Welcome, happy readers! I am a month and about two hours late for posting this on the 10th Anniversary of the initial posting of the first chapter of Stranger Things. Happy belated, I guess.
This is not strictly (or in any way, actually) a sequel of that work, but the two stories share characters and take place in the same universe. This story occurs roughly 6 years after that one. They also happen to have been written by the same person. However, having read that story is not a prerequisite for enjoying this one, or at least I hope that is the case.
The prologue is short... but there is much more written and outlined... It is also unbeta'd, so if you are at least semi-literate and love Lord of the Rings, feel free to volunteer to be my beta for this story. I don't provide dental, but the other perks are decent... Okay, the only perk I can offer is getting to read the chapters before they're posted and having some influence on the story. Not too shabby...
So anyway, as I was so fond of saying 10 years ago: Read. Enjoy Review.
Birmingham, UK – Early 1918
The night was dark and the stars were veiled. Out of the blackness, two tall shadows appeared, hooded and cloaked. They walked quickly down the cobblestone streets, silent as death. Aside from them, not a soul stirred, giving the neighborhood an unnatural feel.
Suddenly the two figures stopped walking and looked up at the small house in front of them. As one they lowered their hoods.
"Is this the place?" the first one asked, glancing behind him. He was identical to the other, save for a small scar by his left ear.
"I believe so, brother." They stood in silence surveying the building for several moments before the first one spoke again.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he questioned, frowning at his brother.
With a barely perceptible grimace, the second one pulled his hood back over his head. "It is what the king has advised."
"Him!" The first one snorted and contempt was clear in his voice.
"Shh. You still hold that grudge for what he did during the crusades?" He shook his head. "Peace, brother. Let us do this and be gone." He reached towards the door in front of them but the other grabbed his hand, preventing him from knocking.
"I'm not sure this is wise."
With a sigh, the second one pulled his hand out of the other's grasp. "We have discussed this several times. We must introduce ourselves gradually in order to gain support. It would not do to march to their rulers and announce ourselves." He gripped the other one's shoulder. "Long we have watched them; this is the best way and it must be done now. Already the stirrings of shadow have begun." He pulled a large volume out of his cloak and handed it to the other figure. "Go now, or else all is lost."
With a final shake of his head, the first one pulled up his hood as well. He placed the large red-bound book on the porch steps and knocked twice.
By the time a young man came to answer the door, no one could be seen on the street. He was about to close the door and return to his studies when he looked down at the ground. He retrieved the book from its resting place and ran a gentle hand over the ancient looking cover. With his brows drawn in a frown he gazed off into the distance and asked the night a fateful question.
"What is 'Westmarch'?"
Somewhere in Gemenc forest, Hungary – November 1955
"I have felt a stirring."
Thranduil did not look up from his book; he did not need to. "I feel nothing." He could see Celeborn's grimace perfectly well out of the corner of his eye.
"I know, old friend; all too well." Celeborn gently pressed the book down into Thranduil's lap but the former elf king still didn't meet his gaze. "Over the years you have perfected the art of not feeling.
Thranduil bristled at the implication, at the out and out accusation that his emotions were clouding his better judgment. Of the two of them, hadn't he been the only one to rule a realm? That is, without the help of a Noldo with a Ring of Power. Celeborn must have sensed his annoyance because he apologized almost immediately.
"Forgive me, mellon; I was out of line. But it is frustrating, feeling the comings of a shadow and knowing not what to do, how to act, and having nobody with whom to speak of it."
"Perhaps you imagine it, wishing that there was a stirring to explain or even justify our miserable continued existence. Perhaps you hope for some malice to be brewing so there is a reason and a purpose to our lives, and we were not just forgotten and discarded by those we prayed to and held dear all those years."
Celeborn shook his head, disgust plain on his face. "How easily you have turned to bitterness."
Thranduil slammed his hands against the arms of his chair. "How can you not be bitter? You've lost your family as well; they too have gone where we cannot follow."
"Yes, our families are long gone." Celeborn put a comforting hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "Come back with me, to America. It is new there; there are no memories of what once was to haunt you."
Thranduil answered, almost in a daze. "I can still hear the trees lament the passing of the elves. How can I bring myself to leave?"
"Perhaps it would be better to leave, to move on," Celeborn said, his voice nearly a whisper.
Thranduil kept his eyes on his hands, watching as he turned the book over in his lap. "How can I move on? Here remain the memories of my wife, my son. How can I leave that?"
Celeborn stayed silent for so long Thranduil almost thought he'd missed him leaving. Eventually he felt one more pat on his shoulder.
"I'll be in touch, Thranduil." Celeborn reached the door and paused. "And if you should change your mind, I will gladly welcome you into my home."