they reached the apartment, a sleepy Rosie slung over her shoulder, and found Jonathan and his father Bryan leaning against the wall outside the door.
"Oh! I'm sorry," Rhian said, softly, so that she wouldn't wake Rosie. "Have you been here long?"
"Not long at all," Bryan told her. He had a deep, warm voice, and a gentle chivalrous nature already evident in his son. Rhian was glad for her aunt; Rosie had been born under...unhappy...circumstances. Bryan meant the world to her, she knew.
"Hang on and I'll open the door...Rosie's stuff is still here." Rhian got the door unlocked, and Erin went in to lay a now half awake Rosie on the couch. Her gym bag was still slung on one shoulder, and Taliesin used it to climb up and drape himself around her neck.
"Hi kitty..." she muttered. Rhian hadn't taken her backpack off either, because she was busy searching for Rosie's purple daisy covered bag...Rosie herself, sitting up and blinking, saw it on the shelf. It looked like she could reach it...not quite...but the shelves were just like a ladder, she could climb ladders...she started up, stretching to reach the bag, when the shelves started to tip...Bryan and Jonathan both turned at the same time, Rhian cried out in horror, Erin caught the edge of the bookshelf...and a large, red bound copy of The Lord of the Rings tumbled down, fell open...and warm golden light spread out from it, reached up to catch Rosie, and then...somehow...gathered Rhian, Erin, Jonathan, and Bryan into it, withdrew back into itself, and...
And that is how Belonging to Someone came to be; Really it is intended only to entertain myself and ArwenAria18, and while it wasn't originally meant to be a Mary Sue, yes, Rhian does do all the things I would do, and yes, Aria does do all the things ArwenAria18 would do, so sue us. This new author's note is to say that yes, these first few chapters are pretty awful, but I hope my writing has improved as the story goes on, and when it is finished I'm going to come back and revise the beginning. Just so you now.
Notes Pertaining to the Story: For those familiar with A Sense of Belonging, this begins at the point when Aria breaks down after the elves found the body of the drunk, when she had been in Rivendell for (if I got it right) a little over a week. As with ArwenAria18's fic, this whole first chapter has nothing to do with Middle Earth, you're just being introduced to the characters.
Prologue
"...and then he threw it at her, and they all laughed, Erin, even the teacher! I do not think I've ever been so angry, I almost walked out!" Rhian dumped her backpack in one of the kitchen chairs. "I should have. I would have, if I'd thought it would have helped. But I should have anyway. That was over a week ago and I'm still burning over it!"
"People are like that, Rhian."
"Well they need someone to take a stick to them. A big one. Right over the skull. Hard enough to knock some sense and respect into them." Rhian flicked her long black hair over her shoulder, where it hung down her back to mid-thigh. Large green eyes with thick lashes glared at everything as she banged through the cabinets. Throwing stuff around made her feel better. Her nature was fierce and impetuous, with the fiery Irish temper of her Celtic ancestry. Her twin sister Erin was just as fierce, but in a less obvious, quieter way; the two were almost opposite mirror images. Their features were identical, their height was the same, and they both let their hair grow long, but Erin's was pale blonde, and her eyes were gray. The two had never been apart through elementary and high school, until they had been accepted to separate colleges in the same city. So they shared an apartment. A brown tabby cat jumped up unto the table, and Rhian scooped him up. "Off the table Taliesin, you bad kitty." She put him on the floor. "Erin, do you know when Rosie's coming? If she gets here in time I want to take her to see you dance."
Rosie was their six year old cousin, a bright eyed, curly haired red head, whose real name was Rosalyn. "She'll be here any minute. I still have to get dressed." There was a knock on the door. "That would be her. I'll go get my costume on and grab my gear."
"'Kay." Erin disappeared into her room, and Rhian went to answer the second knock. Rosie hurled herself into her stomach with an ecstatic squeal.
"Cuzin 'Ian!"
"Oof! Hiya Rosie." Rhian scooped her up and tossed her in the air. "Hey Jon," she said over her shoulder to Rosie's big step-brother. "How's my favorite new cousin surviving?" The tall nineteen year old grinned. Dark eyed and dark haired, he looked like a younger version of his father, a broad shouldered policeman who was almost as quiet as his son. He'd married Rosie's mother almost seven months ago, and Rosie was instantly his biggest fan, and Jonathan's. Now he reached over to tousle her fiery red curls.
