Chapter Text
Preface
Dearest Readers! This is that place where if you wish to spend a moment gleaning some valuable information about this road that will go ever on and on, since you are daring to step outside your door and have an adventure, you may do so. Do you wish to throw caution to the winds and just start reading the story? Well scroll on down until you see the giant picture of Inis Mor and Chapter One and be on your way, don't be fidgeting on your stool when Ireland awaits, you eejit!
Oh, you decided to stay? Fabulous, let's not waste your time! First off. This fanfic is rated mature, it contains very descriptive depictions of consensual adult sex. How dare we call ourselves authors of a serious literary endeavor when obviously the Professor would abhor this smut-filled besmirchment of his elevated world of high fantasy that was specifically meant to exclude such elements? Ann, with her fussy degree in Comparative Literature has answered that because it ranks as a valid question and a point of contention for many who hold 'canonicity' sacrosanct. Hence the essay: There's No Sex in Tolkien! for those wishing to take the time to understand our position on this topic. For those who want to know 'the nature of the explicit content'? The scenes are written in elevated emotional language. There is no coarse speech; this is not porn or erotica. What exists purposes to be a window into the totality of a character's mental and emotional spectrum. In the beginning of the story there exists a fair amount; there is a reason. While it never disappears from the tale, this is a story about many many things and the tale moved from bedrooms to the wide world. Because it did. We will say no more beyond, read or do not. The rating exists for a reason, but the work exists to challenge the reader's thinking and point of view as does any good work of literary fiction and we like to hope that if you pass into our forest you will not emerge unchanged.
Trigger Warnings. Regarding the Archive Warnings for this work; we think tags are spoilers. We don't have a rape/non-con tag while also saying that there is graphic violence in here, so sensitivity demands we be really up front about some elements in the fic. Our story does not carry the rape/non-con tag because no actual depictions of successful sexual assault occur. However, there are attempted assaults, recovery/survivor discussions, recollections of assault, explorations of gender-based crime, and survivors eventually confronting their perpetrators as a whole subject, etc. So it isn't like we don't go there...we are just like the horror movie that never actually shows the monster on camera. All chapters that contain potential triggers (recollections, 'flashbacks', attempted assaults) are clearly identified with warnings at the beginning. The same is done for scenes of graphic violence. While it is hardly a dominant feature of this giant story, it exists. We have done our best to be sensitive to those who have suffered real world abuse. Respectful requests regarding the need to do more will definitely be taken into consideration.
Now for some items of note; a fun fact: When we began the story, where to place imaginary Lasg’len was something of a question mark. We chose the real world village of Feakle as our “x” on the map, in County Clare. Humorously, there is no forest whatsoever but there is a lake. https://www.clare.ie/place/feakle/
The fic is absolutely saturated with references to three older films in particular: Monty Python and the Holy Grail, The Princess Bride, and A Christmas Story. We cannot recommend enough that the reader view these movies (please watch Monty Python with subtitles turned on if you aren't British! or else many many words will sail straight over your head and that would be sad). If you find them difficult or can't access them, contact us on Discord. Seriously. We will help you find a way to view them...it matters to us that you be able to enjoy the story as it is meant to be enjoyed and if we need to, we will go back and embed every video clip on YouTube.
As you read the story, you will find photos, art, the text will be quite polished, the writing so very good...and then you will think 'what happened???' Ah. You will have encountered the tipping point of the Great Edit. We feel that our story is a living organism and even as we are writing it, we are trying to improve the parts of it written long ago. We have so many ideas! We began editing in January, 2020. We will slowly fine tune, annotate and in other ways improve the story from the very beginning and leave a note in the chapter summary that we have done so. Ann wrote chapters 1-11 or thereabouts before Sona came aboard and made this story possible. Chapter One alone yielded over 120 edits, yowza. (Then I rewrote it again later anyway) I was kind of stunned at the glaring contrast between my writing now and then. Every writer starts somewhere, and I'd been writing fic for just four months when this "little side story" began. All our readers have been an inspiration to improve and learn, and Sona and I hope you enjoy the comments, links, art and other tidbits we will provide as this process unfolds. You can see more of our journey of discovery as writers, if you wish. If anyone still wants to have or read version 1.0 we downloaded it before we began to update, just send a comment.
