Disclaimer: I do not own any of the LOTR characters.
1.
New Zealand wasn't far from civilization—it was cut off entirely from the 21st century.
There wasn't even wi-fi in my spinster aunt's cottage. How did she expect a 17-year-old girl to exist without wi-fi? Sure, the cloud-high trees and never-ending mountains made for a picturesque view outside the old, deep-set windows of the cottage, but you could only stare at a tree or mountain for so long without becoming bored and longing for homely comforts, like a sofa and air conditioning.
"Why don't you go out exploring, Kit?" my aunt called out from the kitchen while she rolled dough to make her own bread.
Her own bread. I've never made my own bread, because where I grew up there were stores that had these small conveniences, and Upstate New York was considered the countryside. The nearest store here was thirty miles by the oldest Volvo I'd even seen parked outside in the muddy driveway.
"I am exploring," I shot back from my cramped bedroom which used to be a sewing closet, flipping another page in an old romance novel I found tucked away behind the less embarrassing titles on her bookshelf above the living room fireplace.
"Your bedroom does not count."
Sighing, I threw the book down on the rumpled covers and ran my hand through my boy-short dark hair. I used to have long hair, almost to my waist a year ago, the ombre-highlighted hair you envied. I was the sort of girl who followed the latest fashion trends and who cared what she looked like. Now, I wear 1 pair of jeans and my dad's old laze-about-the-house-t-shirts, which all consist of gray v-necks that are 3 sizes too big for me.
I'd read that in some cultures they would cut their hair when their grief was too great—and so I did. Wasn't I still grieving?
Equal parts, listless and restless, I wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge to find something to snack on. Finding nothing but the tasteless organic food my Aunt Tamasin loved, I shut the heavy white door and leaned on the scrubbed wood counter to study my aunt instead.
My aunt, reminded me of my mother, only with curlier hair and a tendency to sigh—a lot. I was glad of the reminder. It made me feel less alone.
My aunt sighed now as she looked at me.
"Really, Kit," Kit was her nickname for Katherine, "You haven't left this house since you came to live here, and that's been almost nine months. Your parents wouldn't want you to be shut up like this."
My parents. It was 9 months ago, that I stood on the doorstep here with only two suitcases to my name. I remember that night. My aunt and I stayed up all night curled up on the sofa under a throw blanket, while the fire crackled. We drank tea and cried and hugged each other until there weren't anymore tears left—just a terrible kind of solitude was left.
"It's a lovely day outside," My aunt smiled trying to convince me, as she sprinkled some more flour on the dough.
I looked out the window above the sink. Gray clouds obscured the sky.
"It looks like rain," I muttered.
"Come on, Kit, for me, please?" my aunt pleaded with me again. "I'll buy you some non-organic potato chips at the store when I go out to town this afternoon, even though it pains me to do so."
"Alright," I attempted a smile, "I'll go," I said. "Salt n vinegar, yeah?"
My aunt smiled her promise. I put on a shapeless gray hoodie in case the rain turned to snow and left my aunt's cottage. I glanced back at the older house, the white paint chipping off the sides, the overgrown grass that had never seen a lawnmower, and the waft of warm smoke from the chimney.
As I walked I noticed the stark silence. I didn't like the silence. I didn't feel comfortable just thinking, knowing where my thoughts would lead. I needed a distraction of some kind.
"I miss my iPod," I said to myself as I kicked some gravel and dirt with my grass-stained Adidas.
I walked for what seemed like miles in the bordering forest, which looked like a thick veil of green. It was a forest so vast and curiously untouched you could almost imagine you were stepping back into the far past, a century with each footstep on the quiet soil.
The clouds descended and became a cold fog. The trees here were so giant they reminded me of the Sequoia and Redwoods I saw with my parents during one of my dad's business conference trips when I was ten or so. I felt just as little now as I did then. I looked at one particularly skeletal, creepy tree, a living dead thing. Its bark was unnaturally white, its branches unnaturally bare. Its shadow loomed over me, dwarfing me. A widowmaker. That's what my aunt said the locals called them, because when they fell they would leave a widow behind. Not reassuring.
As I walked through the forest, the mountains grew steeper and eventually led to caves further south. A few drops of rain fell through the thick canopy of leaves overhead, and then I felt myself fall forward, but not before I was able to catch myself after skinning the palms of hands and my right knee on the uneven ground. I picked myself back up and dusted the dirt and dead leaves off my pants and winced at my new scrapes.
"Stupid rock," I said as I leaned down and my hand closed around the culprit for my fall.
