Disclaimer: Is this really necessary? I suppose it must be done. I don't own Lord of the Rings blah blah blah.... Genius Tolkien does....yada yada yada. Right then. That done, shall we proceed?
NOTE - I know that my story line and approach are not original, but what is these days? Everything is derived from something else. I have read a lot of LOTR fics, as I'm sure most of you have and I have come to enjoy the run of the mill girl-goes-to-middle-earth-and-gets-it-together-with-Leggy stories. So I have taken it upon myself to write one for myself. If you don't like them, I suggest you exit now. I know what I have created and have enjoyed it so far. If you don't, I don't take responsibility for it. I have warned you.
Keep note though, that this is my idea of a bit of harmless fun, and not my intention to delve into Middle-Earthen detail of the finicky kind. So sit back and enjoy the ride.
Chapter 1.
For most of my childhood all I ever wanted to be was a warrior princess. I didn't care much for being the ruler of any sort of kingdom or city. I just wanted to wear sexy boots and go gallivanting around kicking some serious ass. That was why at the age of six I took up martial arts. Well actually, first came ballet, but that was a short and slightly gruesome journey, where my dad, who has raised me my whole life, was broken the news that I have the coordination of a great dancer but the grace of an elephant. Not exactly a prima ballerina kind of combination.
My aggressive athleticism and spirit for competition was perfectly suited to the art of combat. Karate, boxing, kick boxing, ninjutsu, kendo and taekwondo; I did them all, but taekwondo was the one that I excelled at with its requirements of speed, strength and agility. Taekwondo was done without shoes, so I didn't get to wear the sexy boots, but I did get to kick some ass. So I settled into a nice life of training hard and partying hard. At my current age of nineteen I had never lost a fight.
I doubt that if my mother had stuck around, I would have been allowed to fight. I don't remember much about her but I don't think she was the kind of woman who condoned females doing aggressive, male dominated sports. I was far too young, but what I do remember is that she moved with incredible grace and elegance, had piercing blue eyes, porcelain skin, blonde hair, fine bones and had a soft but none the less commanding voice, which I used to fall asleep to the sound of. My dip into the gene pool went horribly wrong. I didn't look much like my mother at all.
I ended up with my father's deep tropical tan, black hair and athletic, well muscled body, defined by hours spent at the gym or in training. The only thing I inherited from my mother was her blue eyes, which were a striking but odd contrast to my darker colouring. Standing at five foot six, I was a sight indeed.
It was one Saturday afternoon, after a competition, when my seemingly structured and ordinary life decided to go topsy turvy and throw me a curve ball, and I have never been one for ball games.
Arriving home sore and tired, I dumped my bags in the hall determined to collapse into a hot bath and spend the night pruning myself up, but was interrupted by my fathers deep voice beckoning from down the hall.
"Bryn" he barked "could you join me in the kitchen please?" Oh god. What will it be this time?
Dad had always been a great father, but had a tendency for unnecessary interventions due to his hobby of reading teen parenting manuals and watching too many T.V. talk shows. He was usually over zealous about 'common teen issues', but at least I knew that he cared.
"Dad" I began as I made my way towards the kitchen "If this is gunna' be another one of those sex talks you like to have just stop now. I'm 19 and...." I stopped mid sentence as I noticed my father was not alone. Another person was in the room with him. My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as I stood in front of the two men who sat at the small dining table, giggling at my expense. The visitor stroked his beard as he regarded me thoughtfully.
He turned to dad "I see her mouth still gets her into trouble" he said, mixing his words with a deep chuckle.
I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. Uncle Gandalf could never help himself. He always had to say something about her 'abrasive temperament' as he called it.
"Another win I see" He said indicating the large gold trophy I had deposited on the floor at my side. "Very impressive trophy I must say"
"Yeah, but they're all useless, unless you decide to use them as shirikin that is"
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion "Shirikin?"
"You know, Uncle Gandy. Throwing weapons," I replied with a lop sided smile, while making a throwing action with my wrist. " I've got a whole room full of the blasted things just waiting to be thrown if you're ever in the mood for some mindless violence"
Gandalf frowned. He hadn't been to earth for quite a few years now, since before the war of the ring. Now that that had just finished a little over a year ago, he saw the opportunity, but had forgotten how different Earth culture was. Especially in its modern generation.
"I'll never understand you young ones." He shook his head smugly.
"You're showing your age old man." I smirked.
"And you yours, young Bryn"
With that, Gandalf and I commenced a small staring match which lasted a few seconds, before he rose from his seat and held his arms wide apart.
"Well?" He asked, grinning madly "Aren't you going to give your old Uncle Gandy a hug."
I smiled as I embraced the man warmly. At full height he towered over my five six frame and it was an effort to get my arms around him.
"Where have you been these past years?" I asked my voice muffled by his brown jacket.
