Lord Of The Rings Fan Fiction ❯ Tolkienist against Mary -Sue ❯ Death ( Chapter 1 )

TOLKIENIST AGAINST MARY-SUE

 

Disclaimer : I own nothing except Morgan and Vicky.

 

Note: There was a choice to make at the very beginning. Will I follow the books or the films? After some reflection I decided to do both. The plot follows the scenario of the films with various pieces of the book injected when I deemed it appropriate.

 

 

Chap 1: DEATH.

 

 

The strange feelings began in my legs the first day, a tingling in my toes so that I could sense them more than usual. At first I thought it was nothing more than the blood rushing in my toes after a long immobilization but when I realized that it was not stopping, I knew something was wrong.

 

The feeling was not sudden; it crept, in a way. And I was soon certain that any physiological reasons were not the cause, because wherever I went the feeling followed, changing my feet into electrical generators. Thinking back, I couldn't remember anything that could be the cause of the oddity. No amount of massage or movements could banish it. There wasn't a disease or fatal virus I knew about which involved electrified feet, so I ignored the problem and didn't tell anyone.

 

A few days before a festival in my school, my ankles felt the strange sensation, and I feared what could be wrong with me. Still, I cheerfully continued to help the five other girls I worked with set up for our medieval-life stand. We all signed up for time slots, and a couple of girls said that they could stay at the booth the entire day. I wondered how on earth anybody could have a life so empty that they would waste all a day sitting behind tables and decked in medieval-style dress.

 

I was not the type to waste time or energy, and I liked to be doing something different most of the time. I was an avid reader and writer, a fairly good scholar in history, an amateur with the flute and, due to my interest in the medieval fan-club, a passable Lady of the past. Parallel to that, I was a normal teenager girl of sixteen, with a healthy interest in boys and others proper cultural occupations.

 

My life was normal enough for a city dweller in London. I went to a good school and my marks were more than sufficient to open prestigious schools for the future. I stayed in contact with the world at large by the internet or the television. I was not an isolated introvert with glasses and have a fair share of friends and acquaintances in both sexes. Only two things make me stand apart from the others: My full name and my little obsession in the old books found in dark libraries. I always felt that there was a great deal more to be learned from the writings of the past.

 

The morning the stand opened, I could only feel the lower parts of my legs, and I had to look down to make sure my feet were not crackling with electricity. Our medieval stand was set up in the main park near our school, and the flags and canvas gave a nice atmosphere. That morning, I was working a slot of time with a girl that was my age, Linda.

 

I came in to find all our reproductions already set out, our boss and Linda already seated. We had covered the display tables in rough cloth the day before, in order to achieve an ancient effect, and today there were innumerable rings, necklaces, bracelets, fake weaponry and reproductions of medieval garbs of all sorts for sale, readily labeled.

 

“Well, good morning, Morgan!” the high, cockney-accented voice of our boss, Regina, called. She smiled at me gladly, pink blush coloring her defined cheekbones. Brown hair framed a square face.

 

Dumping my load, I greeted the two ladies. “Did you guys do all this today?” I asked, waving at the neat displays and price labels.

 

“This morning.” Linda affirmed. My classmate was short, drowsy-eyed, and generally puerile. Words often burst from her loudly and raucously, like the sound of a balloon popping.

 

I sidled around the chairs and went directly for the changing area in the back. “Sorry, I didn't know, or else I would have been here.”

 

“Oh, that's all right,” replied Regina, her speech drawling. “Sylvia was here before she went to work.”

 

I nodded. “Did she sign up for any slots today?” I asked.

 

“She's making her grandma work the time she signed for.” Linda said evilly, biting her nails. I imagined that my classmate thought Sylvia's grandmother was some sort of slave with all the medieval confections that she baked for us.

 

I shrugged. “Well, okay.”

 

Stretching after clothing myself in my medieval lady garb of black and green, I reached across a table for the book I had set down with a tea set for us. Reading the glistening title, The Fellowship of the Ring, I opened it, the pages fluttering freely in the breeze. J. R. R. Tolkien's words were a blur of flapping chapters, and I couldn't stop a shrewd look from growing in my eyes as I remembered the Fellowship's adventures. The characters and their quest to destroy the One Ring captivated me.

 

Whenever I finished a particularly incredible chapter, I would close the book and turn to the nearest person, showing them the shiny cover and advising, “You really should read this!” But whomever I was speaking to would only shrug and go on to something else. There was no polite interest, no questions like “Oh? What's it about?” or “I never have, but the movie looks good,” or even better, “I know! Aren't they just the best books ever written?”

