Destiny

A gift-story for Trev/thelonemongrel. He was a brash American marine. She was a young British tomboy with an interest in Tolkien and Christianity. Can anything bring them together? The progression of Sam Howard's and Terry Daniels' relationship up to the Troubles and beyond. Based off of the characters of Lost in Time: Origins.

SPOILERS for the original story/novel, so I advise you not to read this one before you've read Trev's Lost in Time: Origins first! :D Tis a really amazing, well-written, magnificent story and I highly encourage you all to read it - and don't forget to review either! :) ;)

I doubly do not own. The Ice Age characters belong to Blue Sky Studios; and the amazing Sam, Terry, Frank and Claire and the other OCs of Lost in Time belong to Trev. :D And don't forget to read Trev's own amazing story that this is a spin-off of, Lost In Time: Origins!

My apologies for how long this chapter is! I cut it in half, but it's still everlastingly long, mea culpa for that. Hopefully it will be exciting enough that everyone will actually read it all from beginning to end! :-)

Also, here is the music to listen to while reading the sections with the Troubles sequences, Immediate Music's Serenata Immortale.

Here's the link, just remove the spaces:

http. www. youtube watch? v=1HtCquBppTc&feature = related

Happy Birthday Trev! :D :D :D

P.S. I am already at work on the second chapter!

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The jagged crest of the dormant volcano of Half-Peak sliced into the skyline as the second half of the Herd, comprised of Manny, his mate Ellie, their daughter Peaches, the sabre cub Mark, and their human friend Frank's mate Claire and his son, Ben stopped to rest for the night. A few days earlier, they had been joined by a band of deserters from Diego's former alpha Soto, who had been stalking them in an attempt to bring about retribution on the mammoth and his erstwhile second-in-command; lead by Sam, the mate of Terry (Soto's new second-in-command) who Manny was still very suspicious about.

The woolly mammoth glanced around at the band that he'd gathered around the small fire built by the human soldier, Sam's mate. Mark was lying beside him at his feet with a drowsy light in his eyes, gazing over at the petite dark-headed woman who sat on a downed tree trunk, her arms wrapped around her husband. His strong arms enfolded her upper body alongside his, providing her more warmth against the brusque chill of the Ice Age surroundings. Peaches lay in Ellie's trunk, her eyes buttoned up in sleep as the lady mammoth rocked her back and forth. Claire, Frank's mate, sat on another tree-trunk seat that the healer Nigel had assisted his friend Charlie in finding, and she was holding her son Ben in her arms, and he'd fallen asleep in her tender grasp. Claire looked up at Ellie with a smile, and a shared look passed between the mothers, over the heads of their babies – one that indicated that moments like this were over far too quickly.

Manny gazed into the dancing blue streaks of the fire. The flickering tiny lights caused the mammoth to reminisce over Sid, finding that he missed the sloth's droll behavior. He raised his eyes from his reflections brought upon by the fire to see the dire wolf, Lt. James Hudson, staring at him thoughtfully. At that moment, Mark got to his feet, padding over to where Terry sat with Sam on their log. In the glow of the light of the fire, Manny noticed the cub's mouth open slightly in a small smile as he looked at the generously muscled soldier. Terry's eyes sought Mark's, and he grinned back, extending his hand towards the cub. Accepting the invitation, Mark retracted his claws, batting at Terry's hands playfully as the man responded by gently striking his hands against the cub's large paws.

Inwardly, the bull mammoth sighed as he witnessed the interaction between the feisty cub related to his best friend and his friendship with the man he'd saved during that horrible day when the Meltdown Valley crumbled beneath their feet. Memories flooded through his mind as he relived the moment that he had saved Diego in much the same way that Mark had risked his life to save the fighter.

"Why did you do that… you could have died trying to save me. Manny clearly remembered the guilty, conflicted expression in the tiger's eyes as he had said that, and he recalled that he had inexplicably felt somewhat compassionate for him for some unknown reason.

"That's what you do in a herd." Manny had replied, not knowing that those words and his actions towards Diego would forever impact their friendship ever afterwards.

A melancholy smile quirked the edges of his mouth as he how wondered how Diego was doing right now and realised anew how keenly he missed the presence of the tiger. Sam raised her head from her husband's shoulder; her right arm actively engaged in rubbing Hudson's neck (which, Manny noticed, he didn't seem to mind) and caught the last vestiges of his expression.

"Manny?" she asked, breaking the peaceful silence around the campfire. "Are you all right?"

