Key:
"Bold" is to be considered Khuzdul
"Italics" is to be considered Sindarin
"Underlined" is to be considered English
The next morning Maggie had her letter for Bungo and Bella written up and sent out. Elrond had been gracious enough to remain silent as she struggled with what to say. It would be a handful of months before she saw them again, and letters could only do so much. His sons were suspiciously absent and the rest of the homestead quiet as the day broke over the rooftops. Gandalf hadn't appeared yet and Maggie wondered if their little hissy-fit last night was still on his mind. Not that it mattered; Elrond had finished her letter and sealed it for travel before he handed it off to Lindir. She found herself escorted through The Last House with a graceful and quiet Elrond.
"Thannor will be your instructor." Elrond informed her softly as they walked down one of the long hallways. "He is well versed in Westron and ancient Khuzdul used in the forgotten days, so you will benefit from his teachings."
"Ancient?" Maggie looked up. "The word – it means old? Very old?" She still had a tough time with some words. Full sentences she could understand with little effort, but every once and a while, a blank murmur of a word unfamiliar to her would hiccup her comprehension, context clues could only do so much. Elrond nodded.
"It is unfortunate, but we know only a fraction of what could be construed – could be understood, that is to say, as modern-day Khuzdul. You will learn that, as well." Elrond's hasty explanation of an unknown word at the sight of her confused expression sent her into a chuckle. The Elf shot her a faintly amused look and continued, "Dwarves are secretive with their culture. Language, rites, rituals, and even some of their craftsmanship, are rare things to be found beyond their mountainous homes." Maggie snorted. She was definitely in favor of privacy, but to hide a whole population? That was madness, a straight path to extinction.
"Yes, I know." Elrond replied to her snort cryptically. "We will do as best we may with what little we know. It… Hm." He sighed heavily and his hands fluttered out to twist his sleeves around his wrists as he folded them over his stomach, hidden. "Mithrandir was not wrong. You would learn the most among your kin, as you have the benefits of being young and female." Maggie raised an eyebrow at him and he shrugged ever so gently with one shoulder.
"Secretive though they may be, it is well known how deeply their loyalties and grudges lie. For a young creature as yourself, you would be gladly adopted into a family with no children or with only one or two, and raised into a proper dwarrowdam, one worthy of her station and right to citizenship." There was a buzz in between her ears and Maggie stared at the floor with a shake of her head. It was one thing to think she could manage with the Elves, but another world entirely with the dwarves. Bonding with Hobbits wasn't too difficult, they were easy-going (if a bit xenophobic at first) and eagerly offered their homes and food to strangers once the initial shock was over (it was just very un-Hobbit-y to do otherwise).
Dwarves, though? She wasn't sure if she could attempt such a thing. Enelya had told her bits and pieces of her experiences with passing caravans of Dwarves, and their general lack of manners or companionship. At the time, Maggie had scrunched her nose at it, but after, she wondered how much of that was actual demeanor or just the grungy blood that flowed between the Elves and the Dwarves. She wasn't so oblivious to see that it was solely her presence that tickled the sensibilities of the populace around her, but rather what they knew of Dwarves and had come to expect.
"Margaret?" Elrond chirruped lightly. A rapid blink gave her a moment and she looked up to see the furrowed and darkened face of her escort. She swallowed, alarmed that she had allowed herself to drift away in her thoughts and she hastily bowed her head.
"M-my apologies," Maggie croaked. "I was just thinking. I – It is too soon. I would not d-do well with the Dwarves. I am not like them." She was still human at heart, still enjoyed her grooming and bathing, her table-manners and her quiet life with the Hobbits. She didn't believe she could handle the turmoil and toiling that the Dwarven lifestyle promised, she wasn't hardened, she was a city-girl with a graphic designer degree and that was of no value in this world. Elrond nodded his head and a faint smirk touched the corner of his lips.
"Yes. With your story, such a life and teachings would be more of a hindrance than a boon. I believe you made the wisest choice available to you. Here, you will learn in comfort and peace and hopefully the chaos of the world will leave you be." He held out a hand to gesture through a door and with another blink, Maggie's head whipped to shoot her gaze down one end of the hall to the other, surprised. She glanced up at Elrond whose eyebrow ticked questioningly.
