So, here we are. Those of you who have come over from Lost to the Ages to see sweet Legolas finally have his own romance, I will do my best to make his story interesting and enjoyable, and continue his character development from LTTA. I will also try to answer more questions from that story regarding the mystery of getting from Middle-earth to the earth that is mostly like ours, or vice versa. In this AU, since our world is a real, parallel world to Middle-earth, there will never be any familiarity for Laurelin regarding anything to do with The Hobbit or LOTR novels, because they don't exist for her.
To readers who are just looking for a Legolas/OC romance, you don't need to read my other story for this one to make sense. Anything I reference from LTTA I try to explain enough to avoid any confusion for new readers. :)
Quick note on language: I use Old English for Rohirric.
After that lengthy introduction, I present to you the prologue and 1st chapter.
Prologue
"Hey Siri, call Sugarbear."
Flipping open the visor mirror, Laurelin carefully applied her lip-liner and the red lipstick she always wore for performances. It was one of her long standing good luck rituals, and like so many artists, she was very superstitious and reluctant to do anything that might jeopardize a positive streak of gigs.
"Now calling Sugarbear," replied the pleasant British male voice she currently had her iPhone's Siri set to. While she waited for her brother to pick up, she dusted on a bit of powder and made sure her hair looked decent. She still had a few minutes left until she had to go inside and get set up. Her brother's groggy voice finally came on the line.
"Laurelin, is that you, girl? Are you alright, is anything wrong?"
She slapped a hand to her forehead. "Hey Vin, it's me, nothing's wrong. I'm so sorry, I forgot about the time difference. I didn't mean to wake you up, I'm about to go into a little pub and play, and I just wanted to hear your voice. I'm just...I don't know."
"It's alright, hun, I'd rather talk to you than sleep. Have you got a weapon on you, just in case any of those New Zealand boys have one too many and try to get frisky?"
She laughed and shook her head. Her brother had always been obsessed with her safety, and probably always would be. "I have two butterfly blades tucked into my boots, and a hunting knife in my luggage. Would you relax? New Zealand is a very safe country, nothing like when I went to Morocco."
Vincent grunted. "There are nuts around every corner, you know that. How was your trip there? Were the flights okay?"
"It was fine. I got stuck between two old grannies for the longer flight, but I didn't mind, it was almost like getting to visit with Mawmaw again."
He chuckled before he went silent. "Did you talk to Dad and Momma and let them know you got there safe?"
She sighed and picked at a hangnail. "I called Daddy at the office. I'm not ready to talk to Momma yet, not after her weird freak-out when I told her I was coming here."
Vincent breathed a sigh into the phone, and she could hear him pouring something into a glass. "Don't be too hard on her, you know she just wanted you to grow up normal and protected, and not be affected by what she sees as her mistake."
She shook her head. "Well shit, Vincent, I just love knowing that I'm the family mistake."
"Dammit, Laurelin, that's not what I meant and you know it. Do what you think you need to there to make peace with it, and then get your ass home. It's time for you to settle down. Maybe you could open a tree farm or something. Charge people to come and commune with nature, and play and sing for 'em while they do. You could probably make a fortune off all the folks from California that would go for that."
"Oh hush, you nut," she laughed, then sobered with other thoughts. "Hey Vincent, blood or not, you know I love you. You're my favorite brother."
"That might mean a little more if I wasn't also your only brother," he said dryly, making Laurelin grin. "But I love you too, hun. Knock 'em dead with your music tonight, and let me hear from you again soon, alright?"
"Alright, bye Sugarbear." She pressed the end call button with a smile still on her face, then smirked.
"Hey Siri, did I make the right choice coming to New Zealand?"
The phone beeped, and the male British Siri voice answered. "I think you'll find out the answer to that question very soon, Laurelin."
She opened her mouth and then frowned. "Well, that's definitely a new one on me. You must have downloaded an update. Hey Siri, wish me luck!"