In response, the mammoth set his mouth in a firm line, his brown eyes stormy. Ellie glanced at her mate with concern, and then raised an eyebrow in Sam's direction as they waited for Manny to react.

"I'm fine," the mammoth said gruffly. "I was just missing my friends." Mark's ears rose at the word "friends" and he turned his face towards Manny, his eyes alight with conflicted questions.

"You mean like my uncle Diego?" he whispered.

"Yes," Manny answered reluctantly, not desiring to bring up the confusion the young cub obviously felt towards his uncle again. Hearing the word "uncle" Peaches and Ben stirred slightly, waking up as they sensed the tension in the air, so Ellie placed her little daughter on the ground in front of the fire, where she looked up at her father with a curious expression in her eyes and Ben rubbed his grubby face tiredly, blinking his brown eyes open. Hudson spoke up from the corner.

"There's a story in there, now isn't there, mammoth." He stated. It was not a question.

"Story! Story!" Peaches cried out with excitement, and Mark nodded his head; he was interested as well.

The mammoth's brown eyes widened slightly at this statement, but of course there was no way to gainsay it, it was the truth. But he had no inclination to bring it up now when his brothers the tiger and the sloth weren't there to share in the telling with him, and he had no desire to exacerbate Mark's pain.

Fortunately for Manny, Claire protested, and so did Crash and Eddie.

"Awww… Manny!" Crash exclaimed. "We've heard that story at least a hundred times, we're bored of it!"

"Yeah," Eddie agreed with his brother, and they did their peace-out sign together. Manny rolled his eyes at their antics, but he was secretly relieved.

Claire spoke up after glancing down at Ben resting in her arms, but her objection was different from his brother-in-laws.

"Manny, it's late, and really, any story featuring Soto in it doesn't make for a good story to tell at night I think, especially for the young ones."

Next to her, Peaches scowled at this pronouncement, even though she'd heard the story already, but that didn't bother her, she wanted to hear it again.

"Yes," Manny repeated, addressing his remark towards the dire wolf as he cast a curious glance towards Hudson and where he sat by Sam and Terry. Finding an escape route from this debacle over the story, Manny redirected the conversation towards Sam.

The mammoth stared at Sam and Terry together in each other's arms, focusing his gaze on the young woman.

"You know, Sam, I'd think we'd all really appreciate a story from you."

Frank's petite kid sister grinned in reply.

"What kind of story?" she inquired, snuggling up against her mate once more, and he placed his arm protectively over her. This gave Manny the idea he needed.

"If it's of no offense to either of you," he suggested, casting a benign look over at Terry.

"I think we would all like to know how you two found each other – It's sure to be an interesting story."

Terry raised pale yellow eyebrows at this statement, but a single look from Sam silenced any protest he might have had.

"This is a fine idea," she agreed with the mammoth.

"All of us who have lived under the grip of Soto's enslavement could use a little humanising, now don't we?" she concluded, addressing her question to Terry, Charlie, Nigel, and the sabres who'd mutinied against Soto, and they nodded in assent.

"All right then," Sam went on, squaring her shoulders. She glanced at Terry hopefully.

"Terry, you and I will go first and tell our stories about our life together."

The American soldier leaned in close to her, his lips brushing hers in the glow of the firelight. Only those nearby heard his whispered words,

"Anything for you, my love."

Manny raised his eyebrows at this, but let it slide by; pleased to see that possibly he had misjudged Terry – in some matters.

"Okay," Sam spoke up into the night, tears trembling on the edges of her voice as memories resurfaced.

"My story begins the year I was eighteen, though it might be more accurate to say that it really began the year I was fifteen when Frank and my father had a row over him joining the army, but this story begins in another time. It was the twenty-eighth of July, and undercurrents of terror are beginning to lurk beneath of the surface of my city, London…."

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July 28th, 2019. The Day the Troubles Began

Samantha Elizabeth Howard gazed with an almost too eager excitement out of the window of the King's Head Pub, located in the heart of London, completely ignoring the beer sat before her on the counter. The bartender glanced at her with a query in his eyes, which made his eyebrows rise upwards in a nervous tic as he inspected the girl again. She was petite, with snappy cobalt blue eyes, dark brown hair, and she wore a long black trench-coat. Peering over the counter, the bartender heard the sounds of rustling, and glanced around in apprehension, at first fearing it was a mouse in his store.

Sam turned to look at him, a playful, feisty light in her eyes which stopped the bartender cold. He knew of rumors that the Howard girl was a bit untamable and that no one who attempted his suit with her could even think of winning – whether it be at horse racing, wrestling, or, when the Howard girl turned to more "feminine" pursuits like Trivial Games, all the men who went up against her always lost.

