11. A Palace with a View

A/N: Good morning everyone. As in: I hope that you have a good morning, that it's a particularly good morning wherever in the world you are, but ultimately that this is a morning to be good on. Thank you Realworld no Shinobi, Illogical Human, Cloud, Jozko Mrkvicka and Mystery Guest the Third for your reviews - you all sparkle brighter than the waters of Imladris.

The next morning, Sarah felt refreshed not only from a full night's sleep but also a blissful hour alone in a private bathing room, surrounded by steam and petals. The Elves had superior versions of everything: a balm for her skin that banished the dark circles from her eyes and made her cheekbones glow. A minty, liquorice-like substance that banished the worst bacteria from her mouth (Elvish toothpaste, never coming to a pharmacy near you). A whole assortment of perfumed oils for her hair, which she dried off with sheets that had spent days wrapped around hot stones — as Sarah twisted her locks through the fibres they came out as warm as if she'd sat beneath her hairdryer.

And the clothes. Oh the clothes. Specifically: the dress. Sarah had returned from the bathing room to find one laid out on her neatly made bedspread. When Sarah slipped it on, she barely recognized herself. The Elves-in-waiting could add "fairy godmother-level tailoring" to their long list of talents. The spearmint green dress was cut just below the shoulders, flowed to her ankles, and shimmered ever so slightly in the daylight — in other words, a perfect midsummer outfit, and the complete opposite of everything she'd worn not only on the road, but also back home. When was the last time she'd worn a full-on gown? When was the last time she'd actively put in an effort to feel pretty? Probably not since some office Christmas party, a hundred years ago.

Before she left her room, Sarah dabbed her eyelids with liner to feel a touch more herself. She tucked her sketchbook under her arm, slid her feet into the comfiest sandals she'd ever worn, and found Minassiel, her Elf-in-waiting. It was nice to have some female company for a change — her dark hair and warm smile reminded Sarah so much of Miriam.

'My lady. You look well rested.'

I feel it. Thank you for the dress, you really didn't have to …

'It is a pleasure to ensure our guests are comfortable.' They strolled through the corridors towards one of the lower courtyards, where breakfast was being assembled. 'Besides, the material was easy to customize — you are closer to us in height than your travelling companions.'

It was an absurdly beautiful morning, the sunlight making rainbow fractals through the distant waterfalls, and birds twittering in operatic chorus. The only thing that broke Sarah from her trance was the sound of chatter from the company below — they sounded revitalized from an unbroken night's sleep too. She and Minassiel descended the white stone staircase to join them.

Thorin looked slightly more chilled out than the previous evening, drinking from a mug of tea and listening to Gloin talk at length about Gimli's prodigious proficiency with axes. Bilbo was helping himself to a bit of everything from the generous al fresco spread, and the rest of the Dwarves were chatting in small groups with their mouths full.

None of them bade Sarah good morning. For a few awkward seconds she wondered what she could have possibly done in the last fourteen hours (most of which she'd spent asleep) to offend them all.

Then Gandalf looked up from lighting a fresh round of his pipe. 'Ah, dear Sarah! I hope you slept well. What an especially good morning this is.'

The company broke off from their respective conversations, blinking like owls.

'Sarah,' Bilbo said, trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he'd seen in the same black top and blue jeans for the last fortnight. 'My goodness, I didn't even … I thought you were another—'

He stopped short of saying "Elf" just in time; in the interest of keeping things light, Sarah pulled her hair back and pointed to her ears, just as she'd been tempted to do the first night she'd met them all. Nope, not an Elf. Still me.

Well, sort of. It was hard not to stand a little taller and hold herself more elegantly, trying to blend in with her hosts.

'Wow,' Kili said, more loudly than he'd apparently intended. 'You look— um … it's just that you look so, er … clean.'

Fili snorted tea out of his nose.

'I think what my nephew means,' Thorin said, 'is that you look well. It suits you.'

