Imagine knowing your favourite dwarf has a crush on you but not saying anything about it because you don't know how to deal with it."
– Prompt taken from ImagineXHobbit on Tumblr
For Jade, who dared me to write something Hobbity,
and Rachel, who told me I should write a Fantasy novel someday.
For those of you who have read 'Foreign Peace', ta-dah! Here's the first volume of a rewrite that I promised ages ago. There will be five chapters (Volumes) in total, but I can't for certain give you a date for when the next will be published. The remainder of this year and 2018 is going to be a super busy time for me, so I'll write and publish volumes when I can. Until that happens, you've got Volume I to enjoy, you lucky things you~!
My thanks to MerlinOfTheShire for Beta-ing this first Volume. They've done a brilliant job!
On pronunciations and pronoun use…
Ettelëa
(From Quenya, Et-tel-ee-ah)
Meaning 'foreign' or perhaps 'stranger'. The Elves of Rivendell first named Erin this when she arrives in their halls.
Lapette
(From Quenya)
Meaning 'Rabbit'. This is Glorfindel's 'pet name' for the protagonist, and also her name which serves her as Elf-friend to the Eldar.
Dwarf, Dwarves, Dwarrow, Dwarrowdam and Dwarven
Tolkien specified in his introductory notes that the plural of 'Dwarf' was in fact 'Dwarves', though he also alluded to 'Dwarves' being "…a piece of private bad grammar". He instead, would have used 'Dwarrow' to refer to 'Dwarf' in a pluralistic manner, but the only noted time of him doing thus in his writings is in allusion to the Ancestral Dwarven home of Moria, as he called it 'Dwarrowdelf'.
In this story, 'Dwarf' is the singular pronoun form, with 'Dwarves' referring to the race as a whole. Smaller numbers, or referring to Dwarves in a more intimate and friendly manner, will be shown through the inclusive pronoun 'Dwarrow'. 'Dwarrow' also provides some distinction between the gender of the Dwarves, with 'Dwarrow' being masculine, and 'Dwarrowdam' as the female equivalent.
'Dwarven' and 'Dwarfish' relates to how nouns are classified, much in the same way for Elves, 'Elven', and 'Elvish' and are plausibly interchangeable. Though, I feel that 'Dwarvish' and 'Elvish' is technically reserved for the respective languages of both races; for example, "Dwarven sword" notates that the sword is crafted by the Dwarves.
All characters and places appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All rights go to J. R. R. Tolkien, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, WingNut Films, and Warner Bros. Pictures.
This includes the rights to the screenplay written by Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, and Guillermo del Toro. Dialogue and sequences that may seem familiar to those in the script, film, or book, as well the characters, or quotes cited at the start of each chapter, belong to either the aforementioned or other individual parties.
Erin Walsh and other fictitious constructs do not belong to the aforementioned, as they are created by myself for this work.
Rabbit Heart
Volume I
"Many are the strange chances of the world," said Mithrandir, "and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
Erin rapped upon the door for the second time, this time more insistently; she had been stood on Mr Grey's sun-bleached doormat for some time now, and though she was content to stand in the summer sunshine, she would much rather be inside talking to her elderly friend.
Just as the sun began to uncomfortably burn through the back of her jean clad legs, she raised her arm to rap one last time the bronze knocker- which was shaped to the peculiar likeness of an eagle, instead of the more commonly recognised gaping maw of a lion. The door swung open, and Erin retracted her outstretched hand with a fright.
"You're late," Mr Grey told her blithely, folding his arms in mock disapproval as he stooped below the top of the low door frame.
"I learnt from the best that one is never late, and that I arrive precisely when I mean to," Erin replied, smiling up at him; although shed witnessed it many times before, the sight of Mr Grey hunched below the tiny door frame of his cottage amused her every time she witnessesed it. From his lofty height Mr Grey would most likely have to squat down to pass beneath most things, and not just the limitations of his cottage in which, he would bend his knees and rest his chin close to his chest to keep from a collision with low hanging ceilings and door frames, Erin could walk quite serenely beneath them.
Her lack of height seemed to stem from her mother's side of the family, all of which were born and bred in the little village they called home, so they were indeed, well adapted to the layout of their houses.
"I taught you no such thing," the elderly man exclaimed with faked indignation. "If I had done, Catherine would have had my head mounted on her chimney breast beside those ghastly wall plates of hers!"
Erin winced at the mention of her mother, an action that did not go unnoticed by her neighbour. "Come inside, my dear. There's a fresh pot of tea on the table, though who knows what state it is in now, it's been waiting on your arrival for some time."
With that, the door and its peculiar knocker was pushed open wider, and the stooping old man flattened his already slim frame against the wall to let her through.
"Thank you, Mr Grey," Erin murmured lowly as she passed him by, making sure to slip off her shoes and place them by the overflowing coat rack in the hall. "You always seem to know what I need."
"My dear, whatever has sent you into this state; to be so mournful over the simple act of brewing tea?"
"You may as well know already; she may yet have your head mounted on the wall right by her ghastly plates."
Mr Grey winced, "Perhaps the cakes I laid out might cheer your spirits?"
Erin perked.
"They're shop bought, mind you. Mr Brown was always the better baker of the two of us, and I'm certain you can recall his 'scones'."
"I once lost a milk tooth to one when I was nine," Erin said with a wry grin. Her parents had been quite affronted at the time, for she had lost three milk teeth consecutively in one week, having had three visits from the 'tooth fairy', before losing a fourth to Mr Brown's scones and angling to lose another just to rack up a fiver for her dwindling pocket money. How, though, was little nine-year-old Erin to know that the scones had been baked to the perfect consistency of rocks before taking a bite out of one?
A strangled groan burbled within Mr Grey's throat, and without replying, he gestured for the teen to sit down at the tiny kitchen table. Atop the embroidered lace tablecloth, a spread of cakes had been placed on dis-organised plates; the empty boxes to said teatime treats had not been so discreetly hidden on the kitchen worktop. A dark brown teapot, covered in an ugly bobbled tea cosy, sat nestled between two cups and saucers of an equally ugly pattern.
The pair settled into their respective seats, each grabbing a cup and saucer. Before reaching for the handle of the teapot, Erin looked to her companion; "What's in the pot this time?"
"Do you know, I waited for you to turn up for afternoon tea for so long, I've quite forgotten. It may be Chamomile; it may even be Earl Grey- still, let us find out before I have to brew another pot."
Erin saw this as her cue to pour a generous drop in his teacup, and to pass along the dented silver tray that held the silver spoons, milk jug, and a bowl of sugar cubes. She poured another cup for herself and leant over it to have a tentative sniff.
She shrugged as his eyebrow raised. "Chamomile."
Evidently, approaching afternoon tea with such caution was frowned on in polite company- though Mr Grey would hardly count as the latter in her mother's opinion.
"Ah yes, I remember now! I thought it might calm you down a bit, what with all this stress you're having at the moment," Mr Grey said jovially, taking a pointed slurp from his cup; watching her over its rim as he did so.
Deliberately, Erin didn't answer straight away. She instead chose to try and offer her teatime companion a bitesize cake from a nearby plate. When he obstinately refused, she sighed and ran a hand through her short, wayward hair.
"I have one exam left, Mr Grey. I have one thing keeping me from being swallowed up entirely by their influence- and perhaps if they're lenient enough, I might have the weekend off before I'm expected to find some form of employment over the summer-"
Mr Grey opened his mouth to speak-
"-heck, I think they already expect me to have found something to do with my time; it's not as if I've been working so hard for the past two years already- don't I deserve some kind of break before, before… well…"
"Before you go to University?"
"Yes." This time, it is Erin who pointedly slurped her tea vociferously.
"What is it about University that frightens you so? You must be one of the most intelligent children I know."
