Many Acknowledgements: To Mary and Mal, authors of the stunning Thranduil stories found at www dot thranduil dot net, for their original character Thaladir (Thranduil's seneschal); paid homage to in this story as "Thanadir".
To co-author Spamberguesa, for bringing in her OC's from the Ettelëaverse series (they appear in later chapters), and for help and support with all things Irish and Ireland. Chapters that are co-written with Spamberguesa will be acknowledged in the notes at the beginning.
To Lilith di Libri, for both proofreading and providing valuable insights.
To the authors of every piece of educational material on the entire Internet regarding the Sindarin language in general, and the Sindarin for Beginners Facebook group in particular. And to my own bottles of red wine, because the language really is not easy to learn.
This story does not adhere to the canon of Tolkien's elves, especially on the "rules" for elven marriage, fading, and more. Seriously, don't buy into a word of it.
Earlene stepped off the plane at Donegal International Airport, feeling desperately tired after traveling so far, and enduring a tedious layover. And perhaps, feeling so filled with inner trepidation as well. Going through the terminal at JFK had proven to be a more emotional experience than she'd bargained for. That she was truly leaving New York, and America along with it, never to return...the emotions that might go along with it had not crossed her mind.. As the aircraft devoured the miles over the Atlantic on its way to Dublin, she tried to reassure herself with her usual intellectual reasoning that all would be well; this journey was the culmination of years of careful planning.
Focus, discipline, unwavering dedication and determination characterized her life to date. A number of prestigious scholarships had seen her though a stellar academic career. At the end of four years of difficult study beyond her bachelor's degree, she graduated from Columbia Law School with an emphasis on corporate practice. Shortly afterward she passed the bar exam with flying colors, and the rewards for her efforts followed.
Earlene was snapped up immediately by a prestigious Madison Street firm that aggressively recruited from among the top graduates, and her rise within the firm was meteoric. And now, at not quite forty years of age, that same blazing determination to succeed in her career had morphed into a blazing determination to assume another kind of life. While there had been great personal satisfaction in gaining high regard, prestige, and the intellectual challenges of her career, a sense of hollowness followed as well. When she had reached thirty-five, after only about ten years in active practice, it became clear to her that she had further goals, however strange they may have seemed to others.
She remembered the day vividly, when her feelings had coalesced. After a long day in the office, she'd decided to treat herself to an early evening run in Central Park. On every occasion in which she indulged herself on the winding footpaths, she found herself drawn to Cleopatra's Needle. As she stared at it, admiringly, for the umpteenth dozenth time, it finally sank in. She might be here, solidly established as a New Yorker, but she belonged here about as much as this obelisk did. Deep inside, she wanted something else...and now she was finally aware of it.
Her solitary nature, which had allowed her to devote nearly her every waking moment to her career, wanted yet more solitude. And a chance to spend her time as she chose, perhaps explore parts of life that she had been forced to leave behind. Of Irish descent, she had nurtured a fantasy for years of living in the Emerald Isle, someday. It would be a huge transition from her apartment in Queens, and her job in Manhattan. She had embraced New York City all of these years with ease, because nowhere else could one be surrounded by millions of people and yet be completely alone, in quite the same way. With wisdom passed down from her father, she had lived unassumingly given her salary, and invested her earnings wisely. Her parents had insisted on helping her, when she enrolled at Columbia, invest in a small two-bedroom condo that looked over the East River toward Manhattan. While reimbursing her parents and taking on the mortgage had bitten deeply into the early years of her salary, the price for which it had sold had made those sacrifices more than worthwhile. In addition, a surprise inheritance from her parents, of a magnitude that she could not have guessed at, left her free to make nearly any choice within reason.
It had still not been an easy decision. Over three years ago, after extensive research and vetting through a variety of business contacts, she had hired an agent to begin the process of helping her to find a place in which to live overseas, as well as all that would be involved in a permanent relocation. In what free time she allowed herself, she pursued her dream, and prepared. Her requirements had been simple: to have land (preferably five to ten hectares) with a functional dwelling, access to water and approved for agricultural use, and as much solitude as possible. If it had serviceable outbuildings, so much the better.
The agent had warned her about the assorted fees and the stamp duty and every other possible cost...but she could not have anticipated it when over a year ago, it came back to her that a solid possibility had been located. It was an odd parcel of almost eleven hectares, that butted up against Lasg'len Forest. Part of the parcel was wooded, and all of it was considered to be devalued agricultural land on account of the need to remove far too many trees for farming purposes. She was certain, that she could manage the parcel for her needs. One family had held it in trust for the past century, and it had come up for private sale. The more documentation and photos she was shown, the more she was certain the property was a dream come true. The best part of all was, it hadn't cost remotely what it seemed like it ought to...as if she were once again in the right place at the right time. Many things in her life had gone thus; though she had worked hard, Earlene felt somewhat charmed, as though she had a bit of luck with her. Though, she didn't believe in luck. Education, learning, and logical thinking had brought her through life, and she had little use for ideas that ran outside those parameters.