I was about to toss it back to the forest floor when I saw it wasn't just a stone. At least, it was a stone but with writing on it. I didn't recognize the writing, which seemed to be an elaborate cursive—in another language.
Lema ed' ando en' templa
I rubbed the surface of the rock with my thumb and tried to read the inscription.
"Lemah e-dan do en tem plah," I said the words out loud which felt like marbles on my tongue.
I wonder what it means? I asked myself as I pocketed the stone in my back pocket to take back to my aunt's cottage. Maybe, it was some kind of ancient native language.
I turned and headed the way I came since it was growing darker and 2 hours wandering aimlessly in the forest should be more than sufficient time to convince my aunt I wasn't becoming a complete and total shut-in yet.
But as I tried to follow my tracks I couldn't seem to find my way back. I passed a tree I thought I'd passed before, but it seemed unfamiliar somehow. Fatter with more moss growing on it than I remember, and then I heard the distant trickle of a stream. I didn't pass by a stream before which meant I was lost. Perfect.
I reached in my hoodie pocket for my cell phone to ask my aunt to help me find my way back home, but as soon as I turned it on I got a no signal message. Even more perfect. I sighed, a habit I'd picked up from Aunt Tamasin.
I took another step. Dry, curled leaves crunched under foot. And then I stopped walking—stopped breathing.
Cold, dull metal pressed against the back of my neck.
"Mani naa essa en lle?"
A voice said behind me.
I stilled, unable to move—to speak.
"Who are you?"
The voice asked again in English. The voice, added to the weapon, sent shivers down my spine.
I didn't have time to answer.
An axe suddenly flew at me, the blade knicking my ear as it flew past my head. An axe? I almost screamed then, and I almost passed out when I saw a stout, very short man with a very long beard come out of the forest and retrieve his axe that he'd thrown at me and had almost mortally wounded me with. He was dressed like a medieval person. Who were these insane people?
"Aye, he's a spy of Sauron, there's little doubt of that." The man with the axe said with smugness while he stroked his bushy auburn beard which nearly touched the forest floor.
He?
They thought I was a he? From the way I dressed and my haircut, I did have more of an androgynous look lately, but even I felt insulted. Of course, I did take after my dad more in looks with higher cheekbones and a sharper jaw but still…
"W-what? I'm not a spy!" I said, putting my hands up.
Hopefully, they would believe me and let me go, and then I would be able to call the police and have them arrested.
"What errand has brought a traveler like yourself to Rivendell, then?" the voice behind me asked.
"R-rivendell?"
Was that the name of this part of the woods? Was I trespassing? I wasn't very familiar with these parts yet, since I mostly stayed in the cottage with an occasional trip to town with Aunt Tamasin.
The cold, dull metal left my neck and I turned to face who it was who attacked me. I saw the metal belonged to an arrow tip. And I saw the arrow belonged to a young man who had white blonde hair with braids in it as he swung the bow over his shoulder. He was also dressed like a medieval person, in some sort of earth-colored tunic and leather boots. But it was his face that caught my attention, the odd almost inhuman angles, his skin past pale, the pointed ears, and the impossibly light eyes. What was he?
"A traveler who does not know where he travels too. A spy should have a more ready answer," the archer said.
"I'm not a spy!" I said. "I don't know who you are, and I don't care. Just let me go and I'll forget about all this, alright?" I took a fearful step back, and then made to run.
But I wasn't anywhere near quick enough. The next thing I felt was myself being thrown to the ground and then roughly hauled up by the archer who had tied a length of rope around my wrists behind me.
The archer shoved me forward like I was a prisoner so I was forced to walk in front of him and behind the man who was still wielding the very scary and very deadly axe.
"Lord Elrond will decide your fate, traveler," the archer said, before I was able to speak again.
"Please. Please let me go. You don't want to do this. Really," I pleaded with them, but my words fell on deaf ears.
Who was Lord Elrond? Was I hearing them correctly? I felt like I was in some alternate universe. What was going on here? And why did they have to kidnap me?
"A stinking spy of Sauron should keep his mouth shut, if he wants to keep his life!" the man with the axe warned me sternly as he turned around briefly.
I didn't talk after that. I only kept pace as best I could, tripping over the branches grown into the ground. The archer didn't have much sympathy for me, he would only jerk me to my feet again and mutter something in his foreign language.
Finally, I saw some sort of city ahead. I blinked once. And then I blinked again, not believing my eyes. An entire city, a heavenly city, wrought from the trees, houses and buildings with ornate architecture and carvings with waterfalls that fell from the forest's sharp, tree-shrouded cliffsides, so many waterfalls I lost count. It was in a word—unreal.