After the beep, Siri spoke up. "Break a leg, Laurelin! On second thought, please don't."
Smiling, she turned off her phone, shoved it in her bag and got out of the car. Quickly retrieving her violin, guitar and sheet music, she squared her shoulders and headed for the main door of the pub with a spring in her step and a smile on her face.
Chapter One
Laurelin rolled to a stop in the tiny rental car she drove, and yanked the hand brake before reaching for the free map she had picked up at the airport in Christchurch when she first arrived. The little Irish pub she had performed at had been a short drive from the crossroads, and with the night so dark, she couldn't really make out the terrain, but surely there should be some sort of lights to show Ashburton. Even with such a thick cloud cover, there would be reflected light...wouldn't there?
It was only her second day in New Zealand, and she was glad her friend, Katy, had been able to get her a little job straight away, since the money always helped, but what she was really longing to do was to get out and explore, both the countryside and Maori culture. Laurelin had a deep respect for indigenous peoples and their very rich histories. She liked nothing better than to hear stories and tales from village elders, or the closest equivalent, and she had spent many happy nights around an open fire doing just that. No book could rival the storytelling that came straight from the mouth of another human being.
Her music was what allowed her to travel and indulge that desire, having spent much of the past nine years as what her older brother, Vincent, referred to as a musical nomad. Laurelin did not own her own home like her brother, staying instead with her parents during the brief time she spent in Dallas, and kept no steady job, preferring to wander wherever she could get a paid gig playing and singing.
Her parents were disappointed when she decided against college after she graduated high school, but she argued that there was no better education than the wide world beyond the US. Other countries encouraged a 'gap year' for young people before starting university, she just decided a gap decade might be more her speed. Besides, she reasoned she could always look into higher education after she tired of wandering, or even just teach violin and guitar, which seemed to appease her family somewhat. Ultimately, since she made more than enough to pay her own way, there wasn't much else they could say to dissuade her.
But really, all that was just an excuse she told herself to justify her trip to New Zealand. Not six months earlier, her mother had dropped a giant bomb right in her lap: Mark wasn't really her father and Vincent wasn't really her brother. Her mother actually had a brief affair with someone she met during a summer internship studying the mountain environment near Ashburton, before returning to Dallas where she discovered she was pregnant. When Laurelin was still a baby in arms, her mother, Melissa, met Mark, who had been left a widower with his toddler son, Vincent.
They fell in love and married soon after, blending their family, but never revealing that fact to either of their children until that very year. Vincent had been just as shocked as she had, but he didn't get the dose of angst she did, because not only had he been the product of a loving marriage, his real mother had passed in a car crash, and he even had a grave he could visit.
Besides being a bastard, Laurelin had no clue who her father actually was beyond a grainy picture her mother had given her of the two of them together, or if he was even dead or alive. He certainly didn't know about her existence. She didn't even have a last name she could search for him with, and she was secretly very embarrassed that her mother had carried on with someone she knew so little about. Further, she had no information at all about his background, family or anything, since her mother claimed he had spoken very little English.
Puffing her cheeks full of air, she had nearly decided to turn the car around and go back the way she had come, but while she was lost in thought, the sky had opened up with such a thick curtain of rain that she couldn't see two feet beyond the front of the little car. Sighing, she shut off the engine after another moment, and pushed up the volume on her phone, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of Nacho's new single, Báilame, singing along with the chorus.
"Báilame, ie-ie,
con esa boca bésame,
con ese cuerpo arrópame,
Con tus manos siénteme.
~o~
"Báilame, ie-ie,
con un besito mójame,
con tu cintura gozaré,
con ese swing atrápame."
~o~
Having grown up in Texas, the Spanish language had a special place in her heart, and she loved to listen to and support other artist's singing. The voice could be truly magical, and transported her, evoking emotions in her like nothing else could, although she thought violin was a very close second.