"All in good time young one." He chuckled again " Right now I have more pressing matters to discuss with you"
"More pressing matters?" I questioned. This didn't sound good. Gandalf resumed his seat at the table, and I moved to sit in the chair across from him. Dad, who had been sitting quietly watching the small reunion, shuffled his chair in closer to the table. We all sat looking at each other, me with an expectant look on my face. "Has someone died?" I questioned, quirking an eyebrow.
"No dear" dad cut in "just listen to what Gandalf has to say"
I looked towards Gandalf, confused. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before meeting my eyes. "Well" he said "I have a..... Proposition for you if you will."
"Okey dokey. Hit me old man" I said resting my feet on the tabletop. "I'm listening"
Gandalf cleared his throat, slightly taken aback by my earthly colloquialisms and unladylike actions. "I know that you are not due to start university for another three months and do not have a job because of your commitment to your training. So I have arranged for you to come and spend this time with me."
"Three months? Are you friggin nuts?" I darted my eyes between both of the men sitting before me to try and gage how serious he was. Neither face showed the slightest bit of humour and it made me nervous. "What about training? I have the national titles in six months."
"Forget the nationals," my father snapped, "I want you to go with Gandalf. There are things about this family that you should know"
"What are you talking about? Is this a joke?" I had never seen dad act this way before. His dark eyes were scared and pleading at the same time. He was usually very strong and composed, yet the look on his face transformed him into a different person. He looked somehow older, like he had aged years in a matter of seconds. "But dad, you know how important my sport is to me. How important fighting is to me." It was my turn to look pleading. "If I don't make nationals, I won't make the international team and that means no Olympics."
"Look, Bryn" He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'll cut you a deal. If you go with uncle Gandalf for a minimum of one month, then you can decide what to do with the rest of your time. If by then you want to come home, it's your call. Okay?"
"I will make sure you get your training young Bryn" Gandalf added firmly "I happen to know some of the best fighters in all of Midd..... Earth."
I was still wary. What was the point of all of this? Why was it so important for me to go? Despite my questions I had to give in. How could I refuse when my father looked that pleading? I could still train. Gandalf had promised it and there had to be a gym where we were going. There is one on every corner here in Sydney. It could be an adventure. You know how much you like those.
"Okay. I give. I'll go with uncle Gandalf. But I can come home whenever I want right?"
"Right. After a month has passed of course." Gandalf smiled warmly and dad looked relieved at my decision "Good, good. We are all set then. We leave tomorrow."
"We WHAT?" I nearly choked on my own tongue Why the urgency? "That's a bit soon don't you think?"
"Time waits for no-one young Bryn. I suggest you go and pack." Gandalf lectured as he pointed up the staircase towards my room.
Heading up the stairs, it occurred to me that I had failed to ask a vital question. I stopped on the landing and looked down to the old, bearded man at the table "Hey, uncle Gandy" He looked up, eyes wide. "Where is it that were going exactly?"
"All things will reveal themselves in due course. Have patience young one."
"You know Gandy," I said, the sarcasm leaking back into my voice. "Sometimes you scare me. You are starting to sound more and more like Mr. Miagi from the Karate Kid" I finished as my voice disappeared into my room.
In the morning I dressed myself in the most comfortable travel gear I owned. I slipped into a pair of low slung, hip hugging jeans that flared at the bottom. They had a tare in the right knee, and a prominent grease stain from a dirt biking incident down the left leg. It all just added to the street-wise charm they gave off. I topped it off with a khaki green tank top and a pair of worn combat boots that trailed three buckles up each leg. The rest of my essential items I loaded into a trekking pack I had stolen from an old 'friend'. I met him when I took up canyoning a few years ago. He was kind enough to lend me one of his packs and a fondling hand on the rougher terrain. He also referred to me as cup cake and used to tuck his fingers into the belt of my pants when no one was looking. I soon put him right, and came out of it with a lot of nice camping gear too.
It is important to have at least one decent travel pack. A truly independent woman ought to be able to pack up her life in an hour, tops. Besides, when you look as athletic I did no one offered to carry your luggage.
I packed the essentials; passport, undies, shoes, spare clothes, favourite forms of entertainment, training gear and weapons. The passport could be slipped easily into a pocket and the spare clothes, entertainment extras and other items could be stuffed into any other available compartment. It was my extensive array of training gear that needed the main compartment all to itself. Running shoes and weaponry need their space.
Finished packing I motioned towards the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stopped and observed the young woman staring back at me. Her almond shaped eyes, bordered by dark lashes looked back void of any emotion. Her full lips remained unsmiling. It had been a long time since I looked at myself in the mirror properly. I had always been too busy with training or going to parties to take much notice. The hours of dedicated training showed the results in the mirror. My broad shoulders were finely sculpted; as were my legs and my belly was flat and firm. Must be all that running. I thought, shrugging as I headed downstairs.
