Hi, again! Thanks so much to everyone who has followed/favorited my story! I was determined to pace myself (only releasing a chapter once a week) but I figured you guys deserved a little more to tide you over. Who knows? Maybe I'll post more even sooner. This is just a tidbit, but I hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR. It belongs to Tolkien's estate.
"Sooner or later we're all someone's dog." - Terry Pratchett
ooOoo
The halls of Rivendell were beyond description. What Merrill had first taken for stone arches turned out to be cleverly grown and painted trees. The high arches looking out over the river and waterfall had no substantial covering; gauzy drapes of muted silk fluttered in the breeze. But even with the open architecture, the home of Elrond was warm.
Merrill rubbed her hands together. Her extended trek through the mountains had left her rather cold, and her nerves at meeting a fictional character (and a lord) certainly didn't help matters any. Radhrion had been polite (it was the guy's default state of being), but the closer they came to the valley, the quieter he became until no amount of teasing or wheedling could induce him to speak. Merrill, not being one for uncomfortable silences, began to tell knock knock jokes in what she considered a heroic attempt to ease the tension. She was sadly unsuccessful; Radhrion's glare could have peeled paint.
At the entrance to Rivendell, Lord Elrond's steward, a willowy, graceful elf with dark hair named Erestor, greeted them. He was everything gracious and polite, even when Radhrion insisted he speak with him privately. Their conversation was rapid and hushed. It ended rather abruptly and Erestor, with one last look at Merrill, hastily swept off down a hallway, leaving them to their own devices.
Her stomach grumbled.
"Here, Lembas." Radhrion pulled what looked like a scone from his pack and offered it to her. "This should tide you over until our audience is granted."
"Thanks."
The lembas tasted faintly of butter, lavender, and honey; not an unpleasant taste, to be sure, but she would have killed for a cup of tea to go along with it.
Her companion was quiet. The long shadows of evening crept up around them, skulking like stray cats towards their ankles. Radhrion's elbows rested against his knees and his hands hung between them, crumbling a piece of lembas into fine powder in an absentminded sort of way. Now that they were out of the literal woods, though not the figurative ones, Merrill took a moment to really look at him: Radhrion was tall, as all elves she had seen thus far were. Erestor was a few inches shorter than Radhrion, but the blond elf they had passed stood at least half a foot taller. Radhrion stood head and shoulders above her own, modest 5'7" of height, and maybe a bit more, besides. He had a lithe, though deceptively muscular, build that put her in mind of all those swimming competitions she'd watched with her best friend, Anne, a trim waist, long legs, and broad shoulders. His hands, which were presently shredding a hunk of lembas, were slender and fine. Adorning the ring finger on his left hand lay a plain golden band.
"Are you married?"
Radhrion visibly jumped, the way-bread falling to the ground. "Why would you ask such a thing?"
"Why won't you answer?" Merrill countered.
The elf stood and brushed his hands off on his leggings. "Answer my question and I shall consider answering yours, Merilinith." He strode over to the stone banister that surrounded the elevated courtyard and settled himself against it; his forearms resting across the top while he surveyed the lives of the elves below. Merrill could hear laughter and the low hum of conversation drifting up on the breeze.
"Why did you call me that? What does it mean?"
He chuckled darkly. "If I answer this question, I do not owe you another, Merilinith. Do you wish me to continue?"
"Who made that bargain?"
"You did."
Merrill flung her hands up in frustration, "Fine! I'll bite. I asked you because of your ring." She jerked her chin at his hand. "Where I come from, that means you are married."
Radhrion turned from the balcony, crossing his arms and his ankles as he inspected her. "Is that so?" he murmured.
"Yes." Merrill said curtly.
"And where is it you are from, strange little elleth?" Radhrion pushed off the bannister and began to circle her, his tone one of playful suspicion. "From whence do these clothes and cosmetics come? For it would seem that they are entirely unknown to the elves of Rivendell. The fit of your blouse and trousers quite scandalized Erestor, I am sure."
Merrill's heart sped up; these were dangerous questions. It almost seemed as though Radhrion knew she wasn't what she appeared. She supposed this was understandable; she had blubbered utter nonsense when he had first stumbled upon her in the forest. That coupled with the distinctive quality of her clothing was more than enough to raise his suspicions. The problem was, Merrill wasn't certain she could answer him.
Everything she knew about Middle Earth came from the movies. It was vaguely medieval in its tendencies and adherence to the chivalric code and populated with warrior stoics and more than a few damsels in distress. There was even a dragon. Her arrival in Middle Earth, with all of her ideologies and modern beliefs, could prove disastrous if she cherished hopes for her continued existence. It was like an atheist falling smack dab into the Spanish Inquisition, or a Wiccan landing in Salem: bad news.
"Erestor needs to get out more, then."
"Now who is avoiding the question, little one?"
Merrill was about to tell him where he could shove his questions when she noticed he was smirking. "Insufferable, arrogant, smug…"
He held a hand to one, pointed ear. "I'm afraid I didn't catch that."
"Catch this…" she muttered mulishly, chucking her lembas at his head.
The bastard caught it and popped it into his mouth. When she loudly protested, he dug around in his pack and produced another piece, offering it to her with a dramatic flourish and a little bow.
"My lady."
"Are all elves incorrigible, or is it just you?" She groused grumpily.
He chewed thoughtfully, his blue-gray eyes fixed on the darkening sky. "As much as it would please me to say otherwise, I'm afraid it is the whole lot of us."
Merrill snorted. "I somehow doubt that, Radhrion."
"Oh?" he raised one of his dark brows. "And why is that? I'll have you know I practically wrote the book on elven kind."
"What book?"
He sniffed haughtily. "None you've ever read, I'm sure."
"Snob," Merrill coughed.
"Simpleton!" He playfully ruffled her hair until she squawked in indignation.
Merrill finally gained her freedom and attempted to flatten her hair with all the solemn dignity she could muster. When she was finished, she looked down her long nose at him and said, "You, sir, are a bad elf."
"An exceedingly bad elf," he agreed amiably.
A sound from below interrupted her reply. The elves, it would seem, were closing up shop for the day. Merrill observed the stable hands patting their charges before ambling towards what she assumed was their dinner, hands thrust deep in their pockets and shoulders hunched from the slight chill in the air. Further down, she spied the blacksmiths loading up a wagon with their blades, and a shopkeeper folding dresses before locking her display case. Their chatter was lilting and fluid; it melded with the air. On the air, too, was the smell of fire, wine, and some type of stew. Merrill peered down at her lembas, suddenly dissatisfied. If she were home, she would probably be eating with her friend, Anne, at that Chinese restaurant she liked so much. But here she was, instead, eating hard tack and trading barbed witticisms with a literal elf.
The lembas turned to ashes in her mouth and she had to work to swallow past the lump in her throat. Would she ever see Anne again? Grimly, she forced another piece into her mouth and chewed with deliberate vigor; the sound of her jaws was audible in the crisp night air.
"You appear to be enjoying that."
Merrill grunted.
"It should not take much – Lembas was made to sustain travelers and will fill even the emptiest of bellies in two or three bites. I've consumed only two, and I have been traveling for many weeks, now."
Merrill swallowed guiltily and met his shocked expression: she'd eaten the whole thing.
