This is unbelievable, a hundred followers! Thank you so much you beautiful people, it means a lot to me to see that so many of you are actually interested in this story. Seeing your response toward what I have written is what keeps me going.
I know it has been a while. To be fair, I was away on vacation for about a month and had to work extra hours before leaving for my trip. So, I apologize for the lengthy delay, but I still hope you enjoy this.
Victoria: Maeve, being a modern girl is not used to those beautiful elven dresses. And seeing as she is just a normal human being who hasn't had the chance to wear many such dresses, it would be logical for her to have a hard time walking in such attire. A floor length dress can be after all a tripping hazard.
Gwen: I am glad that you seem to enjoy my story, I will try to endeavour in writing future chapters sooner rather than later.
SortingHat: My brain does not compute. It appears we don't speak the same language, or my English sucks after all... I honestly don't have a reply for your eleven comments. But, you go ahead; it boosts my number of reviews XD
Chapter 6
I am broken. Quite literally.
It is true that my heart shattered when the words spoken by Lord Elrond finally registered into my mind. I could feel it splintering in little pieces when I learned that I would most definitely spend the rest of my life in this unknown world, and that no one here could help me return to my rightful place. As enchanting and ethereal – and frightening, if I have to be honest – Middle-Earth appears to be, it is not home and its people are strangers to me. I am an alien who is stranded in a very disparate universe. I suppose I will have to get used to the idea that Canada, my dad and friends are now all out of my reach, and for good it would seem. That is easier said than done.
But at the time, I could not deal with the truth. Sitting there, in that room, I could not bear it. This life-altering fact was too much for me to handle. Devastated, I just ran, like I did when I argued with my father. Granted, when I seemingly teleported from Earth to Middle-Earth, I was running to get to my gym class on time. However, I was also running from my father and our argument, or more precisely the truth that I could not have the same privileges as other kids my age. Running is my way of escaping the unwanted truth. It may be cowardly, I realise that, but it also gives me time to process things at my own pace.
In both cases, I ran away from my problems. But that is not the only similarity we can draw from the two instances. Twice I ran, and twice I fell. The first time was to my death, or it would have been had Aragorn not intervened. The second time was down a flight of stairs. That's right, in my haste to exit this place I tripped on the hem of my godforsaken dress and stumbled down a few dozen steps. And to make matters worse, I have absolutely no idea where I currently am. I am slouching on a ledge at the bottom of a staircase I have not seen before. I have no memory of coming up this way when I was following Aragorn earlier. In my distress, I must have missed a turn when I left the council.
And that is where I find myself, broken, and a snivelling mess. Half propped up against the rocky wall, I hurt all over from head to toe. The stone stairs were not kind on me. Evidently, travelling through time and space and almost drowning was not enough, I also had to pound and crush every single inch of my body on stony steps. I sob because of the physical pain, but I weep for the life that was and never will be. And that heartbreak hurts tenfold.
I bring my hands up to my face in an attempt to cover myself. From whom? I do not know as there is no one around to witness my breakdown. Still I try to hide my shame. My dad always said never to show sorrow as it means you are giving up, and that is simply unacceptable. Thinking of him, I just cry harder.
I will never see him again, and he will always wonder what happened to me. The worst thing is, he will never have answers. One day he has a daughter, the next he is fatherless. By now, he must have reported me missing. He is probably worrying like crazy right now, thinking the worst. He must have so many questions. At the very least, I know the truth. Even though I am the one who is displaced, it is easier for me because I know that we are both fine technically. We may never see each other again but I know he is safe. He does not have that certainty concerning me.
I am left wallowing in my thoughts, curled-in around myself as I try to come to term with all that has happened. Why me? Why would these Valar transport me from my world to this one? None of this makes sense. I am no one of importance. I don't see a reason for me to be here. And from what the elves told me, it takes great power to transport someone between worlds. It cannot be a mistake. Their Gods purposefully snatched me from Earth because they need me for something; otherwise why would they spend so much energy to get me here for absolutely no reason? What could they possibly need me for? There's not much I can do as an eleven-year-old girl; unless they need me in the future when I'm older. But who am I supposed to become and why would they need me? It's not like they left me an instruction manual. Why go through all this trouble if they are not going to tell me what I am supposed to accomplish in the end? I have so many questions that remain unanswered.
