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eldest and fatherless
This is, like, *completely* uncanonical. To the real history and place, and to any of the three* fictional worlds I'm pulling in. Because that would require a *lot* more research than I've done, and I refuse to take this thing that seriously. Just call it severely AU.
The backstory about Aelfwine is derived from early work on The Book of Lost Tales, btw. That much is real. The origin of the Red Book is a mystery, but it must have shown up around this time, for early work on "The Hobbit".
Yes, it's the start of the
1925: Oxford University
"Professor, could I have a moment, please?"
He sighed at the sound of the anxious voice behind him. It was 4:30, and it had been a long day: all Ronald wanted to do was have a quiet dinner with Edith and the kids, help John with his Latin, and have a chance to work on his private, silly language project. The last thing he needed was another overwrought undergraduate wanting to discuss something; only the typical undergraduate, even the language-speciality ones, didn't generally call out in technically flawless Visigothic. At the very least it showed an admirable initiative.
So he turned back to the young man and replied, in the same language, "Certainly. Join me?"
The dark-haired young man offered him an ironic smile and caught up, his long strides matching Ronald 's easily. He looked the part of an Oxford undergrad to perfection, but something in his face made Ronald suspect he was older. "Are you a student here?" he asked curiously. "I would have thought that I knew of everyone who had this particular language."
"What? Oh, no, just a student of life. Charlie Mops-- pleased to meet you. I own a bookshop in town and obscure languages are a hobby of mine. I'd heard you shared an interest in them."
"That would depend how obscure. I mainly study Ango-Saxon--"
"I'd heard that you'd been working on the Eriol manuscripts."
Ronald stopped short and turned to look at him. "Where did you hear *that*? Those papers are a joke, probably either a hoax or a forgery."
"Wait, wait, I'm not accusing you of anything!" He held his hands before him defensively. "I'm a very old family friend of Professor Chronotis of St. Cedd's at Cambridge, and he mentioned you'd asked him about them--"
Ah. Reg was excessively eccentric and probably at least half-mad, but for obscure historical tidbits, there was no-one better to ask than the Regius Professor of Chronology, assuming you could get a straight answer out of him. Ronald had written him when he'd first gotten the idea for the project, asking him for an opinion on the collection of manuscripts, partially translated into Old English, written in a mysterious alphabet and language, which were supposedly a collection of mythology and literature from the paradisical island of Tol Eressëaut;a in the West, which Eriol Aelfwine had brought back from his legendary voyage. He'd asked whether it was possible that voyage had actually happened; Reg had responded with a long, rambling, mostly nonsensical letter which boiled down to "it depends on your definition of 'happened'. And 'actually', too, actually."
Ronald, intrigued by the mysterious language which seemed to have a distant kinship with Finnish, of all things, had begun attempting a decipherment anyway, well aware that he'd be inviting the ridicule of his colleagues if he confessed to taking it seriously. It had become a pleasant obsession, and if this young friend of Chronotis' was truly interested in the idea--
The young man was still talking. "--at any rate, if you are still interested, there's something I think I need to show you."
Ronald blinked. "Show me?"
"Yes. It's-- a book, given into my keeping a long time ago, until it should be needed. I think-- I think that time might be now. I haven't ever had an opportunity to look at the Aelfwine material, but from what I've patched together, I think parts of my book might be in one of the same languages."
"If that's true, if it's a truly independent source, do you have any idea what that would mean?"
"Yes." The smile was wry. "But I think that's getting a bit ahead of ourselves-- I'd prefer you stop by and look at the book, first, and decide for yourself. And even if it is, I've learned that people are really very good at ignoring evidence if it condradicts the evidence of logic. Why do you think I've kept it to myself so long? You no nobody will take it seriously. And besides, I'm no linguist myself. That's why I wish you'd do me the favor of taking a look at it for me."
No linguist? Ronald resisted the temptation to shake his head. They were still speaking mostly Visigoth, and Mops hadn't yet faltered, except to smoothly insert an occasional English word when the ancient vocabulary was inadequate. But he didn't challenge the other man's statement, instead smiled and said "It would be my pleasure."
"Great!" This time his smile was purely happy. "Listen-- the thing's very old and not in the best condition, so I'd prefer you come by my shop rather than hauling it halfway around Oxford. Say, tomorrow evening, if that's all right?"
Actually, there was a Coalbiters meeting then. Ronald was tempted to cancel it, but he was at least half-convinced this was some pranking student trying to play him for a fool, so he suggested the next night, instead, and got in reply an agreement, another smile, and a slip of paper with a name and address.
Bicycling home afterward, he had the persistent feeling that he had, for the first time in his life, been touched by something truly of the world of fairy.
*Or possibly four, since Reg is apparently actually a Time Lord. But he'll always be a Highlander-style Immortal to me!
**No, it's not slash. Even *I* wouldn't stoop so far as to slash Tolkien! Besides, the only feasible pairing would be Ronald/Jack, and just . . no. Sorry. Get it out of my head! Ah! Now I won't be able to stop thinking about it! it's . . too . . horribly . . plausible . .
