When Tilda first returned home, she had not intended to veer away from the part of the drive that led to the front door of the house she had lived in for her entire life. She had not intended to follow the dirt path down to the bunkhouse to seek out her dearest friend—a man who had been like family to her for years—rather than finding her parents and brother, instead.

Her feet had seemed to move of their own accord, until she was standing in front of the bunkhouse door, turning the doorknob, and stepping inside. In next to no time at all, after a shout of surprise reached her ears, she had found herself wrapped in the warmth of her friend's embrace.

Moments later, the two of them were resting on their backs in a nearby field, eyes staring up at the slowly darkening sky while their fingers twined together as easy as breathing. The calluses on Isildur's palm were a familiar sort of comfort that Tilda had missed more than words could say. Hushed conversation occasionally broke the comfortable silence between them, while the evening air grew colder, and time soon slipped away from them as they remained content in the safety of a long yearned for reunion.

What the year apart had taken from them seemed all but irrelevant in those moments, a fact for which Tilda was far more grateful than she could ever put into words. It brought a comfort that she was not entirely certain she deserved. Together, she and Isildur had fallen asleep under the stars, all thought of returning to where the both of them should have been forgotten, at least for the moment. And that had been where it all went wrong.

The smell of smoke had registered first, dragging Tilda out of a dream she forgot as soon as her eyes opened to drink in the flicker of the flames at odds with the darkness of the night that had once enveloped them. It burned against her nostrils, and caused hot tears to prick at the corners of her eyes.

When she tried to drag in a breath—a gasp—it nearly caused her to choke. One hand flew to her chest while the other reached out on instinct to push against a still-sleeping Isildur's side. And even as she scrambled to her feet to take in the full sight of the horror unfolding before her, Tilda knew.

She knew that it was already too late.

It was easy to see the men that lived in the bunkhouse frantically milling around it, trying whatever they could to douse the flames. Flames that rocketed skyward in spite of those efforts. That mocked the men who had called the building home as they devoured it, whole. Though the men tried to suppress it, the fire had clearly already gained too much power. Too much time to spread from the outer wall, to the roof, destroying everything in its path.

As soon as Isildur managed to rise to his own feet to stand beside her, horror apparent in his expression as he drank in what unfolded before them, Tilda could hear his muted curse. Only seconds later, he started running towards the flames to lend his own assistance however he could, and panic seized at Tilda's chest in response. An image of her friend being consumed by those flames, along with the bunkhouse, flared to life within her mind.

Her mouth opened, only for her to choke on a scream, any attempt at calling Isildur back to her side thwarted before it ever began. Tears began to track down her cheeks in earnest.

Left with no other choice, lest she wish to stand aside while her friend risked his own life, Tilda soon forced sluggish limbs to race after Isildur as best she could. The panic over losing him that threatened to strangle the life from her veins pushed her forward, regardless of her fear. Nearly to the bunkhouse, and desperate for a way to help, she scrambled through her frantic mind for a solution, but that was when she saw it. The dimmest flickers of still more of the reddish-orange flames that burned her retinas and seared against her skin, coming from out of the corner of her eye.

Instinctively, her gaze snapped toward the sight, and her movements stalled. Her heart twisted within her chest, as horror overtook her features in little to no time at all.

While distracted by the larger inferno of the bunkhouse before her, Tilda had failed to notice the beginnings of something similar racing along the northernmost edge of her very own home. She had not seen the shadow moving towards the trees that lined the border of the property nearby. The shadow of a man on foot, racing to avoid being seen.

Again, she found herself rooted in place, as though terror truly did possess the capability to freeze her limbs without ever asking for her consent. Her vision dimmed for a moment as that terror threatened to pull her beneath its weight for good.

Only when a hand came to rest upon her shoulder did Tilda feel herself being pulled from that abyss, her attention once again fixed upon Isildur's familiar features. Upon the understanding and fear in his own gaze. Clearly, he knew the nature of her thoughts, even in spite of her never once getting the chance to speak to them out loud. He knew that she was thinking of her father. Of her mother, and Bain, and if they still slept on, unaware of the threat that drew nearer with every moment spent idle.

Aware that she must have been impossibly torn between staying to help him in the futile efforts to save the bunkhouse, and fleeing toward her family, a saddened look overtook Isildur's understanding, even if only for a moment. Not long after, his hand drifted down to reach for, and squeeze her own.

Still unsure of what to do, Tilda allowed herself to cling to the comfort inherent in such an act, though the ache within her chest as Isildur pulled his hand free once more was almost too painful for her to take. And even if she wanted to reach for him once more, searching desperately for a connection to rid her of the feeling of being alone, she did not, her features settling into a grim sort of determination as soon as her friend uttered a singular word.

"Go."

With the knowledge that further delay would hardly serve her, Tilda watched as Isildur ran back towards the bunkhouse. She sent a fervent prayer heavenward that he would remain safe from the peril of the flames.

Though hardly reassured that such a prayer would be answered, she forced herself to turn away from Isildur's retreating frame in order to face her home. She forced herself to push aside the regret that swam through her at the thought of how easily she had put off joining her family immediately after her return.

Her breath caught in her throat for what must have been the hundredth time as she once again drank in the flickering blaze of flames that licked at the siding, growing stronger, and hotter still. And then, Tilda did the only thing she could do, whether her presence ended up doing anyone any good, or not.

She ran toward home.

…

So. Apparently, I come back from a month and a half long hiatus, not to post a chapter for any of my current WIPs, but to dive right into a brand new one, instead. (oops?) Though it may seem suspect, at this point, for me to be saying this, I truly have no intention of abandoning said aforementioned WIPs, regardless of how this may look at the present time. As I'm sure many of you already know, when the muses are chomping at you to go in a given direction, it can be rather difficult to lead them (or drag them, kicking and screaming, as the case may be) away. And that is precisely what happened here. (So now, hopefully, since I've let said muses out into the open, I can at least circle back to one of my other works, even if only for a moment? In theory, anyway. *wink wink*)

Either way, though, I'd like to sincerely thank each and every one of you, not only for giving this little introductory chapter a chance, but for sticking with me during my unfortunately frequent periods of sporadic updates! I truly do appreciate the support, so much more than words can express! And I really hope that at least some of you are going to join me for the ride on this little AU as well!

Until next time, my darlings!

~permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88