10. Sarah the Obscure

A/N: Hey there reader friends, welcome back. Thank you to everyone who's following/favouriting this story - I appreciate you muchly. Now let's put the kettle on, pull up a chair, and continue our journey.

She sprinted towards the rock before Thorin could even finish ordering everyone to do so. With a final rush of energy, she sent her satchel down the slope first, pushed hard on one leg to launch herself onto the rock, then threw her arms up like a surfer and angled her feet so they skidded to the bottom without sending her into a tailspin.

As tempting as it was to lie in the dirt and weep with relief, Sarah forced herself to get up, grab her satchel, and get out of the way. Bofur tumbled down shortly after her, followed by Bilbo. Bombur rolled beard over boots down the slope. Gandalf began doing a head count. From above, Thorin ordered Kili to turn and run. Sarah pressed herself against the wall, making room for everyone, brushing dirt off her jeans and elbows, wiping sweat off her face. Some blood came off too — she must have scratched her cheek on a branch.

'Thank goodness, we're all here,' Gandalf said quietly. The company caught their breath, keeping anxious eyes on the pocket of sky still visible through the entrance. Dwalin went ahead to see where the underground path ended.

The call of the Elvish riders rang out majestically on the wind. Sarah recoiled with the rest of them when one of the Orcs fell down the slope and came to a halt at their feet. Thorin nudged it with his boot and then, satisfied it was dead, yanked the fatal arrowhead out of its neck and examined the design. 'Elves.'

'I cannot see where the pathway leads,' Dwalin called back. 'Do we follow it or not?'

'Follow it, of course!' Bofur said, wanting, like the rest of them, to get away from the Orc pack as quickly as physically possible. 'I'll take whatever danger might lie down there over the danger we already know's up there.'

'I think that would be wise,' Gandalf said, winking at Bilbo and Sarah. They lingered at the back and followed the tunnel path for what felt like at least half an hour. Every time it felt too narrow, Sarah glanced up at the sliver of blue sky that ran like a river above their heads. She felt something settle over her like snow, though she couldn't see it. Ooh, is this what magic felt like?

Bilbo picked up on it too. Gandalf smiled down on him knowingly. At last, Sarah heard a twinkling waterfall ahead and tasted lush vegetation on the air. She and Bilbo were the last to emerge before the architectural wonder that was Rivendell. Her heart soared. If the Shire was a little slice of paradise, this was the whole bloody loaf. It was absolutely magnificent.

'This was your plan all along,' Thorin said, turning to Gandalf with an embittered look on his face. 'To seek refuge with our enemy.'

'You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,' Gandalf said, dipping into his dwindling reserves of patience. 'The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring upon yourself.'

'You think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.'

'Of course they will,' Gandalf said matter-of-factly. '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.'

Thorin wasn't pleased to have the matter decided for him, but he also wasn't exactly keen to talk with the Elves so, if Gandalf wanted to volunteer, he wasn't going to put up a fight. Gandalf led the company in single file down the side of the valley, the soothing echo of waterfalls crashing all around them. Sarah watched the homely house get closer and closer, feeling enchanted and blue in equal measure. It was an exquisite sight to behold, and hopefully the place where she could finally learn how to get back to London, but it was also where the company was due to leave her behind. She'd got so used to having them around all the time, the thought of suddenly being on her own again, in a strange land within a strange land, frightened her.

They crossed the entrance bridge that, like so many bridges in Middle Earth, had no safety rails guarding against the vertiginous drop below — who the hell had started that architectural trend? Sarah tried not to look down.

They gathered near the foot of a staircase and appraised the courtyard around them. As Lindir approached the top of the steps, Sarah subtly walked closer to Gandalf than the Dwarves — she didn't fancy getting stuck in the middle of them when Elrond and his riders came galloping in.

'Mithrandir.' The Elf's voice was like honey on yoghurt.