"First time I have walked and not fallen while I don't look." She teased with broken words. A soft smile painted Elrond's face and once again, the warmth spread from her chest up to her bearded face. It was with a helpless hope that she prayed their beauty would numb her. His sons, Elladan and Elrohir had been painfully stunning, and Enelya with her flame-kissed hair and ocean eyes was a bit too much to bear in some moments. She had come to realize that all in the House of Rivendell were much the same, tall, ethereal, and dazzling. Maggie would have classified it as completely unfair if she didn't know that people like herself, Argonui, or the Hobbits existed.
Elrond chuckled and herded her into the room. "I see. Dwarves have a low center of balance; I do believe it quite difficult for your kind to tumble easily." Maggie snorted loudly with a flash of memories back to her first days; the days were her body was new and unfamiliar. If only he understood that part of her struggle. Her bulky body shuddered as a wave of heat hit her and passed over her face and shoulders. The room they had entered was warmed by a low fire at the front of the seated space, another Elf bent over his desk, surrounded by neatly piled books and scrolls. The walls were covered in murals and artwork of a history she was unaware of and short shelves framed the floor.
"Good morning, Thannor." Elrond greeted kindly. The language rolled off his tongue like a waterfall and Maggie frowned at herself for such poetic thoughts. "I have a new guest and student for you, my good friend." Maggie's back, as it had done on her first arrival to Rivendell, straightened from the small space of her back up to her shoulders as the Elf Thannor gazed upon her. The Elf was unlike his kin at first glance. He stood as tall as Elrond, and thus taller than her, but his eyes were dark and deep, with soot colored hair that cascaded down his back and shoulders.
"G-good morning." Maggie winced at her horrible stutter. Thannor approached like a thudding stone. His steps were slow and deliberate, his body a misshapen cage of muscle. She blinked and an embarrassed flush swallowed her ears. He was limping, she could see it, and one shoulder looked bitten and scarred, his arm a careful weight against his side as the other swung freely. She swallowed nervously and inclined her head as he came within arm's reach. His muddy gaze searched her and Maggie did her best to stay frozen to her spot. A terror ran through her and a maddening thought of 'why leave me here with this?' threw itself against her skull toward Elrond.
"The dwarfling." Thannor's voice rumbled from his throat like a disappointed hammering. Maggie ducked her head instinctively and wondered what from this Elf startled her so much. The rest of him was much like the other Elves she had seen, long and pale and striking; but Thannor's visage hit like the warning of thunder. 'I wonder if that's what his name means?' She swallowed again to keep her words to herself.
"A dwarrowdam." Elrond corrected. The Lord of the Home seemed less inclined to believe her a child, but Maggie assumed that was more from his knowledge of her past than the age of her body. Another swift look struck her from Thannor and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop a shiver of surprise. A glint focused in his gaze and he nodded.
"Of course. It is difficult to tell them apart, you understand." Thannor groused. Maggie's throat tightened with indignation and her neck snapped to bring a narrowed gaze to Thannor's face, unamused.
"Then you should ask her, as she stands in front of you." Maggie harped. She expected a reprimand, really. These Elves, for all their manners, treated any slight against them as offensive even when it was deserved. Instead of a twisted frown of his brow, she got a smirk. The heat from her ears flooded her face, but her chin stayed up and her gaze steady. Maggie would have to practice staring at them; it was starting to get ridiculous that their splendor would strangle her words.
"Oh, so you do have a spine?" Thannor rumbled in what sounded like a good-natured tone. Maggie stiffened with indecision and pursed her lips as Thannor stepped away to allow her some ease of gazing up at his face. "I had heard word of your presence, and you seemed much livelier than this." Elrond shifted and her back tingled as she knew the Elf was going to defend her silence, but God be damned, she was not going to be poked like a pig. Honesty, she found, was the best stopper.
"I walked into a room with a thundercloud," Maggie snapped with a glare in his direction, she could feel Elrond stiffen beside her at her sudden words, "And me with no coat." The beat of silence that pressed against her ears was deafening and it was broken by a hissing laugh from Thannor. Maggie relaxed alongside Elrond and she shot a glance to the Elven Lord, wondering briefly why he had gone stiff in the knees.
"She has a sharp tongue on her. It is to be expected of her kin." Thannor chuckled deeply.
Elrond sighed with a glance ticked toward Maggie; she swiftly looked away. "No, my friend, I believe it might just be her disposition."