She is an enigma, people whispered as she strolled through town in her tatty old jeans, worn from constant use of them in whatever athletic event she was partaking in, an ancient yellow mackintosh, and her trademark black trench-coat which held all her necessary items (a knife to protect herself from assailants, her makeup case {when she remembered to put it into one of the large pockets on the coat}, and several small books, depending on her interest at the time; It probably comes of growing up alone without a mother, and only her older brother and father to watch her, she runs wild.

And maybe it was so. Maybe she did run wild. Disregarding the gossip he leaned over the counter again, just in time to see the girl silently slip a compact tome out of one of the pockets of her coat with the delicacy of removing an artifact from the primeval past out of the ground, the dog-eared edition rustling as she did, causing the bartender to flinch slightly again at the sound. Sam didn't notice, already opening the book to a favorite passage. In an undertone, she began to recite "The Road Goes Ever On," written by the hobbit Bilbo. Terribly impressed, the bartender cleared his throat, causing Sam to glance up with that penetrating gaze she had that nearly quailed everyone except those close to her, among which she counted as only her father and her older brother, Frank, who was in the military at present. He was one of the brave ones. The bartender was not one, unfortunately.

Turning his eyes down, he murmured "That's excellent that you can recite that…" he darted a glimpse at her, hope shining in his eyes. "You know, I share an interest in the Old Master of fantasy as well. Well, erm, me name is…" But Sam, whose sharp mind had already intercepted his name from his workers, countered,"Matthias."

Her gaze dared him to stand up for himself, but he didn't, only peering at the girl with a disgraceful interest in spite of its pettiness. Sam grimaced in disappointment, grabbed her tankard of beer with fierce velocity, and then gulped it down avidly, glowering at the nearby men in the room at the same time. Satisfied, she slapped her change down on the counter, and then carefully replaced the dog-eared copy of The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring back into her right pocket in her trench-coat. In the second one under it was a treatise on biology, with her because of her biology class at University, and which she read whenever she wasn't reading one of her copies of the Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Her father teasingly started calling her "Samwise" due to her affection for them that began the year she was twelve; when he hugged her at night he reminded her that she was always to be his loyal, caring, determined, sacrificial (even if it meant her own death), and that, most of all, that he loved her. Occasionally, Sam noticed big brother Frank standing at the doorway to her room during those situations with a sad half-smile on his lips, and she knew he was remembering their mother, who had died when she was born. Sam scarcely remembered her mother, but Frank and their father did, and she was aware of the strain in their relationship that her mother's death had magnified, though Frank had taught her essential boy stuff like archery, spitting, defending herself if she was walking alone and was assaulted in an alleyway, while her father fostered her interest in biology and literature. Her brother though, had even tried to find suitable beaus for his kid sister, but Sam turned her small nose up at all of them.

Hell, Sam muttered in her head as she stalked out into the cobblestone street outside the pub. I don't need a man in my life. None of them shall tame me, and besides, Papa is the only guy in my life that I could possibly need, anyway.

She stopped short at the zebra crossing, her thin cheeks sucked in as she glanced back at the offending pub with disgust glimmering in her stony cobalt eyes. Shoving some untidy wisps of her dark brown hair out her face, she thrust her hands deep into her pockets, apparently feeling a chill despite the warm, crisp July day. Continuing on her way to the bus stop, the young woman trod along the motorway, her face bent against the wind that has unexpectedly whisked into being, ignoring the admiring glances of men along the road, casting leers at her trim figure with devious thoughts on their minds about her.

Finally reaching the bus stop, Sam dropped onto the metal seat with a sigh that was half discontent and half frustration as she rubbed her hands wearily over her eyes, unconsciously smearing the makeup she was wearing. Pushing the side bangs on the right side of her face out of her vision, she leaned back against the seat, her brow knit as she wondered if there was possibly more to life, like in those glorious stories Tolkien wrote – but was there? The bus pulled up to a halt alongside the gray sidewalk, spewing light smoke into the street. The girl, interrupted from her musings, shot upright, shrugging her shoulders as if to ward off the thoughts she had been pondering, and then boarded her transportation for home.

Taking her seat on the bus Sam explored the contents in her pockets, lovingly touching the pages of her books. The bus lurched as the driver started it up again, causing the girl place her feet down solidly on the floor for some stability. As she did so, a small rectangular shape hit against her combat boots. The dark-haired girl's eyebrows quirked as she realised that it appeared to be the form of a book of some sort – and she was always eager for more reading material, so she picked up the compact tome – it reminded her of the size of her Tolkien novels – and found that it was covered with dust, obscuring the title. Its pages were thinly embossed with gold on the edges, and this intrigued her. Brushing her hand over the surface of the book, she caught a glimpse of words shining in gold: Holy Bible.

