Chapter 1- Chequers
"Someone's following me."
"What?! Arwen - come on, you're being crazy-"
"- Listen to me Tom! I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't believe it." Her voice was calm, steady, reasonable, not betraying the pounding of her heart and sweating of her palms.
Tom sounded defeated when he spoke, although she could tell he didn't believe her.
"Okay. Where are you?"
Arwen looked around at the graffitied toilet stalls, grimy sinks and chipped mirrors. Her reflection stared back at her, blue eyes wide and frightened, brown hair slightly dishevelled in its fashionably messy bun. She sighed.
"Chequers. In the ladies loo," she said at last.
"What?!" Tom exclaimed. She could almost picture him slapping his forehead dramatically. "You're crazy, Ar, you know that, right? Stay where you are, I'm driving over."
She let loose the breath she'd been holding.
"Thanks Tom."
She heard the beep as he hung up, leaving her staring at the mirror, phone pressed to her ear.
The stall banged open, making Arwen jump out of her skin, as a heavily pierced girl with a streak of cobalt blue in her hair emerged, giving Arwen's relatively chaste club-going attire an unimpressed once-over before turning to the mirror and applying a fresh new layer of blue lipstick. Raising her eyebrows, Arwen grabbed her leather bag off the floor and shoved the door open, walking back into the club where the strobe lights pulsed erratically, lighting up the crowded dance floor so that everyone's movements were jerky and robotic.
The pounding bass, the music, the senseless yelling all were contributing to the biggest headache Arwen had yet to experience - and that was saying something, considering Arwen's long standing relationship with the things. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her fingers to relieve the pain, and that was when she felt it. A prickle of unease, a shiver, a feeling of being watched. Not wanting to spend another moment in the open, she dove headlong into the crowd, navigating the grinding, sweaty bodies and stomping heels, sorely regretting her decision to come here more than she could say.
When she finally broke through the other side, Arwen pulled down the hem of her denim miniskirt and righted the soft leather jacket she had chosen before striding out the club and into the cool January air. It sent goosebumps along her freshly shaved legs and she pulled her jacket closer around her as she moved past the line of people queueing to get into the famous Chequers. No one spared her a glance, they were too busy comparing fake ids, gawking at the flashing neon sign above their heads or watching the bouncers, who looked as if they'd rather be anywhere else. Arwen stood on the curb, looking out over the ribbons of traffic, scanning for Tom's bright pink beetle, an eighteenth birthday present from his hippy parents. When Tom finally showed up, Arwen was more jittery than she had been earlier, checking the sidewalk regularly, and covertly watching the doors of the club to see if anyone would emerged. She gratefully yanked open the door and threw herself in, and Tom rolled off the curb back into the stream of cars. She shut her eyes and tilted her head back in relief, breathing in the familiar smell of Tom. Her bliss was short lived, for when she opened her eyes, they fell on the white knuckles of his hands, clenched around the steering wheel, and the grim set of his pursed lips. She shrank back into her seat and counted to three in her head. Right on cue, Tom spoke.
"You know I was in bed when you called? In bed!" She looked over at him, appraising him properly, taking in the blue and white striped pyjamas and his tousled bed hair. "Janette is going to kill you! And me!"
Arwen scoffed.
"I can handle my mother. She doesn't care anyway."
Tom cracked his fingers with his free hand, a nervous habit.
"You can't do this to me, Ar! Why didn't you just ask me to come with you? And what's all this about you being followed?"
Arwen shifted uncomfortably.
"It was a bad feeling." She mumbled. She could feel Tom trying not to lose his temper. "I'm sorry for not asking you, I just went on impulse, okay? It's Friday night, I wanted to do something different."
Tom was obstinately silent.
"Hey." She said softly, putting her hand on the fluffy brown fabric of his dressing gown. He didn't say anything, but made no move to shake her off. "Can I crash at your place tonight? I'd feel … safer."
Tom sighed, and shook one of the blonde strands of hair out of his eyes. "Of course you can." He softened, and Arwen knew he was just worried for her, like always. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping her hand.
"Thanks."