"I think I'm the only child you know," Erin chimed.
Mr Grey coughed. "And a very clever child you are, but don't think you can skirt around this subject." He tapped his nose with a gnarled index finger, a fond gleam in his eyes. "I know you far too well child. I know your own tricks, for they are mine."
Tipping her head back to drain the dregs of tea from her cup, Erin than leaned forward across the table and poured herself another cup, feeling the teapot start to lighten in her dainty hands. She clocked how it had drained, and knew that her time there with him having afternoon tea- her little grasp at solace, would soon be diminished.
"It scares me, Mr Grey. This isn't what I want. This is what Catherine and Peter, though mainly Catherine, want." Erin refused to call them 'mum' and 'dad' in Mr Grey's presence. She didn't really know why, but the elderly man who sat across from her, who had watched her grow from childhood, who couldn't bake to save his life, who invited her into his home most days for a pot of tea and shop bought treats, and who stooped in his cramped doorway to great her each time she visited was who she considered her closest family. Not Catherine and Peter. Not even the bratty cousins of hers that lived forty minutes away and the barrage of aunts and uncles that were just as equally snooty as her own parents.
"Then why don't you tell them?" Mr Grey offered. Erin snorted, causing the corners of Mr Grey's lips to twitch.
"She'd have an apoplexy, probably smash some of the ghastly plates, and then blame her rampage on you. Lord forbid her only child develops a voice for herself," Erin bit out. "Of course, any insubordination on my part is due to your meddling."
"Of course," Mr Grey said grimly, "But that still doesn't explain why you're reluctant to advance in your studies. You are a bright young thing, Erin Walsh. Henpecked by your mother as you are, her fussing procured one thing within you: your scholarly love."
Erin swirled the contents of her teacup, noticing that some of the loose leaf had escaped the tea strainer and had stuck to the bottom of the fine china. "It's the only thing she's ever procured."
"In her own way, Catherine Walsh only wants what is best for you; as most parents do for their children. Have another cake, my dear." Erin shook her head as he extended the plate towards her.
"I couldn't have another bite, Mr Grey. I know that she thinks she's doing the right thing, and yes, I would like to University at some point, but not now. Not straight away," Erin shook her head again, and some of the short dark strands of hair pushed behind her ears fell forwards against her cheeks. "Two years ago, I thought I could do this; that after A-Levels I would just keep chugging along like I'm used to, and that perhaps it would be a chance to run away from them- to escape them."
"But?"
"But now I just don't know anymore. This doesn't feel right; I don't feel right. I'm tired, and I know I'm not prepared for this, and it all scares me so much, Mr Grey."
Her elderly companion nodded sagely and bit a hefty chunk out of a cherry bakewell. "I think you are more prepared than you might think. You know fully what is expected of you, and it is because of that foreknowledge that you are scared. It is only the thought of failure that scares you, my dear."
Erin swallows, "Yes- well, no."
"Ah, if not failure then it is the consequences that follow if you should so hypothetically fail." The cuckoo clock (an ostentatious gift from Mr Brown when he was still alive) that was placed in the hallway began to chirrup. "Is it so late already?"
Sure enough, when the teapot and the cups were emptied into the sink, the crockery piled together, and the cakes stored in a little Tupperware container, the clock displayed that it was just past four in the afternoon.
"I'd better get going. Otherwise I'll get it in the neck about how you're a bad influence and all that," Erin said with acid as she slips on her shoes.
Mr Grey pet her on the shoulder gently, murmuring lowly of how she really should try to connect with her parents instead of resenting them, and pulled back the door with its eagle-shaped knocker. When she closed the front garden gate behind her and chanced a look over at where she expects him to be stood, stooped under the doorframe and waving goodbye with a cheeky smile that promised comfort, tea, and cake for tomorrow- she found instead a closed wooden door, with its white paint peeling, and the eagle knocker rattling like a mocking laugh.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Her mother called to her as she closed the front door to her home with more force than necessary; "is that you Erin?"
Erin bit back a caustic remark, "yes."
"Have you been with him again? Honestly that man will ruin your appetite. Dinner will be on the table in an hour, and woe betide you if you're not hungry!" Erin could almost picture her mother wagging her finger disapprovingly, in that condescending manner of solely reserved and perfected only by her.
By now, Erin had wandered into the kitchen, "Well I think it's nice he invites me round-"
"I wish he wouldn't feed you so; you never eat the same after you've been there, and what can sweets do in place of a good meal? It can only lead to, well…" Catherine Walsh pauses, wiping her dusty hands on her apron- which was naturally frilly and polka-dotted, like a good little housewife's should be.
Erin stared, incredulously.
"…Well, you won't keep your nice figure for long if you carry on gorging yourself!" Catherine continued with a disparaging little wail. "When I was your age, I was slimmer than you- and still I agonised over my weight-"
Erin mentally noted the splaying curves of her mother's hips (from childbirth Catherine insisted, before seeing that as a sign to start spewing out the gorily intimate details of Erin's birth that the latter would rather had not have known at all), and the sag of her lower stomach (she'd gained a pouch over the years, from both failure to keep the muscles toned, and the rich dinners she made most nights); then she surveyed her own body, which was currently hidden under the baggiest sweatshirt she could find that morning on her bedroom floor.
"You know what, I'm going to get some more revision in before dinner. Will you call me down when dinner is ready, please?" She told her mother, not waiting for her answer as she exited the kitchen and lumbered up the stairs. When she finally closed her bedroom door and blocked out the sounds of Catherine puttering about downstairs and cooing over her meal plans, Erin sagged in relief. She turned to look at the revision guides piling up on her desk, sighed, and instead rolled underneath the covers of her bed; with one booklet sneakily placed beside her to grab just in case either of her parents decided to check on her.
With her failsafe in place, she shuffled until in a comfortable position and let her eyes flutter closed; welcoming a nice, if brief, nap.
Erin found herself avoiding Mr Grey's home most afternoons after that. Catherine had cracked down on her visiting hours, and Peter dolefully nodded along with her controlling rambles like an unfortunately efficient bobble head. The next time she chanced upon knocking on his front door, it had been a week since her last meeting with him- and it was also the day of her final exam; precisely the event she had been dreading all year. She'd trudged first to his home after exiting the bus that took her to college; her backpack weighted down by the notes, books, stationary and other miscellaneous supplies Catherine had foisted upon her in preparation for Erin's feared exam.
"And where have you been all this time?" Mr Grey chastised, standing as tall and austere as he could whilst stooped in the tiny door frame. He shuffled like a bird with ruffled feathers as she smiled. She knew he was less reprimanding than he thought himself to be.
"Exactly where I had to be- revising for my last exam."
Mr Grey quickly pushed her through the doorway, and slammed the door: "It is all over then?" He grumbled hoarsely, and Erin gave him a bewildered look. "To the kitchen my dear, to the kitchen…"
Though she wanted to question him extensively on his shift of behaviour, Erin, trustingly, did as the elderly man asks. As she did, her eyes scanned the familiar halls of his home; the same wallpapered-walls she grew up with are now exposed, and now boxes litter the hallway.
Mr Brown's gifted cuckoo-clock rested mournfully in one said box, the red brown roof tiles seeming almost dull, now that the bird inside is trapped until further notice.
"Are you going somewhere, Mr Grey?" Erin asked, when entering the kitchen and finding it in much the same state as the hall.
Mr Grey shuffled around the kitchen, gingerly avoiding the boxes on the floor near the rusting Aga oven. He patted the countertop in search of his pipe (something Erin had seen him smoke rarely in all the years she's known him), and with it still in hand, he slid into his customary seat at the kitchen table- making sure to avoid the chair legs bumping into yet more cardboard boxes.
