Hello again! It's been a while I know, but hey, I've been working hard here! Anywho, the idea behind this story goes like this … I read somewhere that a peaceful Middle-earth was what Tolkien said he'd like Europe to be like in the future, and my imagination took the idea and ran with it. I know the timeline is not exactly accurate, and occasionally all over the place, but I really enjoyed writing this one, and I hope you'll enjoy reading it. I'm waffling, aren't I? I'll get on with it.
As usual, nothing Tolkien-esque belongs to me, although I AM very attached to my two leads (no nicking without permission – not that you'd want to – oh my God, I'm off again). Sue me and you'll get maybe an NHS uniform … although technically, not even that belongs to me, although I am responsible for it's upkeep.
Now, are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin …
There Is A Time For Everything
Chapter One – A Time to Be Silent
The grey dusk light hung heavy over Rivendell, cloaking the Half-elven home in soft mist that leant a ghostly sheen to the buildings around her. She sat on one of the many balconies, wrapped up in her cloak against the chill of the evening, and listening to the sounds of the feast in the great hall below, staring into the misty darkness. There were few who would dare to disturb her when she was in such a mood, and even then, only for such things that required her immediate attention. It was a strange thought, at least to her, that a woman once hated by those she had called friend could command such respect and obedience from people who knew her as a legend, a walking symbol of what had once been right with their world.
She could see the horses of the council tethered far below her, the sleepy late-night ministrations of the elves that had taken charge of them, even the disgust on the face of the one who had been volunteered to tend the dwarves' pack animals. A faint, bitter smile curved her lips. Once again, racial differences had led to this disillusionment between races, a resentment that could easily become the hate she had endured many times before. And yet, these races made a point of differentiating between the Elves and Dwarves who simply were, and those that had made a difference in their world, those whose names were known throughout Middle-earth.
No Dwarf would speak out against Galadriel, for example, but many thought nothing of insulting any Elves they happened to meet. And the same was for Elves; they would not speak badly of Thorin Oakenshield, but found great sport in taunting other Dwarves who crossed their path. In one awful episode that they had been unable to prevent, Elves had imprisoned Dwarves for no reason other than being found in their kingdom. However, she and others had had words with the king involved, and knew that he would not cross them again.
That thought brought her back to the mystery of herself, how calm words spoken in a firm tone could incite obedience from even a king. How did she become a figure to be respected and listened to? She would be the first to admit that she had a great deal of experience in this world, more than twenty thousand years worth, but even so, some small part of her, the part that was still a frightened young woman feeling out of place in the world, could not fathom the command she had about her now. It was as if being herself had made her who she was, and yet, she herself was not entirely sure of whom she was, even now.
Even her name had changed over the years, something so entirely hers as to be immovable had altered to fit with the times as the world aged around them and time carried them with it to these most important few years. One name had stayed with her over the years, and was the signet she answered to when spoken by most. Laurè, the warrior elf-maid, as she was known, and yet, had been given other names as each age passed. Mistress Fleetfoot, the hobbits had called her; the dwarves had taken Windsinger as their name for her; both names that tried in some way to explain her way of travelling from place to place, touching as much as she dared to see it done its right and proper way.
She even bore a named sword, Angùrei, forged by the elven-smiths of Eregion before their corruption by Sauron. The blade sang as he cut through the air, earning her many other names as she fought alongside Elves and Men. But even so, there was another name, far back in the distant reaches of time, haunting her memory with its vagueness. Perhaps she had forgotten it, should have forgotten it long ago, but no, it was still there, taunting her with memories of how she had come to be here, in this time, and the burden she had placed on herself with the turning of the years.
Her name … her name had been unusual among others, difficult to pronounce, harder to spell, and easily confused with others. She could remember the confusion on people's faces when she tried to tell them her name; when they asked her to spell it for them, only to become even more confused by it. To remember it was to remember an ancient language, already close to death when she had been born, yet she was named from it by parents who by turns were proud and disgusted by their heritage from it.
