Welcome readers, to instalment #1 of my first published Lord of the Rings fanfic!

Now, without further ado... you can start reading! ^_^

The sounds of revelry echoed through the warm, summer evening and drifted lazily heavenward. Tents squatted in rows upon the coarsely-clipped grass, interspersed with merry fires and contingents of tireless dancers.

It was an entirely primordial cacophony; all shouts and crackling wood and jubilant voices raised in song. The absence of engines and busy phones was at once both foreign and comforting as Elanor stood observing the scene before her.

Her eyes growing heavy, she angled towards a campfire, her supple leather boots treading softly upon the worn grass. The air reeked of human sweat and roasting lamb, causing her to wrinkle a small, upturned nose as she neared the source of the latter aroma. Logs were positioned about the campfire, and many were retiring from the wild dance as the night grew old.

"Ellie!"

Elanor turned to find the source of the call. A younger girl with a mass of light brown hair bounded towards her, chest heaving and cheeks flushed red.

"Ellie," she gasped, grinning nonetheless. "Come sit over here - I'm totally wrecked from dancing." She took Elanor's hand and led her to an empty log, upon which she collapsed gracelessly.

Elanor sat more slowly, and turned to peruse her sister with a raised eyebrow. "Georgia, you stink."

Georgia laughed and tugged at the bodice of her gown. "That's what happens after a week without deodorant."

"Sweating like a pig probably doesn't help," the older sister quipped, bumping Georgia's shoulder playfully. "Did you meet any nice guys?"

Georgia's cheeks turned a darker shade of crimson as she arched her eyebrows. "That's what you're after, is it?"

"No," grinned Elanor. "I have Tim, remember?"

Her younger sister pursed her lips ruefully. "Oh, don't I know it. But to answer your question, yes, there were plenty of handsome ones if you could overlook the smell of them."

"Write their numbers down, and text them after we get home - once they've had a chance to get clean," Elanor replied, sagely.

Georgia laughed once more, then sighed. "I'll be sad when the festival's over, Ellie. Won't you?"

"Of course," nodded Elanor. "I'll just be so glad to get into a nice hot shower tomorrow and my soft pyjamas, and watch the latest episode of Suits —"

"You'd never survive the real middle ages, Elanor," scoffed Georgia. "You need to embrace it! It's relaxing, not to have to worry about being clean, and pick clothes every day."

Elanor shook her head vigorously. "Not for me. Besides," she twinkled, gesturing to the blonde hair which curled becomingly to her chin, "I always wear my hair out."

"You should've gotten a wig, then we could've actually looked like sisters!"

The elder of the two smiled. The resemblance between the Ravenscroft girls was not particularly evident; where Elanor was tall, fair and slender, Georgia was short and rosy. Her hair was darker, and her eyes a bewitching shade of hazel framed by black lashes.

The pair fell silent for a moment, watching the flames dancing as exuberantly as the people at the festival. Elanor brushed a curl behind her ear, thoughts lingering on her return to civilisation the next day. She would be glad for the luxuries of her Brisbane apartment, and the long-awaited embrace of her boyfriend when she met him for dinner.

Glancing to her right, she studied her sister's profile. Georgia's countenance was alight with pleasure, her pink lips parted in an awed smile. She wore the home-spun green dress with something akin to grace, slim fingers toying with her Celtic girdle. Georgia was enraptured by history and fantasy, and treasured their family's week-long excursion each summer to the festival. Elanor ruefully eyed her own dress, wishing for nothing more than her high-waisted jeans and a t-shirt, despite the becoming way it fell about her waist.

"We should turn in," she said softly, touching Georgia on the arm.

Georgia nodded wistfully. "I suppose." Grasping Elanor's hand, the sisters rose and made their way back to their family tent.

"Georgia! Will you hurry up!" cried Elanor in exasperation.

The slight, exuberant girl reluctantly broke free of her embrace. She was wildly bidding farewell to half a dozen new friends, before stumbling back towards Elanor. The latter stood with hands planted firmly on her waist, brow furrowed.

"Georgia, Mum and Dad are just packing the car. We need to get our stuff from the tent or we won't leave before nightfall!"

"Yes, yes," huffed Georgia, flicking a lock of hair over her shoulder. "We all know you've got a date with Tim tonight, you never shut up about it. We'll be back in time! Just chill." With that, she turned on her heel, and flounced off in the other direction.

Elanor exhaled slowly. Georgia was full of fire, and irrepressibly outgoing. Elanor had confined herself to mingling with her family and a cluster of other university students, whilst her younger sister had managed to charm the entire festival contingent within the course of a week. Frustrated as she was, Elanor could not help envying her sister's charm and ability to worm her way into people's hearts so swiftly.

Rolling her neck to ease the tension in her shoulders, Elanor turned and followed Georgia back towards the tent. Pulling the flap, she saw the canvas room empty - and her sisters belongings strewn just as haphazardly across the floor as ever.