"Somewhere of sorts, my dear," he replied finally, after taking the time to light his pipe and take a good puff of its foul tang, "As you can see, I am packing up."
"But why?"
"Because I am needed elsewhere, so I must go elsewhere."
"You can't leave!" Erin snapped, and Mr Grey's bushy eyebrows rose.
He inhaled another lungful from his pipe, and whence released a murky cloud of smoke, he spoke; "Pray tell, why not?"
"Because…" Mr Grey waited for her answer, still concealed by a thick grey fog, "Because you can't leave me here all alone!"
Mr Grey sputtered; "Leave you here all alone! Why indeed, you are not alone, dear girl. You have family and friends-"
"But they're not you," Erin interjected weakly.
"They may not be me, but they are still there for you. Sit down child, you're looking quite flushed." The elderly man patted the table top, effectively summoning her to take a seat. "I'm not leaving right now, but I thought it best to start placing a few items away every now and again. Over the course of the week, I've gotten a lot done. Why, I found some very old letters from Rolf dated from when I was your age!"
Rudolfus Brown ('Rolf' to his friends) had inhabited the cottage adjacent to Mr Grey, had always been a stalwart friend of the aforementioned, despite what obstructions life created. When they both returned to the village they had grown up in together, or so Mr Grey had told her, there was no need for letters.
Rolf had grown tired of independent living; his age had finally caught up to him. Mr Brown's cottage had remained uninhabited for the last few years; the garden overgrown, and teeming with wildlife. He had retired to a housing estate fully equipped to deal with elderly residents- not quite as dire a prospect as a nursing home, but more of a luxury hotel instead. Or at least, that was the tale Mr Grey had spun to a younger and more sensitive version of herself.
"I thought I might move to the same place as him, it'd be nice to be close to one another again," Mr Grey continued wistfully. "I do miss him so."
Erin sat, shock and slight hurt coursing through her. The only known source of solace was to be ripped away from her, to be relocated halfway across the country. It would be selfish of her to deny him happiness, no matter how jealously she wanted to keep Mr Grey as close as she could before she was sent off packing to University.
"Will you need help packing things up?" She asked him faintly, forcing a smile. "I could help if you like?"
"It is kind of you to offer your help, my dear. But I am afraid I must decline. I can manage quite fine on my own," he declined, and Erin wilted.
"I do have another task in mind for you though!" Exclaimed Mr Grey, a smile poking out of the silvery-grey bristle of his stubbly beard. He stood slowly, the wooden chair sliding against the lino flooring with an uncomfortable screech.
Erin was left alone in the kitchen for some minutes, wondering where on all of Earth Mr Grey could have disappeared to and why he was taking such a long time. She contemplated setting the old whistling kettle to boil on the gas stove. Though before she could move and start making tea, Mr Grey returned; a stack of books tucked under his arm.
"Here we are," he crowed, pushing the stack towards her once he'd set it down on the table.
She gave him a look, and idly sifted through them. "What am I supposed to do with these?"
"What else does one do with books? Read them, of course," Mr Grey retorted, his back turned to her as he lit the gas stove. "Tea?"
"Yes please."
There was an agonising wait for the kettle to boil, a fumbling search for all of the tea things that had been mistakenly packed away (for Mr Grey had believed that Erin was no longer going to visit him), and the exchange of idle chatter and sips of tea before they truly spoke of the books again. In the exchange, Erin admitted to Mr Grey that she had found a form of employment to suit her over the summer.
"It's only a part-time thing, but I suppose it'll get me out of the house and away from her. It bothers me though that she was the one to suggest I go and do something with my holidays," Erin told him sheepishly. "The uniform they make us wear is a strange colour, but it's comfy at least. Usually I get some of the quieter shifts too, so there isn't much for me to do."
Mr Grey said nothing in return.
"So," Erin broached, eying the pile of books. "What do you want me to do with all of these?"
"I thought I had already answered that, my dear," Mr Grey told her over the tea cup he had raised before his mouth. "I want you to read them."
"All of them?"
"What do you think?" He inquired with pursed lips and a frown.
Bemusedly, Erin smiled, "I guess so. How long do I have- I assume you'll want them back before you move."
Mr Grey hummed, "You have one week. I know that it may be difficult with your job, but you must read these Erin. You must read them, and more importantly, you must know them."
Erin felt something shift, something cold that curled around the nape of neck; that trickled slowly down her spine. Apprehension perhaps? She did not know, yet begrudgingly she stretched out an arm and grasped one of the books with caution.
She mouthed the book's title slowly, memorising how the exotic formations mapped out on her tongue; The Silmarillion.
For some unknown reason, it frightened her; "Are you sure you don't want my help with the packing instead?"
"Quite sure, my dear. You must trust me on this."
"It…" Erin sighed, "It's not that I don't trust you, per se. The problem is that I don't see much point in reading books when I can help you out in other ways."
Mr Grey bristled: "Much point? Much point! My dear that is the point! This is my last way to help you, Erin Walsh- and I did not think that you would be so ungrateful as to refuse any opportunity I extended to you."
"What do you mean?"
The elderly man flexed his gnarled hands; fists opening and closing. "When Rolf and I were lads, we used to run around this village. Meadow Bank? The housing estate?"
Erin nodded.
"In my youth, there were no houses there, only green fields and towering trees."Mr Grey sighed fondly, "We- Rolf and I that is, both read those books. We spent many a happy day running through the fields and the trees, pretending that we were wizards and battling against the evil documented in these books. But then it all changed. We grew older, grew apart, and when we'd both returned the land was developed into that abominable estate."
"Shouldn't it be you reading these then? To relive it all?"
"We went by Radagast and Gandalf, you know," said Mr Grey. His eyes were glazed- he had not heard her suggestion. "They were some of the best times of my life, to escape into the world crafted by these books. I would pass that experience on to you now. You may be too old to play pretend, you may not have fields to run through; but if I can give you a way to escape, then I think my duty is done."
Erin felt her eyes watering, "Mr Grey…"
"I can retire happily and at peace, if you will just do this one thing for me. Share this with me Erin, please."
Each evening, when Erin would come home from work and scarf down the dinner her mother had saved for her; for Erin was arriving home later than the customary time the meal was laid out on the table, her shifts at her part-time job coinciding with the former. She was glad of it. Signed herself up for even more awkward shifts. Then she would retire to her room, and begin to read.
Sometimes, after deciding to finally put down the book and get a few hours of rest, she would wake and read some more.
She felt tired at work as she helped customers.
Her mother chastised her for the dark circles appearing under her eyes, and the sallow tint creeping into her skin.
But still, Erin read.
Mr Grey had told her that there was a specific order in which to read the five books he had given; he had also told her that there were more, but they could wait. The five were to be immediately read throughout the week.
Erin wanted the task done before that though, and over the course of five days, she read the entirety of The Silmarillion, The Hobbit, and The Lord of the Rings trilogy. On the sixth day, she crammed the books into her backpack as she left for work; planning to return the blasted things to Mr Grey after her shift at work had ended.
When the time came, she stood on the sun-bleached door mat, rapping the eagle shaped knocker. It was growing darker, the sun falling, taking with it its heat. Goosebumps rose along her bared arms; the standard-issue polo shirt she wore for work was no longer enough during the late summer afternoons, and normally Erin would have been at home by now.
However, she was instead stood at Mr Grey's front door, shivering and wishing she'd thought to pack a hoodie along with the books this morning.
She tried to knock again, but there was no response. The wind had picked up, and she huddled into herself. Erin released a frustrated breath. In a momentary lapse of anger, she stubbed the door with her toe forcefully.
It punted open and smacked against the wall.
The eagle knocker jangled and scratched against the wooden door. The sound was almost a bird-like screech.
Erin flinched.
"Mr Grey?" She called.
No answer.