'Ah, yes . . .' she breathed, hearing her long-forgotten name echoing about her mind. 'My name . . .'
Niamh, that had been it. Her first name, the one she was given from birth, the one that should never be forgotten. The name that reminded her of the time before, when none of that which surrounded her was real, only a story, and humanity was something people tried hard to show, and rarely managed it. When there were such technological nightmares as cars and tower blocks, and the sunlight was blotted out by smoke and fire and tall, tall buildings where people lived, cramped and unhappy. When nature was something that was thought about often, tended rarely, seen as a novelty, something to admire but have nothing to do with for fear touching it would cause it to disappear forever. When people had been so afraid of their own shadows, it had taken one small change for the world to turn upside down around them. She could remember it so clearly, the hurt and the fear, when the world they knew had changed around them, and people you had known all your life were suddenly different.
The shouts and jeers had been almost more than she could bear. Wrapping a protective arm around a frightened child's shoulders, she had stared resolutely ahead to where the mass of silent people were headed; a long dark road that wound through an uninviting forest leading them to a place where, perhaps, they would be accepted, maybe even welcomed. That thought had done much to cheer the twenty or so travellers, though no one could quite ignore the mob watching them leave, nor the soldiers escorting them under armed guard from the city. Even here, in a city so cosmopolitan as this one, they were considered too strange, too different.
The jeering crowd had been littered with faces she knew, people she had once called friend; faces that were strained in grimaces of anger, mockery, and pity. The loyalty of friendship could only be pushed so far, she knew then. Even her closest companions had not been able to hide their fear and disgust when she had been revealed as one of 'them'. The sense of belonging she had felt all her life had all but vanished when that hated list had been published.
Only one person, one true friend had remained loyal to the last, staunchly defending her to those who would see her harried and hunted. This friend had endured isolation and mockery, even violence, to remain true to his first instinct – that of staying close and unafraid of the friend he had known for years. There had been many more like him, brave and unintimidated, made outcast because of their defence of those who were different. But even they had not been enough to prevent that forced exodus of people.
She had seen her only friend pushing through the crowd, keeping pace with her as she made her slow way out of the city that had been her home for so many years. Despite the anger and malevolence of the crowd around them, he had seemed determined to see them off with a smile. And a welcome smile it was, returned by many of the refugees who saw it. But of course, because of this, she had watched her friend beaten back by the crowd, scolded for showing kindness to those who were being pushed away by society.
The child had huddled closer, half hidden beneath her protective arm, his eyes on his mother where she walked ahead of them, baby daughter held close in her arms. Even the smallest child among them had been made aware of the differences between them and those who considered themselves normal. Perhaps if the difference had been more insubstantial, less visible, they would have been able to stay, but no, no one wanted to share their town with the freaks who had suddenly acquired what had been obsequiously termed, physical abnormalities.
It had signalled the start of what the masses had deemed The Change. Slowly, quietly, people had begun to notice certain differences about themselves. A sudden loss of weight, or a growth spurt; these were hardly commented on when compared to an eighty year old man regaining the appearance and vigour of his youth, seemingly overnight. He had been hailed as a modern miracle, exclaimed over by experts throughout the world, until other, similar cases started coming to light. There were others, too, not so similar. A family in the highlands reportedly awoke one morning to find themselves all less than three feet in height, perfectly proportioned apart from abnormally large feet. Men and even women who were growing beards and muscles that no amount of shaving or activity could alter.
And here, in this bustling region, people had begun to notice slight but irrevocable changes in themselves. It seemed that every other person had acquired a noble, almost Roman, profile. People who had previously been plump or overweight were proud to display slender, toned figures that had apparently taken no work to obtain. And everywhere the fashion seemed to be for long hair worn forward, framing the face, or for hats to be pulled down, low over the forehead. It had been a mystery as to why, until a newspaper had published a photograph that explained all. It was of a teenage girl, slim and pretty, with long blonde hair that fell straight over her shoulders. In an unguarded moment, she had brushed that hair back off her face, inadvertently revealing the pointed tip of her ear.