Sarah smiled in surprise and nodded thanks, but as she poured a mug of tea for herself, she wondered if that was even supposed to be a compliment. Maybe it was a plain matter of fact: this dress, this costume, suits you. The Elvish aesthetic suits you. She tried not to dwell on it.

As Gandalf had originally hoped, the company wound up staying in Rivendell for a few days to recuperate and recalibrate. After the evening meal on their second night, Sarah watched Gandalf, Thorin, Balin and Bilbo go off for a private meeting with Elrond in his extensive library: the fateful meeting where the map's instructions, hitherto disguised by moon runes, would be revealed at last. Sarah spent the hour they were gone with her new Elf acquaintances — including, to her delight, Elrond's daughter Arwen.

'It is a great honour to meet you, galandrandir,' she said with a curtsey, barely looking a day over two thousand.

Sarah reciprocated. Oh no, my lady, the honour is mine. Arwen: badass rider, eventual rescuer of Hobbits, and future Queen of Gondor. It was mind-bending to think about.

'My father told me of your lost voice. I am sorry. It must be difficult to move through a strange world without it.'

I've adapted as best I can, Sarah wrote. I've sort of become accustomed to it by now.

And to changing her syntax, apparently — since when did she drop the word "accustomed" into casual conversation? The longer she spent in Middle Earth, the harder it was becoming not to slip into more archaic speaking/writing patterns.

Before she disappeared to bed, Sarah stopped by the balcony the Dwarves had decided was their favourite spot in the homely house. It overlooked the entire Hidden Valley and had been built without walls, so any eavesdroppers could be seen from a long way off. It was crowded tonight: Thorin and Balin were relaying what they'd learned from the meeting in Khuzdul to the others, who congregated around them.

Gandalf and Bilbo nodded at Sarah from the threshold; she waited with them and wrote out what she wanted to say on a fresh page towards the back of her sketchbook. (Note to self: ask Minassiel if there's any paper going spare.)

'You seem to be getting along well with the Elves,' Gandalf said quietly. 'And they seem to rather like you in kind.'

She shrugged. It wasn't exactly difficult to like them — sophisticated, diplomatic, open-minded, and literal hosts with the most. This place was the safest Sarah had felt in a very long time, in Middle Earth or Earth alike.

'Elrond will call on you tomorrow,' he added. 'To explore your options.'

Sarah nodded. That sounded reassuring, but also suspiciously vague.

Meanwhile, Thorin and Balin finished saying their piece and the informal congress broke up, the Dwarves processing the map's secret offerings. Balin looked a little startled to find Sarah standing behind him on the threshold. 'Oh! Miss Stokes, I didn't realize you were there. Is everything all right?'

Just wanted to say goodnight. How did your meeting with Elrond go?

Balin didn't answer right away. He and Thorin (and Dwalin, and Gloin) shared a look. 'It went well, thank you.'

Sarah glanced at Fili and Kili, who conveniently happened to take a sudden interest in the vines hanging from the beams. Bofur put his hands in his pockets and whistled nonchalantly. Even Ori didn't meet her eye.

It went "well"? That was all they were going to share?

She remembered what she'd written for them in Bag End, about there being no obligation to formally include her on their quest in any way. She was just another traveller who'd been walking in the same direction. And, now that they'd come to a stop, that was all she'd ever be. She sighed.

Good, was all she could mouth in response, closing her sketchbook. Glad to hear it. Sleep well.

'Goodnight, Sarah,' a few of them said.

Bilbo followed her off the balcony, yawning. 'Bedtime for me too, I think.' Once they were out of earshot, he added that he wouldn't be missed. Sarah patted him on the shoulder.

For the next two days, neither by accident nor by design, she and Bilbo mostly stuck together and explored Rivendell's many hidden wonders: bridges, gardens, statues, hot springs, cool springs, vineyards, even an aviary. Plump little birds - a cross between robins and magpies - skipped around them, and the leaves sang every time a breeze whispered through the valley.