"We're getting on all right. Dad says we'll pick her up in a few hours, if you can stand her chatter that long." Rosie made a face at him, and he returned it in kind.
"We'll live. I'll take our favorite red head to see her cousin dance, how's that?"
"Yeah!" Rosie cried, and squirmed out of Rhian's arms. "Where's the kitty kat?"
Rhian laughed. "Attention span of a butterfly. I think Taliesin is hiding under the couch." Actually he was probably hiding under her bed, but Rosie didn't need to know that. Besides, he might be under the couch. Rosie darted off to look, with a cry of 'bye Jon-jon!' over her shoulder.
"I feel sorry for the poor animal," Jon said.
Rhian grinned. "Me too. See you later Jon."
"Bye. Bye Rosie!"
Erin stood on tiptoe, stretched her arms over her head, hands bent gracefully, and began a slow turn, sliding her right leg out and sinking until her body was parallel to the floor. Her ballet costume was blue and silver; blue leotard with its broad neckline with silver embroidered gauze ruffles pretending to be short sleeves, wrap skirt of blue gauze rippling gracefully past her knees, sparkling with silver embroidery, and slippers of blue satin. Her long blonde hair was twisted up onto her head. Rhian sat cross legged on the floor, and Rosie was curled up in her lap.
Erin had started dancing because her parents made her, just like they made her take gymnastics, piano, and the flute. Erin had continued dancing because she loved it. She still played the flute as well, sometimes accompanying other dancers, but dance, especially ballet, was her first love. Her sister Rhian had been forced into dance too, but she had preferred gymnastics, and then moved on to martial arts. But her passion was music, and her voice was a soft, velvety alto -- Erin sang with a crystal clear soprano, but now she got up from the floor, done with her prep, and called Rhian over.
"Get off Rosie, my legs are asleep." Rosie crawled off and climbed up into a badly worn wing chair. Rhian got up and stretched, wincing at the pins and needles in her legs, and hobbled to her backpack to get her lap harp. She flicked her hair out of the way so she could sit again, on a wooden chair this time. Gently her fingers caressed the strings, and her voice lifted to glide through the sun drenched air.
"Why weep ye by the tide, lady,
Why weep ye by the tide,
I'll wed ye tae my youngest son,
And ye shall be his bride.
And ye shall be his bride, lady, sae comely tae be seen,
Ah, but I she rues, the tears doon fall,
For Jock O'Hazeldean."
Erin slid smoothly through the steps of her dance, the music washing through her and guiding her movements. As her sister's voice faded away, she opened her eyes and realized her hair had tumbled down, swirling around her arms and shoulders. Rhian smiled at her.
"Perfect."
Erin was still in her costume when they reached the apartment, a sleepy Rosie slung over her shoulder, and found Jonathan and his father Bryan leaning against the wall outside the door.
"Oh! I'm sorry," Rhian said, softly, so that she wouldn't wake Rosie. "Have you been here long?"
"Not long at all," Bryan told her. He had a deep, warm voice, and a gentle chivalrous nature already evident in his son. Rhian was glad for her aunt; Rosie had been born under...unhappy...circumstances. Bryan meant the world to her, she knew.
"Hang on and I'll open the door...Rosie's stuff is still here." Rhian got the door unlocked, and Erin went in to lay a now half awake Rosie on the couch. Her gym bag was still slung on one shoulder, and Taliesin used it to climb up and drape himself around her neck.
"Hi kitty..." she muttered. Rhian hadn't taken her backpack off either, because she was busy searching for Rosie's purple daisy covered bag...Rosie herself, sitting up and blinking, saw it on the shelf. It looked like she could reach it...not quite...but the shelves were just like a ladder, she could climb ladders...she started up, stretching to reach the bag, when the shelves started to tip...Bryan and Jonathan both turned at the same time, Rhian cried out in horror, Erin caught the edge of the bookshelf...and a large, red bound copy of The Lord of the Rings tumbled down, fell open...and warm golden light spread out from it, reached up to catch Rosie, and then...somehow...gathered Rhian, Erin, Jonathan, and Bryan into it, withdrew back into itself, and...