Revised January 2022

Genres: Adventure, Drama, Horror, Angst (Humour for the eagle-eyed and Romance for the patient ones)

Warnings: Rated M for Violence and mature themes, including psychological trauma, complicated relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, attempted/referenced sexual assault and secondary character death.

Chapters that I feel might require an additional/more detailed warning will have a note at the top.

Technically, this is a Girl/Woman-falls-into-Middle-earth-Story, albeit a bit of a twisty one. To add insult to injury, it also features poor, overworked Legolas as the main protagonist. Yeah, I have no idea what the hell I was thinking either. That being said, I'm not gonna apologise for it; he actually really grew on me.

May this story be considered 'LACE-friendly'? I believe so, but in all fairness, I will admit that I regard that essay (as well as everything else that Professor Tolkien did not publish himself) as 'more what you'd call "guidelines" than actual rules.' Thank you Captain, and many thanks to Ruiniel for kindly igniting that entertaining debate.

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit and The Silmarillion were created by J. R. R. Tolkien. The rights to his property are managed by the Tolkien Estate and are partially owned by Middle-earth Enterprises, Warner Brothers (New Line Cinema), United Artists and Amazon. This is an original work of fanfiction and in no way associated with the works listed above. This story is meant for entertainment and I am making no profit from its publication. (Though that would be awesome.)

I'm currently (and sometimes randomly) revising all the previous chapters; those that are (somewhat) done have a note at the top.

AN: Just to clarify, since a couple of people have asked this: The illustrious piece of literature Anne is reading in this chapter was entirely made up by me. There is no deeper meaning, and the thing won't (probably) be mentioned or referenced again in the story.

I tried my hand at an illustration of my headcanon for Legolas and the thing is finally finished. If you would like to check him out (Please do :)), he can be found on my AO3 account (username is Antiheld) in the 'Spritey Doodles' post, first chapter.

Prologue

:::

Anne looked up from her monitor for the third time in what couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes, glancing towards the large window next to the dining table. Again, she thought she had caught a glimpse of something outside, a movement in the darkness, out of the corner of her eye. Frowning and absently worrying her lower lip with her teeth, she peered through the glass, but the garden was pitch-black; all she could see was her own slightly distorted reflection and those of the numerous lamps she had lit inside the sitting room.

"Don't be silly," she muttered, partly for the calming effect of hearing her own voice.

Nothing was out there, except the neighbour's cat, perhaps. She just wasn't used to being alone in the large house anymore, and it was just so awfully quiet. Anne's parents had just left for a two-week cruise along the Scandinavian fjords, and her little sister Hannah had finally moved out a couple of months ago. Anne, living relatively close by, had therefore agreed to house-sit. Despite being the older one by almost six years, Anne feared that Hannah might indeed have been the better choice for the task, and for this exact reason: It was dark, it was too quiet, and it was making her far too nervous.

Shaking her head and scoffing at herself she turned back to her computer, her glass of red wine and to her reading — determined to immerse herself once more in her latest guilty pleasure, Passionate Encounters. She was up to chapter thirty-seven, and it seemed like the virgin was about to give up her rather feeble resistance and finally surrender to her determined beloved.

"Oh, I don't know, Telendir!" Rhyswenlia shook her head of flaming hair, which perfectly matched her fiery personality. "Maybe this is a grievous mistake! You are an Elf-lord — tall, strong, beautiful, noble, rich and humorous — whereas I am a mere human!"

Telendir, High Elven prince and heir to the throne of the High Elven Kingdom, stood before the opulent marble and gold fireplace and stared into the gaily dancing flames — his countenance dark and brooding as was his wont.

Rhyswenlia stepped towards his tall frame, her pale, shapely bosom trembling beneath her sumptuous, silken gown with both desire and despair. "I know, I might seem like the obvious choice to espouse due to my magical powers given by the Valar themselves... Alas, the fact remains: I am mortal and you are not!"

Telendir whirled around. "Why dost thou despair thus, Rhyswenlia, my sweet?" he implored, and his noble, kingly gaze burned with ardour as he strode towards Rhyswenlia with his long, elven strides. "I beseech thou, ceasest these excuses! Hast thou forgotten that Arwen hath promised to present thou with half of her remaining lifespan to thank thou for saving Aragorn's life with thy powers?" His booming voice turned dulcet and he reached for his beloved with his strong, noble hands. "Husht now, and please beest still, I am trying to undo this lacing…"

"But can I accept such a gift? 'Tis true, she probably doesn't need a long life, with marrying Aragorn and all."