The outcry this picture had caused was matched only by the sudden solidarity of everyone who had gained this 'physical abnormality'. Everywhere you looked, you would see someone proudly displaying pointed ears, hair pulled back to show them off with blatant carelessness. It hadn't seemed to have any pattern at all. Sometimes whole families might change, or perhaps only one or two people from a family might change, the others remaining Men. In the whole city, there were only around thirty of these new people. They were quickly given the name of elves, and were, for a time, made to feel supported and welcomed. But people had soon succumbed to resentment at the seeming physical flawlessness of these Elves, and began to ostracise them. This isolation had turned to full blown anger very quickly, and had ultimately led to people turned from their homes and forced away from the places they had known all their lives, scorned by those who had once declared themselves Elf-friends.
But it wasn't just people that had changed. The land around them had begun to reshape itself, whole areas changing overnight with nothing to warn its inhabitants of what they would wake up to. Nature seemed to be taking over. Whole industrialised areas had disappeared, becoming forests and lakes, and wide-open countryside. Houses became smaller, Tudor style cottages or houses, each with a small plot of land. Roads lost their tarmac, becoming dirt tracks.
And the impact on the technological side of things had been devastating. Electrical goods ceased to function. Modern building materials had turned to wattle and daub, or stone, supported by timber frames. Car owners woke up to find themselves the proud possessor of a horse or two, and occasionally a cart as well. There was no longer any transport between countries, no goods coming in or going out. For the first time in centuries, their little island was completely cut off, alone, to deal with the problems The Change had caused.
She could remember when that city had been all looming concrete buildings and roads packed with cars, filled with choking smoke. Now it was a dismal collection of timber-framed houses and inns, set along muddy streets where horses were tethered at regular intervals. The only smoke that drifted through the air now was that of cooking fires. A dismal town to match its gloomy inhabitants, she had thought at the time, and had wondered how she had missed that aspect of these people's personalities before The Change. It was strange how such a cosmopolitan community had allowed fear and confusion to change it so radically. They hadn't seemed to realise that the same fear and confusion flowed through the new so-called races of Elves, Hobbits and Dwarves.
Her own change had been a huge shock, startling in it's suddenness. She had been working graveyard shifts, battling off an illness, when one night she had been sent home, too unwell to work. She had walked though one of the few remaining modern streets, and had received the fright of her life when the world around her seemed to shift and move, reshaping itself around her. The busy city street had become a bustling mess of wild-eyed horses, terrified drivers, muddy tracks and little timber houses overhanging the confusion. And amidst all this, she had felt her head begin to spin, falling to the mud as she fought to maintain consciousness. Slowly, the feeling had passed, abating enough for her to push herself back to her feet. She had lifted a hand to brush her hair from her face, and had frozen in shock to feel the unfamiliar pointed tip of her ear.
Ignoring the confusion around her, she had run home, slamming open the door and stumbling to the mirror, pulling her hair back to stare in open-mouthed horror at her ears. She hadn't been able to see clearly, taking off her glasses to clean them, and had frozen once more as the world came into focus without the lenses that had been her only chance of clear sight for years. She lifted her eyes to the mirror, and then came the second shock. Her shoulder length red curls had changed as well, now falling in pale blonde waves down her back; blue eyes looked back at her where once they had been stormy grey. Her freckles had gone, the roundness of her face was smoothed and slim, as was the roundness of her body. She was an Elf. Her housemate had appeared at the top of the stairs, and one look at her had told her that she, too, had gone through this terrifying alteration. They had stared at one another, and as one, fell into a hug that had more to do with clinging on for dear life than any affection.
