Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings, Tolkien does. Duh.

A/N: Here's the next chapter, I hope it's up to scratch. I'm putting it up so soon because I had already written part of it when I posted the last chapter. Let me know what you think.

"A person can get used to anything, if given enough time." – Nicholas Sparks

Rivendell was like something out of a fairy tale. It was stunning and untouched, and its beauty almost made me want to cry. If I had a camera, I would have taken thousands of photos because everywhere I looked was more amazing than the last. But even the best photographer could not capture the sense of splendour and timelessness that the place seems to possess. Like, it was a secret that could not be shared unless you actually see it with your own eyes.

It had been around six months since my first look at Rivendell, and it still managed to take my breath away. But at least I didn't go around with my mouth hanging open like I did the first time. It was at this time that I also saw my first elf.

How do I describe elves? Well, they're a little disconcerting at first. There is something ethereal about them, like they belong in the world of dreams, not the real world. (Well, the 'real world' is a relative term but I think you understand what I mean.) I sometimes think that they are a little arrogant, probably due to them being all immortal and wise and fair. To this day, I have never met an elf that wasn't good looking enough to be put on the front cover of a magazine back home.

Home. God I missed it. I missed my mum and my dad; I even missed my little brother Matthew, as annoying as he was. I missed the lifestyle, the people, and the shops. I missed being clean all the time. I missed watching 'Friends' on Wednesday nights and I missed speaking English like it was the normal thing to do. Most of all, I missed knowing where my place was in the world.

In Rivendell, I was somewhat of a freak. It seems that elves could also sense that I'm from another realm, or at least sense that there is something different about me anyway. I kept getting these looks from them all the time everywhere I went, and I could see questions in their eyes. Who are you? Where are from? What are you doing here? I had a feeling that either Elrond or Arwen asked people not to bother me about such matters, and as such they mostly just avoided me.

Strider only stayed a week or so after delivering me to Rivendell, but in that time he told me to call him Aragorn if I wished, and he also introduced me to the person who would teach me how to speak common tongue properly. The one and only Bilbo Baggins.

He was a funny old chap, a little shorter and older that anyone I'd ever called a friend before, but he was the one that kept me sane in those first couple of months after Aragorn set out into the wilderness again. For one thing, he didn't sense anything different about me like the elves did so he more or less treated me normally. Also, he spoke common tongue most of the time, unlike the elves who preferred to speak in their native language.

He helped me to develop my language skills and even how to read and write in the common speech. I usually spent each morning with him as he gave me my lesson for the day. Some days we would just talk, and he would tell me about his adventures and I would tell him about my time with Gandalf and Strider. But other days were harder, and Bilbo could be a tough teacher when he wanted to be.

I got so fed up with some lessons, and a sense of hopelessness would overcome me. One particular morning found us sitting in the library near one of the numerous windows that the building had. The sunny day seemed to mock me as I tried to concentrate on what Bilbo was saying.

I had had a rough night the night before, dreaming of home and my family sitting at the dinner table discussing their respective days. But I was outside looking in through the window. They were out of reach, and no matter how hard I beat my fist against the glass, it would not break. I could not get to them. I woke feeling sad and alone, and curled up into a ball under my sheets wishing I was back home.

I had spent so long in bed that I had been late for my lesson with Bilbo that morning and he seemed a little disgruntled when I offered no explanation. As a result, he was particularly gruelling when it came to remembering the names of the different types of plants found in Middle Earth.

"What is the difference between a 'forest' and a 'garden'?" Bilbo asked me expectantly.

"Err..." I tried to recall the differences between each word from the previous day's study. "Forest is maintained by a carer, and a garden is...a flower."

"No, that's not it at all. You knew this yesterday." He sighed and rubbed his head in his hands. "Okay," he said looking up, "A garden is a group of plants maintained by a carer, and a forest is a large group of trees that can stretch for miles and miles. Write that down."

I rolled my eyes and reluctantly went to write that down on a piece of parchment, only to have Bilbo stop me.

"No, no, in common tongue Katherine it's the only way you're going to learn."

The frustration that had been building all morning finally boiled over. I threw the piece of paper across the table and yelled, "I don't care about 'forests' and 'gardens' okay? I don't care about the common tongue or anything in Middle Earth. I just want to go home." I looked up at the sky in some silly hope that someone would hear me. "I want to go home already!"

What was the point of studying? I didn't want to be here, I wanted to go home, but my prospects of getting there were looking slimmer and slimmer each day. I should have just accepted the truth, that there was no going back. But that thought was so...wrong. I needed to believe that I would one day see home again, it was what kept me going.

Bilbo hadn't understood any of my rant, but he did understand that I was angry. He looked at me calmly. Too calmly, like he had expected me to start yelling.

Whatever, I thought angrily, it doesn't matter what he thinks. I got up from my seat and stormed off in the direction of the doors leading outside.