"There thou goest. Whatever objections thou mayst have, my love — for thou I shall conquer them all. Kindly cease fidgeting, wilt thou—"

"Telendir!" Rhyswenlia gasped, clutching her delicate hands in dismay. "I have to remain a virgin until I'm eighteen, or the Valar won't remove the curse from me. You know—" her sweet voice lowered to an ominous but still lovely whisper, "the one that kills the second-born in every household I set foot into! And it is but two more days..."

A soft, scraping noise sounded from outside, somewhere near the house wall. Anne started in her chair and tore her gaze from the screen again, trying to make something out in the dark.

Quietly whistling autumn winds had picked up. Between hurrying clouds, the moon now cast meagre patches of wan light across the mossy stretch of lawn outside the window. A few swaying conifer bows; one of them tapped lightly against the window as though requesting to enter. Moonlight gleamed momentarily off a puddle of rainwater in the bird bath on the lawn. The scraping noise did not repeat itself. It had sounded like something was being dragged over stone, but how could that be?

"Imagining things now, brilliant." Anne resolutely turned away from the window and picked up her glass of Pinot Noir. "Also, talking to myself. Perhaps I should write—"

A loud, droning buzz made her jump and nearly drop her wine. Setting down the glass Anne glared at the mobile phone that continued to rattle merrily against the tabletop. She wiped away a few drops of wine with her sleeve — the jumper needed a wash anyway — before reaching for the phone and jabbing at the lit-up screen.

"Yes, Jae?"

"Well, isn't that a charming way to answer?" The amused drawl of Anne's colleague and flatmate was accompanied by a slight crackling in the connection.

"You startled me and made me spill my wine," Anne grumbled. She heard a brief snort of laughter that quickly turned into a false cough.

"So sorry, dear. How are Susan and David finding Norway, have you heard from them yet?"

"They phoned earlier while I was still on the train, but left a message," Anne said, taking a sip of her wine. "They've arrived in Svolvaer, the ship is nice and, I quote, everything is quite lovely aside from the whelks."

"The whelks? Is that some sort of code?"

"I have yet to find out." Anne yawned. "So, what's up?"

"Oh, I only wanted to make sure you are all right."

Anne frowned. "That's uncharacteristically sweet of you."

A theatrical gasp sounded from the other end of the line. "You wound me! And here I am, worrying about you all by yourself out there in the country, where it's all quiet and dark..."

Anne swallowed another sip of wine while rolling her eyes at the empty room. "I am a grown woman, Jae."

"A grown woman with a nightlight."

Anne cleared her throat. "You know, this was a lovely chat, but it's getting late—"

"All right, I'll let you get back to your schmaltzy literature."

Anne turned sideways so she was faced away from her laptop. "I'm not reading schmaltzy literature."

"Sure, if you say so." There was a knowing snicker. "Have a good night, love, and see you tomorrow."

"Right, you too."

After putting down the phone, Anne glanced out the window again. The moon was once more hidden behind clouds and the garden was plunged into complete darkness again.

No matter, Anne thought, sipping her wine. There was nothing out there; this was rural countryside, boring and uneventful small town area. Nothing out of the ordinary happened here — ever. The quietness was playing tricks on her mind, that was all. Well, that and the after-effect of reading too much nonsense, perhaps. There was no sound apart from the soft, constant ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner behind her.

Anne returned to the more pressing matters.

But her beloved cut her short fiercely. "Nay! I cannot hold back anymore! I know 'tis wrong, but our love be worth it. And my younger brother Teleg — The pox on that witless wretch! I would he werth gone, false usurper of the throne that he be!"

It was then that Teleg burst into the chamber, roaring with fury, for he had been eavesdropping. "Pah! Never shall thou prevail over me, Telendir! And thy fair Rhyswenlia I shall claim for myself! ..."

Anne's head shot up. Something had just triggered the motion sensor. Its lamp was casting a yellow cone of light across the narrow, gravelled path, the neatly pruned blackcurrant shrubs, and the little garden gate. All right, this was it — irrational fear or not.

In one swift motion, Anne was out of her chair and had pushed the button for the standby mode on her laptop. After turning off most of the lights, she resisted the temptation to pour herself a good measure of her father's finest scotch. Instead, she trudged her way up the stairs to the second floor and to her old room with the buttercup wallpaper, taking only a brief detour to the bathroom. By the time she crawled into bed and pulled the blanket up to her nose, Anne was beginning to feel slightly foolish about her headlong flight. It was late, however, she was bone-weary and the story had another fourteen chapters. Her trip to work in the morning would be a longer one than usual, so getting some rest was the sensible thing to do.