Many Acknowledgements that pertain to this fanfic:
To SonaBeanSidhe, for bringing in her OC's from the M Universe series (they appear in later chapters), and for help and support with all things Irish and Ireland. After chapter 16 all material is co-written; AO3 didn't initially leave an elegant way to be clear on this.
To Nuredhel, wttw, moiety, bluehair, Franki3W, April Summers, the Beta Squad who keep this train on the tracks, we do not know what we would do without your magical ability to Remember All the Things. To Lilith di Libri, for proofreading the earliest draft of what became this book and providing valuable insight.
To Agent Of Entropy, who also did beta/admin work for us; our story is now also her memorial. She passed to the care of Eru on August 30, 2018. We were greatly saddened by her loss, and will ever appreciate her significant contribution to our tale.
To Mary and Malinornë (Mary and Mal), authors of the stories at www.thranduil.net for their original character Thaladir, which provided loose inspiration for our OEC "Thanadir" and not so loose inspiration for OEC "Thaladir" (used with permission from Malinornë). Mary Aseltyne has passed beyond the circles of Arda. Somewhere, we hope Mary is smiling because there is Unseemliness.
Most awkwardly, to the author who I now cannot find because s/he took down their unfinished piece...about a faded Thranduil that lived in a modern-day woods, and was in the process of seducing a firieth of his own. While this trope is the only thing that our stories shared, reading it planted the seeds for this one. If the author ever re-posts their work, I will certainly give credit.
To denizens of the Discord server Vinyë Lambengolmor. The desire to learn the Elven languages part inspired this fic...a rocky road indeed and an ongoing (and probably eternal) quest. We are grateful to the Tolkienian linguists who supply corrections for the Sindarin used in the story, and all of the Quenya translations.
Our sincerest appreciation to Spiced_Wine for her explicit permission to write the original characters Vanimórë and the Khadakhir from the Dark Prince AU. To be entrusted with a creation of this intricacy is an honor and a privilege, and we hope to prove worthy of this complex challenge.
Thanks to the generous artists who have given permission for their art and photographs to be used to illustrate this fanfic: lucife56, Małgorzata Karolak, Natalie Chen, Kaprriss, Alystraea, EJDM, Mysilvergreen, Tindomiel-Heriroquen, Sepi-Donne, SonaBeanSidhe, AnnEllspethRaven, Edgar Badilla, Landscape Photography by Mike Thompson
Last and greatest, to J.R.R. and Christopher Tolkien, whose combined efforts have provided us with boundless magic. All characters of Tolkien's creation belong to the Tolkien Estate. No infringement is intended in this transformation of the Professor's original concepts, and we earn no remuneration from our efforts here. We do claim ownership of our respective original characters found in this story.
Chapter One
{February 21, 2016}
Earlene stepped off the plane at Donegal International Airport, desperately tired after traveling so far and enduring an epically tedious layover. And perhaps, feeling so filled with inner trepidation as well. Passing through the terminal at JFK had proven to be a more emotional experience than bargained for; that this was truly a final departure from New York, and America itself, never to return; that difficult emotions might accompany that choice – these had not crossed her mind. As the aircraft devoured the miles over the Atlantic enroute to Dublin, reassuring herself with the usual intellectualizing that all would be well sped at full throttle; this journey after all crowned years of careful planning.
Focus, discipline, unwavering dedication and determination characterized Earlene’s life to date. A number of prestigious scholarships and undergraduate study that commenced at age sixteen had seen her through the grueling years in academia. At the end of four years’ difficult study beyond her bachelor's degree, she graduated from Columbia Law School; the youngest in her class at only twenty-two with an emphasis on corporate practice. Shortly afterward conquest of the bar exam followed.
Snapped up immediately by a prestigious Madison Street firm that aggressively recruited top graduates, Earlene’s rise within the firm had been meteoric. And now, at not quite forty years of age, that same blazing determination to succeed at her career had morphed into a blazing determination to assume another kind of life. While there had been great personal satisfaction in gaining high regard, prestige, and surmounting the intellectual challenges of her career, a sense of hollowness followed as well. At thirty-five years of age, after only about thirteen years in active practice, it became clear that she had further goals – however strange they may have seemed to others.