Momentarily confused, Sam glanced around to see if this particular book belonged to anyone on the bus, and then she recalled that this seat was empty. The person sitting on the seat must have forgotten this book – whatever it was. The right thing to do would be to find its owner, though Sam doubted that that possibility would even be feasible. With a frustrated grimace, she slipped the book into her pocket along the Fellowship, planning to take it up with the driver at her stop. Content that she had a plan, Sam rested her arms on the bus window, gazing into the streets with curiosity as she noticed fully the scads of police patrolling up and down the avenues. Temporally she wondered why so many police were out in the streets looking so grim and subtly menacing, but her thoughts flew from her mind the instant the bus staggered to a halt next to her apartment house she shared with her father in Camberwell, London. The door opened, and her father stepped outside to greet her.

The girl smiled in anticipation, checked to make sure that all her belongings were still in her coat, grabbed her change for the ride along with the small tome she'd found, and went to go speak to the driver about it. After paying him the money, Sam showed him the book in her hands.

"Do you know whose it is?" she asked, a question lingering on her brow. The driver massaged his forehead as if in exhaustion, delaying his response, as he knew she was very curious about the book and wouldn't mind reading it.

"Well," he began, cracking a tiny half-smile. "You did the right thing – " he was about to say "girlie" but the expression on Sam's face warned him against it, so he inserted "but its owner probably left at the previous stop. It's yours."

"Thank you," Sam responded with a tight smirk, and then she clambered out of the bus, yelling,

"Daddy! Daddy!"

…

Her father swept her into his arms for a warm hug and then waved the bus driver on, before going into the house with his daughter, Sam's arms still wrapped around her father's waist. Once inside the house, her father went into the kitchen, and then emerged into the living room bearing a tray and tea-cups. The girl grinned happily at this treatment, strolling over to give her father a kiss on the cheek.

Once they were sitting down with their tea-cups in their chairs, Sam dispensed with all small talk, abruptly asking a question about her brother.

"Daddy, have you heard anything from Frank lately?"

At Frank's name, her father visibly winced, as he had vehemently disapproved of her brother joining the army, leaving Sam trapped in the middle between her beloved brother and father.

"I heard that he was doing fine," her father responded, attempting to stay the tension heavy in the air. "But you should know Sam that he hardly ever keeps in touch."

"He does with me," Sam countered gently, hearing the two words her father hadn't said with me echoing through her mind. Grasping around inside her pockets for her mobile, Sam clasped it in her hand for reassurance. Noticing a slight bemusement emanating from her father, she amended,

"but not recently either, Daddy." Inwardly she sighed; exhausted from being torn in two ways from the people she loved best in the world.

With a slight smile turning the corners of his lips, her father strode across the room to her, bending down to give his daughter a kiss on her hair. Enjoying his rare affection, Sam clasps his hands in hers, leaning in close to him as she wrapped her arms around him again in a loving hug.

"I love you Daddy," she whispered, holding him tight in her arms. Their tea-time finished, Sam and her father stayed in their living room. Sam placed her combat boots on the couch to prop her legs up so that she could continue reading The Fellowship of the Ring, causing her father to quirk his eyebrow at her in amusement, but he allowed her to do so, even though her boots were slightly muddy. Deep in her novel, Sam dragged herself out of it as her father asked her a question that gave her pause.

"Sam darling, do you know why I named you Samantha?" he inquired, his sharp blue eyes holding his daughter's.

Laying her book down on her propped up knees, Sam responded,

"No Daddy, I don't. Why did you call me Samantha?" A puzzled yet interested light crept into her eyes as she gently replied, raising an eyebrow slightly at him.

"I called you Samantha, my dear," he explained affectionately,

"because it means "Heard by God" and your nickname Sam, means "God Leads" in Hebrew, and is a derivative of the name Samuel." Tears shimmered in his eyes as he looked his feisty, uncontrollable girl, who glanced over at him with confusion shining in her face.

Knitting her brow, Sam asked,

"Daddy, why are you telling me this?" she was sure she'd never heard anything like this before, and it startled her. Since when did God play any important part in her life? He never had so far, and frankly she preferred it that way. A look of pain crossed over her father's features as he realised his daughter's resistance to him trying to convey to her his faith, for some inexplicable reason he knew he had to tell her – before it was too late. He decided to fall back upon her nickname as he attempted to explain it to her.