"Mr Grey," she tried again. "Are you in here?"
She took a step into the hallway, feeling the force of the wind reduce and warmth trickle back into her skin. Surveying the hall, she noticed that the boxes no longer littered the floor: in fact, there was nothing in the hall at all.
"Mr Grey!" Erin yelled this time, striding deeper into the house, because the sight had caused her to panic. She tried to flick the switches on the wall, but none of the lights responded. "Mr Grey, where are you?"
As best as she could in the darkened hallways, she found her way to the kitchen. There sat Mr Grey, shrouded in smoke, and not as she knew him.
"Mr Grey?"
He sat by candlelight at the kitchen table, smoking a long clay pipe; as was customary for him. She watched him occasionally tap the bowl, shifting the tobacco inside before taking another inhalation. Gone were the paisley shirts and velvet waistcoats she normally encountered him wearing, along with the smart trousers and heartily polished shoes. In their place, was a man clothed in long grey robes with an uncontrollable beard, wearing an oversized grey hat. A long stick of sorts was propped up against the back of his chair.
"Mr grey, what are you-"
"Erin? What are you doing here, child?"
Erin faltered, "I finished all of the books you lent to me."
Mr Grey- or who she thought was Mr Grey, underneath all of the hair, chuckled fondly; "I should have known you would finish them before the week was up. How short sighted of me. Take a seat, my dear girl, and tell me what you think."
Hesitantly she did as she was told. She slipped the back pack off of her shoulders and placed it on the table. The zip made an obdurate racket as she undid it; then she removed the books, and placed them on the table beside her bag.
"What did you think then, my dear? Were they the escape that you wished for?" He seemed so excited; his teeth glinting under the dirty grey beard. When she did not answer straight away, he queried her again, and this time his voice rose. "Tell me, Erin. What did you think?"
"I hated them!" She blurted, smacking her hands over her mouth in surprise of what she had just announced aloud to him. The palpable tension already in the room seemed to grow.
"You… What?" Erin opened her mouth, and promptly closed it again. "I thought by giving you this chance you would respect the choices I had suggested for you, and not the ones you are destined for. I thought that you would be mature enough to comply, and that I would not be forced to move my hand. Erin Walsh, let it be known that for this I am sorely disappointed in you!"
"I don't understand what you're saying! I didn't enjoy reading them, the endings-"
"What about the endings?" Mr Grey bellowed, and she cringed deeper into the back of her chair.
"I just couldn't stand them. Why do they all die or end up unhappy? Why is there so much violence and hurt? Why would someone even want to write about all of that?" She asked in tiny, confused whispers.
Mr Grey seemed to deflate upon hearing this. "Why indeed? Life is not fair, my child, as painful as it is to admit that. Sometimes we look to stories to escape. In this case, it did not work. I so hoped it would work."
"What-"
"There is no other choice now. You, Erin Walsh, are a very unhappy child. I had hoped that these books could bring you some consolation. I had hoped that you would move on, and escape the lot that life has given you- overbearing mother and all. Now I see that I was wrong." He looked to the ceiling and far beyond any could truly comprehend. Erin followed the focus of his gaze with confusion. "I am sorry I doubted you, my faith will not wane again. You understand that I had to try, surely."
"Mr Grey, what is going on?"
"I thought that I could change fate, I suppose. Now I know better. I thought that I could cure you of your ungratefulness that you and your mother would one day reconcile. I thought that I could substitute what must happen for the happenings of a fiction I composed."
He caught her eyes then, the fading blue iris' held fast to her own pair of hazel. "Know that I would not wish this on you should it be my choice, Erin. Never on you, my dear, dear child. I have been watching over you for so long."
"Of course you have, I've known you since I was little!" she cried hysterically. "What don't you wish for me? Why aren't the books enough? Is this because I don't like the endings? Because I was thinking on the way here that the only reason I don't like them is because it ends so sadly; if I'd written them-"
"Don't finish that!" Mr Grey's shout was pleading. He stood quickly, and knocked his chair to the floor. "Please, don't say that!"
"I was only going to say that if I had written the books then I would have changed the endings."
It was as though all known sound on the Earth had been removed. As if they had both ceased to exist. Everything felt sluggish; and for a moment Erin felt dizzy. She clutched the edge of the table for support.
Then the moment passed, and sound burst back into life.
"Oh, my child," Mr Grey said softly, staring down at her from his lofty height, "You have no idea what you have just done. We must go, now."
Erin started, "Go? Go where? I can't go- I've got to stay here. I've got a job, and- and University. I got into my first choice, remember?"
"Both of which you did not want, scant weeks ago. It is of little consequence now; your concerns will be much bigger when we arrive." Mr Grey rushed around the kitchen, kicking boxes aside. He gathered the long wooden stick from underneath the fallen chair, and slung a small silvery satchel across his body. The books on the table top were removed, and thrown into the nearest bin. Patting his head to make sure the hat was still there, he said: "We must hurry, there is not much time left."
"I am not going anywhere- what is going on, what have I done, Mr Grey, I-"
"I am not your Mr Grey, but Gandalf the Grey; and you Erin Walsh have just proposed to change the course of history!" He snarled.
Erin's features hardened, "You're an elderly old man play-pretending! I should have listened to my mother more, she was right."
"If only I knew that it would take one well-placed argument and a change of appearance to persuade you. The books and all of this wouldn't be necessary," he huffed. "Still, there's nothing to be done about it all now."
Then, ignoring her protestations, he lunged for her hand. Erin knew no more.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
When Erin was at the age where one still openly played with dolls or action figures, it had come to Mr Grey's attention that even if her mother would foist the latest Barbie doll into her hand whenever one should grace the shelves in the local supermarket, Erin would be far more interested in the world around her. She found no amusement in making her dolls look pretty, making herself look pretty, accumulating little toy cars, or even collectable card games or sticker albums.
Books and being outside was enough; though skinned knees, climbing trees and grass stains were frowned upon by her mother.
So, Mr Grey bought her a spinning top.
It was red and shining; and when it spun the spattering of colour banded around its centre would come alive and dance for her very eyes. She loved the toy so much that one day, when wanting to watch it spin and blur, it broke.
Now, Erin felt she could sympathise with that poor top. Mr Grey had grabbed her, and then the spinning had begun. The dimly lit kitchen became a warped sensation of shadows with an abstracted flickering streak of light Erin believed was a candle following them as the pair spiralled. Then came the transition from dim kitchen to the darkness of night; where starlight wrapped in round tracks circled them. Next followed bright light, and with it, a kaleidoscope of colour that made her feel nauseated. Greens, reds and yellows- and the most exquisite blue she'd seen in years, despite living in a picturesque chocolate-box village herself.'
The spinning finally subsided as her feet touched the floor, though her legs buckled in beneath her. She fell before Mr Gre- Gandalf could catch her, and dust puffed up in dusky clouds around her knees. The urge to wretch warbled up to her throat from her stomach, but as she knelt there panting, Erin knew the sensation would eventually pass.
"What have you done?" She demanded, once the overbearing dizziness and queasy feeling had subsided.
"Me?" Crowed Gandalf, his bushy eyebrows raising under the wide brim of his hat. "Precisely what have I done?"
"Why have you brought me here- who are you?"
"Very good questions, I must say. The latter, well, I am Gandalf the Grey. I have been and always will be, even if I was Mr Grey for a short time while when I watched over you."
Erin reared back in revulsion. "My mother was so right about you, you're a freak- a, a weirdo! You've been watching over me all this time-"
"To make sure something like this didn't happen, you foolish little girl!"
Erin flinched, as this was the first time she had ever seen Mr Grey so angry. He'd whipped off his ridiculous hat to glare at her without the brim accidentally covering his eyes. "Everything I have done in the past eighteen years was to keep you safe, to make you happy, and to try and stop you from stumbling onto this particular path."