'Ah, Lindir,' Gandalf said. They greeted each other warmly. Thorin whispered to Dwalin in Khuzdul as Lindir began speaking to Gandalf in Sindarin. Sarah wished she had a more photographic memory — she remembered the gist of the Elvish dialogue from the films, but not the particulars.

'I must speak with Lord Elrond.'

'My Lord Elrond is not here,' Lindir said, courteously switching to common tongue. Sarah suddenly realized how extraordinarily lucky she was that Common was a more or less perfect equivalent of English. If she'd landed here unable to understand anything at all, she'd have collapsed from several stress-induced migraines by now.

'Not here?' said Gandalf. 'Where is he?'

The familiar hunting horn sounded from the other end of the bridge in response. The company turned to watch the Elvish riders approach the entrance at a pace, pennants fluttering.

'Close ranks!' Thorin called. The Dwarves instinctively formed a tight unit with a slightly overwhelmed Bilbo at the centre, weapons drawn. Elrond and his hunting party encircled them in a dressage-worthy formation. Show-offs.

Elrond dismounted his horse and greeted Gandalf heartily. Sarah had expected the Elves to be tall, but not Scandinavian tall — this must have been how Bilbo felt most of the time.

'Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something - or someone - has drawn them near.'

'Ah, that may have been us,' Gandalf said. Before any of the Dwarves had time to vocalize their discomfort with everything about this situation, the Wizard extended an arm to Sarah and encouraged her to approach. 'Elrond, there is someone I wish to introduce. A figure I did not think I would see in this Age, or indeed any other Age in my lifetime.'

Despite her sore limbs, Sarah bent at the knee and moved her hand outwards from her chest in greeting, as Lindir had done. Elrond regarded had curiously, clearly wondering how such a seemingly anonymous (not to mention scruffy) human could match the description Gandalf had just given.

'This good lady is a galandrandir.' he continued. 'A mortal woman who has crossed from her world into ours.'

Sarah glanced at Gandalf sideways. Galandrandir? That was new.

'That is to say,' he clarified, 'a wanderer of light.'

'Can this truly be so?' Elrond said, caught between scepticism and reverence. Gandalf rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder like a proud relative.

'I saw her light with my own eyes, as did the rest of our company. And that, among other reasons, is how we have come to be here. We would be most grateful for any guidance you can afford us.'

'Well then,' Elrond said, bowing his head. 'Does your galandrandir have a name?'

'Sarah,' Gandalf said. 'Her name is Sarah.'

'My lady Sarah, it is an honour to welcome you to Rivendell,' Elrond said, taking her hand and lightly kissing the back of it.

Oh my. When was the last time someone had greeted her like that? She appreciated the distraction that came by way of Thorin — now that the Elves had dismounted and made space for the Dwarves, he approached Elrond, who nodded diplomatically.

'And welcome to you also, Thorin, son of Thrain.'

'I do not believe we have met.'

'You have your Grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain.'

'Indeed? He made no mention of you.'

Jesus, Thorin, freeze the other shoulder while you're at it.

Elrond paid him no mind and made his ambiguous Sindarin declaration to the Dwarves. Sarah kept her face blank as if she didn't know what was happening any better than they did.

'What is he saying?' Gloin growled. 'Does he offer us insult?'

'No, Master Gloin,' Gandalf said. 'He's offering you food.'

Needless to say, the Dwarves revised their opinion pretty quickly. Sarah waited for them to follow Elrond and Gandalf up the stairs before she tagged along at the back with Bilbo. She patted him on the shoulder. You all right?

'I think so,' he said, looking like he'd just been put through a salad spinner. 'The thought of food and rest, and not being set upon by trolls or wargs for five minutes, makes me happier than I've ever been in my life. What an ordeal.'

You can say that again.

The Dwarves were shown to a gazebo where they could unburden themselves of their various belongings and outerwear. Sarah kept her satchel close to her body and lingered in the hallway, admiring the roses and peonies that crept around the colonnades.