"She seems a friendly thing. Here, sit, and we shall begin by assessing your knowledge. Thank you, my Lord; I will see that she makes it to the afternoon meal and dinner." Thannor added with a bow. Elrond tipped his chin and with an adjustment of his long sleeves, he bid Maggie a fond farewell and left her in the shadow of her tutor. She watched until the wooden door was shut behind him and then turned a wary gaze to Thannor. The Elf smirked.
'Ah, crap.'
…
Thannor was a military man. He hadn't said that much to her, but she could see it once her nerves had settled under her skin. They spent most of the morning with him circling her, hovering over her shoulder, or sitting beside her as she wrote what limited vocabulary she knew of Westron and the letters that were considered their alphabet. He walked with starch in his bones (excluding the dull arm) and spoke only when needed, with what was needed. Thannor was never wasteful or inefficient, unlike his brethren who flowed like water and laughing willows, Thannor always, always moved like a rolling cloud, storming in his personal bubble.
Throughout the morning, she could see a raised eyebrow from surprise, a hum in concentration or a tsk of disappointment. Her language was firm, vocally, but her understanding of it in physical, written form was crap. She was given a clean slab of thin stone and a piece of charcoal to doodle with, as Thannor had mentioned that parchment (what she knew as paper, and not the cooking material) was expensive to make. Thus, he had informed her, wasting it on a low-skilled, ill-worded Dwarf was out of the question.
She nearly kicked him in the shin for that comment, but the day continued onward.
On and off she debated informing Thannor of her primary language, or rather, the secondary one. English had turned into a cherished and harshly guarded treasure for her, a rare thing that slipped over her tongue on occasion. Elrond had taken to her story well enough, but Thannor knew nothing of her past or why she had been brought to Rivendell in the first place. Surely he knew of her circumstances, lost and alone, cared and housed by Hobbits, due to the simple fact that Elves were horrible gossips and what Enelya knew, the world knew.
"You have drifted again." Thannor's slender, pale finger tapped the thin stone slab in her hands. Reflexively, Maggie tightened her grip and glanced up at the looming figure. Her teeth clenched and a muscle jumped at the back of her jaw. Thannor's stormy face frowned. "You have become lost in your thoughts thrice now. I ask you; what troubles you?"
"Nothing." Maggie replied automatically. Thannor's eyebrow rose in disbelief and she blew up in a long exhale. "I… There is something. I want to share, but not. Do not say typical of Dwarves, I know this." She glared at him swiftly once his mouth moved to speak. He clipped it shut with a smirk and she hated how handsome he looked with it.
"Then think of it this way. What is the danger of sharing? What do you gain from it?" Thannor prodded quietly. Her gaze followed up from his knees, over his torso, and to his face once more. He was everything and nothing like his people, a battering ram that was hammered back together with missing pieces. Her mouth shifted and she sighed. The danger of it was insignificant. The Elves already thought her a lunatic, her mannerisms and disposition long since having shot past their understanding of Dwarves. To share this one other thing, this language she had and no one else knew, could or would be seen as another part of her lunacy. English was something that marked her indefinitely.
But she could gain a friend. Her eyes took a rest on Thannor's jagged face, scarred from old battles and worries. Enelya was someone Maggie had gained through sympathy, the She-Elf had taken it as a personal responsibility to help "raise" Margaret in some way, and so there was already a barrier that was forming there. Thannor, on the other hand, was driven by knowledge and curiosity. She could only wonder at his age, but to retain such a motivation for all this time was something powerful. She hesitated for a few heartbeats more before she wiped at her slab, erasing the vocabulary they were practicing and started to write the English alphabet. Like a strike of lightning, Thannor was over her shoulder in seconds, dark eyes narrowed and inspective. Maggie leaned over slightly to keep her shoulder from jabbing into his ribs.
"This is my language." Maggie murmured truthfully and trained her eyes on the slab, away from Thannor's questioning gaze. "I… come from far away. Lost. Khuzdul and Westron are not known." Thannor leaned away from her seat and when he did, Maggie exhaled in relief from a breath she was unaware of holding. She had gotten through all twenty-six letters before he spoke with a neutrality that scared her.
"The Lord Elrond knows of this?" Thannor asked with rigid shoulders.
Maggie nodded, and then shrugged in after-thought. "He knows of me and… what happened. He knows of this," she tapped her index and middle fingers against the slab, "but he does not know how to read or write. Only me."
