A/N: Regarding the summary, and just to reiterate what it says in the summary – the OC in this story is seventeen in the prologue, but that's it. The story begins in earnest in the next chapter, and there's a time skip between the prologue and chapter one, so she'll be twenty-seven from there onwards/during the events of LOTR. I'm not here trying to set Boromir up with a teenager, I promise. We're not diving that deeply into the 'historical' aspect of historical fantasy.
The folk who are here from my Pirates of the Caribbean story will know that I've already written a modern!OC story. It's called Catch the Wind, I'm very proud of it, I'd love for you to check it out if it sounds like your kind of thing. However, going into this one I didn't want it to just be a repeat of that all over again (not least because it would bore the people who are here from that story, many of whom talked me into giving this story a shot back when I was adamant that Tolkien was too much for me to take on in fic form) - which is when I got the idea of the OC's memory being wiped when she's transported to Middle-earth. I thought it would be a fun twist on the trope, I'm excited about it, I hope you guys enjoy!
Every surface in Sybil's bedroom, bar one, was littered with paper. Textbooks, notebooks, binders, stray notes, exam timetables, the works. There wasn't even the barest hint of organisation to the chaos, but she was fine with that - it represented her current state of mind pretty well. And it was difficult to give a damn about tidiness at two in the morning, anyway. Almost as difficult as it was to revise material she had less than no interest in, and just could not manage to grasp no matter how closely her exams loomed.
Dwelling on that, and on the future in general, was a bad idea at this hour of the night, though. It was just rough. If she knew what she wanted to do with her life, if she had some grand calling - hell, she'd even settle for a vague general goal - she felt like she'd be able to use that as a driving force to get her through the stress of all of these exams. Something on the other side that would make it worth it. Instead, she saw only more of this. More studying things she had no interest in, to ultimately get a job she didn't want and that wouldn't fulfil her.
Maybe if she could just take a gap year between sixth form college and university, she'd be able to find something. Anything. Do a bit of soul-searching, get a job and save up some money, find her way, and continue on with some sense of purpose. Her mum and dad, however, had made it very clear that doing so wasn't an option - adamant that she'd lose all momentum if she did so, and become a waster. To use their word. Given that if she disagreed, she'd be cut off in every sense of the word with no safety net to speak of, she wasn't left with a whole lot of choice.
But none of that made the stress any less all-consuming - especially when she wasn't sleeping well, and when anything less than an A was regarded as a failure. Tangling her fingers into her dark curls, Sybil sighed and slumped her shoulders, pressing her face down against the glossy pages of the textbook before her. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. Ridiculous and defeatist and just generally grumpy as hell. It would do no good to spiral like this. What was it her gran used to tell her? Never to trust her opinion on anything after ten at night? That sounded like good advice right about now.
It was pointless pressing on when she was working herself into this state, she'd only undo any chance she had at continuing her work come morning. Which she would have to do as soon as she woke up. Sybil sat up - and had to peel the page away from her forehead to do so. Easing her fingers out of her hair, she stretched her arms high up towards her bedroom ceiling, and then out to either side, rolling her shoulders and revelling in the cracks and pops that it drew out of her back. It would be fine. She'd feel better about the way of things come morning. She always did.
Hanging onto that thought, she turned her desk lamp off and leaned back in her chair. The only light in the room now came from the candle burning calmly on the end table by her bed - the only surface not laden with school materials. Because it would be difficult to pass her exams if her house burned down. It had been a gift from her aunt upon her return from one of her many travels. A wishing candle, or so she'd said, no doubt bought because she liked to indulge Sybil's witchy-leaning interests. Tonight, though, she only burned it for the smell - a mix of rosemary and lavender that she'd hoped would help her ward off the stress. If the wishing aspect of it worked as poorly as that had, her aunt would probably be entitled to a refund.
But she knew one thing that never failed to calm her down - and she'd never been any good at sleeping in silence, anyway. Within minutes, she'd changed into a worn old band t-shirt and a pair of pyjama shorts, and was snuggled up in her bed, swiping through her movie selection until she found The Fellowship of the Ring on the list. She'd be asleep before Frodo even left the Shire, in all likelihood, but there was just something about the first half hour or so of that film. It was like a warm cup of tea. The score alone felt more like coming home than walking through the front door of her own house ever did.
As she settled down further into her covers, watching as the prologue described the forging of the Great Rings, Sybil mused to herself that if only she could move to Middle-earth after her exams, she might find herself a bit more motivated to get through them. That would certainly provide her with a sense of purpose grand enough to get her through the day to day. Maybe she could even save Boromir from his sorely undeserved fate.
One glorious upside of using these movies as a comfort to fall asleep to was that she often missed the end of them - and therefore seldom had to see his death.
Mulling over just how much she would prefer Middle-earth to regular old Earth, the candle on her bedside table only caught her notice when the flame began to flicker, almost bouncing as the flame grew shorter and taller over and over, casting dancing shadows about her bedroom. That was a stroke of luck - falling asleep with it still lit could have ended in disaster. Sitting up, she quickly blew it out and then settled back down again, content to let Concerning Hobbits send her off to sleep.
Yes, she doubled down as her eyelids already grew heavy. Things would look brighter come morning.