After a while, I feel a presence next to me. I hear a slight shuffling to my right and I realise the newcomer is now sitting on ground as well. I don't have to look to guess who just joined me. I sniff and wipe my nose with the back of my hand before lifting my eyes.
"I'm sorry." I say, stifling a sob as I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands.
"Do not apologize for your tears, Little One."
I snort at that, thinking how differently my father would have reacted to the sight of me crying in a ball on the ground.
"My dad–" I clear my throat trying to find my voice. "Life wasn't easy for him, for us really but he kept going no matter what, never complaining. He had these sayings he liked to repeat over and over again. If he could see me right now..."
"What do you believe he would say to you?"
I shake my head, knowing exactly what my father would say. Nothing he hadn't said before when I wanted to quit gym, or didn't receive a high enough mark on a test. My lips wobble as all that now seems inconsequential and I feel my sobs coming back. I groan, frustrated with myself. I force my eyes open and I stare at the city, visible from my perch. This beautiful city that is now my home, I guess; Unless Lord Elrond was insulted when I left the room hurriedly. Then they would have to find me some place else to live. I hope they will, because I know next to nothing of this world. I would not know where to begin to look for a place to live. But, who I am kidding? I am a hundred percent sure Aragorn would find me a home himself, if I truly did offend the Lord of Rivendell. No matter what happens to me now, it is a new beginning.
I need to be strong now. Remembering my father's words, I am determined to make the best of my situation.
"Ame futte ji katamaru. Nanakorobi yaoki." I utter quietly. Aragorn inclines his head toward me.
"I was not aware you spoke something other than the common tongue."
I snort at his comment, "it's my father's language, or rather my grandfather's. I'm rubbish at it."
To say that I can speak Japanese is not quite untrue... Growing up with a half-Japanese father, I was bound to pick up a thing or two. However, it is not exactly true either. I can speak Japanese on the same level as Google Translate succeeds its translations: Meaning, by butchering pretty much everything.
"Yet you know the meaning of these words." Aragorn smiles sadly.
I nod absently. Of course, I know what those two sentences mean. My father repeated them like a mantra. He said them to me, to make me stronger. But I also believe he continuously repeated them for himself, because he needed a reminder.
I turn my eyes to Aragorn's and he is just there, looking at me, patiently waiting. Again, Aragorn doesn't push. He is there to support me, but he lets me deal in my own way, just like he did in the woods. He smiles to comfort me, but it does not reach his eyes for he is empathetic to my situation. He knows how I longed to return home, and that has been robbed from me. So he asks, and waits for me to be ready.
Sensing that my hold on my emotions is slowly slipping, I clear my throat. My hand goes to the chain around my neck. I grip the jewel at its end with all my might. For as long as I can remember, I have always done so when I needed a little comfort. I pull my strength from it.
"The ground solidifies after a rainfall. Fall seven times, stand up eight times." I finally answer. "So, adversity will strengthen one's character. Never give up; If you do fall, do your very best to try again."
Aragorn smiles kindly. "He seems like a wise man."
I nod repetitively. My hand still gripping my necklace, my lips start to wobble until I can no longer contain my sobs. "But it's just so hard right now!" I cry, tears fall down my cheeks once more. I feel Aragorn's arm encircling me, bringing me into a side hug.
He does not say anything else. He does not move aside from a slight back-and-forth rocking movement, his arm still holding me close to him. His hand is rubbing my left arm in comfort as he tries to subdue my cries. And this goes on for hours, until all the tears in my body are spent and I finally make peace with my fate.
- xXx -
We are still sitting in the same spot where I landed on my ass after falling down the stairs. I am no longer crying like a baby. I seem to have gotten over the shock of it all. Slowly and tentatively, Aragorn and I started talking about the differences in our worlds and how I could adapt best to life here. I do not remember how we came to this subject, but our conversation turned to a question that had been grating my mind.
"Will you ever tell me your age?" Aragorn smirks in response, before chuckling softly. "I mean, out of the bunch up there, you looked to be the oldest, but I know that cannot be true. Elves are so weird. How old are they anyways? I mean, the blond-haired one didn't seem that old."
"Ah Ha!" Aragorn just bursts out laughing quite loudly, taking me by surprise. "Glorfindel is positively ancient!"
"What?" I exclaim, astonished by this news.
"Oh yes. I mean, they are all very old, as most elves are but Glorfindel is, by far, the eldest. His tale is quite a long one. He might share it with you someday."