The day and moment her feelings had coalesced seared itself into her memory. After a long afternoon and early evening in the office, she treated herself to a run in Central Park. On every occasion in which her feet indulged themselves on the winding footpaths, she visited Cleopatra's Needle. As she admired this monument for the umpteenth dozenth time it finally sank in: She might be here solidly established as a New Yorker, but she belonged here about as much as this obelisk did. Deep inside, she wanted something else. God help her , as gran would say, the epiphany had finally arrived.
The same solitary nature that had allowed her to devote nearly every waking moment to her career wanted yet more solitude – and a chance to spend her time as she chose, perhaps explore parts of life that she had been forced to eschew. Of Irish descent, for years she had nurtured a fantasy of someday living on the Emerald Isle. It would be a huge transition from her apartment in Queens and her job in Manhattan.
Earlene had embraced New York City all of these years with ease, because nowhere else could one be surrounded by millions of people and yet be completely alone in quite the same way.
With wisdom passed down from her father, she had lived unassumingly given her salary and invested her earnings wisely. Her parents had insisted on helping her, when she enrolled at Columbia – helping her to purchase a small two-bedroom condo that looked over the East River toward Manhattan. While reimbursing her parents and taking on the mortgage had bitten deeply into the early years of her income, the price for which it had sold in the bloated market had made those sacrifices more than worthwhile. In addition, a surprise inheritance from her parents when they passed (of a magnitude that she could not have guessed at) left her free to make nearly any choice within reason.
It had still not been an easy decision. Over three years ago, after extensive research and vetting through a variety of business contacts, she had hired an agent to begin the process of helping her find a place in which to live overseas, as well as all that would be involved in a permanent relocation. In what free time she allowed herself, she pursued her dream, and prepared. Her requirements had been simple: to have land (preferably five to ten hectares) with a functional dwelling, access to water and approved for agricultural use, and as much solitude as possible. If it had serviceable outbuildings, so much the better.
The agent had warned her about the assorted fees, and the stamp duty, and every other possible cost stemming from Irish law...but she could not have anticipated it when over a year ago, it came back to her that a solid possibility had been located. An odd parcel of almost eleven hectares that butted up against Lasg'len Forest was available. Part of the acreage was wooded, and all of it was considered to be devalued agricultural land on account of the need to remove far too many trees for farming purposes. Regardless, she felt certain that she could manage the parcel for her needs. One local family had held it in trust for the past century, and it had come up for private sale. The more documentation and photos Earlene had been shown, the more the property appeared to be a dream come true.
The best part of all was, it hadn't cost remotely what it seemed like it ought to, as if she were once again in the right place at the right time. Many things in her life had gone thus; she had worked hard but still Earlene felt somewhat charmed, as though she had a bit of luck with her – though she didn't believe in luck. Education, learning, and logical thinking had brought her through life, and ideas that ran outside those parameters were summarily dismissed.
Passing through customs with her laptop and a very small array of personal necessities, she was to meet her agent's contact. This woman would drive her out to her new home. After far too much research, she had decided to forego driving in Ireland anytime soon; the requirements, fees, and red tape involved were truly a nightmare for anyone coming out of the United States. Not to mention, fatigue and rules for driving on the opposite side of the road seemed like a recipe for rental car disaster.
Plus, she was arriving with an investment portfolio that, short of the collapse of society, would allow for her financial freedom. A bicycle with a detachable trailer would be her sophisticated transport to a nearby village for groceries and small purchases; this move was with the intention to live in solitude, not go hobnobbing all the time. If she really needed a ride somewhere, she could afford to hire it until she worked out the public systems. As for the rest of it, there was the fabulous world of online shopping.
The agent appeared, dressed in a suitably professional manner for Earlene's tastes. While not overly vain about her own appearance, her career had taught the value of impeccable grooming. She dressed conservatively, wore just enough makeup to enhance her expressive eyes, and maintained physical fitness as part of the regimen of her law practice. Glossy, dark brown hair was kept shoulder-length, allowing her to transform it into a style appropriate for the office at a moment's notice. If there was one detraction, it would be that her demeanor held extreme reservation. Effusive smiles and cheer were not something that brought a woman far in the competitive and serious world she had just departed.