A bright flash of lightning split the sky in front of her in a jagged zigzag, causing her to jerk in alarm, her heart pounding in a rapid rhythm. The cold from outside was seeping into the little car, now that the heater was no longer running, chilling her hands. Fumbling for her phone, she frowned when she saw there was no signal. Since she could check neither her location or the weather, she slid down a little in the driver's seat and tugged her velvet coat tighter against her.
Katy had promised they would share a bottle of wine and catch up after Laurelin returned from the pub, but getting lost, combined with the violence of the unexpected storm had effectively derailed those plans. In annoyance, she paused the music that was playing, no longer soothed by the sultry latin beat.
Time went by at a crawl, and there was no sign of the storm letting up. Twice she had turned the car back on to thaw out with the heater, debating getting back on the road and trying to crawl her way toward the direction she thought Ashburton lay. But when she turned the headlights on, she discovered a thick, impenetrable fog had settled around where she was stopped, and finally decided it might be too dangerous with the bizarre mix of the weather.
The car started to shake and shudder ominously and the sound of the rain was joined by an ear-splitting booming noise, even louder than thunder. Laurelin flung her hands out to grip the seat on one side and the car door on the other, shouting in terrified denial.
"An earthquake too? Oh, hell no!"
A bright light flashed blindingly, the air vibrating with electricity and the car permeated by the sudden smell of ozone. She clenched her eyes tightly closed, every muscle tensed with fear, and her heart trying desperately to beat its way out of her chest. For the very first time in her life, Laurelin fainted.
When consciousness slowly filtered back, daylight was shining brightly in her eyes. Groaning, Laurelin tried to stretch futilely from where she was crumpled across the driver's seat with her head resting against the window, and pushed open the car door and stepped out. While there were still a few clouds in the blue sky, there was no sign of the violent rains of the night before. She lifted her hands over her head until her back gave a satisfying crack. She had been in such an ungodly, awful position that her neck and shoulder were still throbbing painfully.
Turning in a slow circle, she looked across the landscape in confusion, wondering how on earth she could have gotten so far from the city. Where was the flippin road? For as far as she could see, there was grass, scrub, and gently rolling plains, with hills and mountains in the distance. Just how long had she been unconscious? The storm had completely washed out the road she had been traveling on, there was no other explanation. Reaching back inside, she snatched her phone and tried to call Katy. Her phone had no signal, but she tried it anyway, even attempting New Zealand's emergency number of 111 as a last resort.
Rubbing her brow in frustration, she finally climbed back in the car and pushed in the clutch to start the motor. Putting it into first gear, she turned around and slowly started driving back the way she had come. Although she had no paved road to follow, she knew she would eventually reach a town. If the storm and earthquake had been as bad as it seemed, the first thing she needed to do was let her family know that she was safe.
It was very slow going without a flat surface to drive on, and she crawled along in first, bumping and shaking over ruts and stones over the hilly ground, chewing her lip in worry as the needle on the fuel gauge got closer to empty. The sun was high overhead, and she had been driving more than three hours according to her phone clock when the engine sputtered pathetically and stopped.
She slapped the steering wheel in frustration, set the brake and climbed out of the car, running her hands through her hair as she looked around. Turning in a complete circle, there was nothing but rolling hills as far as the eye could see. How was it possible for her to become so thoroughly lost and removed from all people? How uninhabited was South Island, anyway? Shouldn't there at least be...sheep?
She walked around to the front of the car and sat on the hood. Well...surely her friend would have already reported her missing. Search planes or helicopters would easily spot her out in the open as she was. If they knew to look, and if they weren't too busy dealing with the aftermath of the earthquake. Looking toward the sky, Laurelin frowned when she realized she had not seen or heard any sign of aircraft, which was likely proof that all the emergency services were working wherever they were needed most, around the worst damage. She shook her head, beginning to truly worry about her prospects for the first time.
