Author's Note: Yes, yes, I know it's been done. Several times. However it
wouldn't stop giving my gentle kicks in the head till I let it out. That,
and the fact that I felt sorry for Merry; who usually gets passed over in
fanfic. Anyway, we're talking AU, modern day, and no hormone-driven teenage
girls are involved. And the title was intentionally spelled that way.
Enjoy! SlV.
* * *
Shadows of the Passed
Martin Brant-Theodore no longer looked anywhere but directly in front of him when he walked through the halls of Westlands High. Unlike his friends, his head didn't turn when a good-looking girl passed; if someone tapped him on the shoulder, he refused to look behind to see who it was. It wasn't that Martin - or Marty to his friends - was shy; in fact he was well liked by pretty much everyone. No, the reason that Marty seemed to be perpetually suffering from the results of whiplash was that when he turned his eyes from his path, the pictures came back again.
What do you do when your only child comes to you saying that he's seeing things? If you're Esmé Brant, then you run like hell to the nearest and best psychiatrist money can buy, and drop your son into sessions for a couple of months. The good doctor proclaims him to be of perfectly sound mental health, and takes a good chunk of your child support. You breathe a sigh of relief that your baby hasn't fallen off the sanity wagon. And said baby continues to attend school everyday, and wonders why the hell he sees talking trees and battle scenes, not just in daydreams, but constantly at the edge of his vision.
Just ahead, by his English class, he could see his closest friend Perry flirting with some girl. This in itself was nothing new as Perry, with his "cuteness", innocent air, and charm, was easily one of the more popular guys with the ladies around the school. Short, with a sense of humour and adventurous spirit that made him an interesting companion at the least, Perry could outtalk-not-to-mention-outeat about five normal humans working together. He had his charm on full blast right now, talking three miles a minute to a very pretty girl. Marty's face turned the same shade as the girl's crimson shirt when he realized that Perry's audience was Elsie Baylor. He tried to quietly slip past them into the classroom, but it was not to be.
"Hey Marty!" Martin suddenly learned the true meaning of embarrassment. "You coming to practice tonight?"
Still blushing, and feeling Elsie's eyes on him, Marty mumbled something unintelligible and escaped into the room.
As he made his way to his seat, he noticed something, well.not unusual, but different. His English teacher was nowhere to be seen, and standing at the front of the room was the principal, Mr. Randall, talking to a man, presumably a teacher, that he had never seen before. What was more, the older man seemed to know the new guy quite well.
"Score!" His first thoughts were "A sub."
Tall and slender, with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, the young man was your stereotypical artsy-looking, English teacher type. By the end of the day, rumours would be floating around among the guys about the poor guy's sexual preferences, and the girls would all be sighing over how dreamy he was. He would have been steamrollered by several classes of teenagers had it not been for his eyes. They were the bluest Martin had ever seen, even with crappy vision he could tell their colour from where he was sitting. The disturbing part though, was that they looked old. You got the feeling that this guy was tired and had seen a lot of things that he didn't want to remember. You couldn't look him in the eyes for too long or it felt like your heart was breaking. In sunglasses this guy would have looked about twenty-seven. Without them, he looked as if he had seen the Big Bang. Maybe a refugee or something, from the Balkans, or some other war zone. But if so, why was he teaching advanced level high school English?
"Ah, Mr. Brant-Theodore." Mr. Randall broke into his thoughts, startling him. "Good morning. You should take your seat, I expect class will begin soon."
No sooner had the principal said a few final words to the new teacher and left the room, than the bell rang. That man was intensely frightening sometimes.
After the class had poured in, taken their seats, latecomers sneaking through the door as usual, the new guy walked to the door and closed it. He skimmed the seating plan, laid it aside, and for the first time since Martin had seen him, spoke.
The words of the first several sentences of what he said were lost upon the class as they stared openmouthed at him. For this rather ordinary, pretty-looking supply had become a god to them with his quiet, slightly accented, musical voice. He took in the group of students looking agape at him, grinned slightly, cleared his throat, and started over.
"As I was saying, Mr. Stewart has returned to his hometown for a few weeks due to a death in his family. I will be taking his classes in his absence. My name is Mr. Greenwood."
After checking to see that his words had actually registered that time, he continued.
"As I will be with you for an extended period of time, and as Mr. Randall has informed me that Mr. Stewart had neglected to inform him of what this class is studying, I will be setting my own assignments."
Amid groans from the class he brought out a box of books and began to distribute them. As he reached Martin, he hesitated. He placed the novel gently on the edge of Marvin's desk and spoke quickly in a low voice.
"I believe that you will find this book very interesting Marty." he said, "You will be able to relate to it, and it may even clear a few things up for you."
Martin looked sharply up into the young man's old eyes, but was unable to read what he saw there. As Mr. Greenwood moved on, Martin glanced down at the book, then back up again to a few seats over, where the teacher was speaking quietly to Perry. He took no more notice; every teacher had his or her quirks, maybe this guy fancied himself a psychic. Shrugging to himself, he picked up the copy of the Lord of the Rings that had been set before him and opened to the first page.