 

Unable to put it down, I had finished The Return of the King at two o'clock in the morning one recent summer night. I had quietly sobbed and sniffled at the story's ending. It was not because it was sad, but just because it was a beautiful conclusion to a beautiful story. And plus, it was an ending. There was no more after that last page except for tales that could be spun in my imagination.

 

“Hey, where are you? You sure are dazed and out of sort today.” Snickered Linda, bringing me suddenly out of Minas Tirith and Rohan and Mordor.

 

I grinned in spite of the electrical sensation in my legs. “Yeah, in more ways than one!”

 

“So… what are you going to be doing later?”

 

“I'm going to read.” I said decisively, opening to “The Council of Elrond.”

 

Taima watched disappointedly, and then slumped down in the chair yawning. “We should have brought a radio even if it was not in genre.” she sighed with a groan.

 

That day and the next passed uneventfully, except for the gradual spreading of the strange feeling up to my knees. On the last day, I signed for three two-hour slots of work time, even if I wasn't really up to it. I was more tired than I had ever been during the summer, and yet my mind felt sparkling, as if a white flame was burning at its centre.

 

I had the morning shift with another student in my grade, a girl named Rachel. She was fast-talking and canny, and usually boisterous. She had brought one of her younger girl friends, Melissa, to keep her company. They had similar personalities, which meant I would have to deal with double the noise I had been expecting. Sylvia's grandmother, Mrs. Johnston, was there as a supervisor.

 

When I got to the stand that morning, I noticed my two peers with an inward groan. It was not that I found them offensive, but I was just not in the mood. I even didn't change in my medieval dress and deposited the tea set in its usual place, but I brought The Lord of the Rings with my school backpack behind the barricade of tables. My energized feet dragged across the grassy floor, and the sound was strangely reverberated in my all too clear and alighted head. I plopped into a metal chair, saying nothing other than my usual hello. I unproductively rubbed at the tense muscles in my calves. I was sincerely worried now that I had some sort of serious condition.

 

Linda wasted no time and shoved a gooey thing into my face, inquiring cheerily, “You want a Popsicle?” The evidence of the dessert was obvious around her mouth, which was stained purple.

 

More electricity… I thought. “No, thanks.”

 

What I wanted most was rest, but a great number of costumers were getting their final choices for the last day, and the business was doing well. Halfway through my first shift, I was in great pain and could barely move without provoking a seizure in the muscles in my legs.

 

I rushed through the costumer I was assisting and collapsed into a seat to calm my throbbing pulse, gripping the edge of a table. “What's wrong with me?” I said aloud, the words somehow amplified in my head.

 

I had a fleeting, fiery urge to get out of the oppressive tent. I stood quickly, but then wavered precariously and gasped.

 

All week, it had been like I was standing in a rising puddle of electrified water that amplified all feeling in my feet, and then in my legs, mounting progressively to my waist. When I hurriedly stood in the medieval stand that day, the invisible puddle of energized water suddenly rose and submerged my entire form, leaving me with an utterly complete sense of any part of my body. Imaginary electrified needles pricked each inch of my skin.

 

I stood, paralyzed and terrified, my arms hanging limp at my sides. Every part of me burned, and my limbs were becoming heavy, lifeless burdens. Ignorant, my friends shoved around me and continued with their work, and I stared, breathing quickly, fearing that each gasp would be my last. Continuing to breathe was the only issue I could fully concentrate on in my traumatized state.

 

A deep booming command in my head yanked me out of the stupor. Outside, outside, you must get outside!

 

In a daze, I stumbled out of the tent. My arms were responding to external commands and grabbed my backpack on the way. I shoved a customer off as I made my way out. All of him was visible in incredibly details as if my senses were decupled. I could have told anyone in the future how many hairs he had, how much he weighted from my brief contact and what was the mark of his aftershave.

 

I staggered into a group of trees in the centre of the park and shrank into an all too-sensitive heap. I could see-hear-smell-taste-feel everything around me and in all directions simultaneously. But the one thing I could really feel was the silvery-white flame inside my mind, coursing through my soul in arcs of power that made my heart tremble.

 

Slowly, not willingly, I lifted a foreign hand that hung from what was supposed to be my wrist. To my surprise, I was still clutching The Fellowship of the Ring with white-knuckled strength, though I wasn't physically aware of it even with the inhuman level of sensation. I noted how faded and transparent the flesh there looked and I was almost sure that I was seeing the muscles beneath the skin.

 

There was a voice calling my full name from far off, beyond the screaming perception blasting through my being, and the sky above was growing dark. I opened and closed my eyes once, a laborious task, and fought for breath. But then there was a suffocating weight crushing down on my chest, and I knew no more.