My very first Lord of the Rings fanfic in a while. If you knew me from my previous account and stories, you'll know that I'm back, bitches.
This is a tale spun from some of my favorite fanfics here on this website. The wondrous Daughter of Time by wednesday-mc and Fortress Around the Heart by Drama Druid were the main influence on this story. I'd like to personally thank them and to credit so much them for helping me along with this idea. I really hope none of you guys will attack me for stealing any ideas - and I don't mean to.
It's a different twist than the usual "girl goes to Europe to meet her father who's an elf and falls in love with Legolas and blah". Hopefully you'll like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Tolkien's work or any of the influences from above fics.
A/N: Don't like, don't read. I like reviews too.
Chapter 1:
Her eyes flickered open.
Stirring in her warm seat, she had to remember that she was on a plane, and she couldn't just stretch out whenever she wanted to, lest she whacked the sleeping man sitting beside her. It was jam-packed full of people, all dozing off or passing time with their own entertainment. Outside was fairly dark, suggesting that she had slept through most of the ride since 3 P.M.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, rubbing her eyes blearily as the plane shook again against the wind swirling outside, a probable cause of why she was woken up.
What time is it...? She wondered, peeking under the closed shades. Are we there yet?
"Drink or snack, ma'am?" A flight attendant in the aisle with a trolley happened to come across her. She was coming nearby, and she didn't want to miss her chance at some late night dinner.
"Water please." She replied, handing over a few bills and getting a plastic cup of cool liquid in return. She sipped, relinquishing her dry throat. "Also, do you happen to know what time it is?"
"8:23, miss. We're landing in approximately thirty minutes."
As the flight attendant left, she had to smile a little to herself. Great, now I don't have to go through all that embarrassment of being woken up by some stranger, because we all know how that went last time...
She folded down the tray on the back of the seat in front of her, placing her cup of water in order to stretch her numbing legs, which left a sharp residue of tingling.
She took another sip, gargling it in her mouth before swallowing. The nap was good for her, leaving her in a state of content so she wouldn't be cranky by the time they landed. If she were, it would result in catastrophic screaming and chaotic bickering.
Only about thirty minutes to go. She closed her eyes, breathing in slowly while listening to the low drone of the engines and soft wind whistling outside. It's not that much, just thirty more minutes.
Her world was silent. For once, her Elven ears heard nothing but silence. The wind weeping through the trees were no more than swirls of white. The dark veil before her eyes covered everything in a façade of gray and black, deep colors that shrouded her being. If there was life, she did not see it. If there were happiness, she did not feel it. Even if there were sadness, she did not feel it either; her soul was hollow, empty, like a deserted room of gathering dust.
Never in her life had she truly understood death. What was death, exactly? What did it feel like? What did it do to you? Where would it take you? Were its hands cold and slimy, like the slithering snakes and water monsters? Were its slicing claws jagged and snatching, like a fell beast's deadly talons? Or was it a silent predator, preying on her fading galaxy of hazy dreams and melting visions?
Perhaps her inability to comprehend what insanity that possessed her father into moving West would be her downfall. She wanted to be right. She wanted to prove to the Elf Lord that she was right, and he was wrong, and she would be alright in the end. Loving Aragorn seemed like a mistake worth making, but now the grass beneath was frosty and icy, and the shadows the trees casted were longer and darker. Like her father had described, but it was so much more real.
It was so cold.
She didn't listen. She would not listen.
Why is it so cold?
Even when she finally decided that it was her time to pass away. She had announced her deafening decision to her family and the council, they had recoiled in shock and confusion. What will we do? They cried, throwing their hands up. Her youngest daughter, though only the human equivalent of 15, had clung to her robes in tears. Why must you go?
Why must I go? She had replied. Because I desire to. Aragorn has long gone. The Fellowship has gone as well. Many of our old friends from the War are no more than a brittle skeleton six feet beneath their city hills.
She could remember his death as clear as day, bending over her king to whisper in his ear. The evening was crispy and cold. She remembered her breath tickling his ear and blowing his grey-white hair gently. "Nay, dear lord, that choice is long over. There is now no ship that would bear me hence, and I must indeed abide the Doom of Men, whether I will or I null: the loss and the silence."
But she was confident. Often times the queen addressed her people with a fearless pride that people from all over the land admired. She had sons and daughters, and they had sons and daughters. Soon they would have more sons and daughters, passing down an incredible legacy that would soon be forgotten. They were the daughter of kings and the sons of queens…the children of time.
The children of time.
She let out a slow breath and closed her eyes.