Gandalf was again sitting at the same place at the table, wearing the same old-fashioned brown suit, reading the paper. It was as though he had not moved at all from the night before. He smiled as he saw me, and then frowned as he looked down at my single bag. "Is that all you are taking dear?"
I glanced down at the tattered bag in question. It's not that small. " I travel light" I retorted "A hot shower and a clean pair of undies and I'm good to go."
Trekking packs are like magic. They look deceivingly small, however, they packed a lot of gear. The tricky thing was getting it all back in after you disturbed the tightly packed arrangement. It was like trying to do a Mary Poppins in reverse. "I have everything I need."
"Right, right. Good good. We'll be off as soon as we finish breakfast." Bringing his coffee mug to his mouth, he abruptly halted mid sip. "That reminds me," he said, "I suggest you eat a hearty breakfast. It may be the only proper meal you receive for the next few days. What I have to offer while we travel may not satisfy judging by what you are used to."
Not wanting to be left without food, I stuffed a load of protein bars and other favourite treats into various pockets and sections of my pack. I had no idea where I was going or what I was in for, but I knew, somehow that it was going to be of great significance. Neither Dad nor uncle Gandalf would dare put my dreams of sporting glory on hold for anything else. At least that is what I was telling myself.
Breakfast over, I said my goodbyes and dumped my bag in the back of Gandalf's green station wagon.
"Why does it not surprise me that you drive a Volvo?" I asked sarcastically, leaning my hand on my jutted hip.
"Why do you say that my dear?" He looked slightly confused. He obviously wasn't aware of the stigma against Volvo drivers. They were categorized as quirky conservative kind of people who were a little too moldy around the edges and a little too light on the accelerator.
"I dunno Gandy my man. You just look like a Volvo kinda guy."
Not game to question the matter further, he took his seat behind the wheel and we were soon driving out of town. An hour or so into the journey Gandalf started to softly hum a melodious tune. It sounded nothing like I had ever heard before. It was kind of foreign and old-fashion. He began singing louder, this time adding words, however it was in a language that I did not understand. It had a flowing lilt to it that made it sound just as melodious as the tune itself. My eyes began relaxing and I could feel my body begin to go limp. The last thing I saw was Gandalf's cheerful smile as I gave into unconsciousness.
It was a while before I woke up. Groaning, I willed the throbbing in the back of my skull to dissipate, but to no avail. I felt groggy, like I had just woken from spending a night out on the town, and had gone a few rounds too many with my old friend tequila. I still had nightmares from the last time I did that.
My eyes still closed, I listened for the smooth hum of the engine of Gandalf's station wagon, but it wasn't there. It had been replaced by the soft chirping of distant birds, and the harsh crunching of wheels on a pot holed, dirt road. There was also a slight breeze, which sent a shiver down my spine causing goose bumps to form on my exposed arms. Hold on a sec. Since when did Gandy have a convertible?
I sprang up from my sprawled position like a shot, eyes wide and frantic. I was no longer in a car, but a small horse drawn wagon, crudely put together out of untreated timber. The tar and ash felt of the Sydney suburbs was gone, in its place a large forest with lush green trees and fields stood, stretching for miles across mountain tops and disappearing into the distance. The landscape was nothing like I would have expected to see in the Australian bush. Australian vegetation was rough, creating an array of grays, dark greens, reds, browns and blues. It was designed to survive a harsh environment. The only place you would find anything different was north, in the tropics, or further south. The trees that stood before me were lush and could almost be described as delicate in appearance. They were like nothing I knew. Where the hell am I?
"Nice to have you back in the world of the living" I jumped at the sudden interruption to my thoughts. It was Gandalf. He was perched at the front of the wagon, reigns in hand, puffing on a pipe which he clutched between his teeth in the side of his mouth. He wore a long white cloak and a large pointy hat was perched on his head of smooth, white hair. I groaned again as I struggled to a standing position and moved to join Gandalf in the front seat.
"Whoa. Gandy. What's with the cart and pointy hat get-up? Have you joined a cult?" I jested, plonking myself ungracefully at his side while clutching my aching head.
"I see that you still managed to retain your sense of humour despite your current condition."
"You're getting awfully snappy in your old age. I feel like I've got a major hangover and I think there is a re-enactment of World War Two going on in my head"
He started laughing, and it seemed to be at my expense.
"Ah. A magic hangover." He mumbled to himself absent-mindedly. "Long time since I have experienced one of those."
"One question. What happened to the car? Better yet, WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE?" I shouted, once again glancing around at the unfamiliar terrain.
"Bite your tongue." Gandalf snapped, glaring at me from under bushy eyebrows. "I don't think your father raised his daughter to have the mouth of a sailor, or the mannerisms of one at that. I am most certain that it will be terribly unappreciated where we are going."
"And where the hell are we going? I'm sick of this cloak and dagger shit. I want some answers."