She had lost her job shortly after, understanding implicitly how hard it was for her colleagues to watch her thrown out, but also how afraid they were that the same could happen to them if they tried to prevent it. Only one, the friend who had stood by her throughout it all, left when she did, publicly throwing down the gauntlet to the managers of their workplace and walking out by her side. It might almost have been funny if it hadn't been so upsetting. It had hurt, to leave him behind, knowing that he would endure a deal more torment because of his part in their friendship, but he had told her not to worry about him, that he would be alright; that he would look after her family while she was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered the morning she had said goodbye to those who had stood up for her when all other friends had melted away …
There was a chill bite in the air that morning, belying the sun rising swiftly in the east to warm the changing earth around them. The family had gathered around her, knowing that she had to go, but hating the circumstances that made it inevitable. Her pack lay beside her on the grass as she turned to bid farewell to the family she knew she might never see again. Her father had seemed surprisingly composed until she looked into his eyes and saw the muted pain that was there, the agony at having to send his youngest child away from his care or watch her slowly torn apart by those they called neighbour. He embraced her, frightened to speak in case his grief showed and made it harder for her to leave them.
One by one, they bid farewell to their baby sister, to their aunt, to their sister-in-law, their daughter. She could not hide the tears that spilled freely down her cheeks as she embraced each of them, hating every minute of this painful goodbye. Her sister gripped her shoulders, forcing a smile through the tears threatening to break through.
'If I hear you've gone and got yourself killed, I shall be most upset with you,' she half-heartedly joked, pulling her little sister into her arms once more. 'You take care of yourself, right?'
Niamh nodded, clinging to her tightly.
'Promise,' she murmured, her breath catching as she forced away the tears.
She knelt to say goodbye to her sister's children, feeling another part of her heart rip as they threw themselves into her arms, sobbing wildly. She held them close for a few moments, kissing their hair as they cried into her tunic.
'I d-don't want you to g-go,' the youngest wailed, pulling back to hiccup a frown for her aunt.
Niamh smiled faintly, stroking the wild blonde strands of hair from her niece's face.
'I have to,' she said softly. 'If I stay, things will only get harder for us, and I don't want to be the reason for that.'
The boy drew in a deep, shuddering breath, looking up at her through tear-swollen eyes.
'I'll miss you, Aunty Niamh,' he said softly, hugging her quickly once more.
'I know, I'll miss you too,' she managed, feeling her lip start to quiver with the effort of holding back the tears. 'But I need you to take care of everyone for me, okay? Especially Granddad, he's going to need someone to look after him. Do you think you can do that for me?'
He nodded, taking his little sister's hand from their aunt and letting her stand up. She let her gaze travel over the faces of her family, trying to commit them to memory before she had to let them go. She was acutely aware of a friend, waiting by the gate to walk her down to the meeting place, and knew that she had at least one more hard goodbye to manage before they let her go.
With a final, fleeting smile for her family, she turned away, hefting her pack onto her back and moving to join her friend where he waited for her. Don't look back, she told herself; you'll only make it harder on yourself. But look back she did, at the bend in the road, allowing herself one last glimpse of the people who had raised her, sheltered her, and loved her, her whole life, and who now would have to face the terror of The Change without her.
The tears broke free then, and flowed freely, wracking her body with sobs that seemed to come from deep inside her. Her friend held her, as if simply being there could hold off the pain and heartache until a time when it could be felt without hardship or hurt. His grip never shifted or faltered, letting her cling to him as long as she needed to. As the tears stopped, he lifted her chin gently, smiling sadly down into her eyes.
'You take care of yourself,' he said softly, holding her gaze as she looked up at him. 'Don't forget us.'
'I will never forget you,' she promised, hugging him close. 'Look after them for me.'
He smiled against her hair, squeezing her tight.
'For as long as I am able, I will,' he breathed, pulling back suddenly and glancing down the road to smile at another who was waiting for her. 'And I can be glad that you are not alone.'
Niamh looked to where he was smiling, and saw Ria, her housemate, who had endured the changes and consequences along with her. She couldn't help but feel relieved that she would not have to make this journey by herself, finally admitting that she was as afraid as everyone else. Breathing deeply of the springtime air, she left her friend by the roadside, moving to join Ria, and all those who were leaving. This time, she didn't look back, and somehow he knew they would not meet again. He sighed quietly to himself, knowing he couldn't let her go without seeing a friendly smile to help her on her way, and began to push through the crowd.