"Samwise," he continued with a smile, ambling over to where his daughter sat on the couch, he placed one large calloused hand under her chin, lifting it so that she was looking into his eyes. Sam defiantly tried to pull away, but her father's touch restrained her, and she forced herself to glance up into his sad light blue eyes.

"You must understand – I called you "Simple" after Tolkien's character because you are my simple and complex girl, and every day I pray that you might one day come fully into the knowledge of your Heavenly Father that loves you far more than I could love you. "

The girl forcefully snapped her head away from her father's loving touch, glaring at him scornfully, her dark blue eyes hard as granite; causing her father's heart to lurch as he regarded his baby girl with a mixture of stricken bemusement and sorrow. Taking her book up again, Sam muttered to herself,

Sheesh! Who cares about God, what has He ever done for me? Life is much better without His intrusions – At that moment, a tiny voice countered the loud angry once inside her head with a gentle,

You're intrigued by Him though, aren't you? To which her angry voice shot back,

Holy hell! Goddamn it! I am not intrigued by Him, so shut it. This caused her gentle voice to retort simply,

But you are, aren't you? Sam groaned inwardly, stifling the voices in her head, and just then noticed her father pulling on his boots, mackintosh, and throwing on his matching trench coat.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" she asked in disbelief. He raised his graying head for a moment, glancing at her tenderly before replying,

"I'm going out to take a walk and pray, darling."

Sam's face twisted with puzzled astonishment at the tenderness in his voice.

"So," she began slowly, testing the waters.

"You're not angry with me, Daddy?"

He gave her a brief nod, and then opened the door, going out into the street, leaving his daughter bemused and alone.

…

Sam followed him to the door, gripping the cold brass handle as she watched him stride out onto the dark gray pavement alongside their flat, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed downward, as if in sorrow, but the girl could sense he was instead praying. Mentally yelling at herself, the petite young woman struggled to take off her boots. Finally succeeding, she threw them down on the floor against the coat-hanger belligerently.

"Darn, darn, darn!" Frank's sister exclaimed bitterly, gazing out of the window for one last glimpse of her departing father, but he had vanished around the corner. Sam grabbed the closest thing nearby – a vase – and tossed it to the floor, scattering pieces of glass all over the wooden foyer. Tears of angry regret streaming down her cheeks, Sam then went to fetch the broom. Drawing the broom over the floor again and again lent a soothing restoration to her spirit, enough that when the floor was set to rights once more, she returned back to her couch, picked up The Fellowship of the Ring from where it has fallen beside the couch in her haste to catch a look at her father as he left; plopping down in the couch, she resumed her perusal of the exciting novel. Enamored of the words and the beautiful, heartbreaking story, she silently began to mouth the words she was reading,

"''What a pity that Bilbo did not stab that vile creature when he had the chance!''"

"'Pity? It was pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the ring so. With pity.

"'I am sorry,' said Frodo. 'But I am frightened; and I do not feel any pity for Gollum.'

'You have not seen him' Gandalf broke in.

'No, and I don't want to.' Said Frodo. 'I can't understand you. Do you mean to say that you, and the Elves, have let him live on after all those horrible deeds? Now at any rate he is as bad as an Orc, and just an enemy. He deserves death.

'Deserves it!' (Sam read aloud) 'I daresay he does. Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends…." [1]

BOOM! Abruptly, the girl sat up on the couch, swinging her legs over the side of it as she reacted to the sound. Curious, she stood up, crossing to the window. Her book fell to the carpet with a soft thud but she didn't notice, being too enraptured by the dark cloud outside her window.

BANG! Sam flinched at the sound as she crouched at the windowsill, peering out of it. Her eyes widened as she perceived flumes of smoke rising up from the edges of the city, transforming the sky into a miasma of blood, concealing the sun's light, causing the city of London to be wreathed in semi-darkness.

BOOM! A bomb went off again. The girl's heart skipped a beat in terror as she fell back from the windowsill in horrified shock. Scrabbling to her knees, one single thought rose above it all,

Daddy is out there – in that. I must find him! Oh God oh God oh God…

Stumbling upright, Sam hastened over to where her combat boots lay on the floor, hurriedly pulling them on as she checked her pockets to make sure all her necessary items were there; mobile (which had been vibrating stolidly for some time, but Sam hadn't realised it) the new book she'd found, and finally, she replaced The Fellowship back into her right coat pocket. Glancing around to make sure that everything in the flat was secure, Sam forcefully grasped the handle of the door, pulling it open as she dashed out in the street.