I no longer cared for the old man's philosophical maneuverings, or his opinion of my choice of vocabulary. I had hauled my ass out of my home, away from my family, routines and commitments to go on a three month 'sabbatical' I knew nothing about and he expected me to sit there and shut up. I don't think so pops. I had had enough. The reading on my weird-shit-o-meter had just gone into overdrive.
"So.... Are you going to answer my bloody questions or not old man?" I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes at him defiantly.
"We are not far out of Rivendell actually."
"Where?"
"Rivendell"
"And where on earth is that." My confusion was evident on my face. I had never been very good at geography, but Rivendell was a place that I had never heard of at all.
"I think the most appropriate question would be 'Where on Middle Earth is that?'" He plucked his pipe from its position, dangling out of his mouth, and gave me a sly smile I didn't all together like.
"Excuse me?" I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and a cold sweat break out in my hands. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"
"Calm yourself girl. We are just simply..." He paused thoughtfully "In another dimension is all."
"You are a senile old bugger aren't you? I always knew you were a bit shifty."
"I am most certainly not shifty!" He retorted hotly.
"But you agree to the senile bit right?"
At this point the friendly old man I always knew as uncle Gandy diminished as a more frightening version of his personality emerged. A dark cloud seemed to swell around his cloaked form as his patience for my stubborn antics grew thin. The only other time I had seen him half as angry was when he joined us for Christmas dinner one year, when I was ten years old. He was picking peas and turkey out of his beard for weeks after my ambush on my potato fort.
"Believe what you will girl. But you will soon come to a rude awakening. The Elves may not be as tolerant of your ferocious attitude as I have been."
"Elves!?" He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "Okay, okay. I'm shutting up now." I held my hands up in surrender and sat back against the small wooden seat.
"Now is not the time for questions, Bryn. I am going to explain something very important to you, and you must listen. For everyone's sake, not just your own." He peeked out of the corner of his eye to make sure I was still listening. I had my arms crossed defensively and a sour expression plastered on my face. He was talking to me as though I was a small child. "You are in another world now Bryn. This is not a game. The beings you encounter here are very real, and I expect you to offer them the same courtesy they will no doubt bestow upon you. That means no gutter trash swearing, no excessive... lip, and definitely no defensive actions."
I sat forward again abruptly "What do you mean defensive actions?"
"I know you girl. You are tighter than Fort Knox. You hide yourself and your personal life like it is a national secret and when anyone even tries to get to know you, you try and stomp them down with your quick mouth and those large offensive boots of yours."
I looked down at my combat boots, then back to Gandalf. Maybe he was right about me being defensive. But what did it matter. It was a part of who I was. It was a form of emotional protection which was completely necessary in the streets of the modern world. In general people were selfish and only out for their own gains, despite the cost to others. I was not going to let myself be a victim of emotional sabotage. Besides, the attitude worked on me.
"What's your point?" was my monotone reply. "And my boots are not offensive!"
"It is important that you in no way advertise yourself as being from another world. That could prove disastrous for everyone. That involves blending in to elven society by acting like a lady. You saw 'Pride and Prejudice' didn't you?"
"You mean you want me to prance around like some Victorian age bimbo and faint at the drop of a hat?" This did not please me one bit. "Would you like me to do anything else while I'm at it. Jump through fiery hoops, a little tap dancing perhaps?"
"No. I'm sure acting like a lady will prove sufficient. No need to turn it into a three ring circus."
"And why the secrecy?"
"That is unimportant for now. The information will be disclosed selectively at my discretion. So don't get any bright ideas. Here " he said, tossing me a bundle of clothing that he plucked from behind him "Change into these. We can't have you running around looking like an other worldly hoodlum now can we?"
With that final note he turned back to the road, puffing contentedly on his small wooden pipe, while I changed into the strange new clothes in the back of the wagon. They had a slightly medieval feel to them, which I didn't like. I mean I was grunge, but not that grunge. And how was I supposed to fight in a dress?
Ever since I started going to nightclubs in my late teens, I had developed a paranoia about wearing clothes that I was able to defend myself in. A product of how much martial arts had taken over my life. While all the other girls wore their trashy party-girl outfits and stumbled around drunkenly in their six-inch stilettos, I was wearing loose jeans and running shoes while sipping caffinated beverages. It was not often that I let loose and had anything alcoholic. I don't think the caffeine really helped. After four or five glasses of the stuff, I was itching for a fight and usually ended up taking the initiative of staring one myself. They usually progressed to complete bar room brawls and then sometimes to full pitched battles, which extended onto the dance floor.
Gandalf seemed happy enough with the arrangements. I was still skeptical about the whole concept of 'another world'. As soon as we came across a pay phone I had every intention of calling my father up to come and retrieve me from the hell I was in, and while I was at it, maybe book uncle Gandalf in for some heavy therapy sessions.
.