"But... Glory seemed to be the youngest!"
"Glory?" Aragorn chokes on his own saliva, his eyes wide as he looks at me.
"What? Don't judge. Too many consonants." I groan, scratching the back of my head.
"How is– never mind." Aragorn shakes his head in amusement. "If you are to stay here indefinitely," he adds sadly, "you will need to learn how to pronounce their names. You may inadvertently insult someone."
"Too many syllables." I mumble.
"First of all, I grant you that Gelinnássien may be a long name but it is not hard to pronounce. As for Glorfindel, it has as many syllables as Aragorn. And I do not see you struggling with my name."
I huff, a little ashamed that I cannot seem to wrap my head around local nouns. The elvish language, Sindarin, is just baffling to me. It sounds beautiful but the syllables all mesh together in my ears, whether it is Linn's name, Glory's, or that infernal river that tried to swallow me whole.
"What kind of a name is Aragorn anyways?" I cross my arms over my chest, unwilling to discuss my inability to pronounce a few words in a foreign language.
"It is the name my father gave me upon my birth. I could ask you what sort of a name is Maeve." Aragorn replies bitterly, arching an eyebrow in response.
I recoil with a flinch, sensing I may have hurt Aragorn a little with my biting question. Normally I would steer clear of the subject of my name, becoming quite harsh to those who dare ask. However, since I rudely inquired about Aragorn's own name and he provided me with an answer; it is only fair I respond in kind.
"It's an Irish name." I grumble. "I hate it."
"Why?" Aragorn's hard look diminishes when he realises that this must be a touchy subject for me to react in such a way.
"My mother gave it to me." I snap my eyes shut and my fingers automatically go my neck. "And I hate my mother."
Instantly my fingers loop around my necklace as if on instinct. The second I realise what I am doing, I drop it like it had just burned me. I always hated associating the piece of jewellery around my neck with that infernal woman, not matter it once belonged to her.
"That is a strong negative sentiment to have for the person who bore you for nigh on a year, the person who gave you life." Aragorn's says after a while.
"Yes well, that egotistical woman abandoned us just before my fourth birthday, so..." I snap angrily.
"I am sorry to hear that."
"Don't be." I look at Aragorn who seems to be sorry indeed. "I learned to live with it."
"Still. It is unfortunate. No child should grow up without either of its parents, no matter the circumstances."
I frown at the way he says that. There is something in his voice that speaks true, like he has firsthand knowledge of missing a parent. Then I remember that he grew up here in Rivendell, and yet I seem to be the only other human in this place. He must have been an orphan; I can't seem to think of another reason for him to have been raised by elves.
And here I am, complaining because I grew up with only a father – and a very loving one at that. He must think me very foolish.
"You said it was Irish." I startle at hearing Aragorn's voice. I look up at him and notice that he is staring at the ring around my neck. I arch an eyebrow in question and he simply adds; "your name. Is that a realm?"
Oh, right. I tend to forget that I am not the only one who's ignorant of the other's world. He knows nothing of mine, just as I know nothing of his. "It's a small country, although I suppose you would call it a realm. My mother was from Ireland. My father is half-Japanese half-Canadian, two countries on opposite sides of the world. They met and moved to Canada. Turns out, my dad was not exactly what my mom wanted, and she no longer wanted what she had settled for. Myself included. So she returned to Ireland, leaving behind a toddler with an Irish name and a ring." I finish by taking my necklace and jiggling it for him to see.
"Does your name have a meaning?"
"Yes, actually it's from a legend about this warrior queen." Aragorn pulls a face, having clearly not expected my answer. "I think it literally means 'she who intoxicates'. Maybe my mother knew from the get go that I would be poison to her and that is why she gave me that name."
Aragorn frowns and send a look of disapproval my way. Clearly, he has more faith in the woman my mother was than I ever had. "That word has several meanings, Little One. Poison yes, but also excite and exhilarate."
"I really don't think my mother was excited about the prospect of me dragging her down." I pointedly cross my arms over chest.
"You never know. You said so yourself, she left when you were very young. I am certain she loved you very much, no matter her faults."
"I doubt it." I scoff, unwilling to change my view of her.
"Has your father said otherwise?"