"Samantha Howard!" a voice called from the flat directly above her and her father's. It was Mrs Williams, who had occasionally watched her and Frank when they were younger. Straining her eyes, Sam could just make out the soft glow of the telly in Mrs Williams' window.

"Sam Howard!" she called down again as the dark-haired lass angrily pushed her bangs out her vision.

"Don't go out into that; it's far too dangerous!"

"I must!" Sam retorted, her eyes flashing indignantly.

"Daddy's out here, I have to find him!"

"But there are riots happening, Sam don't go!" Mrs Williams pleaded, but her voice was drowned out by the wind as the girl dashed forward in the main direction of the thoroughfare that was one of the world's greatest metropolitan centers.

BANG! Echoed through the winding flats of Camberwell up to where Sam had stopped short at the zebra crossing, her face blank with astonished disbelief mingled with terror as she witnessed the hundreds of people escaping from London; there were businessmen, hurrying by with their important office files in cases, families with children clutching at their parents' arms for comfort as they attempted to hold their heads above the roiling ocean of terrified Londoners. Sam cast a brief cursory glance over the people in a crush to escape, finding to some surprise, here and there, the intermittent familiar face amidst the rabble of Londoners – there was that bartender Matthias, his face twisted in confusion as he fingered his apron nervously; one of her schoolteachers from Elementary, huddling together with one of her instructors from Year 6. Gritting her teeth in a scowl, Sam glanced around the crowd once more. But there was no sign of her father anywhere in the teeming multitude.

BOOM! Another bomb sounded, propelling the rabble in front of her to flee forward, dragging frightened children along with them, as others carried small valuables. Finding an open space to slip into amid the claustrophobic amount of humanity pressed together in an attempt to survive, Sam took her chance, darting into the rabble. One person caught the edge of her sleeve, but she shrugged him off, hurrying off into the middle of the terrified fugitives, her eye open to a spot that could lead her out of the rabble.

Sam tried to close her ears to the boom that meant another bomb was going off, but this venture failed. The bomb also caused the sea of evacuees to combine into one large group, nearly overwhelming the teenager as she attempted to keep afloat. Gasping for breath, she attempted to dash out of it, only to be knocked over by someone too alarmed by the events to care about the girl he'd just accidentally caused to fall to the ground. Sam's pockets, as usual never buttoned, emptied themselves of their contents. Her mobile skidded across the street into the middle of the road, while the books she'd been carrying with her flopped into the path of the frustrated, totally confused people trying to escape their city.

Her breath knocked out of her, Sam could only watch helplessly as her mobile (ringing again intensely) was stomped on by a stout, heavy member of the stampede – a butcher rushing from his home to the river – and then she noticed ripped out papers blowing hazily in the wind created by the enormous group of people. Raising her brown head wearily, a bruise already beginning to darken her left cheek, she gasped in dismay as realisation struck her like the force of a clout; those were her ripped pages, scraps from her beloved Lord of the Rings cavorting aimlessly in the wind. Clambering back onto her hands and knees, she snatched at a couple pages, only for them to slip though her fingers like precious coins falling into an abyss.

Fighting to get back on her feet without being bowled over by the stampede, the young woman raised her head, tears glimmering in her eyes. Squaring her shoulders defiantly, she began to lope through the tense crowd, her motions swift and tempered by anxiety. More and more swarms of people were frantically making their way out of the city as Sam wended her route through the panicky horde until she emerged into a clearer area. Once free from the grip of the throngs hurrying away from London, Sam halted abruptly as she gazed with gradually growing horror at the fires sweeping throughout the houses of London with a fierce vengeance to their lights. To her dazed eyes, the fire appeared to smile at her with evil intent.

Backing away, Sam started to run back in the direction of the throng of evacuees heading west out of Greater London in a last-ditch effort to find solace away from the City. Numbly, the teenage girl stared mournfully after the departing multitude, feeling no desire to follow – yet, as her father was still missing and she knew there was an investigation to undergo here before she even thought of returning home – that is, if her flat was even still standing…

Leaving the avidly ravenous fires scavenging the City in her wake, Sam slowly marched in the general direction of the Houses of Parliament; despite how sore her feet were feeling and how earnestly she longed to just find a safe hollow in between the walls of a house to rest. But on her way to the Parliament House, Sam was roughly apprehended by a deserting soldier.

"You there! Girl! Where are you going?"

"To the Houses of Parliament! I need help finding my father!" Sam replied, fighting back her sobs.

"Surely someone can help me there?" she inquired, rubbing the tears back into her eyes defiantly.