A couple of hours later, once I had cooled off by going for a long walk, found me regretting my outburst at Bilbo. He did not deserve to be treated so rudely. It was just that sometimes I have a short fuse when it comes to my temper. I really needed to work on that, especially when the people I go off at are the ones that are only trying to help me.

So, for the second time in as many months, I went to apologise to a friend of mine.

"Temper's get the better of us sometimes, I understand," Bilbo said once I had found him and apologised profusely. "Though yours is one that I should probably look out for in the future. You can be quite scary you know," he chuckled.

What was it with people in Middle Earth being so forgiving?

"I had a bad night, that's all. I am usually more patient with your teachings."

Bilbo nodded his agreement, and after that we didn't have any more incidents during my lessons.

...

Aside from Bilbo and me, the rest of the population in Rivendell was made up of elves, so interacting with them at some point was inevitable.

I only met Lord Elrond a handful of times during my stay. Every time I was in his presence I always felt like I should bow or something, he was just so...noble I guess, a lord to his people. It was hard to believe that he was so old when he looked so young. He always regarded me curiously in those old, wise eyes that had seen so much of this world, but he never asked too many questions.

From what I understood at the time, Gandalf had given Aragorn a letter to deliver to Elrond when we arrived. It was brief, and offered little explanation, except to request that I was kept secret and safe until he returned, which I was.

I was left in the care of Arwen. Arwen was the most beautiful woman I have ever met, and standing next to her made me feel as ugly as a troll's backside. I could see why Aragorn loved her, for despite her ridiculous good looks, she was also very kind for an elf. Elves weren't rude or mean per se, but they did have an aloofness about them that made them a little intimidating, but I found Arwen more approachable than the others. Perhaps falling in love with a mortal made her more open minded than most.

Even so, I did not see her every day for she had others things to occupy herself with. I was a guest and she was the host, making sure I was well cared for. She came by every few days to make sure I had everything I needed, and just to talk if I felt so inclined. We didn't have much in common and any conversation between us was often strained.

When I mentioned one day that I didn't have much to do in the afternoons, she took me to the stables where the horses were kept.

Arwen introduced me to the elf who took care of the horses. His name was Glandur and he was tall and fair, as all elves were, and his hair was so blonde it was white. Could elves be albino?

He gave me the usual weird look that all elves give me, and was surprised when Arwen suggested that I should help him with the horses, for he had mentioned to her that he would like some help with the extra horses they had acquired as of late. He was reluctant at first when I told them that I had no experience with horses, but Arwen insisted that he take me under his wing, and Arwen's word was final.

So, my afternoons were now filled with all things horsey.

Glandur, it seemed, had a bit of mischievous side to him. He made it no secret that he wasn't entirely fond of the idea of a human girl with no prior practice with horses helping him out, so it shouldn't have been a surprise to me when he decided to play a joke on me. Who knew that elves had a sense of humour?

On the third day I spent with him, after I managed to drop a horse shoe on his foot, he ordered me away angrily to get some apples from the kitchens. He even told me how to say 'can I have some apples for the horses' in elvish to sound more polite. Well, that's what he told me it meant. The more accurate translation turned out to be 'I need a brain because I'm stupid. Have one?'

I left the kitchens with a face as red as the apples I carried in my arms, and the sound of the elves laughter following behind me. I hated being played for a fool, and I was not going to let Glandur get away with this.

As soon as I got back to the stables and spotted Glandur shovelling the hay, I grabbed one of the apples and threw it at his chest, "You," I took out another apple and threw it at his kneecap "complete," the last one I aimed at his head "Jackass!" All three apples hit their intended targets, and I was glad to see the look of absolute bewilderment on his face.

So much for keeping my temper in check.

I was breathing heavily, pinching the edge of my nose trying to calm myself down. Great, I had just thrown a bunch of apples at an elf; I guess another apology was in order. But just as I was going to say sorry, Glandur spoke.

"You have really good aim, for a human woman," I looked up at him and saw respect clear in his eyes. He paused before continuing, "I am sorry for making you say those things. My father always told me I get carried away with my fun." I had to agree.

"Yes, well I'm sorry I threw those apples at you. I have a slight problem with my temper."

"Not at all! I deserved every one of those well aimed apples." He grinned at me, and I laughed forgetting my anger.

From then on, we got along fairly well. Talk of my apple throwing spread throughout Rivendell until I was known as 'Katherine, the notorious apple throwing human'. Yep, quite a title, and one I reminded Glandur of every time he started to make fun of me for one of my numerous mistakes in the stables.

So the days past, and I slipped into an easy routine of taking lessons with Bilbo in the mornings, and helping Glandur out in the stables each afternoon. It was a peaceful and simple existence I led in Rivendell, something I would miss in the coming months.

The thing about living in Rivendell is that you seem to forget about time, or maybe time had just forgotten Rivendell. Either way, I didn't even notice when my twentieth birthday had come and gone. I guess celebrations weren't high on my priority list.

So by the time Gandalf finally arrived in Rivendell, I was no longer a teenager.

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