Arms crossed over my chest, I glare at the man sitting next to me. Of course my father has never so much as uttered a vile thing against my mother. But he was hurt, that I know. I was young, and I do not remember much, but I do have a vivid memory of my dad after she left. He was not the same. He was... broken. Despite it all, he persevered like always, and did everything he could to fill the hole that woman left behind. So, no. My father never explicitly said that she left because she didn't love me, but clearly whatever love that woman had for me was not enough for her to stay, or even to keep in touch. It is one thing to divorce a man you no longer want to share your life with, but it is another to break all ties with your only child. I used to believe that I had done something to drive her away; or that she simply is the worst person ever. And seeing as I was only a toddler when she left and I do not remember what I could have possibly done to warrant this, I like to think of her as a wretched human being.
"You can hate her for leaving you, but do not blame yourself. It was her loss." Aragorn finally adds in response to my silent answer. As always, he seems to see right through me and knows exactly what to say. "And if it changes anything, I like your name."
That brings a genuine smile to my face. I snort as I bump my shoulder against his arm as a silent thank you.
"What about your name? Does Aragorn mean anything?"
He nods repetitively as he looks down at the city. His lips are pressed together and he has a pensive look on his face, as if he is pondering how best to answer my question. It takes a while before he finally says: "yes. It is actually a Sindarin name. It means... 'Revered King'."
"Wow. Big shoes to fill." I smirk.
"Ha. Yes, I was named after a King of sort, just like you were named after a Queen."
"We are royals!" I gasp in jest, bringing my hand to my chest in the most pompous way I can muster.
"I would not go so far." Aragorn rubs the back of his neck and he appears to be uncomfortable with my joke.
Looking at him, I see an ordinary man. He cleans up into a respectable individual, yet I have seen him in clothes that are no better than rags. He is gentle, kind, and just, but also humble and unassuming of his various qualities. It does not surprise me that he seems to feels undeserving of his name. Being modest, he does not seem to realise what a good person he actually is. I think his name fits him perfectly and I truly believe that he would have made an amazing King in another life. Yet, here he sits, scratching at his neck nervously at the mere joke of being up to par with royalty.
I wonder how he would react if I suddenly started complimenting him about every little thing. He'd probably claw through his neck. He might blush, oh what a sight that would be. I giggle at the thought before turning my head, escaping his puzzled look. It just makes me giggle louder. I wave my hand in a way that translates to 'don't ask'. He nods with a chuckle of his own.
We remain silent next to each other for a while. I end up leaning a little on his tall form, my head barely reaching the top of his arm. I am still amazed at how tall everyone is here. I rest my head on his arm but my neck is in an awkward position. So I try again, and again.
"Why are you all so freakishly tall?" I huff in annoyance, unable to find a comfortable position for my head to rest on his arm.
Aragorn chuckles and shakes his head. "This again?"
"It is not my fault I feel like a dwarf next to all of you." I press on his arm with my hands the same way I would a pillow in an attempt to make it more comfortable. He laughs at my antics.
"Now that you mention it, you are only slightly taller than the average Dwarf. How about that?"
"Ha Ha!" I force my laugh sarcastically, pushing my head against his arm quite harshly. "Wait. Maybe that's why you're so tall. When I travelled to Middle Earth, maybe your Gods turned me into a Dwarf?"
"It is a good theory." His tone clearly indicates otherwise. He smirks, obviously thinking me very funny. "I honestly doubt it though."
"And why is that?" I ask haughtily. "Size is relative to whoever's doing the measuring, no? One man's giant is another man's midget."
"Well, that does make sense. And I am not disputing the fact that you are indeed short." I poke his ribs with my finger. "However, you are not a Dwarf. You lack the facial hair needed to be one."
That makes me stop. "What?" My eyes widen as I pull away to better look at his face. He cannot be serious. "You're kidding."
"I kid you not." Aragorn smirks enjoying this entirely too much. "Darrowdams have facial hair indeed."
"What?" I snort, still not entirely sure if he's being serious or not.
"Honestly Maeve, they do have beards."
I stare at him in wonder, before letting out a loud laugh trying to imagine short women with beards. I bring my hand to my mouth to stop myself from laughing too much, not wanting to be mean or anything. But I was not expecting that.
"All right then, not a Dwarf." I add giggling.
"Decisively not." Aragorn agrees with a grin.
"Then explain to me why the long legs!"
"Do not fault the Elves for that. They had no say in the way they were created."
"I know that. But what about you, eh? You said Elves are taller than Men but here you are, about the same height as the lot of them."