Opening the car door, she rummaged in her things, taking a quick inventory. She had a couple of granola bars and a pack of Smarties in her purse and an unopened bottle of water, but that wouldn't last long. Water was a far greater concern than anything else. Cracking open the plastic bottle, she took a small sip, just enough to moisten her mouth and screwed the cap back on. No telling how long she would have to make it last. Hopefully, not long.
Crushing the empty water bottle into a plastic pancake, Laurelin pitched the trash onto the floorboard of the little car and massaged her stiff neck. She had spent a miserable night sleeping in the car again, had finished the last of the water, and had nothing left to eat but a granola bar and the few Smarties she still had saved. Things were not looking promising.
She had changed out of her performance clothes into dark jeans, boots and a warm sweater, glad beyond words that she had her bag with all her stuff in it. Over the years of travel, she had learned to pack fairly light, and all she needed was contained in a single, average sized traveler's backpack.
"Dear Lord," she sighed. "If you're listening, please don't let me die in some remote patch of ground on South Island. I know I'll hear my brother crowing 'I told you so' all the way up to heaven."
Grabbing her guitar from the back seat, she opened the case and pulled out her instrument. She went and sat on the hood, strummed a few chords and smiled as a song came to her, one she knew by heart. She started singing Message In A Bottle by The Police, grinning at the irony and instantly feeling just a bit better.
"Just a castaway
An island lost at sea
Another lonely day
With no one here but me
~o~
"More loneliness
Than any one could bear
Rescue me before I fall into despair
~o~
"I'll send an SOS to the world
I'll send an SOS to the world
I hope that someone gets my
Message in a bottle"
~o~
A loud squealing that sounded like a pig caused Laurelin to stop mid-song and look around wildly in the twilight gloom. A rumbling she hadn't heard while playing and singing was growing louder, making her eyes widen while she scrambled off the hood and threw her guitar back into the car, feeling for the butterfly knife in her waistband. What she saw racing up the hill in the failing light of sunset made her squeak in alarm, jump in the car and hit the lock button, scrunching down in her seat and praying she had hallucinated the scary sight of horror movie monsters.
The rumbling grew louder and peeking through the passenger window she could see the noise came from a large group of riders on horseback quickly coming up the rise. They seemed to be aiming right for her…
She screamed and threw herself down onto the floorboard, covering her head with both hands. The sounds continued, seemingly growing louder now that she didn't have her eyes to distract her. There was no doubt in her mind that someone was most likely being murdered right outside the car. Brutally. Something smashed into the little car, making it rock violently.
Oh God, she thought desperately, why did I ever want to come to New Zealand? What good is a beautiful country if it's fatal! I just want to get out of here alive… Oh please, oh please, oh please...
By the time the terrible noise quieted enough to allow her curiosity to compel her to lift up enough to look around, she was covered in nervous sweat and had a killer cramp in her left butt cheek. She rubbed it gingerly while she slid into the passenger seat, the new sight in front of her much more welcome.
There were men with torches milling around calmly and leading horses behind them, while some were still mounted. But why were they all covered with big, scary weapons, and dressed like…
"Vikings," she whispered, and swallowed when one of the bigger looking men turned in his saddle to stare directly at her, as though he had heard her speak. She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. "Okay, so clearly a bunch of LARPers or reenactment fanatics, but maybe they can still help me." And stop talking to yourself aloud, she berated silently.
Hitting the button to unlock the door, she slid out and stood, immediately choking on the terrible, rancid smell that surrounded her. Coughing, she looked down at the decapitated head on the ground and stared in revulsion. It looked like some of the fantasy monsters she had seen at Comic Cons, maybe even movie set quality, but sheesh, did they even have to try and make it smell as bad as it looked? She felt sorry for the poor guy who had to wear that costume, complete with stench. Nasty.
She approached the big man on horseback who looked like the person who was in charge. He tracked her with his eyes as she came closer, and she waited as he dismounted and then stared up in surprise.
"Well damn, you're really tall, huh?"