The soldier wasted no words. Instead of explaining, he grabbed her hand tightly (Sam resisted, but to no avail) and lead her away from the Houses of Parliament.

Once they were a safe distance away from the lynch mob he knew was transpiring at the moment, he released the girl, who glared at him with intense dislike.

"What is going on?" she demanded, as she grasped his collar, pulling him close to her, tears shining on her cheeks.

"Tell me! You know; I can tell it."

One glance at the girl's face warned him that she brooked with no funny business, so her reluctantly admitted to her, thinking at the back of his mind how lovely she appeared for only being about fourteen. (If Sam had known this, she would have slapped him).

"Listen, girl! You can't go back there, it's not safe… our own army is bombing the City. Right at the moment –"

But Sam interrupted.

"What are the places England's own army has bombed? "

The deserter's face twisted with regret as he began to list off the names of the buildings.

"The banking system, Canada Square, Buckingham Palace, Whitehall, the City..." Giving her a regretful glance, he added mournfully, "Hundreds of people have died..."

"No!" Sam cried out, unwilling to believe that England's own army had turned against its own people. Her own brother was in that army! This couldn't be happening; it had to be a lie. But even as she attempted to trust the lie, the unreality of the reality of witnessing the frantic flee of the escapees, England's beautiful buildings set aflame, and, most of all, the fact that her father was even now, still missing and the location of her brother unknown stared her in the face.

Sending the deserter one last parting glare, Sam turned her weary feet back towards Camberwell. Night was falling, dappling the sky with hues of violet, purple and pink, but Sam was too deep in her thoughts to pay attention to the beauty splashing the sky as if it were an artist's canvas being limned before her very eyes. Finding a house still standing amongst the burning and burned residences of her formerly glorious City, the girl sank to the ground inside one of the recesses in the wall, laid her head upon knees, and tried, and failed, not to cry.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

July 29th, 2019 The First Day After

The next morning, Sam stumbled to her feet, intent on returning to Camberwell. Maybe, just maybe, her heart whispered, her father was fine and was safe at the flat waiting for her! This thought caused her to perk up her head a little as she carefully walked through the smoldering residences that were still sparkling with embers in the murky grayness of the early dawn. Drawing in a deep breath, Sam brushed her stringy bangs out of her face again as she staggered in the direction of her suburb.

As she passed by the former buildings that had stood proudly together as that hardy, beautiful warrior woman London, she attempted to keep her hopes up. Retracing her steps, Sam noticed charred timbers of houses standing in a row like so many skeletons, bereft of all warmth. The City was so emptily devoid of voices – whether melding in laughter, or simple chats, or just calling kids in to dinner – that Sam glanced around, partially in fear, hoping to see another person like herself, only to find no one.

Her boot scuffed against the crossing point in Camberwell, as Sam halted beside the traffic lights. Clutching at the metal lamp-post, Sam felt her knees bend underneath her. From a far distance away, she seemed to hear someone calling her name. As her eyelids closed, she dreamily hoped that it was her father, returning to take her home.

She awoke in a four-poster bed, from those ancient days back in the eighteenth century. On her chest lay an ivory white coverlet. Rubbing her eyes unsteadily, Sam groaned, trying to sit up, only to find that her body was too fatigued to attempt to do anything but lay still. Oh Daddy, please be here.

"Sam Howard," a voice called from the other room. Raising her head, Sam realised that she was at her neighbor's, the Williams, from the flat directly above hers and her father's.

"Hello, dearie," she continued, crossing over to the bed. Her soft brown eyes twinkled with motherly concern as she plumped up the pillows for the daughter of her husband's best friend. Sam let out a small sign that devolved into a slight moan as memories of terrified evacuees, buildings set afire, and the mad world that now existed outside the window resurrected in her unwilling brain. Mrs Williams appeared to sense the dismay emanating from within the girl as she reached out, grasping her hand affectionately. Sam allowed a half-smile to slip through the cracks of her perfectly composed face.

"Sam," Mrs Williams began hesitantly as she noticed two tears slowly trail themselves down the young woman's visage,

"just rest for now. If you need anything, call me – I'll be in the other room."

Pulling away from the bed, Mrs Williams went outside into the corridor, closing the door gently behind her. Once removed from Sam's view, she glanced back into the room, her mouth turned down in a worried frown before she crossed over into the main room where her husband sat disconsolately in his armchair. Once Mrs Williams had left, Sam swung her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes darkening with defiant intent. Tiptoeing over to the door, she placed her ear against it, straining to make out the conversation going on between the Williams at the moment.