Aragorn stops and looks at me like a deer caught in headlights. I can see his mind spinning as he is trying to come up with a good explanation. Oh, no way. He cannot be. "But you said you aren't an Elf!"
"And I am not." He quickly acquiesces.
"But if Elves are taller than Men and you are just as tall as them, that means you are not a Man. Or rather, you are not just a Man." The grin on my face widens as I come to this realization.
Aragorn stares at me before shaking his head. "You are a perceptive little thing, aren't you?"
"Please." I scoff insulted. "You are a giant. I would have to be blind not to realise." I giggle, excited at my discovery. "Is it your mom? Granddad?"
Aragorn continues to shake his head before deigning to give an answer. "You will be disappointed. My elvish heritage dates back millenniums."
"Huh, really?" He nods in response. "You are right, that is disappointing."
He laughs at me. "I told you so."
"Is he still alive?"
"My elven-ancestor? No."
"How come? I mean, if he was an Elf, then wasn't he immortal?"
He turns his head and looks at me. "Do you truly wish to know?"
"Of course." I exclaim and he simply arches an eyebrow at me. "I'm stuck here. I might as well learn about this world. Especially if it concerns you."
He smiles indulgingly. "This is a little complicated though."
"Try me."
He nods before sighing. He is obviously trying to decide where to start. "I am a Dúnedan." I nod for him to continue. "Dúnedain are men folk. However, they are different because we are not from Middle-Earth."
"You are not from this world?" I ask shocked.
Aragorn chuckles. "Middle Earth is a part of Arda; it is a continent. Men came directly to Middle-Earth, whereas the Dúnedain came from the island Númenor. The island was a gift from the Valar to a group of Men who proved themselves allies of the Elves. The first King of Númenor was a half-elf. He and his brother were given a choice between immortality and mortality. Elros, the King, chose to become mortal. He married a mortal woman, fathered mortal children; hence appeared the race of Númenóreans."
"Stop. You are saying that he could have lived forever, and he chose to live for about 80 years?" There is only one explanation I can come up with for his decision; he is an idiot.
Aragorn laughs at my comment. "I said he became mortal. I never said he had the lifespan of a mortal man."
I simply stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"He died when he was five hundred years old."
"Five hund-" I start, unable to fully understand what he is telling me. "Wow."
"I know. So that is roughly the beginning of Númenor. Its people had about thrice the lifespan of regular Men, the royal descendants though, because they had elven-blood coursing through their veins, lived much longer, and were taller."
I stare at him dumbfounded. For him to bring up their height, specifically differentiating those with elvish ancestry from the others... then that must mean–
"Are you saying you are legit royal?" I screech. Just now we were talking about his name. 'Revered King' might actually mean something more than my intoxicating queen of Connacht.
"Only very distantly." Aragorn mutters, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. "All Dúnedain are somewhere related to the royal line of Númenóreans. We are what is left of the Faithful, the ones who remained true to the will of the Valar. Númenor was destroyed because its people had become greedy and forsook the Valar and the Eldar, the Elves. Only the King Elendil, his two sons, and their followers escaped and came to Middle-Earth."
I am shocked. I am actually more than shocked. I am baffled. Here I was earlier, thinking of what a great King Aragorn would make, and he is actually descendent from Kings.
"How far removed from the succession line are you?"
He looks at me like a fish out of the water, his mouth opening and closing. He shakes his head.
"There hasn't been a King for an age. It gets very confusing. Elendil created two Kingdoms, Arnor and Gondor, which he respectively gave to each of his sons. For the longest time, there were two Kings, but then their descendents married and formed one true royal line. But that line was broken a long time ago."
"Ew, they married their cousins?"
"Everything I've told you so far spans over six thousand years, Little One."
"Oh." I simply say. Well, that makes more sense. "So, just to make sure I understand. You are from Númenor and–"
"Only those who lived on the island were called Númenóreans, and the island sank well before my time, no matter how old you think I am." He teases.
"Oh, right. But they are the reason you are this tall."
"Yes. Númenóreans were taller than Men, but it is said that Elendil was nigh on eight feet tall."
"What?" I gape at him.
"Yes. But through time, you know, they mingled with uh– regular people, and they lost a few inches."
"How very common of them." I add haughtily.
"Indeed." Aragorn chuckles at my theatrics.
"How about the age thing? Don't think I forgot." I eye him suspiciously.