The backstory about Aelfwine is derived from early work on The Book of Lost Tales, btw. That much is real. The origin of the Red Book is a mystery, but it must have shown up around this time, for early work on "The Hobbit".
Yes, it's the start of the
1925: Oxford University
"Professor, could I have a moment, please?"
He sighed at the sound of the anxious voice behind him. It was 4:30, and it had been a long day: all Ronald wanted to do was have a quiet dinner with Edith and the kids, help John with his Latin, and have a chance to work on his private, silly language project. The last thing he needed was another overwrought undergraduate wanting to discuss something; only the typical undergraduate, even the language-speciality ones, didn't generally call out in technically flawless Visigothic. At the very least it showed an admirable initiative.
So he turned back to the young man and replied, in the same language, "Certainly. Join me?"
The dark-haired young man offered him an ironic smile and caught up, his long strides matching Ronald 's easily. He looked the part of an Oxford undergrad to perfection, but something in his face made Ronald suspect he was older. "Are you a student here?" he asked curiously. "I would have thought that I knew of everyone who had this particular language."
"What? Oh, no, just a student of life. Charlie Mops-- pleased to meet you. I own a bookshop in town and obscure languages are a hobby of mine. I'd heard you shared an interest in them."
"That would depend how obscure. I mainly study Ango-Saxon--"
"I'd heard that you'd been working on the Eriol manuscripts."
Ronald stopped short and turned to look at him. "Where did you hear *that*? Those papers are a joke, probably either a hoax or a forgery."
"Wait, wait, I'm not accusing you of anything!" He held his hands before him defensively. "I'm a very old family friend of Professor Chronotis of St. Cedd's at Cambridge, and he mentioned you'd asked him about them--"
Ah. Reg was excessively eccentric and probably at least half-mad, but for obscure historical tidbits, there was no-one better to ask than the Regius Professor of Chronology, assuming you could get a straight answer out of him. Ronald had written him when he'd first gotten the idea for the project, asking him for an opinion on the collection of manuscripts, partially translated into Old English, written in a mysterious alphabet and language, which were supposedly a collection of mythology and literature from the paradisical island of Tol Eressëaut;a in the West, which Eriol Aelfwine had brought back from his legendary voyage. He'd asked whether it was possible that voyage had actually happened; Reg had responded with a long, rambling, mostly nonsensical letter which boiled down to "it depends on your definition of 'happened'. And 'actually', too, actually."
Ronald, intrigued by the mysterious language which seemed to have a distant kinship with Finnish, of all things, had begun attempting a decipherment anyway, well aware that he'd be inviting the ridicule of his colleagues if he confessed to taking it seriously. It had become a pleasant obsession, and if this young friend of Chronotis' was truly interested in the idea--
The young man was still talking. "--at any rate, if you are still interested, there's something I think I need to show you."
Ronald blinked. "Show me?"
"Yes. It's-- a book, given into my keeping a long time ago, until it should be needed. I think-- I think that time might be now. I haven't ever had an opportunity to look at the Aelfwine material, but from what I've patched together, I think parts of my book might be in one of the same languages."
"If that's true, if it's a truly independent source, do you have any idea what that would mean?"
"Yes." The smile was wry. "But I think that's getting a bit ahead of ourselves-- I'd prefer you stop by and look at the book, first, and decide for yourself. And even if it is, I've learned that people are really very good at ignoring evidence if it condradicts the evidence of logic. Why do you think I've kept it to myself so long? You no nobody will take it seriously. And besides, I'm no linguist myself. That's why I wish you'd do me the favor of taking a look at it for me."
No linguist? Ronald resisted the temptation to shake his head. They were still speaking mostly Visigoth, and Mops hadn't yet faltered, except to smoothly insert an occasional English word when the ancient vocabulary was inadequate. But he didn't challenge the other man's statement, instead smiled and said "It would be my pleasure."
"Great!" This time his smile was purely happy. "Listen-- the thing's very old and not in the best condition, so I'd prefer you come by my shop rather than hauling it halfway around Oxford. Say, tomorrow evening, if that's all right?"
Actually, there was a Coalbiters meeting then. Ronald was tempted to cancel it, but he was at least half-convinced this was some pranking student trying to play him for a fool, so he suggested the next night, instead, and got in reply an agreement, another smile, and a slip of paper with a name and address.
Bicycling home afterward, he had the persistent feeling that he had, for the first time in his life, been touched by something truly of the world of fairy.
*Or possibly four, since Reg is apparently actually a Time Lord. But he'll always be a Highlander-style Immortal to me!
**No, it's not slash. Even *I* wouldn't stoop so far as to slash Tolkien! Besides, the only feasible pairing would be Ronald/Jack, and just . . no. Sorry. Get it out of my head! Ah! Now I won't be able to stop thinking about it! it's . . too . . horribly . . plausible . .
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I dunno... I could almost see it happening. Not in this; mind you, but in time. *adds to flist*
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Fascinating. I had no idea anybody but Spock had ever sung this. You'll have to send it to me sometime..
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