The man frowned and pulled off his helmet, his eyes running up and down her body in blatant appraisal, making Laurelin roll her eyes inwardly. It was fine if a man approved of her figure, as long as he just looked and didn't try to touch. If he did try to touch her, she's be forced to kick his ass. As long as he would help her out by bending over so she could reach it, anyway. To be such a giant, the boy had obviously eaten his Wheaties growing up.
"ðætte ârfæstnes êower?" (Who are you?) He stepped closer, with no hint of a smile. "ðe cotlîf âræfnan êow ferian settan?" (Which village do you come from?)
Her smile slipped as her brows furrowed, trying to figure out what language he was speaking. Not one she was familiar with.
"Don't you speak English? That's… the language of New Zealand, along with Maori, isn't it?"
Another man approached, also eyeing her up, but with an even less friendly demeanor and started speaking with the first man. "Hit hê samðe samðsamð brême orgilde ûser werðêod. Gên hire of hê merehrægl mæstling elðêodisc ðêana ðæge pro bêgra seldcûð tunge." (She is as one of our folk. But her clothes are strange and she utters a strange tongue.)
The first man crossed his arms, staring down at her with a frown. "Man nân n¯ænne râd ûs of pro ic. Hêo scîete tîrêadig to ðæge pro of stîfig forðcyme." (She is not one of us. Her cloth is very fine and she acts of high birth.)
His eyes flicked beyond her and he walked over to the carriage she must have ridden. He touched the cool metal and walked slowly around the thing. "ðider m¯æð wægn ontêon ðe scridw¯æn?" (Where are the animals to pull this cart?)
"Yfel wyrcan n¯ænig pro oncunnan, mîn hlâfording." (I do not know, my lord.)
Laurelin trailed slowly behind the two men, finally giving up on her attempt to place the language. Considering they were dressed like Vikings, maybe it was some Scandinavian language, but that hardly mattered. She would have to rely on her charades skills, and not for the first time. Planting herself in front of the big man in charge, she pointed to herself and smiled brightly in a universal sign of friendliness.
"Laurelin."
She repeated the motion and her name until she could see in his eyes that he understood she was introducing herself. He pointed to her.
"Laurelin?" he tilted his head questioningly and she nodded. He pointed to his own chest. "Éomer."
"Éomer," she repeated carefully, and the barest smile lifted his lips, making her grin. She stuck her hand out to him. "Éomer, I'm happy to meet you."
He took her hand in his and bowed over it, just grazing her knuckles with his lips and looked to the man beside him after he released her.
"êower onsêon, Éothain?" Éomer murmured. "Hê bêga tîrêadig mid burgspræc." (You see, Éothain? She is a noble with courtly manners.) "ðætte hiera hê un−l¯æd hêore âcenning." (Everything about her shows she is of gentle birth.)
Éothain glanced at her. "Yonder fricca hire of hê folc?" (Where are her menfolk?) "ðolian êow mynian winnan mid hiera of hê?" (And what do you intend to do with her?)
Éomer held out his arm to Laurelin and she chuckled and wrapped her arm around his. He shot a look at his second and shrugged, then started back toward his horse, Firefoot, flashing a small smile at the woman beside him.
"âlæccan hiere of hê cuman cafortûn." (Take her to court.)
Laurelin stood frozen, watching the Viking riders, as she had dubbed them in her mind, piling the ugly monster things into a pile and setting them on fire. There was a disturbing amount of fake gore and general grossness, and she couldn't figure for the life of her why cos-players would want to burn up such expensive props and costumes after going to the trouble to make everything look so real, and...smell so real… But...it couldn't be real. Could it? There had to be a logical explanation for their actions. If she could just speak with them and be understood, she was sure everything would make perfect sense. Somehow.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself while she stared into the fire, watching hot embers and licks of flame wing skyward toward the bright stars. Éomer walked up beside her, glancing down at her frozen, disturbed expression, his suspicions of her being a very delicate, sheltered woman further confirmed.
"Mîn gumðêod clipian ðæge þá orcas," he said quietly. (My folk call them orcs.)