"Of course not." He shakes his head, already knowing what is coming. After all, I have been badgering him about his age ever since we met.
"So, if that elf dude is your ancestor, does that mean you are going to live up to five hundred years old?"
"I doubt it. When the Númenóreans fled to Middle Earth, they married into mankind and slowly changed. They lost a few inches," he says, extending his right hand. "But on the other hand, they also lost a few years in their life expectancy. The purer to the royal line one's heritage is, the longer the person lives."
"Be frank with me. How old can you get?"
"Frankly. I do not know." I groan at his more than vague answer. "Honestly, I can only guess. I am close to being middle age now, so... around two hundred."
"You are a hundred years old! What gives?"
"No. I am not." He denies, and then lets a smirk creep up on his face. "Not yet, anyways."
"Oh, Old Man."
Aragorn just laughs out loud, not insulted in the slightest.
"Still, two hundred is a huge setback from five hundred." I add.
"Speaking of Elros. I would not refer to him as that elf dude, if I were you."
"Why? It's not like he is around to be offended." The moment the words escape my lips, I realise how very disrespectful I sounded just then. I add cringingly: "no offence."
Aragorn just waves my comment away, knowing I did not mean to be rude. "I mentioned that he had a brother who had the same choice as he?"
"Yeess?" I drag, wondering where Aragorn is going with this.
"Elros' brother chose immortality."
"Well, that is just weird during family gatherings." I can just imagine it. I wonder if he ever regretted his choice in the end.
"Yes. But just so you know, Elros' brother is Lord Elrond."
"Come again?" My eyebrows must be reaching my hairline right now; that is how surprised I am by this piece of information.
"Yes." Aragorn simply nods, not seeing the point of repeating himself.
"I'm– I'm– shocked!"
"Obviously." He smirks at my expense.
"So that means, Lord Elrond is about six thousand years old?"
"Uh, yes."
"And he is not the one you qualify as ancient? How freaking old is Glory?"
Aragorn laughs and shakes his head. "You will have to ask him."
I gasp, my head shaking from left to right. This is unbelievable. Elves! Beings that live for thousands of years. They are literally older than the Romans, older than Ancient Egypt even. I shake my head once more, and narrow my eyes at Aragorn.
"You still haven't told me your age."
It is Aragorn's turn to shake his head. "It matters that much to you?"
"Not really. I'm curious. And you are being quite secretive about it, so of course I want to know."
And of course, he simply smirks before looking away.
"Fine. Keep you secret, Old Man."
Aragorn nods sharply. "All that being said, the sun is starting to set. We should probably head down for supper."
"Oh." Right, with my turmoil and our conversation, I totally forgot about why I was sitting here in the first place. "I can't. I probably should have told you that before... but I'm pretty sure I broke my ankle."
"What?" It takes Aragorn about two seconds to move from his sitting position and crouch on his knees in front of me. Already, his hands are examining my injured foot. "How did this happen?"
I hiss when he gently touches my bruised ankle. I look at him work and bite my bottom lip before muttering a quiet: "I fell down the stairs."
He stops in his examination to raise his eyes to look at my face. Slowly but surely, his entire face lights up with mirth.
"Don't you dare laugh!" I threaten pointing a finger at his face.
He comically raises both his hands in surrender before letting out one chuckle. I glare, earning myself an apologetic look from him. He quickly resumes his examination of my injured limb.
"Are you injured anywhere else?"
"I don't think so. I will be sore tomorrow though." I admit with a shrug.
"I do not think you actually broke it, merely bruised it quite severely."
"What a relief!" I add with sarcasm, pulling my tongue out.
"Now, now Little One. Such attitude will not entice me to offer you help."
"Please." I roll my eyes. "I could start calling you Ancient and you would still help me, and we both know it."
"Just for that, I am tempted to leave you here to fend for yourself." He stands on his feet and takes a step backward.
"And risk more injuries? Needless to say that if I try to make my way down on my own, I will surely smash my skull in half. Do you want that on your conscience?" I narrow my eyes humorously.
Aragorn shakes his head in reproach, but the smile on his face negates any disapproving remarks he may hold against me. I love our easy banter, and I have a feeling he does too. He then offers me his hand. I stare at it for less than a second before clasping it with my own.
"All right, be careful. Do not put any weight on you foot." He adds quickly before leaning down to pull me up with one arm.
In an instant, I am standing on one leg, being held upright by his hand on my elbow.