NOTE - I know that my story line and approach are not original, but what is these days? Everything is derived from something else. I have read a lot of LOTR fics, as I'm sure most of you have and I have come to enjoy the run of the mill girl-goes-to-middle-earth-and-gets-it-together-with-Leggy stories. So I have taken it upon myself to write one for myself. If you don't like them, I suggest you exit now. I know what I have created and have enjoyed it so far. If you don't, I don't take responsibility for it. I have warned you.
Keep note though, that this is my idea of a bit of harmless fun, and not my intention to delve into Middle-Earthen detail of the finicky kind. So sit back and enjoy the ride.
Chapter 1.
For most of my childhood all I ever wanted to be was a warrior princess. I didn't care much for being the ruler of any sort of kingdom or city. I just wanted to wear sexy boots and go gallivanting around kicking some serious ass. That was why at the age of six I took up martial arts. Well actually, first came ballet, but that was a short and slightly gruesome journey, where my dad, who has raised me my whole life, was broken the news that I have the coordination of a great dancer but the grace of an elephant. Not exactly a prima ballerina kind of combination.
My aggressive athleticism and spirit for competition was perfectly suited to the art of combat. Karate, boxing, kick boxing, ninjutsu, kendo and taekwondo; I did them all, but taekwondo was the one that I excelled at with its requirements of speed, strength and agility. Taekwondo was done without shoes, so I didn't get to wear the sexy boots, but I did get to kick some ass. So I settled into a nice life of training hard and partying hard. At my current age of nineteen I had never lost a fight.
I doubt that if my mother had stuck around, I would have been allowed to fight. I don't remember much about her but I don't think she was the kind of woman who condoned females doing aggressive, male dominated sports. I was far too young, but what I do remember is that she moved with incredible grace and elegance, had piercing blue eyes, porcelain skin, blonde hair, fine bones and had a soft but none the less commanding voice, which I used to fall asleep to the sound of. My dip into the gene pool went horribly wrong. I didn't look much like my mother at all.
I ended up with my father's deep tropical tan, black hair and athletic, well muscled body, defined by hours spent at the gym or in training. The only thing I inherited from my mother was her blue eyes, which were a striking but odd contrast to my darker colouring. Standing at five foot six, I was a sight indeed.
It was one Saturday afternoon, after a competition, when my seemingly structured and ordinary life decided to go topsy turvy and throw me a curve ball, and I have never been one for ball games.
Arriving home sore and tired, I dumped my bags in the hall determined to collapse into a hot bath and spend the night pruning myself up, but was interrupted by my fathers deep voice beckoning from down the hall.
"Bryn" he barked "could you join me in the kitchen please?" Oh god. What will it be this time?
Dad had always been a great father, but had a tendency for unnecessary interventions due to his hobby of reading teen parenting manuals and watching too many T.V. talk shows. He was usually over zealous about 'common teen issues', but at least I knew that he cared.
"Dad" I began as I made my way towards the kitchen "If this is gunna' be another one of those sex talks you like to have just stop now. I'm 19 and...." I stopped mid sentence as I noticed my father was not alone. Another person was in the room with him. My cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as I stood in front of the two men who sat at the small dining table, giggling at my expense. The visitor stroked his beard as he regarded me thoughtfully.
He turned to dad "I see her mouth still gets her into trouble" he said, mixing his words with a deep chuckle.
I folded my arms over my chest and narrowed my eyes. Uncle Gandalf could never help himself. He always had to say something about her 'abrasive temperament' as he called it.
"Another win I see" He said indicating the large gold trophy I had deposited on the floor at my side. "Very impressive trophy I must say"
"Yeah, but they're all useless, unless you decide to use them as shirikin that is"
His eyebrows knitted together in confusion "Shirikin?"
"You know, Uncle Gandy. Throwing weapons," I replied with a lop sided smile, while making a throwing action with my wrist. " I've got a whole room full of the blasted things just waiting to be thrown if you're ever in the mood for some mindless violence"
Gandalf frowned. He hadn't been to earth for quite a few years now, since before the war of the ring. Now that that had just finished a little over a year ago, he saw the opportunity, but had forgotten how different Earth culture was. Especially in its modern generation.
"I'll never understand you young ones." He shook his head smugly.
"You're showing your age old man." I smirked.
"And you yours, young Bryn"
With that, Gandalf and I commenced a small staring match which lasted a few seconds, before he rose from his seat and held his arms wide apart.
"Well?" He asked, grinning madly "Aren't you going to give your old Uncle Gandy a hug."
I smiled as I embraced the man warmly. At full height he towered over my five six frame and it was an effort to get my arms around him.
"Where have you been these past years?" I asked my voice muffled by his brown jacket.