He sighed, "I thought that the books would make you happy, that they would be enough to keep you going through trying times when you read of the triumph of heroes. Then only I would have to deal with future events about to unveil, and only a few would be broken by what is to come."
Erin watched him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Her mother had been more than right. The man was a lunatic; spouting about the future, growing a tattered beard, and declaring himself to be 'Gandalf' like the fictional character she had read of in his books. Where was Graham Grey? The elderly and unfortunately alliteration named man that kept her fed and watered most afternoons, who listened to her familial problems, who gifted her with spinning tops, and whom couldn't bake to save his life- where was he?
"I'm not sure where I miscalculated," Mr Grey murmured, staring at her with steely eyes. They were the same eyes of Mr Grey, but they lack their mischievous twinkle. "Whether I was blind to see you as an ungrateful child, or whether I underestimated the unhappy atmosphere of your home life.".
Erin frowns, "What do you-"
"It does not matter now, my dear, for you are here and I cannot change my actions."
"Where exactly is 'here'?" Erin asked; her voice strangely calm. Wherever it was, it was certainly beautiful. More so than her home; the grass here grew in multitudes of patchy shades, rather than artificial deep green. Nothing was pruned to perfection, and there was a tranquil stillness in the air that wasn't present in the false model country village where her family resided. The more that Erin surveyed her surroundings, the more she ultimately noticed. Like how jagged crops of rock burst from the hilly landscape like dolphin fins in the ocean. Like how it looked nothing like her home.
"At this moment, we are on the outskirts of the hidden passage way to Imladris. That is the name of the Elven city in which you shall be cared for," Gandalf answered her; Erin caught him smiling fondly at a large lump of rock that shimmered faintly with an echo of magic. Though of course, only Gandalf could notice the rock's duality; Erin did not possess magic, nor was she kin to those in Middle Earth- who possessed peculiar gifts themselves.
Erin barked a laugh. "You must be joking with me- Imladris was the Elven name for Rivendell in those books you leant to me, and Gandalf the Grey-" She trailed off as the reality sank in. "Please tell me you're messing with me, and that I'll wake up in your kitchen having drunk spiked chamomile tea?"
To his credit, Gandalf did not laugh. "I am afraid not, my dear. This is all well and real, and I truly am Gandalf the Grey. I do believe it would be best for us to enter the passageway to Imladris before those of an unsavoury sort arrive."
He helped Erin to her feet, and she wobbles like an unstable foal; stretching out the shaky, uncooperative limbs. Before Gandalf and herself could move towards the secret passageway, a rumbling sounded in the distance.
"Ah, not the unsavoury sort at all, but rather allies," Gandalf stated fondly, patting her hand as it clenched down onto his sleeve in fright. The twinkle in his eye returned. Several horses appeared in the distance, though only six of which had riders. "And with them runs my dear old friend!"
The riders drew uncomfortably close, their horses forming a perfect circle formation around the pair.
"Well met," Gandalf says rather cheerfully, reaching out to pat the horse without a rider. It's gleaming white coat is unhindered by any saddle or bridle; a long flowing mane of silken strands floats with upmost dignity.
"We knew to expect you, Mithrandir; when the Lord of the Mearas appeared in our stables one evening," one of the rider's stated, removing his helm once he had dismounted from his dapple-grey steed. He shook out his golden hair- long for a man, Erin noted, and tucked some strands behind his- pointed- ears. "Imladris has missed you, Gandalf the Grey, but the Last Homely House wishes to welcome your companion to its halls also." He nodded to Erin, who's grip on Gandalf's sleeve slackens.
"Lord Glorfindel, I see that nothing gets past your eyes. My companion, Erin-" Here he gave the her a short, sharp push towards the Elf in question, and she scrambled to latch back onto the wizard's sleeve again, "-will be returning with you to the halls of Imladris. I however, have business with the Order in the South. I have been away for far too long, and wish to know the state of the world I've come back to."
The blonde rider, Glorfindel, nodded slowly. "Surely you are not leaving the child with us for no reason, Mithrandir?" He questioned
Gandalf detached Erin's grip on his sleeve, steps to the horse who's neck he pet earlier, and grasps a handful of the white stallion's mane. With grace unexpected of such an elderly man, he lithely vaults up onto the horse's back.
"Once again, you anticipate me. Young Erin Walsh is to be tutored in the language of the Elves, of the culture of this land, and the skills she will need to survive within it. Anything else that you or your Lord Elrond wish to bestow on her will be welcomed."
Gandalf rested a hand atop the horse's smooth withers. "I will return as soon as I can, but for the next two years, Erin Walsh remains a ward of Imladris. For now, Shadowfax and I must fly- I am overdue to meet with Saruman."
With that, the strikingly white horse carries Erin's one constant away. Her pleading cries for him to come back were unheard as the Lord of all Horses' stride's ate up the open grassy plane.
Erin's shoulder's slumped, her breath heaving in shallow short gasps. Her eyes watered. Her hands started to shake. She was all alone in this strange and beautiful place, with no way of knowing how to go home, and with no true explanation of why she was there in the first place.
"Come child," Glorfindel told her, resting a slim hand on her trembling shoulder. "You shall ride with me," he continued, leading her to his horse and lifting her into the saddle.
"Asfoloth, though not as noble as a Mearas Lord, is still incredibly intelligent. He will not let you fall," Glorfindel stated as he mounted up behind her.
With only the vague and hazy memory of riding a donkey down a beach during happier childhood days with Catherine and Peter to fruitlessly assuage the sudden fear that griped her, Erin clang tighter to the soft leather saddle. Asfoloth tossed his head, as though sensing her fear. The Elf placed a calming hand on his steed's neck, if only to stop her from squeaking each time the horse's tail whipped forward at her for gripping too tightly with her lower legs.
It had been three weeks since her arrival at the outskirts of Imladris.
Erin had made sure to count the days.
So far, Mr Grey- Gandalf- had not returned, and she hadn't woken up from this strange dream. The Elves of Imladris hadn't cruelly thrown her outside of their borders to fend for herself when they lost their patience with her moping either.
The Elves were strange, she had noted. Tall, angular, lithe. They moved as though wading through a flowing torrent. The currents pushed them back, causing their stride to be slow and sure, and almost somnambulate. There was a dream like quality to their grace and beauty; both the men and women possessed it, and both were equally as ethereal.
That is, however, if they were truly Elves at all.
Erin was under the impression that this was either a spiked-tea, drug induced trip, or an elaborate hoax. Either way, rounding up a group of supermodels and sticking them in realistic costumes, wigs and prosthetics was an entirely elaborate hoax all of its own, and there wasn't much point to it if all Erin was going to do was apparently learn from them. There had to be some form of prank or punishment intended. That didn't account for how Mr Grey- because he had to be the instigator of all of this, could just dump her with strangers in the middle of nowhere.
So, the elaborate hoax was ruled out in her mind, which left two options. A hallucination… or reality.
She chastised herself for even thinking the latter, Catherine's disparaging tones flitting through her mind and even entertaining the fantastical notion, but if this was all in her head why was she able to touch the smooth walls? How was she able to hear the birds singing, or the hem of the dress one Elven maid had provided her with rustle against the ground as she walked?
Erin pondered her findings of her three weeks of denial on a secluded stone bench one evening, just as the sun began to dip out of view, the sky changing to an inky black. She crossed her legs beneath her. The bench was made for longer legs than hers, and its wide seat allowed her to do just so. She made sure to tuck the skirt of her dress around her. For some reason, the Elves were overly modest.
Erin wondered if this world only included the Elves and the odd wizard, or whether she would eventually encounter other people and species if this nightmare were to be truly real.