About an hour's time would be required to reach their destination, and she was debriefed on the remainder of the arrangements that had been prepared. Keys to the home, an envelope of cash that had been exchanged on her behalf, documentation on the shipment of her personal effects and their expected time of arrival, reference materials, on and on were placed in her keeping. An occasional glance out the window at the splendor of the scenery moved her deeply though to look at Earlene one would not know she found it of any particular interest.
It pleased her to see that all of this information had been laid out in an organized format, neatly assembled in a binder. This was the manner in which she herself worked, and no less was expected from those she had hired. Earlene remained professionally polite, but inside of herself felt practically giddy at the thought of reaching her destination and sleeping off the incredible fatigue tugging at her body. No matter how great the level of her organization, the last days of preparation for this transition had taken their toll.
At last, they pulled in, and she stepped out of the vehicle. Onto her land. Her home. The sense of this finally having happened flooded into her, though she was too disciplined to show any emotion. It was impossible to avoid noticing the largest beech tree she had ever seen, right at the edge of the driveway, and that many smaller specimens graced the rear of the property, along with birch and others.
Once led inside, Earlene was courteously shown the basic features of the home, and provided reference materials for these as well. The documentation had been prepared by someone who had also lived in the States...and understood the differences in managing the affairs of daily life in Ireland versusAmerica. The pantry and small refrigerator had been generously stocked with food. A fire blazed in the wood stove; telecommunication service and other utilities had already been connected. Some bottles of wine for welcome even waited on the countertop, and a local handyman/caretaker would be by every two days to check on necessities and solve any further issues as she accustomed herself to her new life.
Thanking the woman profusely, she was at long last left in her home with an immeasurable sigh of relief. Now that she was alone, however, a little more energy welled up amidst the exhaustion. After waiting so long it felt compulsory to at least look around…but first things first. Another piece of wood to the stove later, she filled the kettle with a view to some tea and sliced some of the fruit in the charming little basket.
After eating a few pieces and with a steaming mug in her hands, winding paths guided her around the acreage. Some old and sadly neglected (but redeemable) fruit trees met her eyes, as well as potential garden sites. Her summers growing up and even into the first years of college had been spent with grandparents who had tenaciously kept a small farm until they passed on.
Earlene owed her good start in life to the fact that her own father had rejected the idea of farming from a young age. Not wanting the life of hard work and heartaches he saw his parents endure, he had applied himself diligently and eventually became a highly regarded surgeon. That same ethic of extreme self-discipline had been instilled into his daughter and son.
And yet, with that time on gran's farm Earlene had become thoroughly acquainted with the work. She might not be able to operate an entire farm alone, but everything about growing, machinery, canning and cooking – that, she knew. Her brother Aidan had had very different interests; after they had finally flown the nest they rarely saw each other except on the sporadic family holidays when everyone had traveled back home. With any luck a few dairy goats would be hers before long, and the process of keeping busy in her little world could begin.
Walking to the wooded environs, her eyes scanned the barren canopy. The trees were just beginning to bud; winter kept its grip here late much as it did in New York. It was fortuitous that she arrived when she did, to take advantage of what would pass for the growing season in Ireland. The silver-gray bark of beeches had always held a place in Earlene’s heart; as she walked past them, she trailed her hand along the trunks.
"All mine," she said, and hardly believed her luck. Faintly, she heard an echo, but in what seemed like a masculine voice. Far away it seemed, yet determined.
Mine.
She laughed, deliriously silly in her weariness. "Mine, mine, mine!" she pushed back, giggling.
Once again, she heard it. Stronger. Mine.
"Clearly, I’m past my bedtime," she mumbled, with a slight degree of concern, and sipped her tea. Returning to the house, she closed up. Her grandparents had never locked anything on their farm, but this wasn't there, and better safe than sorry.
The fruit eaten, Earlene regarded the rooms. This was basically a large cottage, but the single bedroom did contain a rather ample bed for one person; basically a queen sized mattress. Once she’d had her tea, she made ready for sleep, damping down the stove before she filled it for the night. Pulling the covers over herself, she took a moment to shut down her cell phone, tossing it on the unused half of the bed coverlet. There would be no waking, until she'd taken all the rest she wanted.
*****