They drove on in silence, the comfortable kind, until Tom turned down the road that led to his flat, across the road from where Arwen and her mother lived, and had lived since they were children. Arwen fished her phone out of her pocket and sent her mum a quick text: Staying at T's. Be back tomorrow. A. Brief, succinct and to the point. Her mum probably wouldn't read it until she woke up with a hangover the next morning, and by that time Arwen would be back, have deleted the text and be making breakfast. Tom parked up and together they walked up the metal stairs, Tom's slippers making no sound, Arwen's heeled ankle boots making a slight clang. They climbed through the window into Tom's bedroom, locking it behind them, and Arwen proceeded to get changed into the pair of pajama shorts and an oversized tshirt that were kept permanently here, in case of times like this. She tumbled into his bed, snuggling under the dark blue sheets and watching him as he turned off all the lights. She felt the mattress dip as it bore his weight and he snuggled in beside her. The glow-in-the-dark stars shone above them, arranged to form Tom's name in Elvish. It had been their 'thing' from a young age, learning how to speak the fictional language so that they both shared something that no one else understood.
"Ollo vae," whispered Tom.
"Losto vae," replied Arwen, as they always did.
Arwen woke with the sun the next morning, slipping carefully out of bed so as not to wake Tom. She pulled on her party clothes from the night before, brushing her teeth and pulling her thick, long hair back into a braid.
"Amarië arin," came the husky morning voice of Tom from the bed. Arwen gave him a smile.
"Boe annin gwad."
She gestured towards the early morning light and he followed the line of her hand with a furrowed brow.
"An ngell nîn hárar," he replied teasingly.
Arwen sighed.
"You know I can't."
Tom frowned, clambering out of bed.
"C'mon, I have nothing to do all day and neither do you, admit it."
"Eca, a mitta lambetya cedelessë orcova," she suggested, grinning. Tom's eyebrows lifted until they almost disappeared beneath the fringe of his hair.
"Súrë túla eendeletyallo," he reprimanded, tapping her lightly on the nose.
She grinned up at him, before lifting the latch and climbing out into the sunshine, the honking of car horns, the roar of traffic and the pollution hitting her in full on. She scrunched up her face, eyes adjusting to the light. Tom, poking his scruffy head out, sniffed the air.
"Lovely." Arwen turned to hug him goodbye. "Wait. Can you smell burning?" Arwen sniffed, and nearly choked.
"Eurgh! What is that?"
Tom's eyes widened.
"Arwen! Your necklace!"
Arwen looked, and sure enough her necklace was glowing orange, searing into her skin. Tom reached up and tried to pull it off, but it wouldn't come. Arwen couldn't feel it burn, and that was the odd thing. When at last it finally returned to its usual rose gold colour, Tom was out of his bedroom and pulling it away from the skin. It burned him when he tried to touch it, even cooled as it was. It had been his sixteenth birthday present to Arwen, a load of Elvish words in a small ring shape. The words were now seared into her flesh, a circle of letters just below her sternum. Tom took her hand.
"Arwen? Are you okay? Listen to me, you've gone into shock. I'm going to get some water, and you need to come back inside. I'll get mum to look at you."
He tried to leave, but Arwen wouldn't let go of his hand.
"Stay." She said, and that was when a wind started to whip up around them, a wind out of nowhere. Tom pulled her closer to him, hand wrapped around the railing, bracing himself.
Then a light like a falling star burst through the clouds above their heads and illuminated them. The bright white consumed their vision as they sank against the railings, each friend clutching the other tightly as the world went dark.
Translations:
Ollo vae ~ dream well
Losto vae ~ sleep well
Amarië arin ~ good morning
Boe annin gwad ~ I must go
An ngell nîn hárar ~ please stay
Eca a mitta lambetya cedelessë orcova ~ go and French kiss an Orc
Súrë túla eendeletyallo ~ wind pours out of your mouth
Hi all, hope you enjoyed the first chapter - sorry about the translations, they're from a mixed barrel of sources as I sadly do not speak the Elvish tongue. I mainly use Quenya Elvish here.
Drop me a review and let me know what you thought!
Kailee x