'Fundamentally, there was nothing meek or mild about her. She was a fighter, and it showed now.' - Winston Graham, Warleggan.
Once, the steady crunch of leaves underfoot would have soothed her. The pull of the mud beneath her leather boots would have served to anchor her in her surroundings. Not today though.
Her irritation manifested in the heavy exhales misting in the cool air before her face, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her waxed jacket balled into angry fists - the knuckles of one whitening around the crumpled letter clutched in it.
She loved these woods. She loved the ancient, gnarled twists of the trees. She loved the winding paths beneath the boughs that she could traverse for hours. She loved the sound of the wind whispering through the leaves and the feel of it lifting her copper hair and whipping it around her face. She loved theses woods so fiercely that the thought of losing them - of surrendering them to some ignorant, soulless corporation made her bare her teeth at the path before her, as if in that moment she found herself facing down some manifestation of the threat hanging over her head.
Halting her furious pacing, she pulled one hand from the warmth of her pocket to scrub it over her jaw, a low sigh leaving her body like the breath of some mythical dragon as its heat mingled with the winter air. Her father's voice echoed in her mind, their conversation that morning looping like a broken record;
"Perhaps it is time, Théadain. Perhaps we ought to let this place go... The upkeep is becoming too much, it's just a house Théa... I won't be around forever, I don't want to think of leaving you and your brother with the burden of this place..."
No. She couldn't. This was her home. There was a magic in this place that she had felt since she was a child, something about the estate that made it feel like they existed outside of time itself. A precious bubble, totally separate from the outside world where the only things that mattered were breathing the free air of the grounds and making sure the kettle was boiled. It didn't matter that the roof above the attic leaked or that they were miles from the nearest supermarket - that was the beauty of Meduseld. Whenever her ancestors had built the house and first walked the now-familiar paths it hadn't mattered that they were so far removed from a main road that future generations would always have to pay at least double for a pizza to be delivered. What had mattered was the character of the sprawling woodland and keeping this magical place safe for as long as it stood.
Indeed, that had been the life's work of the man who had built their home near two hundred years ago - the man who had started the Eorl Foundation in his own name, dedicated to protecting the natural world for as many people as possible to enjoy. As the current president of that charity, she knew only too well how lacking those values were in the world they now lived in. How badly they needed protected. Meduseld was the spiritual home of the foundation, and to turn it over to a coal mining company felt like spitting on her ancestor's grave.
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Crownless | The Lord of the Rings AU
FanfictionThe world is changing. The Éadig family has resided on the Meduseld estate for generations. Once a clan of wealthy benefactors and socialites, the 21st century has seen the contents of the family bank account shrink and the strength of their home a...