Holding tight to Ria's hand, both girls gripping one another with the strength of fear, Niamh walked quietly, subdued by thoughts of home and family. She glanced back at where she had left him standing by the road, and was disturbed to find him gone. Perhaps she did not mean so much as she had thought, that he did not feel it was worth watching her go. But then, this part of her life was over now. She would have to make a new life, without family or friends, except those who went with her, to a place none of them had seen, or even knew existed.
The elf maiden sighed softly. How wrong she had been, she thought, to have thought so badly of him in those desperate moments before he appeared once more. Through the years that followed, through the hardship and the famines, he had never lost touch with her, though they had never again laid eyes on one another. Between his friendship, and Ria's, she had not grieved as much as she had thought, and found strength in her failings. But then, there had not been much time for grief, as she recalled.
They had come upon an abandoned settlement, deep within the forest, far enough away from the Men of their new world to remain undiscovered, and they had decided to settle there, each discovering a new skill they had not known was theirs until now. Over the next years, they had perfected the arts of smelting and forging, of war and peace, until they could exist as one people, living together. They took new names, not wishing to remember the pain of their parting whenever they spoke with one another, and slowly these new names became their own. New friendships were made; old ones made stronger, marriages and births came about as they always had. Other Elves from different parts of their old country had come to join them, building their numbers, until their whole race lived beneath the boughs of this ancient forest.
Through it all, she had grown closer to the she-elf they now called the Lady of the Wood, the friend who had lived with her both before and after The Change. Ria had not wished to change her name very much, and so she had christened herself Ríel in those early years, finding it easy to call on her closest companion as Laurèneial now they were far from anyone who might correct them. She had not been so cool and confidant then, nor so graceful. Laurè recalled with a smile how on one occasion she had managed to burn herself seven times on the fire whilst cooking the evening meal, and yet the food had turned out to be perfectly well done. Ríel had often joked that the only reason Elves seemed so demure was because they had to concentrate very hard on what they were doing at that moment, citing herself as an example of elvish clumsiness. They did almost everything together in those first years, cementing the bonds that had kept them close through everything that had gone before. That wasn't to say there hadn't been arguments, of course, but somehow they had weathered each storm of ego, pride and downright stubbornness to become closer than they would ever have thought possible.
When one of the older Elves offered to train the younger ones in swordplay, a skill he had learnt in fun in his youth, they had leapt at the chance, quickly becoming proficient, somehow knowing that this was a skill they would need as the ages turned. Once swordplay was done, archery became the skill they were taught, followed swiftly by axe-craft and dagger fighting. Each Elf who joined this little band pursued these skills until they could get no better, devoting themselves to these arts as though they were hobbies, nothing more. She remembered the lazy summer days, when there were no chores left to be done, no entertainment to be had until the sun had set, and they would test each other in mock-battles that could go on for hours.
Those had been good times, she remembered. Long empty days, filled with the joy of discovering how different you suddenly were, and yet how little you had really changed. Life-long friendship was borne out of those discoveries; they learnt tolerance and benevolence, slowly becoming a people that loved the peace and tranquillity of their forest life. They developed a love of music and poetry, a joy in such simple arts that few before had encountered, and grew to enjoy the sounds of nature that had frightened them before. They had hunted and played to their hearts' content, never knowing the dangers that were coming to face them.
She remembered with a shudder the first time the Ents had revealed themselves to her little community. The sight of a tree coming to life and talking to you was not something that was easily forgotten. Fangorn was his name, and the name had sparked a memory within her that she had not been able to trace. He had told them of the trees, and how they talked among themselves. He said this was how he had learnt of the Elves making their home within the forest, though it had taken him some time to get around to welcoming them. The trees were happy to have life within their shadow, he said, and wished to keep them safe for as long as they chose to live among them.