"All in good time young one." He chuckled again " Right now I have more pressing matters to discuss with you"
"More pressing matters?" I questioned. This didn't sound good. Gandalf resumed his seat at the table, and I moved to sit in the chair across from him. Dad, who had been sitting quietly watching the small reunion, shuffled his chair in closer to the table. We all sat looking at each other, me with an expectant look on my face. "Has someone died?" I questioned, quirking an eyebrow.
"No dear" dad cut in "just listen to what Gandalf has to say"
I looked towards Gandalf, confused. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before meeting my eyes. "Well" he said "I have a..... Proposition for you if you will."
"Okey dokey. Hit me old man" I said resting my feet on the tabletop. "I'm listening"
Gandalf cleared his throat, slightly taken aback by my earthly colloquialisms and unladylike actions. "I know that you are not due to start university for another three months and do not have a job because of your commitment to your training. So I have arranged for you to come and spend this time with me."
"Three months? Are you friggin nuts?" I darted my eyes between both of the men sitting before me to try and gage how serious he was. Neither face showed the slightest bit of humour and it made me nervous. "What about training? I have the national titles in six months."
"Forget the nationals," my father snapped, "I want you to go with Gandalf. There are things about this family that you should know"
"What are you talking about? Is this a joke?" I had never seen dad act this way before. His dark eyes were scared and pleading at the same time. He was usually very strong and composed, yet the look on his face transformed him into a different person. He looked somehow older, like he had aged years in a matter of seconds. "But dad, you know how important my sport is to me. How important fighting is to me." It was my turn to look pleading. "If I don't make nationals, I won't make the international team and that means no Olympics."
"Look, Bryn" He sighed and closed his eyes. "I'll cut you a deal. If you go with uncle Gandalf for a minimum of one month, then you can decide what to do with the rest of your time. If by then you want to come home, it's your call. Okay?"
"I will make sure you get your training young Bryn" Gandalf added firmly "I happen to know some of the best fighters in all of Midd..... Earth."
I was still wary. What was the point of all of this? Why was it so important for me to go? Despite my questions I had to give in. How could I refuse when my father looked that pleading? I could still train. Gandalf had promised it and there had to be a gym where we were going. There is one on every corner here in Sydney. It could be an adventure. You know how much you like those.
"Okay. I give. I'll go with uncle Gandalf. But I can come home whenever I want right?"
"Right. After a month has passed of course." Gandalf smiled warmly and dad looked relieved at my decision "Good, good. We are all set then. We leave tomorrow."
"We WHAT?" I nearly choked on my own tongue Why the urgency? "That's a bit soon don't you think?"
"Time waits for no-one young Bryn. I suggest you go and pack." Gandalf lectured as he pointed up the staircase towards my room.
Heading up the stairs, it occurred to me that I had failed to ask a vital question. I stopped on the landing and looked down to the old, bearded man at the table "Hey, uncle Gandy" He looked up, eyes wide. "Where is it that were going exactly?"
"All things will reveal themselves in due course. Have patience young one."
"You know Gandy," I said, the sarcasm leaking back into my voice. "Sometimes you scare me. You are starting to sound more and more like Mr. Miagi from the Karate Kid" I finished as my voice disappeared into my room.
In the morning I dressed myself in the most comfortable travel gear I owned. I slipped into a pair of low slung, hip hugging jeans that flared at the bottom. They had a tare in the right knee, and a prominent grease stain from a dirt biking incident down the left leg. It all just added to the street-wise charm they gave off. I topped it off with a khaki green tank top and a pair of worn combat boots that trailed three buckles up each leg. The rest of my essential items I loaded into a trekking pack I had stolen from an old 'friend'. I met him when I took up canyoning a few years ago. He was kind enough to lend me one of his packs and a fondling hand on the rougher terrain. He also referred to me as cup cake and used to tuck his fingers into the belt of my pants when no one was looking. I soon put him right, and came out of it with a lot of nice camping gear too.
It is important to have at least one decent travel pack. A truly independent woman ought to be able to pack up her life in an hour, tops. Besides, when you look as athletic I did no one offered to carry your luggage.
I packed the essentials; passport, undies, shoes, spare clothes, favourite forms of entertainment, training gear and weapons. The passport could be slipped easily into a pocket and the spare clothes, entertainment extras and other items could be stuffed into any other available compartment. It was my extensive array of training gear that needed the main compartment all to itself. Running shoes and weaponry need their space.
Finished packing I motioned towards the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I stopped and observed the young woman staring back at me. Her almond shaped eyes, bordered by dark lashes looked back void of any emotion. Her full lips remained unsmiling. It had been a long time since I looked at myself in the mirror properly. I had always been too busy with training or going to parties to take much notice. The hours of dedicated training showed the results in the mirror. My broad shoulders were finely sculpted; as were my legs and my belly was flat and firm. Must be all that running. I thought, shrugging as I headed downstairs.