Was I dreaming this? I felt the archer push my shoulder painfully and knew I wasn't dreaming. This was all somehow real. I was brought out of my reverie by the voice of my captor.
"The last homely house east of the sea," the archer said.
I had no clue what he meant by it, but I was too distracted by my surroundings to pay much attention.
I could hear the sound of the river, the chatter of people-maybe, one of them would help me. But as I saw a few of the people in this village, the thought they might be a help vanished. Two men, also very fair and tall, who looked vaguely like the archer, both held very real swords by their sides and looked ready to use them. They stood in front of a large, circular door made of white wood with white carvings on it.
The archer said something in his foreign tongue again and the two dangerous looking guards moved aside so we could enter. The doors led to some sort of-well, it was closer to a dwelling than an actual house, and I was made to stand in the middle of an almost empty room. The room had no windows but was like an alcove, its balconies showed the outside, you could touch the trees, you could feel the cool breeze on your face.
Across the room there was a tall slender man with dark braided hair. He was sitting at some sort of massive oak desk, looking over papers that looked like the antique kind you would find in a glass case in a museum.
The man looked up at our arrival and I saw his face was older and more lined. I stood, my hands still tied behind my back. This must be Lord Elrond. I was still too stunned to be fearful. I didn't understand any of this.
"Vedui', amin ethir," the archer said.
"Sauron's spy, you say?" Lord Elrond repeated in English.
Lord Elrond slowly circled me. He also looked otherworldly, and wore a long blue robe. The strange thing was his feet made no sound when stepped. I tried not to shake but could not help my hand from trembling.
"He is hiding something," the archer said, still convinced I was an enemy.
"Yes, I am certain of it." Lord Elrond laughed suddenly. "But of course, you mean she is hiding something, don't you, Legolas?" the older man's mouth curved into an ageless smile.
Legolas? Was that the archer's name?
"She?" Legolas repeated, now sounding stricken. "But he has shorn hair and dresses in men's clothing," Legolas protested.
Legolas's hand still gripped my shoulder and I shrugged off his hold. Lifelessly, his hand fell to his armored side as he slowly and grudgingly realized he was mistaken about me.
"Oh, well, it seems we were sorely mistaken, lass, our apologies," the man with the axe said, his round, puffed cheeks turning beet red, while he nervously stoked his beard and shifted from foot to foot.
"But her fate I have not yet decided. I think she should meet with Gandalf. He might be able to shed more light on the matter and he is expected to arrive here with the hobbits the day after tomorrow. Until then, I leave here in your care, Legolas," Lord Elrond finished returning to his desk and busying himself with his papers again.
"But, sire," Legolas began, but a dark look from Lord Elrond cut his objection dead.
"You know what hangs in the balance, Legolas. The upcoming council cannot be disturbed. See that it is not," Lord Elrond said in a clipped voice before he picked up what looked like quilled pen.
"Yes, sire," Legolas said before he turned to me and led me out of the room.
The shorter man with axe left us, and seemed to be glad to leave both me and my captor behind.
"Your name is Legolas?" I asked while we walked together down the twining wood corridors, trying to gain some trust, trying to find some sympathy so he might let me go back home.
Legolas said nothing.
"What are you?" I asked him, still amazed by his appearance. He was a strangely beautiful, not only in his face, but in his movements.
"Have you not seen an elf before?" Legolas asked, turning his head to one side to study me like a cat would.
"An elf?" I stared at him. I did not know how to answer. An elf? Was he joking? Was this whole thing some elaborate joke, but then the city we walked through was real enough.
"Why do you think I'm a spy?" I spat the words angrily.
Legolas stopped walking and turned to face me. His face, the glass-sharp cheekbones, the pale features, the dark eyebrows, I almost believed he was an elf the longer I looked at him.
"It is not you, but the hour you arrived, that I suspect."
The hour I arrived? What did that mean?
Legolas's face was only inches from my own. I could almost feel the heat from his breath.
"You heard Lord Elrond mention a council. Within a few days, the fate of Middle Earth will be decided in Rivendell. That someone, as strange as yourself, should be wandering in the forest so near—I find it hard to believe. It is your ill fortune to fall in my hands, traveler."
Legolas raised one dark brow and smiled at me for the first time.
I felt a shiver of real fear then. Not only of what would happen to me, but I feared myself-that I had broken my fragile reality. I only wanted to see my aunt again. I only wanted to go back home. I didn't understand any of this, and I didn't know how to make him believe me. He was right. I was a traveler, lost and alone.