'The evening meal will be ready in a few hours,' Lindir told them. 'In the meantime, you are welcome to rest in our guest rooms …' He noticed Bombur had already taken the liberty of falling asleep on the gazebo floor, limbs splayed out like a cat. ' … or wherever you see fit.'

'My lady?' a female Elf said, appearing at Sarah's elbow and making her flinch. 'If you would prefer a private bedchamber I can—'

Sarah gestured for her to lead the way before she'd even finished. Yes, yes please, oh my God, yes.

She was shown to a room with the whitest sheets she'd ever seen, curtains rustling languidly in the midsummer afternoon breeze. No bed had ever looked so inviting.

'I will return when the dining hour draws near,' the lady Elf assured her, before leaving Sarah in peace. She finally got her satchel off her shoulder, grimacing at the angry red grooves it had left in her skin, and washed her face with water from a large marble bowl. Then she peeled herself out of most of her clothes and collapsed under the sheets as if someone had knocked her over the head.

She woke up several glorious hours later feeling golden, if also decidedly stiff and scratched up. She brushed her hair as best she could, applied a fresh layer of deodorant and lipbalm, reluctantly pulled on her well-worn clothes, and followed the lady Elf when she came calling. It was quite humbling, walking a corridor alongside someone so impossibly elegant that she almost seemed to glide.

Bilbo and the Dwarves were settling onto cushions at long floor-level tables, while Thorin and Gandalf had pulled up chairs at Elrond's high table. Sarah looked for a free cushion somewhere until Elrond called her name and motioned to an empty chair between Thorin and Gandalf, right opposite him. Ah. Okay then.

She smiled her thanks and tried not to look as spectacularly out of place as she felt: an Elf-lord, a Dwarf King under the Mountain, a Wizard, and … a twenty-something Londoner. She'd also completely forgotten to bring her sketchbook and pencil — she'd have to get by this evening on gestures alone.

'It's kind of you to accommodate us,' Gandalf said, the only one able and/or willing to make conversation. 'I'm not really dressed for dinner.'

'You never are,' Elrond replied, waiting for an Elf sommelier to pour the evening's wine. The lady Elf who'd shown Sarah to and from her room took up a flute and began to lead her fellow musicians in a lilting song. Tangerine light softened everything around them. It was all very pleasant and serene, and totally outside the Dwarves' comfort zone: Thorin sat upright, eyes glancing every so often to the side, probably confirming exit routes.

To the Dwarves' dismay (and Sarah and Bilbo's quiet delight), dinner was a plethora of green, leafy vegetables and delicately sliced fruits. Having had nothing but stew and bread for ten days straight, Sarah thought she'd have forgotten how to taste anything else — she had to force herself not to inhale her plate the moment it was set in front of her. Instead, she cast her mind back months and months, pre-pandemic, to remember how to eat at someone else's table, in front of other people, semi-gracefully. She felt like Mia at the beginning of The Princess Diaries, tied to a dining chair with an Hermès scarf. Small, neat movements. Keep your hair out of your face. Don't lean down towards the food, bring it up with the cutlery.

'Try it,' Dori wheedled Ori. 'Just a mouthful.'

'I don't like green food.'

'Where's the meat?' Dwalin said, rifling through the leaves and coming up empty-handed. Sarah had her back to the Dwarves, but she was enjoying overhearing their antics. Some of them were too hungry to quibble over what was in front of them, chewing the leaves like cows chewed cud, just to get it down.

Thorin was more interested in pushing the food around his plate than partaking in it, but he crunched on some of the harder root vegetables and sipped the wine. It was a luscious, full-bodied red that tasted like every evening Sarah had ever spent in her parents' garden.

Halfway through the meal, Elrond began appraising Thorin and Gandalf's swords. Sarah took the opportunity to turn in her chair and look back at the others. She waited for Kili to wink at the Elven harpist, whose strings were rippling like candlelight, but he didn't. He noticed the wine chalice in Sarah's hand and raised his own, winking at her instead. She raised hers back - Cheers - then turned back to the high table. Was she blushing? Would the wine mask it?