When thinking of the so-called 'nightmare', nothing would add up in her head. The situation she had landed herself in was strange, and what had Mr Grey meant by trying to keep her away from this 'path'? Dropping her head into her hands, she sighed.
In all honesty, she thought that perhaps he had been right. That she was an ungrateful child. She could have been at home, safe in the security that Catherine and Peter Walsh were probably sat downstairs sipping their fancy coffee from the expensive coffee making machine they had splurged good money on. They would be talking about the usual mundane topics, nibbling on freshly baked slices of cake- which Catherine would have made earlier that day.
Erin could have escaped all of this just by simply reading a series of books over and over and over.
That said, books would help her escape her overbearing mother and the exiting but bleak future laid out before her. The ungrateful part of her- the part that whispered seductively of how she had finally pushed past Catherine's controlling limits and escaped a future of endless work, exams, and more work, made her feel giddy at the prospect of freedom. She was away from her mother's jurisdiction in a world that could easily get her killed if she so much as looked at someone the wrong way. Just like the unwilling heroine in a story book. Erin was Alice, and she had fallen well and truly down a Middle Earth shaped Rabbit Hole.
But would she ever be able to climb back out?
She sighed again, her fingers trailing through her short hair, tugging on it slightly- as though that would relieve the tension she could feel building up inside.
"What seems to be troubling you, Lapatte?"
Erin jerked to her right. There, on the empty half of the bench, sat the Elf whom she rode back to Rivendell with. Glorfindel was his name, or so he had introduced himself to her as such.
She hadn't even heard him approach, let alone sit down beside her.
Erin gulped, eyes wide with fright. "What did you just call me?"
"Hmm?" The blonde Elf hummed, his face tilted skywards to observe the emerging stars. "Lapatte?"
"Yes, that," she snipped in return.
Glorfindel turned his head, and smiled ever so slightly. It did not reach his eyes. They remained flinty and impersonal. "I call you such, because from the moment I first saw you, clutching onto Mithrandir's sleeves- and even up until now, you've done nothing but shake like a rabbit caught in a trap."
"What do you mean?" She asked, with honest confusion on her face. How did fear relate to name calling? Her head tilted to the side ever so innocently as her brow furrowed and her lips puckered.
Glorfindel chuckled, "Lapatte translates into Westron as 'rabbit'. I thought it an apt moniker, much better than Ettelëa."
Erin's eyes narrowed, and she thought back to the Elves in the hallways and dining rooms, who stood and stared and whispered. "That's what they all call me, isn't it? I've heard it as I walked through the halls, when they think they're being quiet- and what do you mean, you think 'rabbit' is apt for me?"
It was true that the Elves of Imladris could be anything but subtle. Perhaps because for centuries nothing would occur in the Last Homely House aside from hardship and grief as the remaining Elves' cherished ones made their final journeys and sailed away to the Undying Lands. The inhabitants were not intending to sound malicious, but curiosity, gossip, and merriment centred around something or someone that potentially disturbed their monotony could in truth be quite detrimental to the interloper causing the raucous. She was something new and fresh, something unique and to be celebrated. After all, how many mortals have had the privilege of an extended break in the halls of Imladris?
"Ah, my apologies. When something as bright and young as yourself is introduced, we're all reminded of how we differentiate from mortals. They call you Ettelëa- 'foreign', because that is exactly what you are. Because you are not of Elven kind, you are a curiosity." Glorfindel smiled sadly, "to me, you are a rabbit. You have been caught in a hunter's snare, and if you aren't careful or prepared, this land will eat you alive. We are all vulnerable at some point, but observing one so young as yourself truly does bring forth the horrifying truth that we are all fragile. With the exception of the Valar, I suppose. Even they have their weaknesses."
By now Erin's eyes had widened to the size of saucers, and she had more than once thought about chancing running away. Instead, she dazedly reached out and pinched the Elf's exposed pointed ear.
Without the feline grace that all of the Elves seemed to possess, Glorfindel yelped and fell backwards off of the bench; flailing and clutching the pinched appendage. Erin watched as the Elf's ear, cheeks and neck flush a delicate rosy pink and the flint in his eyes softens and sparks.
"What was that for?" he gently grumbled, once seated again on the bench. He gently massaged his ear with slender fingers, tracing the point and working his way back down to the lobe as though to soothe it.
"Are you real?" She answers.
"What do you mean 'are you real?'- of course I'm real!" He scoffed, finger tips nipping slightly at his ear lobe in irritation. "As if that's any excuse to pull on my ear, that was incredibly rude of you."
Erin apologised, but stated that where she came from Elves are just a work of fiction, and that it was fairly easy to create such false appendages and apply them to one's head.
Glorfindel gave her a scathing look, the flint once again hardening in his eyes, but his shoulder's slamp ever so slightly. "You have a lot to learn if this is true, Lapatte. I think I'm going to need Erestor's help if we are to relay Mithrandir's plans for you."
"I don't understand why I'm here though, or why he wants me to learn all of that. I was just checking in on an elderly friend; I did what he asked of me." The corners of her lips turn down further in distress, "The next thing I know, I'm not even in the same world anymore. He didn't explain anything, just jumped on the back of a sodding horse and rode away!"
Glorfindel chuckled slightly, still rubbing his ear. "Rarely do we know what the Valar wishes for us in the future, Lapatte. This is my reward for defeating a creature of darkness- a second life, which I have yet found no purpose for. Mithrandir is one whom is somewhat privy to the plans of higher powers, and if your presence here is required whether he sought to change your fate or not, then here you must remain."
The clouds above them part, and thin beams of the fading sunset flutter into the gardens of Rivendell. They bounced off of Glorfindel's pale skin and Erin watched on, transfixed with both wonder and horror as his smooth pallor beings to glow like stardust. It is both eerie and aweing.
"Perhaps this is part of my task?" He asked aloud, and the moonlight dapples around the shadow enhanced features on his face. Erin hummed thoughtfully at his interrogative. "There will be things that will come to pass no doubt in the distant future that will shake this world's very foundations. I have felt it, even observed it, in recent years. But for now, that is the distant future. I have the distinct impression that you are detrimental to all of this, Erin, and if I can help you in any way I shall. Such is the Valar's will."
Though slightly reeling from him using her name and not 'Lapette', Erin swallowed foreign lump of emotion in her throat that the strange, glowing being had concocted with his pretty words. The two sat quietly on the stone bench for a while longer, simply looking at the night sky with mixed emotions.
"About what you said before," Erin murmured quietly, "About me being a rabbit…"
"Yes?"
"Will you help me not to be one?" She asked "Mr Grey said something about two years…?"
Glorfindel stiffened, turning to face her in shock, as if he wasn't expecting her to ask for his help. Then, he smiled. His flinty eyes now burned with something indescribable. Determination? Excitement? Sadism? Erin wasn't sure, but the sight of it made her want to shudder and retract her former inquiry.
"I can certainly do that. Most likely in less than the assigned time," Glorfindel scoffed, the wheels of a plan already seeming to be set into motion in his head. "He's preparing you for something, and knowing Mithrandir, it is most likely going to be dangerous. Perhaps deadly, even."
Erin feels her stomach drop in dread, "But you can help me to not get killed straight away, right? By stopping me from being a rabbit?"
"We'll make something of you yet Lapette. Even better..." Unknown to Erin, Glorfindel's mind had begun to race with thoughts of how he was to go about preparing the young girl for the future. How to equip her correctly so that she could defend herself- so that she could survive the worst this world could throw at her and more.
"'Even better'?" Erin prompted.
"It will be difficult, and my Lord, Erestor and I will be pushing you every day until the time comes when Mithrandir collects you, but we can help you kill that rabbit altogether."
Erin closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then released it. When she opened her eyes again, she stole herself and said; "okay."