"Ellie? Georgie? Are you nearly ready?"

Elanor pursed her lips as she faced her mother. "Georgia's disappeared again. I sent her back here, she's just too busy saying goodbye to pack up."

Kate Ravenscroft - a pleasant-looking woman in her mid-forties - gave Elanor a knowing smile. "I have a few more things to help your father with. Could you pick up her stuff and then go find her? We'll meet you at the car."

A resigned expression on her face, Elanor nodded, and proceeded to gather Georgia's miscellaneous items. Into a large, black backpack went a coarse woollen blanket, a small torch, and several pairs of underwear.

Irked that Georgia had somehow thought it necessary to bring Magician, The Lord of the Rings and another Tolkien book she didn't recognise called The Silmarillion, Elanor swept them into the bag carelessly and surveyed the remnants. Only her sister's staff and knife belt - objects which Georgia was very proud of - were left. Swinging the backpack over her shoulders, Elanor picked up the staff and knife belt and exited the tent.

Several metres away, an organisational crew was dismantling tents that had already been vacated by more organised families. A group of students that Elanor recognised were loitering about a campfire, and she gave them a perfunctory wave of the hand before setting off in the opposite direction, calling Georgia's name.

The festival was established each year in a paddock slashed by an obliging farmer. Tents were constructed in long rows, and dozens of families migrated from all along the east coast of Australia to enjoy the somewhat limited pleasures of bathing infrequently, eating heartily, and engaging in archaic activities such as sword fighting, jousting, and archery. Georgia had swiftly established a reputation as an adept staff-wielder, and placed reasonably in the knife-throwing contest. Elanor had preferred to confine her activities to a display of horsemanship, at which she was fairly successful but still fell second to Georgia.

She grumbled under her breath as she followed the main thoroughfare through the campgrounds. The land sloped up slightly, leading to a gentle hill a hundred metres distant. Seeing a small figure at the top of the rise, Elanor continued laboriously, cursing the weight of her sister's books.

By the time she reached the summit, she was breathing harder than usual and glaring about the grass-covered slope. There was no sign of her sister, save for a trampled track through the grass leading down the other side.

"Georgia Ravenscroft!" she stormed. "You come back! I'm not coming after you!"

There was no sound, save for the distant voices of those in the campgrounds, and a breeze stirring the grass.

Frowning slightly, Elanor squinted for a better view down the hill. There was no movement. As she made to retreat, she heard a thin, girlish yell, and instantly swivelled towards the source of the noise.

"Georgia? Georgia! Are you alright?" she cried, worry replacing frustration as she stumbled down the hill. "Georgia! Georgia!"

Nothing. She combed the slope for a quarter of an hour, weaving through the grass that snagged her skirt. As sweat dripped into her eyes, she paused in frustration.

"Georgia," she growled. "If this is a joke, come out now, because it is not funny!"

Again, silence met her menacing shouts. Making an angry noise in her throat, she began the arduous climb back up the hill, swiping tufts of grass with Georgia's staff in her frustration. The summer sun was beginning to beat down on her, despite it only being mid-morning. By she reached the top for the second time, her shoulders were throbbing from the weight of the backpack, and she slipped it off as she stood facing the campground.

At least, facing where the campground should have been.

The landscape was no longer flat and smooth, but the hill upon which she stood swept down to meet the base of another, not far distant. To her right she could make out the blur of snow-capped mountains, and as she stood, gaping, a cool breeze swept down from the north.

There was no sign of the tents that had been there only half an hour before, nor the glint of sun on car windshields some distance away. There was nothing but the waving grass, which appeared different even as Elanor studied it with an expression of horror.

She dropped to her knees beside the backpack, mouth agape.

"Oh my gosh."

Thanks for reading, friends!

This is something I have wanted to do for a very, very long time, and am delighted to finally have the time, energy, and means to work on something so dear to my heart.

Just putting a few things out there now;

Firstly, I am an avid Tolkien fan (as you can probably guess by my bio!). Therefore, as I am writing, I really make an effort to stick to Tolkien's legendarium as best as I can; I try and make my characters as he has written them, and when describing historical events, to do my research thoroughly. I'm not claiming to be amazing at it, but I do make the effort to avoid giving you super cringe-worthy moments.

Secondly, I love reviews! So if you'd be so kind as to leave me one at the end of this chapter, or another chapter, I would appreciate it very much. :) Constructive criticism is great! I will take that on board, though not if you're just attacking me or my writing.

And finally...

A huge thankyou to 95Rose, a good friend of mine, for proofing these chapters and helping me nut out my ideas for the story.

I really hope you liked this; chapter 2 is up for you as well, and should be swiftly followed by 3 and 4 (which are already complete and just undergoing proof-reading).

Reviews are awesome! Please leave me one if you can. :)

Have an awesome day!

Finwe x