"How are we gonna do this?" I ask. I may be standing but I still cannot advance forward... or downward for that matter.
"Hold on." Aragorn leans down, reaches for the back of my knees and scoops me up in his arms. Instinctively, my own arms reach around his neck for support.
As soon as I am secure in his arms, he starts making his way down the staircase.
"I'm impressed, Old Man. How is your back?" I smirk.
"You barely weigh anything." He rolls his eyes at my comment.
"Thank you for not calling me out on all the dessert I've eaten lately."
"I would never dare." He scoffs, pretending to be offended by the mere suggestion.
"What a gentleman you are."
On our way down, we cross an Elf who is climbing the stairs. The moment he notices us, he does a double take worthy of any cartoon. I giggle frantically at the look on his face. Startled, he clearly was not expecting to see Aragorn carrying a young girl down some stairs. Still, he nods his head and brings his fist to his chest in greeting. He moves to the side. Aragorn nods in passing and continues down the stairs. From over his shoulder, I can see the Elf following us with his eyes. With a giggle, I wave one hand. Just before we turn a corner, the Elf surprisingly raises one arm and waves hesitantly in return still quite shocked at the sight of us. That just makes me laugh harder.
"It astounds me how you act sometimes."
I look up at his face and frown a little. What can he possibly mean by that? Did I offend him with my snarky remarks? I sincerely hope not. "What do you mean?"
"You never say the things I would expect someone in your position do say. You do not react like an eleven year old girl." He admits. I am trying to place his tone, and it seems to be somewhere between amusement and wonderment.
"Well, truth be told, I had to grow up faster than other kids my age."
"And that is regrettable. Yet, it made you the way you are now."
While Aragorn continues his walk down toward the city, I ponder at his comment. The way I am? What does that even mean? I know I am different from others, I have always been. I mean, we have only known each other for the past few days and already he seems to know so much about me, it is baffling.
"And that is a good thing?" I finally ask, biting my lower lip.
"From what I can tell?" He pauses, as if thinking about it. "Yes." The bastard. He paused on purpose.
I send a glare his way, and he simply chuckles on purpose, never stopping in his walk.
I have absolutely no idea what I would have done without him. Well, that is not exactly true. I know I would have drowned. But let's assume I survived that on my own. Alone in the forest, with creatures like gigantic trolls and dragons, I simply cannot imagine how I would have made it out of there in one piece. And even now, he is not saving me from death threatening situation. He is being my friend. That is what he is surely becoming. It does not matter that he is about two feet taller than I am, or ten times my age – that is if he is a hundred years old. None of this matter. Our relationship may be weird, but right now, he is my anchor in a sea storm.
"Thank you." Aragorn arches an eyebrow and rolls his eyes.
"You do not have to thank me. As if I would leave you up there all alone and injured."
"No. Thank you." I repeat more forcefully. "For everything. I know I'm constantly repeating myself, but thank you."
Aragorn halts momentarily in his step to look at me. One corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile. "As I said, there is no need to thank me."
I smile back at him and squeeze his shoulders a little in a vague attempt at a hug. We finally reach the city level and Aragorn swerves in between buildings. After a few turns here and there, he enters through an archway into what appears to be some sort of infirmary. He lowers me onto an elevated cot and he walks around me in search of what he needs. After about a minute, he comes back to me with a salve and a bandage.
"The healers are all gone at the moment, but this should be enough for now. Unfortunately, I do not see any stick we can use to help you walk. We will have to ask Lord Elrond."
"Does that mean I get to be carried around like a princess until then?" I smirk remembering the look on that Elf's face. If his reaction is any indication, the two of us will be quite the spectacle.
Aragorn looks at me with a smirk as he finishes applying the salve to my ankle. "Be careful, or you will become quite spoiled."
"How do you know I am not already a spoiled brat?"
He arches an eyebrow as he grabs the bandage. As he wraps my ankle, I see him incline his head to the side, as if pondering on my question. And then, just as he secures my bandage, he nods as if saying that I am indeed spoiled.
I scoff and jokingly slap his shoulder. He chuckles as he moves to the side to stow away the salve and clean his hands.
"Hungry?"He asks over his shoulder.
"Famished." I answer with a whine.
He nods and walk back toward me. Just as easily as he had done before, he takes me into his arms.
"Imagine the grand entrance we will make." We both laugh as he carries me in the direction of the dining room.