Erin Walsh, whom you may know locally as the girl who disappeared without a trace has now been missing for over two years.
Police have found no evidence to support theories that neighbour and long-time friend of the Wlash family, Graham Grey is behind the disappearance, despite going missing himself roughly around the same time as Erin; and investigators have not found any other suspicious or incriminating evidence though village locals and Erin's parents claim otherwise: "He was always filling her head with nonsense- lent her books and the like,"Catherine Walsh, Erin's mother told us. "I can't understand why she would just leave…"
Despite pleas from the Walsh family, the local constabulary have deemed this a 'cold' case, and that both Erin Walsh and Graham Grey are either both alive and well, or either of the pair have possibly both been killed. Grey is said to be the key to finding Erin, though he is not under suspicion.
Erin, who would have been going on to University the same year of her disappearance, was a valued student at her local college, and is sorely missed by friends and family. However, with many missing person's cases yielding no results, such as Erin's case, many people are going unaccounted for.
"We are doing all we can,"says DI Hunt, "But with a lack of evidence or leads, there's nothing for us to follow. We hope that young Erin and Mr Grey are both alive and well, and if they are aware of the search and inquiry that is ongoing, can come forward confidently to alert us to where they are." Until that time comes, however, the case will be closed- if new information or sightings occur, they may be a chance to restart operations. If not, the girl who disappeared without a trace will remain as she is, her elderly friend also lost.
– taken from the Winwhich Chronicle, June 19th 2017
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Escaping from Erestor's lessons had become somewhat of a fond venture for both Erin and the Elves of Rivendell. After their evening meal, the young woman- for she had now been promoted from 'girl' and 'child' in their eyes, would be tapped on the shoulder by said Elf, and led to his study. They would then sit down and exchange pleasantries about their respective day, and Erestor would send for a pot of tea and two cups from the kitchen.
When this tradition first began, Erin fought hard not to cry over the precious manuscripts Erestor was working with that he kept open on his desk. It reminded her of the dearly treasured afternoon respites she had spent with Mr Grey those long two years ago. It reminded her of the people she had been forced to leave behind, and the comfort of home- even if she did not appreciate what she had had at the time. Catherin and Peter Walsh would remain just so; Catherin and Peter. Not 'mother' and 'father'. No, Erin knew that even if Mr Grey hadn't pulled her with him into another world, her views on her parents would remain the same. Just Catherin and Peter.
The tea would be brought and placed on Erestor's desk. The Elf would pour a drop in each cup, and they would both take a sip. Then Erestor would rise, place his cup aside, and try to locate Erin's latest piece of written work within the pile of written documents she had previously produced, which were filed on his study's shelves.
With his back finally turned, Erin would slurp down the rest of her tea and quickly fling herself out of the window and into the soft bushes below. She would meander around the grounds until she was caught by Erestor himself, or by Glorfindel, or if she felt the burning need to sleep. Many of the inhabitants of Rivendell had chosen to turn a blind eye to these ritual meeting and escape attempts, and left Erestor and Glorfindel to hunt down Erin by themselves. Sometimes Erin got lucky and remained undetected; but these were on the days that she had enough energy to traipse through the undergrowth constantly. Most of the time though she would be caught. Mainly by Glorfindel, who would tut fondly and drag her back to Erestor's study, no matter how long they had been playing a cat and mouse chase and if Erin was tired or not.
Today was a day when Erin felt she could run forever, and the ground ripped away beneath her feet as she whipped her way through Rivendell's luscious, sprawling landscapes. She would sprint until she could not, but today her feet had grown wings and she willed herself into running faster.
It had been a strange day from the onset.
The Elves were agitated for some unknown reason, and when she inquired why they were so, they did not answer. There was a definite sense of anticipation in the air, and Erestor's attention had waned and drifted away from Erin's studies as soon as Lord Elrond had called for a small patrol party to saddle their horses and ride out with him. No tea had been called for or poured, and the latest essay she had wrote in her atrocious Tengwar had been forgotten entirely. Erin took that as a sign that she could escape and have no qualms about being chased around the grounds all evening.
Left to her own devices, she meandered unhindered in open sight. She nodded to the guards on duty as she passed them, and walked through the circular courtyard to the narrow bridge. The sun had begun to lower, and red light shone through the crags of rock surrounding the Hidden Valley. Erin wandered further, meeting the point where manicured path transferred to stone and large boulders. She climbed atop one still warmed in the sunlight and began to hum a tune.
"The Valley of Imladris," Gandalf the Grey stated, looking tenderly upon the Hidden Valley, "in the common tongue it has another name-"
"Rivendell," Bilbo Baggins uttered in a breathy voice. The Company murmured and muttered rather crossly in deep grumbling tones at having been led to an Elven settlement. The Last Homely House East of the Sea seemingly opened out towards the Hobbit, the wizard, and the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Expanses of rock and flowing drapes of rushing water stretched seamlessly from the sky to the earth, and there, at the heart of it all, lay an invitation of respite wrapped endlessly in overflowing Elven magic.
Thorin Oakenshield was not so entranced by the inhabitants of this place. "This was your plan all along - to seek refuge with our enemy?"
"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself." Gandalf felt the urge to hopelessly sigh grow inside of him. He had hoped that perhaps Thorin would be less prejudiced to seek help from Lord Elrond and his kin- even more so after the incident with the orcs and wargs that had recently occurred. Apparently, that was not to be.
"You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us!" The Dwarf King in exile spat towards the wandering wizard.
"Of course they will. But we have questions that need to be answered. If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm, which is why you will leave the talking to me," Gandalf replied, calmly stepping down the path taking them closer to Imladris.
As the Dwarves and one lone Hobbit followed the wizard down the slope- marvelling at the 'elderly' man's nimble and light tread, when they met the sound of childish humming in the wind. It was a light and catchy tune, and differed from what prior notions the Company held about Elves, whom of course loved dramatics and grandiose flowery ballads. It certainly lacked the finesse of grandiose flowery ballads too, as they soon found the answer as to why.
All too soon, the humming drew closer and the Dwarrow stiffened; ready for a potential enemy. Out of the trees spurted a figure, giggling and singing and ceaselessly sprinting. The hem of her dress was tattered and dirty. The slippers on her feet were a mangle of grass stains and caked on mud. She skidded to a halt, nearly crashing into a boulder before the assembled Company.
"Erin! My dear girl," Gandalf called to a figure perched atop a boulder. "Why I never!"
"Hello Mr Grey," the girl replied frostily. Her buoyant mood vanished instantly; her feet shed their wings and returned to leaded slabs of flesh. "You've brought… company with you?"
Gandalf herded the fourteen Dwarves and Bilbo closer with all the exasperation of a man trying and failing to shepherd cats, "Not just company, the Company, my dear."
The girl- Erin, or so Gandalf had said, surveyed them with wide eyes. They stared back with equal confusion and curiosity to finding out a child of man was living amongst their reviled enemies. Elves were known to do strange things, but it didn't make the Dwarves any less curious as to why the girl had been dumped with persons so unbearable- in their opinion, of course.
As they clucked and tutted amongst themselves about wild-footed wards of leaf-eaters, the girl in question picked herself up from the floor whence she had fallen after slipping to a stop by grabbing onto the shoulder nearest to her.
"Thank you," she murmured to a shocked Dwalin, who had not even felt the light pressure impact upon him as she moved. He grumbled that it was no trouble in return.
"The Company of Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf called, gathering the Dwarrows' attention. "May I present to you Miss Erin Walsh- a dear friend of mine. Erin, this is Thorin and his Company-" here he winked to the girl, "I believe you know of the details?"
Thorin bristled, "Details? Details? You would ask me not to speak of this quest beyond my kin, and yet here you tell secrets to little girls?"