Catching the last word he said as familiar, she squinted up at him, fleetingly reminded of having studied Beowulf in an AP Lit class in high school, and the class discussion of modern fantasy monsters having borrowed heavily from that work.
"Orcs?"
He gave an encouraging nod at her attempt to speak Rohirric. "Gése." (Yes.)
She pinched her nose closed and made a disgusted face, then waved a hand in front of her nose, as though waving off a bad smell. "Orcas," she said, perfectly imitating him, causing Éomer to chuckle and nod his understanding.
"Gése, ðæge pro swæccan besmîtan." (Yes, they smell foul.)
It was readily apparent to him that the woman, Laurelin, had never seen an orc before, and he wondered again how she had been separated from her protectors and cart animals, so that there was no sign of them and no discernible tracks.
He again examined her long golden hair worn loose, and large green eyes set in a lovely face, to say nothing of her remarkably fine figure displayed so openly in the tightly fitted trousers she was attired in. If it weren't for the long overcoat she wore in such a rich fabric that at least covered some of her, it would be entirely indecent, the mode of acceptable dress in her land obviously being quite different to his own. Such a beautiful woman clearly needed protection, from man and beast alike.
When he imagined his sister caught in a similar predicament surrounded only by strangers, and with orcs on the prowl, it made his guts twist inside him. He had taken note of the ring she wore, certain it indicated marriage, which stood to reason as she was certainly of age and perhaps even had children of her own. He would take Laurelin to his home, and if her husband or family were not readily found, he would watch over her himself until they came for her, which he was certain they would, and it would likely be very soon. Surely they were already searching for her.
He sighed wearily and turned his gaze back toward the fire, musing at the mystery of where she hailed from that orcs were not known. Whoever her people were, he found he envied them that.
After another uncomfortable night of sleeping in her car, Laurelin was woken early, while it was still dark, by the man she had come to know as Éothain, who mimed for her to get her things and follow him. She nodded understanding and scrambled to gather her strewn belongings back into her backpack, then went to the car's tiny trunk and pulled her violin case out and finally retrieved her guitar from the backseat in its hard-shell case.
He looked at all she carried and frowned. "Temian êow be−ðurfan sê ðâ ðe?" (Do you need all this?)
Her eyes widened when she realized what he must be asking, panicked at the idea of being forced to leave the tools of her livelihood out in the middle of nowhere. Who knew when or if she would be able to come back and retrieve them after she got back to civilization?
She held up her hands to show him to wait, and she opened her guitar case and pulled it out, put the strap around her neck and quickly strummed some chords and sang along with them. He nodded in understanding, cracking the first smile she had seen on his face, then pointed to her smaller case.
"Just one second and I'll show you," she said, although she knew he couldn't understand, but hoped he understood her tone, at least. After she secured her guitar back into the case and latched it securely, she pulled out her bow and violin, tightened and rosined her bow, then played a little of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins, since she knew it by heart and didn't require the sheet music for it.
By the time she stopped playing and lowered her violin, several of the men had wandered closer to listen, including Éomer, who was smiling at her in obvious approval. She hugged the violin against her chest and pointed to the guitar case and turned wide, pleading eyes back to Éomer.
"I know you're the man in charge, so please, I must have my instruments with me. I must," she emphasized.
He gave a nod and turned to Éothain. "Lengan hire of hê innierfe." (Bring her possessions.) He watched her as she put the smaller instrument away and secured it. "Sê cwide licgan dimf b¯æm âtrahtnianhæbbe hwistlung on−gemang attraction with pron ðe ic fierdian." (It will be a treat to have music while we travel.)
When Éothain picked up both instruments and her backpack and took them to a horse and started securing them, Laurelin beamed at Éomer in thanks. He smiled and nodded in acknowledgement, some things needing no translation to be understood.
Lyrics taken from:
Báilame by Nacho
Message In A Bottle by The Police
~o~