Disclaimer: I do not own anything that is written, invented and/or imagined by J.R.R. Tolkien. However, I do own what is my interpretation and abuse of his work. If you want to publish it, borrow from it, rewrite it and/or use it for stuffing your pillow with, just ask and I am sure to say yes! I do not receive any money out of it. This is written and published for entertainment and (hopefully) pleasure purposes only.
Authors Note: While this story contains the environment and characters from the J.R.R. Tolkien canon, it does however not follow it.
Beta- reader: Dorothy Noland (((hugs)))
Proof-reader: Mike Kelley *** kisses***
Cheerleaders: Terri and Kit and Jon ~~~snargles~~~
Reviews: As this is my very first attempt to write fan fiction in English (I am Swedish) I hope you all will at least try to be lenient with my manhandling of your beautiful language. Reviews will be most appreciated though and if they are constructive, I will cherish them and try to learn and improve from them.
Warning: This is in a way a shameless Mary-Sue plot but hopefully without the "Mary-Sueness" and clichés connected with it. If that is not your cup of tea, do not bother to read it or flame it! Oh, I have also rated it R, because what would an M-S story be without a bit of sweetly described physical love?
Summary: What was the meaning behind her dreams of late? Who was the man who called himself Elrond, and why was he so set on trying to pull her into his consciousness? After breaking away from her old life and deciding to settle in a small cottage on the countryside her dreams had become harder to ignore. It was almost as if they had started to leak into her wakened hours as well. She was afraid. Afraid that she was slowly losing her sanity; losing her grasp of reality.
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Title: Ripples on the Surface
Author: GoddessByline
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Prologue
She had been driving at a slow pace, and enjoying it, the naked landscape passing and turning to face the sun and its renewal. Down along the northern slopes the ground had been last year grey, but in the valleys she noticed that the birches had grown green little mouse ears. Beyond the meadow fields, she saw the bay water glimmering in the sun, and she felt the breeze from the sea, the one that smelled like life itself.
An hour later, she reached the intersection. The gravel dust fumed in the rear view mirror as she drove up towards the cottage with a feeling of assurance. She was finally home.
The place was old, a small red wood house with white trimmings, protected by silvery birches and a single apple tree. During the course of the past six months, this place had become her centre, more home than anywhere else in the world. This is a good place to live; she surprised herself thinking and then silently added, and a good place to die.
She got out of the car and stretched in the heated sun. Down toward the road and outside of the fence, the wood anemones laced the grass shaded from direct sunlight by pale green birch branches. Before unlocking the door, she had filled her hands with a bouquet and buried her face in it. Her face powdered with yellow pollen – she smiled.
This is home now.
No, this will not do, she decided after having filled a blue glass vase with water and placed the white flowers on the dining table. She had never been one to pity herself or feel remorse about things she could not change. The past was the past, and the future would find its own course if given time. She had made her decisions, and she had burned the last bridge.
With each trip she had made to the cottage during the past months, she had brought along with her bits and pieces of her life… her home. Later today, the truck loaded with the last things from her city flat would arrive and with that, there would no longer be any turning back. Her heart missed a beat at the thought, but she quickly composed herself again. This is what I want!
***
When had the dreams started? The fleeting face floating just under her vision, as if her sleeping unconscious eyes where just a little out of focus. She had grown so accustomed to its presence in her sleep that the times it was not there, she missed it. But how long had it been there? She was not sure.
She remembered the first time she heard the voice though! It had spoken to her in a low, almost whispering tone. Yet the voice had etched itself into her soul… Words she did not recognise nor understand, with an intonation she could not connect with any other language she had ever heard before. "Ten sí ye tyelma, yéva tyel. Ananta úva táre fárea, ufárea!" (Translation: For here is ending, and there will be an end. But yet it will not be enough, not enough!)
***
She woke up with a scream. Someone had touched her arm!
She rushed to her feet, clutching her right arm with her left hand. She looked around unable to orientate at first, the darkness of the night had fallen like a blanket over the room. Then she remembered where she was. A sigh of relief passed her lips as she found the wall switch and flooded the room with light. No one was there, no one but her. Everything looked just as it should, just as it had when she went to bed… What time is it? She glanced at the alarm clock by the bed. 1:28 am
She splashed her face with cold water and repeated it a few times, as if to wash away the slowly fading memory of the dream. It was a dream, was it not? She stared back at her own reflection in the mirror above the white porcelain sink. Her face was pale, almost a shade of grey. I need to try to catch some sun today. The thought surprised her. Then she quietly laughed back at herself in the mirror, laughed at the irrational thought as she grabbed for the red plastic hairbrush and slowly began to drive it through her hair.
She remained there for a while standing in front of the mirror in her old worn cotton nightgown, while she with rhythmical strokes brushed her hair, as if to sooth herself back to calmness. Back to reality, back to the place she had decided would be her home from now on. She brushed herself back to here and now.
***
When the morning arrived, she was already up and dressed. She had decided that tonight, on her first day of freedom, the first day of the rest of her life, she would celebrate with a festive dinner just for her own pleasure and with her own company. She was going to spoil herself rotten. She smiled slowly at her frivolity, so unlike the old her.
When the sun was getting close to noon, she had cleaned the whole place. She thoroughly ran down all indoor walls with a broom, taking care to capture the dusty spider webs in the corners. She really hated spiders. Oh God, how she hated spiders! The old raw pine floors had been polished and varnished the month before. It had taken her a whole weekend, but it was worth it. Now all she had to do was to go over them with the vacuum cleaner. A couple of months earlier she had found the old multi-coloured rag carpets in a second-hand store. She brought them out from the back of the car and spread them over the grass in front of the porch. There she left them to breathe fresh air for almost an hour, then giving them a good shake before bringing them in to throw over the vacuumed pine.
The windows turned out to be the hard and slightly yucky part. It was the beginning of May, and spring had arrived with full force. When she opened them, fat, newly hatched bluebottle flies tumbled down, momentarily stunned. Realising they where free, they crawled on the windowsill before flying off with a loud buzzing. When done with the windows, she had to take a shower to get rid of the creeping feeling on her skin.
Driving her car in to the nearby by town only took twenty minutes. As always, she enjoyed every minute spent behind the wheel. She found an available parking spot close to the entrance of the small local supermarket. She was in and out again in what felt like no time at all.
What happened to all the years… They flew by so quickly, too quickly! Lost in her own thoughts she filled the refrigerator with the evening's expectations. One pound of fresh shrimp. It was luxury, she admitted, but she loved grilled shrimp. Veal chops, perhaps she could put them on the grill as well. Yes, she had made an effort. Strawberries, it was extravagant since it was the wrong season, and she knew just by the slightly artificial sweet fragrance that sipped through the plastic wrapping that they would not taste right. At the store, she had noticed they had imported fresh-potatoes from Spain, but decided against them. She would make do with last years potatoes in the winter black sack. Maybe she could bake them in the oven to make them taste better.
After unpacking the groceries, she hurried together a pot of Earl Grey and made herself a couple of cheese sandwiches to go with the tea. Deciding that she was full enough to last until dinner she washed the dishes and made a quick go at the patio furniture. They were easily cleaned, since all she could afford was cheap white plastic chairs and a matching round table.
The clock had not yet passed three in the afternoon. It was too early to start the preparations for dinner. She felt worn, her back ached slightly and her head was starting to pound. She considered taking an afternoon nap. After all, she had made good use of herself today. Beside that, was she not supposed to start thinking about herself? It was just a week ago that she solemnly promised her doctor to not overdo it and to get plenty of rest.
Chapter 1 -