"Oh!" Erin gasped, "The Company?"
"The Company," Mr Grey affirmed.
"Wow…" Erin squinted, then whispered round a hand cupped by her lips to Gandalf; "For some reason, I thought they'd be smaller… but then again, I'm not very tall myself."
It was true, the Company noted. She hardly stood any taller than Dwalin or Thorin, but while the Dwarves were short they were also stout. Erin had a willowy build; fine and slender enough to be mistaken as a young male adolescent, with her cropped hair as short as it was. She would break before they did in battle. Bilbo stood at a greater chance of survival, with his canny ways of invisibility and the velvet tread of his lumbering feet.
"What details do you know?" Thorin demanded as the girl began to lead them deeper into the Hidden Valley.
"…Hm," Erin tapped her chin, "Quite a few. The history, your reason for doing this. Also, that it is likely you were attacked by Orcs on the way here?" She posed this as a question, but the Dwarves stilled.
"How could you possibly know that, lass?" Balin said softly.
Erin brought them over a long stretching narrow bridge and into a wide circular courtyard; "A patrol set out some hours ago on an Orc hunt. It was only logical you would be lead here to escape them, as it is the closest place of refuge."
The girl waved as a familiar face descended the steps; "Hello Lindir!"
Erin watched as the Ellon winced. Of course, it was a truth universally acknowledged by the inhabitants of Rivendell that Erin- and by the young woman herself, that should the opportunity arise, she would be the one to invite a disturbance into their peaceful halls. Gandalf was an instigator of this too though, Erin mused with a purse of her lips. Thogh she supposed that Lindir certainly didn't need another individual like herself around to cause chaos. "Good afternoon, Lapette, Mithrandir."
"Ah, Lindir- where is your Lord?" Gandalf inquired, raising an eyebrow at Erin. She shrugged in response.
"My Lord Elrond is not here…" The Ellon began, but sighed dejectedly as a horn sounded. The rhythmic clash of hooves on stone reverberated closer.
Erin took a seat on one of the lower steps, watching the Dwarves close into formation as the Elves on horseback converged. She shook her head as they bristled and brandished out their weapons.
Honestly, where did they expect fully grown Elves and their mounts to go in that space?
She heard Glorfindel's chuckle as he trotted past on an excited Asfolath. Harmless bouts of Dwarf baiting were apparently a favourite sport of his that only occurred once every few centuries.
The Dwarves clustered together on an open balcony, having sent Nori to lift some food from Rivendell's kitchens. The dinner arranged by the Elves had all but ended in disaster; with a less than filling meal and more ingredients on the walls than on the silver and bronze platters.
Having dismantled a priceless piece of furniture down into perfect fire kindling, they grouped together around the flames. The only one's missing from the group were the Wandering Wizard, their leader, and the Burglar.
A knock sounded from the entrance of their assigned quarters.
"Hello?"
It was the young girl and an Elf. She carried a tray (upon it, the necessary items for a tea service), while the Elf held a large rectangular platter of treats.
"We thought that you might not have appreciated the salad," she said with a wrinkle of her nose. "So Glorfindel and I have brought you some sausages; the like, and desert!" The girl thrusted out her own tray so they could see it clearly.
Dori, a rather fussy Dwarf with a refined taste for tea leaves and flavourings, spied a tea pot, cups, and saucers amongst the items upon it. "What's in the pot?"
Erin's lips quirk at the irony; "Chamomile, I think. Though it could be green tea? I'm not too sure what blends the kitchen staff had chosen for today, sorry."
"Don't apologise lass, I'm sure it will be fine," says Dori, softening his features at her contrite expression.
"We weren't sure what to bring, seeing as you've acquired items yourself," stated the Elf. "But my young charge knows where Maethlin sequesters the best of her creations."
The blonde Elf looked reproachfully at his small ward, who grinned impishly back, unashamed at pilfering the treats Maethlin baked at the dawn of her shifts in the kitchens.
"What are 'ye doin' in here, Elf?" Growled Dwalin, glaring at Glorfindel as the child clutched the tray she was carrying with a wince.
"After the display of manners you gave us at dinner, I am merely accompanying the whims of my charge, Master Dwarf," Glorfindel replied lightly, trying not to invoke the ire of the Dwarves.
"You think we'd cause her harm?" The warrior griped, partially appalled and taking offence at Glorfindel's utterance.
Erin gulped. Elves and Dwarves truly fought like cats and dogs; most of the time- their feuds were legendary, as she had discovered under Erestor's tutelage. However, one thing they could agree on was the protection of their young.
Due to the long lives of the Elves, their children were born sparsely, and parents guarded their young with jealous ferocity. The Dwarrow behaved in such a way too, though the scant rarity of Dwarrodams and their desire to pursue a craft rather than court suiters and start a family meant that few Dwarflings were brought into the world. Though, if there was ever an end to the conflict between the Elves and Dwarves, they would find defending their children to be a stalemate.
"No-No! Glorfindel was helping me carry the trays up here. They're rather heavy you see…" Erin says, trying to placate both parties. It was true though; while her arms had grown stronger over the two years she had trained with Glorfindel, they still shook under the weight of the tray.
Awkward tension filled the air as the Glorfindel and Dwalin stared each other down, neither party willing to submit.
"What we've brought you," Erin started, eying her Guardian and the Dwarf as their eyes remained interlocked. "It should see to the- uh, fourteen? Yes fourteen of you, very well."
She wandered to the centre of the room, close to where they had lit a fire using Elven furniture. Erin winced at that. Lindir was going to flip if he discovered they had defaced priceless pieces.
Glorfindel mimicked her, gave the Dwarves a polite, swift bow and retreated to the door. "I shall leave you in their capable hands, Lapette."
"Good night, Glorfindel," Erin called, stifling a yawn herself. The Dwarves begin to feast.
"Why does he call you that?" Ori blurted, and promptly hid behind his journal as Erin turned to leave in her Guardian's wake. She smiled lightly, changing her mind about retiring for the night, and deftly moved through the congregation of hungry Dwarrow amassed on the floor to sit beside the young scribe. She tucked her legs beneath her, smoothing out the folds of her dress as she settled beside Ori.
"Hm… 'Lapette'?" She asked in confirmation, and he nodded in return. "In the Elven tongue, it translates to 'rabbit'. When I first came to Rivendell under Mr Grey's orders, I was scared and alone. The Elves took to calling me 'Ettelea'- because I was new and foreign, but soon changed to 'Lapette' because I reminded them of a rabbit caught in a trap."
Kili snorted, "You don't look so scared to me."
"Believe me when I say that I didn't move from outside of the room they provided for nearly a week, I was that scared. When I did, I could hardly believe I was living amongst Elves of all things!" Erin's smile shone brighter and more natural as she continued her story; "So I shook like a rabbit in a trap, and was told that if I didn't try to change my behaviour at all, that this world would eat me alive. I know, and am, better now."
"How much better?" Bofur asked cheekily, throwing a cooked sausage to his relative. The table Bombur had sat himself atop creaked in a mocking squeal of pain.
"I'm in the process of killing the rabbit," Erin replied softly, hand stifling yet another yawn. "If you'll excuse me…?"
As she rose to leave, the Dwarves watch and ponder about the strange Rabbit-Elf-child-girl... and though Dori would never admit it out loud, the Elves brewed excellent tea.
Volume I – Musical Inspiration
"Vitamin C" – Clean Cut Kid, 'Vitamin C'
"Gasoline" – Halsey, 'Badlands'
"I Was Feeling Down, I Found a Nice Witch and We're Friends" – In Love With a Ghost, 'Healing'
"Will You" – Hazel O'Connor, 'Breaking Glass'
"Where Is My Mind" – Telepathic Teddy Bear, 'Where Is My Mind'