Passing through customs with her laptop and a very small array of personal necessities, she was to meet her agent's contact. This woman would drive her out to her new home. After far too much research, she had decided to forego even trying to obtain the right to drive in Ireland anytime soon; the requirements, fees, and red tape involved were truly a nightmare for anyone coming out of the United States. Plus, she was arriving with an investment portfolio that, short of the collapse of society, would allow for her financial freedom. A bicycle with a detachable trailer would be her sophisticated transport to a nearby village for groceries and small purchases; this move was to live in solitude, not go hobnobbing all the time. If she really needed a ride somewhere, she could afford to hire it until she worked out the public systems. And for the rest of it, there was the fabulous world of online shopping.
The agent met her, dressed in a suitably professional manner for Earlene's tastes. While she was not overly vain about her own above-average looks, her career had taught her the value of good grooming. She dressed conservatively, wore just enough makeup to enhance her appearance, and maintained physical fitness as part of the regimen of her career. Her glossy dark brown hair was kept shoulder length, allowing her to transform it into a style appropriate for the office at a moment's notice. If there was one detraction from her appearance, it would be that her demeanor was one of great reservation. Effusive smiles and cheer were not something that brought a woman far, in the competitive and serious world she'd inhabited.
About an hour's time would be required to reach their destination, and she was debriefed on the remainder of the arrangements that had been prepared. She was handed keys to the home, an envelope of cash that had been exchanged on her behalf, documentation on the shipment of her personal effects and their expected time of arrival, reference materials, on and on. It pleased her to see that all of this information had been laid out in an organized format, neatly assembled in a binder. This was the manner in which she herself worked, and expected no less from those she had hired. Earlene was professionally polite, but inside of herself felt practically giddy at the thought of reaching her destination and sleeping off the incredible fatigue she felt. No matter how great the level of her organization, the last days of preparation for this transition had taken their toll.
At last, they pulled in, and she stepped out of the vehicle. Onto her land. Her home. The sense of this finally having happened flooded into her, though she was too disciplined to show any emotion. It was impossible to avoid noticing the largest beech tree she had ever seen, right at the edge of the driveway, and that many smaller specimens graced the rear of the property, along with birch and others. She was led inside, and shown courteously the basic features of the home, and that there were reference materials for these as well. The documentation had been prepared by someone who had also lived in the States...and understood the differences in managing the affairs of daily life in Ireland and America. There was a generous supply of food in the pantry, and a well-stocked small refrigerator. A fire had been lit in the wood stove, and telephone and computer service and other utilities had already been connected. Some bottles of wine for welcome had even been left for her, and a local handyman/caretaker would be by every two days to check on necessities, and solve any further issues, as she accustomed herself to her new life.
Thanking the woman profusely, she was at long last left in her home with an immeasurable sigh of relief. Though, now that she was alone, she found that she had just a little more energy. She had to at least look around, after waiting so long. But first...she added more wood to the stove, filled the kettle with a view to some tea, and sliced some of the fruit she saw on the counter. After eating a few pieces, and with a steaming mug in her hands, she walked to see the acreage. Some old and sadly neglected, but redeemable, fruit trees met her eyes, as well as many potential garden sites. Her summers, growing up and even into her first years of college, had been spent with grandparents that had tenaciously kept a small farm until they passed on.
Earlene owed her good start in life to the fact that her own father had rejected the idea of farming from a young age. Not wanting to have the life of hard work and heartaches he saw his parents endure, he had applied himself diligently, eventually becoming a highly regarded surgeon. That same ethic of self-discipline had been instilled into his daughter and son. And yet, she'd spent her summers well into young adulthood on gran's farm, and had become thoroughly acquainted with the work. She might not be able to operate an entire farm alone, but everything about growing, machinery, canning and cooking...that she knew. Her brother Aidan had had very different interests; after they had finally flown the nest they rarely saw each other, except on the rare family holidays when everyone travelled back home. With any luck, a few dairy goats would be hers before long, and she would begin the process of keeping busy in her little world.
Walking to the wooded part, she looked up. The trees were just beginning to bud; winter kept its grip here much as it did in New York. It was fortuitous that she could arrive when she did, and take advantage of what would pass for the growing season here. She had always liked the white bark of beeches. As she walked past them, she trailed her hand along the trunks. "Mine," she said, hardly believing her luck. Faintly, she heard an echo, but in what seemed like a masculine voice. It seemed far away, yet determined. Mine. She laughed, feeling deliriously silly in her tiredness. "Mine, mine, mine!" she pushed back, giggling. Once again, she heard it. Stronger. Mine.
"Clearly, it is time for rest", she mumbled to herself with a slight degree of concern, sipping her tea. Returning to the house, she closed up. Her grandparents had never locked anything on their farm, but this wasn't there, and better safe than sorry. She finished her fruit, and looked at the rooms. This was basically a large cottage, but the single bedroom did contain a rather large bed for one person; basically a queen sized mattress. Finishing her tea and making ready for bed, she damped down the stove and filled it for the night. Pulling the covers over herself, she shut down her cell phone. She had no intention of waking until she'd taken all the rest she wanted.