'How did you come by these?' Elrond asked, having examined both Thorin and Gandalf's newly acquired weapons.

'We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road,' Gandalf said, 'shortly before we were ambushed by Orcs.'

'And what were you doing on the Great East Road?'

'Excuse me,' Thorin said, abruptly setting his chair back. He didn't leave the balcony altogether, but was clearly not interested in an interrogation. Sarah took a long sip of wine to mask the awkwardness. Elrond, the living embodiment of "water off a duck's back", made no comment on the Dwarf king's actions and instead rerouted his attention to Sarah.

'I do not know what kind of food you dine on in your world, my lady, but I hope that ours is acceptable.'

Sarah nodded and smiled, which was all she could really do. It's delicious, thank you.

'Forgive me if this remark is out of turn,' he continued, 'but have you sustained some injury to your voice? I cannot help but notice you have not said a word since your arrival.'

'Alas,' Gandalf said, 'I am sure Sarah would be only too glad to speak to you directly, my lord, but it would appear that her crossing into our world has come at the expense of her voice. No words, no laughter, not even a whisper.'

'A heavy price to pay,' Elrond said, eyebrows raised. 'I am sorry to hear it.'

Sarah turned up her hands. Could be worse.

'So you rely on others to speak for you?' Sarah wrote an invisible scroll on her palm. 'Ah, I see.'

'I appreciate that this is rather a grand imposition,' Gandalf said, 'but there are few places in Middle Earth with such rich stores of history or such wise custodians of knowledge. Do you think it possible that we could help Sarah find a means of getting back to her world?'

'You flatter me, Gandalf. I would be glad to try conveying her back to her world, but I can make no promises that such a thing is possible. Not, that is, without further details. My lady, how exactly did you come by Middle Earth?'

Sarah turned an invisible key in a door.

'She landed, quite without warning,' Gandalf added, 'on a hilltop in Hobbiton,'

'I suppose that explains the Halfling,' Elrond said, nodding towards Bilbo.

'Oh yes,' Gandalf nodded, sending the briefest of conspiratorial glances Sarah's way. 'Master Baggins took Sarah in when she had nowhere to go, and has fallen quite happily into the role of her interpreter, if you will.'

'And the thirteen Dwarves?' Elrond said. 'Strange travelling companions, Gandalf.'

'These are the descendants of the House of Durin,' Gandalf said, spinning another PR campaign. 'They're noble, decent folk. And surprisingly cultured. They've got a deep love of the arts.'

'Change the tune, why don't you?' Nori finally objected, to the harpist's bewilderment. 'I feel like I'm at a funeral.'

'Did somebody die?' said Oin, his napkin stuffed into his ear trumpet.

'All right lads, there's only one thing for it,' Bofur declared, upsetting cutlery and plates as he clambered over their table, onto a plinth. Sarah sank down in her chair. Oh boy, here we go …

'THEEEEERE'S AAAAAAAN inn there's an inn there's a merry old inn …'

Sarah topped up her wine; Gandalf, accepting defeat in the face of oncoming Dwarf chaos, did the same. Thorin stood at the outer edge of the balcony, quite happy to let nature take its course.

Gandalf ducked as a roll, then a radish, then two more rolls, went flying in their general direction. Sarah cringed — she was fond of these guys, she really was, but God, sometimes they were worse than a pub when the Sunday football was on. Even Elrond couldn't hide his distaste completely.

'Lady Sarah,' he said, nonetheless, cool as a cucumber, 'while you are with us, I hope that we may help you to the best of our abilities.' He waved over the flautist, who looked only too eager to get away from the food fight. 'Might I begin by offering you the use of our baths, and a change of clothes?'

Baths? Clothes? PLURAL? Sarah clasped her hands together and bowed so far forward she almost hit her head on the table. Thank you, she mouthed repeatedly, scurrying after her designated Elf-in-waiting.Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU.

She and the flautist disappeared off the balcony just as a cream puff narrowly missed their heads.