"The poor girl," she heard Mrs Williams say indistinctly.

"Aye," Mr Williams agreed, with a note of hesitation in his voice that alerted her to the fact that he was reluctant to admit it.

"She went out there yesterday to find her father…" Mrs Williams continued. She trailed off as her husband glanced sharply at her.

"Hundreds of people have died since our own army has turned against us!" Mr Williams exclaimed, tears brimming in his eyes.

"But Sam's father could still be alive…" Mrs Williams protested as her husband stood to his feet, gathering her into his arms as her shoulders began to shake with sobs.

Tears streamed down Mr Williams' face,

"No, my dear," he murmured. "I hate to say this, but there is little hope that Christopher Howard survived the massacre that went on yesterday…"

Eavesdropping from behind her door, Sam collapsed onto the lacquered wooden floor, shouting silently,

"No, no, no, no, no," as tears of grief mingled with rage trickled down her thin cheekbones.

Mrs Williams shook herself free from her husband's grasp as she noticed the faint noises resembling sobs sliding under the door of Sam's bedroom. Directing a reproachful glance at her husband, she walked over to the door, knocking lightly on it. There was no response from within. Mrs Williams knocked more urgently, but still there was no reply. Swinging the door open, it slid out in a triangle pointing straight at Sam, who sat on the bed, her shoulders trembling as she sought to regain control.

Crossing over to her, Mrs Williams gathered the young woman into her arms, rocking her back and forth until her sobs quieted; combing her fingers through her short unruly hair, easing her gently into a restless sleep that really brought her no solace. Her father was dead – dead! – Frank was a member of the battalion that had assaulted London, and in the deep recesses of her mind, Sam realised fully how alone she truly was, and this knowledge deepened her pain all the more.

Mrs Williams held her, murmuring,

"Don't worry, dearie, I'm here, I'm here."

Sam nestled her head against the older woman's chest with a sigh as Mrs Williams stroked her hair rhythmically.

"Mrs Williams?" she asked quietly.

"Yes dear."

"Do you think Frank is all right?"

"No one knows for sure, dearie."

"What do you call this, this madness?" Sam exclaimed.

"Some people call it 'The Beginning of the End' dearest," Mrs Williams explained.

X-x-x-x-x-x-x

"The Beginning of the End," Sam reiterated, her words echoing through the stillness as every creature in the herd hung intently on her every statement.

"And it was. I didn't see or hear from Frank again until August 23rd of that year."

Fingertips of light appeared in the east over the ridge of mountains that protected the Meltdown Valley, falling onto Sam's face. Two tears glistened on her cheeks. The rest of the group was silent, knowing that the memories she had just surfaced were indubitably arduous for her to bring up again.

"That's tough," Crash muttered brusquely as Mark (who had been sitting at Terry's feet) crawled up onto Sam's lap. He placed his paws on her shoulders, licking her tears away. Sam fondled his scruff affectionately as he did so. Manny regarded her with a mournful light in his expression, as Sam's memories of the horror that she had undergone resonated with his experience losing his first mate and their child in their secluded hollow the day the humans arrived.

How did Sam ever get through this? He pondered, knowing full well that he had merely headed north to die; only to be found instead by a baby, a tiger and sloth, and their friendship was his means for living again.

Arching an eyebrow, Manny inquired,

"Sam, how did you get through that?"

The young woman's glance darted though the herd, and then she winked at Manny, hinting at that there was more to her story, but Terry interrupted.

"Boss," he addressed the mammoth,"we should probably get a move on now. After all, we need to get to Half-Peak before Soto does."

Manny rolled his eyes as he took a step forward, causing the ground to tremble slightly underneath him. He extended his trunk to Ellie, who grasped it lovingly. Peaches lay asleep on the ground between them.

The mate of Frank, Claire, assisted her son, Ben to his feet. Ben had fallen into slumber halfway through his aunt's story; something that had relieved Claire, as she thought that some parts of it was far too intense for twelve-year-old boy. On the other hand, it did give her some useful insight into her sister-in-law's experiences during the Troubles. She looked over at Sam, sending her a quick, comforting smile.

Manny turned back to Sam, his question lingering in his mouth.

"Sam, what happened to Frank?"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

End of Chapter One

Acknowledgments: Thank you Trev for letting me borrow your wonderful characters! It's going to be a fun ride writing this story! Hope you like your birthday present! :D

Credit goes to FABCHICKXO for originating the "Campfire Stories" framing device, which I am employing to some extent in this fic. :-)

[1] refers to one of my most favorites passages from The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring, by J.R.R Tolkien.