Thannor appeared before her desk, coiled like a snake, brow sharp and eyes sharper. "Only you…? Not your kin? Not the Dwarves?" Maggie deflated slightly, though she was unsure if it was from relief or disappointment. 'Of course. How often do they get anything from the Dwarves? He must've thought it was another secret language.' Maggie snorted and glanced at Thannor tiredly, 'Boy oh boy, if you knew about coding, buddy.'
"Only me. No Dwarves." She gave him another shrug. "I am strange that way. Different."
"Unique." Thannor added. He nodded and gently pulled the slab out from under her arm. She let it go with a tremble; an abrupt shudder of regret took her stomach as she watched it go. Maybe this was wrong? Maybe it was too soon, too sudden, to introduce such a thing to an Elf she didn't know? Thannor's gaze flickered over the slab and he traced the letters with his eyes.
"Can you repeat this?" Thannor asked slowly. Confused, Maggie blinked up at him with a frown. Thannor turned the slab toward her, her hasty handwriting a spit on the stone. "These letters, they form words or are they merely symbols?"
"They're words." She answered readily, her first language fluttered from her tongue with ease. "Symbols we use for words, actually." Though judging from his confusion, none of them made sense. It was what Westron had been for her, a jumble of noises and symbols with no consistency or coherency. She cleared her throat and waited. Thannor glanced between her and the slab with a hum low in his throat.
"Interesting. Perhaps, once your knowledge of the appropriate languages here is established, I shall have you… teach me." Maggie chortled at his hesitation, noting that he found the idea somewhat irksome to be taught by a Dwarf. Maggie nodded with a smile, and relented to his practice for the rest of the afternoon.
…
She was studious; Thannor would concede that point to her. When he had first been told of the creature to be placed under his instruction, he had argued against it. Elrond knew as well as any how stubborn and cumbersome Dwarves could be, particularly so when being taught a craft or trade that was foreign to them. She would fight back and be a nuisance rather than a student, he had disputed, but Lord Elrond had remained resolute in his decision.
He persisted in his belief up until she had walked through his door and opened her mouth. The malice was absent; there was no heat in her words and only sharp sarcasm. It had been different from her lips than from others of her kind that he had encountered. She meant no harm and her words only rose from her throat to defend herself rather than attack him for a slight. He thought, perhaps, it was the presence of the Lord of the Home that stayed her tongue, but that she was swift to prove wrong. It was with great surprised that when he handed the slab to her and the charcoal, the confusion on her face was not one of indignation, but honest, child-like ignorance.
Parchment, of all things she could have asked for that was not one of them. The sour look she had delivered was colored with shame and no bitterness. He continued to expect it long into the morning, the bite of gnashing teeth, the slice of a bitter tongue, or the slap of a righteous fury. Her kin were volatile in the company of Elves and spared no expense to step out of their path and collide into one of the First Children. And yet, here she continued, quiet and thoughtful with the occasional tangent into her wayward thoughts.
Then, the small deviance into her mind, the thoughts that clouded her study, she shared with only the briefest of indecisions. She was quiet and respectful, humoring his curiosity with a distinct twinge of nervous fear that she smothered with relief at his acknowledgement. He understood with clarity what his Lord had stated of the young dwarrowdam. There was no vendetta in her soul, no want or need for vengeance, there was only confusion and anxiety. The afternoon had come upon them swiftly and announcing their departure from the room for midday's meal drew a gusty exhale from her.
She popped away from the desk and bounced on her heels eagerly, peering at him with wide and expectant eyes. Confused, Thannor placed down the book he read to her and tilted his chin warily, "Yes, Margaret?"
"It's Maggie." Her broken accent roughened her words. "Are we going to midday meal now?"
"We?" Thannor asked, just as confused as he had been before. Maggie matched his blink with a heavy one from herself, and she clipped her head in a nod with a faint frown at the corner of her mouth. "You are expecting me to go with you?"
"Do you not eat?" Maggie huffed with her hands placed upon her hips. "I thought we were going to continue after?"
"We are," Thannor attempted to follow her scattered process of deduction, "You were to return here after your meal to continue." The situation became a tad more ridiculous to him as the young Dwarf seem to deflate at his words. He took a cautious step toward her with his fingers gestured toward the door. "You… do not want to eat alone?"
