There's never a mechanic around when you need one ...

Paris: Mornings are cold in the mountains this time of year, so we both felt better after bundling ourselves back into our clothes, and heading off to a nearby greasy café for a really good, but really bad for you breakfast. When we're walking towards the door, our hands brush and touch and hold, and we glance at each other, smiling over secrets, words somehow unnecessary.

After breakfast, we take a drive back to Wellie. I’m getting used to the feel of Sam pressed against my back, she fits just right. I park the bike up just inside the gates and don't mind admitting I'm pleased John's not home. The damn carbs have been playing up again, and I really need to strip them, so Sam takes off to have a shower and get changed, while I get to work.

Jay: I know I should be at the hospital by now. I know I promised Dad I'd be by to see him. But after waking up alone on his couch again, this time feeling like someone was takin' a fucking jackhammer to my skull, I knew that was in no shape to face him. Even given the shape the old man's in, I don't want him to see me like this.

Bullshit. I know I'm fucking stalling, driving around town in circles, pretending to be lost. I know I'm too much of a damn coward to see him again like that so soon, to spend another day searching his glazed, hollow eyes for any sign of life.

So instead of taking a left, I take a right, towards the beach. It's been a long time since I've smelled pure salt air, and I figure it'll do some good to clear my pounding head. The road takes me by rows of neat little pastel houses with sea-shell wind chimes hanging from the porches and boats in their driveways. It's so quaint and fucking charming it makes my head hurt even more. How can people live like this?

( But then I see it, standing out like a bright, red stoplight, sharp and shining among the pale cottages )

My perfect day ...

After finally dragging ourselves out of the shower, we head into Wellie. I’ve left the bike at John’s so I can have a drink later, and after a couple of hours of pleasant aimless wandering, we end up in the park.

Sam smiles at me as she walks away, that shy, smile she has now that’s all mine, that lets me know she’s thinking of last night. I smile back, and she flounces off in search of ice-cream. Lying back on the grass, I’m thinking this is the most relaxed I’ve been since I hit town, and that really makes me wonder. I roll onto my stomach, and play with a piece of grass. I hadn’t intended to fall asleep last night, was gonna stay awake, didn’t want to risk hurting Sam, but the dream I had? Wasn’t nearly as intense as the others lately. It was manageable, and I’ve had to admit to myself that maybe there’s an external force intensifying my nightmares.

Since moving in with Dave, they’ve been escalating faster than they ever have before. Dave .... how could he be affecting me? I snort at the thought. Affecting me? Being close to him is like putting my hand into fire, and God, I wanna let myself burn.

When I think of his touch on my skin, I get this heat in the pit of my stomach, and the thought of his fingers tangled with mine … why that? Why does that image have the power to make me wanna groan out loud lying here in the middle of the park? I look down at my hands, now full of shredded grass, and remember them covered in blood. I can’t take the chance that one kind of intensity won’t lead to another. I can’t take the chance of hurting him, just so I can be with him.

I look up and see Sam at the ice-cream stall, flirting with the vendor, she looks so happy, and I’m suddenly feeling guilty. I swear she’s not second best, not a substitute for something I can’t have. She’s different. Warm and soft and open and honest, and I need that right now, need her, but that doesn’t stop me craving someone else. And if I was brutally honest, if things were “normal”, who would I be with right at this moment? Gah! I can’t go there! Not with her smiling at me as she makes her way back to me, but I should have told her I’d be taking off next week before we … well, before last night. I’m coming back; I’ll tell her that, too … least I hope I’m coming back. And maybe I’ll be alone. I’d always thought that would make me happy, to be rid of him, his troubled thoughts and dreams, but I don’t want to lose him like that, I don’t want to watch him die.

She hands me my ice-cream, smiling, and we sit close together on my jacket, talking about where to eat later, which movies we want to see. And I don’t tell her I’m leaving, because that would make the smile slip from her face, and just for this one more day, I need to feel her happiness. I’ll tell her tomorrow …

One trip to Uncle Changs for amongst other things the best pot-stickers I’ve ever tasted, one visit to the movies to see Troy, glad Sam chose that over Van Helsing for one particular reason, and a final stop at the Firkin later, where I introduced her to Gareth, who flirted mercilessly with her, even though we all know she’s not his type, our cab pulled up outside John’s place, and I walked her to the door. The lights were on, and I guessed John was waiting up for her, so we lingered over a kiss, and she smiled when I said I would be over in the morning for the bike, saying she would make sure there was coffee on.

I wandered down the drive, giving Leelu an affectionate pat on the way past, and jumped back in the waiting cab.

... meanwhile

...meanwhile, somewhere in Scotland, a would be writer with a Rohirrim fixation posts the first chapter of what she knows is a brilliant piece of work to a fanfiction site. Then she gets to work on chapter two, dreaming of the glowing feedback, and award nominations she just knows will follow, unaware of how her actions have changed the course of history in another world ...

The Tales of Bregdan Part One - The Spell is Cast

The scrying bowl never lies, that is what my mentor Glorfindel taught me. I, Bregdan, the only sheildmaiden of Rohan ever to be considered worthy enough to be taught by the elves. The scrying bowl tells me he will die, Theodred, the flaxen-haired warrior I give my protection to, but he will not! I will use all my power to save him, but it will bind him to me, make me irresistable to him, draw him to me.

Eowyn, my cousin, will not understand, but if it is to save his life, I will do it willingly. No sacrifice is too great for him.

The bowl shows him in the midst of battle, and I turn all my power outwards, weaving my spell, using the bowl to concentrate it. The orc spear that was meant for him from the dawn of time flies past, the spell is cast. I fall to the gound in a faint, and my last thought as darkness takes me is that I have done my part and now the rest is up to him.

I spend my time tending my herb garden, and braiding Shadowfair’s mane, thankful for the company of the Mearas that graces my life, as I wait for him. I know it may be days, but he will find me. He will be drawn to me, and I will tend his wounds when he arrives, and keep him from harm as he heals,

All I have to do is wait.

Archived here.