* * *
Shadows of the Passed
Martin Brant-Theodore no longer looked anywhere but directly in front of him when he walked through the halls of Westlands High. Unlike his friends, his head didn't turn when a good-looking girl passed; if someone tapped him on the shoulder, he refused to look behind to see who it was. It wasn't that Martin - or Marty to his friends - was shy; in fact he was well liked by pretty much everyone. No, the reason that Marty seemed to be perpetually suffering from the results of whiplash was that when he turned his eyes from his path, the pictures came back again.
What do you do when your only child comes to you saying that he's seeing things? If you're Esmé Brant, then you run like hell to the nearest and best psychiatrist money can buy, and drop your son into sessions for a couple of months. The good doctor proclaims him to be of perfectly sound mental health, and takes a good chunk of your child support. You breathe a sigh of relief that your baby hasn't fallen off the sanity wagon. And said baby continues to attend school everyday, and wonders why the hell he sees talking trees and battle scenes, not just in daydreams, but constantly at the edge of his vision.
Just ahead, by his English class, he could see his closest friend Perry flirting with some girl. This in itself was nothing new as Perry, with his "cuteness", innocent air, and charm, was easily one of the more popular guys with the ladies around the school. Short, with a sense of humour and adventurous spirit that made him an interesting companion at the least, Perry could outtalk-not-to-mention-outeat about five normal humans working together. He had his charm on full blast right now, talking three miles a minute to a very pretty girl. Marty's face turned the same shade as the girl's crimson shirt when he realized that Perry's audience was Elsie Baylor. He tried to quietly slip past them into the classroom, but it was not to be.
"Hey Marty!" Martin suddenly learned the true meaning of embarrassment. "You coming to practice tonight?"
Still blushing, and feeling Elsie's eyes on him, Marty mumbled something unintelligible and escaped into the room.
As he made his way to his seat, he noticed something, well.not unusual, but different. His English teacher was nowhere to be seen, and standing at the front of the room was the principal, Mr. Randall, talking to a man, presumably a teacher, that he had never seen before. What was more, the older man seemed to know the new guy quite well.
"Score!" His first thoughts were "A sub."
Tall and slender, with long blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, the young man was your stereotypical artsy-looking, English teacher type. By the end of the day, rumours would be floating around among the guys about the poor guy's sexual preferences, and the girls would all be sighing over how dreamy he was. He would have been steamrollered by several classes of teenagers had it not been for his eyes. They were the bluest Martin had ever seen, even with crappy vision he could tell their colour from where he was sitting. The disturbing part though, was that they looked old. You got the feeling that this guy was tired and had seen a lot of things that he didn't want to remember. You couldn't look him in the eyes for too long or it felt like your heart was breaking. In sunglasses this guy would have looked about twenty-seven. Without them, he looked as if he had seen the Big Bang. Maybe a refugee or something, from the Balkans, or some other war zone. But if so, why was he teaching advanced level high school English?
"Ah, Mr. Brant-Theodore." Mr. Randall broke into his thoughts, startling him. "Good morning. You should take your seat, I expect class will begin soon."
No sooner had the principal said a few final words to the new teacher and left the room, than the bell rang. That man was intensely frightening sometimes.
After the class had poured in, taken their seats, latecomers sneaking through the door as usual, the new guy walked to the door and closed it. He skimmed the seating plan, laid it aside, and for the first time since Martin had seen him, spoke.
The words of the first several sentences of what he said were lost upon the class as they stared openmouthed at him. For this rather ordinary, pretty-looking supply had become a god to them with his quiet, slightly accented, musical voice. He took in the group of students looking agape at him, grinned slightly, cleared his throat, and started over.
"As I was saying, Mr. Stewart has returned to his hometown for a few weeks due to a death in his family. I will be taking his classes in his absence. My name is Mr. Greenwood."
After checking to see that his words had actually registered that time, he continued.
"As I will be with you for an extended period of time, and as Mr. Randall has informed me that Mr. Stewart had neglected to inform him of what this class is studying, I will be setting my own assignments."
Amid groans from the class he brought out a box of books and began to distribute them. As he reached Martin, he hesitated. He placed the novel gently on the edge of Marvin's desk and spoke quickly in a low voice.
"I believe that you will find this book very interesting Marty." he said, "You will be able to relate to it, and it may even clear a few things up for you."
Martin looked sharply up into the young man's old eyes, but was unable to read what he saw there. As Mr. Greenwood moved on, Martin glanced down at the book, then back up again to a few seats over, where the teacher was speaking quietly to Perry. He took no more notice; every teacher had his or her quirks, maybe this guy fancied himself a psychic. Shrugging to himself, he picked up the copy of the Lord of the Rings that had been set before him and opened to the first page.