There, he could see it, the reluctance he had seen in her before. Shy and careful as she weighed her words and pressed them against her lips. He frowned with a quiet sigh and took another step, his hip coming to a corner of her desk. "If you would prefer it… I can offer you my company."
"Only if you want to go." Maggie snapped hurriedly. There was no venom in her words, but the embarrassment engulfed her face in a red flush that dipped into her slim beard. "I do not want to be a burden, I only thought…" Her voice had gotten smaller toward the end and Thannor felt his resistance thaw. She was lonely.
"I would be honored to accompany you, my lady." He answered with a gentle smile and a bow of his head. A toothy grin flashed up at him, her face still red from earlier, and she turned to lead them toward the door. He followed at a slower pace with a momentary glance at the slab she worked with, and noted the length of her practice. It seemed she tried harder than he expected when she listened.
"Is it customary to eat with someone, when you were living with the Hobbits?" She held the door open for him as he walked through and did not release it as he expected until his heels were well passed the door. She nodded as she came up beside him, her hurried strides unmentioned as she attempted to keep pace with him.
"Yes. It's very rude to have a meal and not invite the household in." She answered with a smile. He knew not whether she continued to trot beside him out of pride or ignorance, but Thannor slowed his pace and shortened his strides. She was less breathless with her following words.
"Though, Elves only seem to eat two or three times a day. Hobbits eat seven or eight times." Her heavy brow furrowed over her eyes and Thannor jerked his head to one side, to focus on his shorter companion.
"So much? Are the small meals?" Thannor asked, worried over the answer. Her harsh snort and barking laughter was all the answer he needed, and he added, "Where does all the food come from?"
"The larder, mostly." Margaret snickered. "It's almost always full. Bella goes to the market every day, or did, before she had Bilbo. Now it's Bungo's duty." A fondness crept into her words at the mention of her adoptive family. A deep seeded love remained for the young Dwarf, one that Thannor knew would not wane. Dwarves lived long, though not as long as Elves, and loved as deep as the roots of their mountains. It was rare to see it first-hand.
"You spent most of the morning with me. Were you hungry?" He hadn't known if she had eaten before Lord Elrond turned her over to him, and she had said not a word of complaint throughout their long hours of study. Maggie shook her head and scratched at the long scars on the side of her face.
"No. I do not eat that much. I eat half of what they do every other meal, I think." It was still quite a bit by what Thannor could gather. Several meals a day, at large quantities and she only ate half at every other meal? It was considerably more than what an Elf could or would eat in a day.
"It sounds daunting." Thannor swiftly continued with the conversation. "For a family of two Hobbits and a young Dwarf. What was your normal meal?"
"Whatever was in the market yesterday." Margaret answered as they took a turn down the hall toward the common area. "Bella always… wait. She gave me the word." Her face was pinched as she pondered and Thannor was quiet in his patience. She would not learn if she did not think for herself nor would she learn if she never asked for help.
"Rotate!" The Dwarf cheered with a grin. "Bella always rotated the larder with fresh meats. Cheeses and pickled things stayed until they were needed. Or I snuck in and ate them." She laughed with another scratch at her scar. He grew evermore curious about the small disfigurement, but she had not asked about his shoulder and he had silent agreed to keep his peace.
"Just meats and pickled things, then?" Thannor prodded. Dwarves, or what few they had as visitors over the years, preferred the meatier meals and scoffed at the greenery that the Elves offered throughout the course.
Margaret shook her head. "I like vegetables. Cucumbers and onions the most. I like soups. Bella some days would give me a handful of them to keep me quiet." The sounds of the common area came up quickly as the arched opening was soon in view. A few tables were covered in light items, small breads and salads, a pot of soup, and some sweetmeats at one far end. Margaret waited next to him by the entrance and he glanced down at her, curious.
"After you!" She chirruped. Stunned by her enthusiasm, Thannor nodded gently and stepped forward to serve himself a plate. She followed happily, chattering about the continuous meals that were tradition in the Shire. He listened as best he could to her rapid-fire and broken sentences, and at the end of the table, he was caught by a stare.
His Lord Elrond sat at the end of the eatery, with Gandalf to one side, and the small smile that touched Lord Elrond's lips was more than words could possibly say. Thannor sighed, but stayed with his small companion as she led them to a table, to eat together.
Thannor hated being wrong.