Gandalf was again sitting at the same place at the table, wearing the same old-fashioned brown suit, reading the paper. It was as though he had not moved at all from the night before. He smiled as he saw me, and then frowned as he looked down at my single bag. "Is that all you are taking dear?"
I glanced down at the tattered bag in question. It's not that small. " I travel light" I retorted "A hot shower and a clean pair of undies and I'm good to go."
Trekking packs are like magic. They look deceivingly small, however, they packed a lot of gear. The tricky thing was getting it all back in after you disturbed the tightly packed arrangement. It was like trying to do a Mary Poppins in reverse. "I have everything I need."
"Right, right. Good good. We'll be off as soon as we finish breakfast." Bringing his coffee mug to his mouth, he abruptly halted mid sip. "That reminds me," he said, "I suggest you eat a hearty breakfast. It may be the only proper meal you receive for the next few days. What I have to offer while we travel may not satisfy judging by what you are used to."
Not wanting to be left without food, I stuffed a load of protein bars and other favourite treats into various pockets and sections of my pack. I had no idea where I was going or what I was in for, but I knew, somehow that it was going to be of great significance. Neither Dad nor uncle Gandalf would dare put my dreams of sporting glory on hold for anything else. At least that is what I was telling myself.
Breakfast over, I said my goodbyes and dumped my bag in the back of Gandalf's green station wagon.
"Why does it not surprise me that you drive a Volvo?" I asked sarcastically, leaning my hand on my jutted hip.
"Why do you say that my dear?" He looked slightly confused. He obviously wasn't aware of the stigma against Volvo drivers. They were categorized as quirky conservative kind of people who were a little too moldy around the edges and a little too light on the accelerator.
"I dunno Gandy my man. You just look like a Volvo kinda guy."
Not game to question the matter further, he took his seat behind the wheel and we were soon driving out of town. An hour or so into the journey Gandalf started to softly hum a melodious tune. It sounded nothing like I had ever heard before. It was kind of foreign and old-fashion. He began singing louder, this time adding words, however it was in a language that I did not understand. It had a flowing lilt to it that made it sound just as melodious as the tune itself. My eyes began relaxing and I could feel my body begin to go limp. The last thing I saw was Gandalf's cheerful smile as I gave into unconsciousness.
It was a while before I woke up. Groaning, I willed the throbbing in the back of my skull to dissipate, but to no avail. I felt groggy, like I had just woken from spending a night out on the town, and had gone a few rounds too many with my old friend tequila. I still had nightmares from the last time I did that.
My eyes still closed, I listened for the smooth hum of the engine of Gandalf's station wagon, but it wasn't there. It had been replaced by the soft chirping of distant birds, and the harsh crunching of wheels on a pot holed, dirt road. There was also a slight breeze, which sent a shiver down my spine causing goose bumps to form on my exposed arms. Hold on a sec. Since when did Gandy have a convertible?
I sprang up from my sprawled position like a shot, eyes wide and frantic. I was no longer in a car, but a small horse drawn wagon, crudely put together out of untreated timber. The tar and ash felt of the Sydney suburbs was gone, in its place a large forest with lush green trees and fields stood, stretching for miles across mountain tops and disappearing into the distance. The landscape was nothing like I would have expected to see in the Australian bush. Australian vegetation was rough, creating an array of grays, dark greens, reds, browns and blues. It was designed to survive a harsh environment. The only place you would find anything different was north, in the tropics, or further south. The trees that stood before me were lush and could almost be described as delicate in appearance. They were like nothing I knew. Where the hell am I?
"Nice to have you back in the world of the living" I jumped at the sudden interruption to my thoughts. It was Gandalf. He was perched at the front of the wagon, reigns in hand, puffing on a pipe which he clutched between his teeth in the side of his mouth. He wore a long white cloak and a large pointy hat was perched on his head of smooth, white hair. I groaned again as I struggled to a standing position and moved to join Gandalf in the front seat.
"Whoa. Gandy. What's with the cart and pointy hat get-up? Have you joined a cult?" I jested, plonking myself ungracefully at his side while clutching my aching head.
"I see that you still managed to retain your sense of humour despite your current condition."
"You're getting awfully snappy in your old age. I feel like I've got a major hangover and I think there is a re-enactment of World War Two going on in my head"
He started laughing, and it seemed to be at my expense.
"Ah. A magic hangover." He mumbled to himself absent-mindedly. "Long time since I have experienced one of those."
"One question. What happened to the car? Better yet, WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE?" I shouted, once again glancing around at the unfamiliar terrain.
"Bite your tongue." Gandalf snapped, glaring at me from under bushy eyebrows. "I don't think your father raised his daughter to have the mouth of a sailor, or the mannerisms of one at that. I am most certain that it will be terribly unappreciated where we are going."
"And where the hell are we going? I'm sick of this cloak and dagger shit. I want some answers."