As the November winds started to moan outside, Anne could not help thinking that the house was too silent somehow. It was that sort of stillness that seems to hold its breath, waiting for something to happen. But Anne's bed was cosy and warm now, and her eyes grew heavy, and a moment later she had drifted off to sleep.

:::

The vacated living room was dark and quiet. The light of the motion sensor had gone out, the laptop screen was black, and the only sound was the soft, perpetual ticking of the grandfather clock. After a while, however, there was something else — almost too faint for human ears if any had been there to listen. A soft, scraping noise that seemed to be coming from the wooden floor. Suddenly the laptop monitor lit up, emitting a faint bluish light in the otherwise darkened room, and showing once more chapter thirty-seven of Passionate Encounters.

Another few minutes passed. Then a voice spoke in an oddly hollow-sounding whisper.

"Is everyone present?"

Suddenly the seemingly empty room was filled with something like a hissing sort of hum as if a considerable number of people were trying to make their presence known while keeping their voices as low as possible.

"It would seem so." The reply came from a second whisperer who had a slightly whistling quality to their voice. "Withal, I must ask; what fuss was that with the light in their garden?"

Someone cleared their throat; it sounded like a granite coffin lid sliding shut. "That would be me. She was rather taking her time, therefore I—"

"I expect you were responsible for the noises as well?"

"Yes, what pretty trick was that? You do not even possess a corporal form right now."

"Well, forgive me for thinking it might not hurt to add a little atmosphere to the proceedings."

There was the low but distinctive sound of another throat being cleared.

"May I suggest we return to the task at hand?" A particularly low and hoarse voice had interrupted the dispute.

"Yes, yes, certainly. Are there any more thoughts on the matter before we proceed?"

"Well, her partialities are... interesting," someone murmured.

"That is not what I would call it," came a sharply hissed reply from somewhere near the sofa.

"I suppose it does have a certain, naive charm..."

"Speak for yourself, my friend. Personally, I find it rather disturbing."

"Now, now, disturbing or not—" the hollow-sounding first whisperer raised their voice once more. "There are far more pressing things to concern ourselves with, I believe we are all aware of that. Not her nature, nor her mind or disposition shall matter much in the end. Crucial is one thing above all—" the voice became graver still "—She matches the one who left."

"That may be so, yet it is not said that this one taking the lost one's place will make a difference."

"Indeed, and as it stands I consider it improbable. Nevertheless, it is a chance. A second chance, one might even say." The speaker allowed themselves a gravelly chuckle. There was a pause — during which nobody joined in — then a cough like an echo from a deep well. "This has been discussed and we agreed to make this attempt. Hereafter we shall leave Middle Earth to its own devices. It is, after all, not our sole responsibility."

There was a soft, rumbling hum of consenting murmur.

"Any further objections?"

A soft, rasping harrumph. "Will she feel... that is to say, will she notice anything? The one from here?"

"I doubt it. We only take a small sliver after all, it should restore itself soon enough. Anything else?"

This time, only a long silence ensued.

"Then let us get this over with."

:::

At some later, indeterminate point in time, Anne sat bolt upright in bed without waking. The silence in the house was too deep, too absolute as if a window had been opened into the cosmos itself. There was a wrongness here, that shouldn't be. Eyes wide, Anne stared blindly ahead and then opened her mouth as though to scream or draw breath. Instead, a small huff of air left her lungs in a mildly surprised-sounding sigh, before she sank back onto the mattress.

Her eyes closed again and nothing seemed amiss. She dreamed. It was a strange and eerie dream, one of those that one barely remembers in the morning because they appear to make no sense. In the dream, something broke. Anne did not know what it was, but she knew that the intangible thing had been split, if only a little, and the fragment was lost. Even as the dream and its memory faded, the split-off sliver — houseless now — was set adrift.

And so it left.

The silence in the house stirred again. In the small room with the buttercup wallpaper, there was a soft rustle of fabric as Anne turned over in her sleep and clutched her pillow more tightly. Outside, the wind groaned. In the corner of the dark living room, the old grandfather clock ticked on. Soundless, the pendulum swung back and forth behind its glass.

Everything was as it should be, as it was before.

Almost.

:::