I no longer cared for the old man's philosophical maneuverings, or his opinion of my choice of vocabulary. I had hauled my ass out of my home, away from my family, routines and commitments to go on a three month 'sabbatical' I knew nothing about and he expected me to sit there and shut up. I don't think so pops. I had had enough. The reading on my weird-shit-o-meter had just gone into overdrive.
"So.... Are you going to answer my bloody questions or not old man?" I folded my arms and narrowed my eyes at him defiantly.
"We are not far out of Rivendell actually."
"Where?"
"Rivendell"
"And where on earth is that." My confusion was evident on my face. I had never been very good at geography, but Rivendell was a place that I had never heard of at all.
"I think the most appropriate question would be 'Where on Middle Earth is that?'" He plucked his pipe from its position, dangling out of his mouth, and gave me a sly smile I didn't all together like.
"Excuse me?" I could feel my heart thumping in my chest and a cold sweat break out in my hands. "What the bloody hell does that mean?"
"Calm yourself girl. We are just simply..." He paused thoughtfully "In another dimension is all."
"You are a senile old bugger aren't you? I always knew you were a bit shifty."
"I am most certainly not shifty!" He retorted hotly.
"But you agree to the senile bit right?"
At this point the friendly old man I always knew as uncle Gandy diminished as a more frightening version of his personality emerged. A dark cloud seemed to swell around his cloaked form as his patience for my stubborn antics grew thin. The only other time I had seen him half as angry was when he joined us for Christmas dinner one year, when I was ten years old. He was picking peas and turkey out of his beard for weeks after my ambush on my potato fort.
"Believe what you will girl. But you will soon come to a rude awakening. The Elves may not be as tolerant of your ferocious attitude as I have been."
"Elves!?" He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "Okay, okay. I'm shutting up now." I held my hands up in surrender and sat back against the small wooden seat.
"Now is not the time for questions, Bryn. I am going to explain something very important to you, and you must listen. For everyone's sake, not just your own." He peeked out of the corner of his eye to make sure I was still listening. I had my arms crossed defensively and a sour expression plastered on my face. He was talking to me as though I was a small child. "You are in another world now Bryn. This is not a game. The beings you encounter here are very real, and I expect you to offer them the same courtesy they will no doubt bestow upon you. That means no gutter trash swearing, no excessive... lip, and definitely no defensive actions."
I sat forward again abruptly "What do you mean defensive actions?"
"I know you girl. You are tighter than Fort Knox. You hide yourself and your personal life like it is a national secret and when anyone even tries to get to know you, you try and stomp them down with your quick mouth and those large offensive boots of yours."
I looked down at my combat boots, then back to Gandalf. Maybe he was right about me being defensive. But what did it matter. It was a part of who I was. It was a form of emotional protection which was completely necessary in the streets of the modern world. In general people were selfish and only out for their own gains, despite the cost to others. I was not going to let myself be a victim of emotional sabotage. Besides, the attitude worked on me.
"What's your point?" was my monotone reply. "And my boots are not offensive!"
"It is important that you in no way advertise yourself as being from another world. That could prove disastrous for everyone. That involves blending in to elven society by acting like a lady. You saw 'Pride and Prejudice' didn't you?"
"You mean you want me to prance around like some Victorian age bimbo and faint at the drop of a hat?" This did not please me one bit. "Would you like me to do anything else while I'm at it. Jump through fiery hoops, a little tap dancing perhaps?"
"No. I'm sure acting like a lady will prove sufficient. No need to turn it into a three ring circus."
"And why the secrecy?"
"That is unimportant for now. The information will be disclosed selectively at my discretion. So don't get any bright ideas. Here " he said, tossing me a bundle of clothing that he plucked from behind him "Change into these. We can't have you running around looking like an other worldly hoodlum now can we?"
With that final note he turned back to the road, puffing contentedly on his small wooden pipe, while I changed into the strange new clothes in the back of the wagon. They had a slightly medieval feel to them, which I didn't like. I mean I was grunge, but not that grunge. And how was I supposed to fight in a dress?
Ever since I started going to nightclubs in my late teens, I had developed a paranoia about wearing clothes that I was able to defend myself in. A product of how much martial arts had taken over my life. While all the other girls wore their trashy party-girl outfits and stumbled around drunkenly in their six-inch stilettos, I was wearing loose jeans and running shoes while sipping caffinated beverages. It was not often that I let loose and had anything alcoholic. I don't think the caffeine really helped. After four or five glasses of the stuff, I was itching for a fight and usually ended up taking the initiative of staring one myself. They usually progressed to complete bar room brawls and then sometimes to full pitched battles, which extended onto the dance floor.
Gandalf seemed happy enough with the arrangements. I was still skeptical about the whole concept of 'another world'. As soon as we came across a pay phone I had every intention of calling my father up to come and retrieve me from the hell I was in, and while I was at it, maybe book uncle Gandalf in for some heavy therapy sessions.
.