This is the happiest I've ever seen you, she wrote as they relaxed on the central balcony.

'I could stay here forever,' Bilbo said, probably not realizing how much he meant it. 'If only the quest ended here. It's going to be hard to leave this place behind.'

Yes. Horizontal rain and near-death encounters with stone giants loomed in her mind's eye. Harder than you could possibly imagine.

'Perhaps I should stay,' Bilbo continued, looking out at the valley. 'If I dawdled at the back of the company they probably wouldn't notice I was gone for a good few hours. I would hate to break the contract … but then, I'm starting to wonder if one fourteenth of a treasure, even a king's treasure, is worth all the hardships of life on the road.'

He looked up at her for a second opinion, which she was loathe to give in case she inadvertently derailed his narrative. Only you can make that decision. Think back to why you wanted to come in the first place. Why did you change your mind?

'Well … funny, how long ago that seems already. At first, when the house was empty and there was peace and quiet again, I was happy. Genuinely. But then I didn't quite know what to do with myself. The house suddenly felt much bigger than it had before. I suppose that was what did it — not just giving into a childhood craving for adventure, but also for company. Bothersome as that company can sometimes be.'

Sarah smiled. I think they're more fond of you than they let on.

Bilbo looked at her askance, as if to say, "be serious now". She made an edit:

I think they're more fond of you than they realize.

'I'll believe that when I see it.'

'Not with your … companions, Master Baggins?' Elrond said, taking them mildly by surprise. He leaned on the balcony railing with Bilbo and Sarah on his right.

'I shan't be missed,' Bilbo said. Say it a third time, Sarah thought, and you'll have a self-fulfilling prophecy. 'The truth is that most of them don't think I should be on this journey.'

'Indeed? I've always heard that Hobbits are remarkably resilient.'

Bilbo assumed this was a joke at his expense, before realizing Elrond was being entirely earnest. 'Really?'

The Elf-lord nodded. 'I've also heard they're fond of the comforts of home.'

Bilbo leaned in conspiratorially. 'I've heard that it's unwise to seek the counsel of Elves, for they will answer both "yes" and "no".'

Sarah smiled at Bilbo's uncertainty over whether his wisecrack had landed, knowing that Elrond's sense of humour ran deeper than first impressions let on.

'You are very welcome to stay here,' he said to Bilbo, 'if that is your wish. Both of you.' Before the Hobbit could think of what to say in response, Elrond asked if he could borrow Sarah for a while.

'Think on it, Master Baggins,' he said, a reassuring hand on Bilbo's shoulder. 'The choice is yours.'

As they left Bilbo to reflect on the balcony, Elrond led Sarah on a leisurely walk down Rivendell's winding corridors, towards one of the libraries.

'Gandalf and I have been giving your circumstances a great deal of thought. While they are not entirely without precedent, they certainly do present a challenge. I appreciate your patience.'

She wrote with her sketchbook balanced on her forearm, something she'd become rather good at. Not without precedent? Have you met other wanderers before me?

'Only one, and only the once. Over a thousand years ago. He was the first and the last wanderer we had ever known. I did not think I would ever encounter the likes of him again. Myriad tales and legends featuring galandrandir-like characters have appeared throughout Middle Earth like wildflowers, but in truth there has only ever been one. That is, until you came along.'

Who was this first wanderer? Do you know if he came from my world too?

'We knew him only as John. He was human like you, and he told us a number of things about his world, but whether it is the same world you hail from, I cannot be sure. Why don't we sit?'

They'd wound up at a reading desk mere feet from the broken shards of Isildur's sword, the one that had cut down Sauron in battle when all hope seemed lost. Sarah poised her pencil on the few remaining pages of her sketchbook and waited for Elrond to ask his first question.

'Does your world have a name?'

Earth. Not Middle Earth, just Earth. As he mused on this, Sarah added, I come from a small island nation called the United Kingdom. The capital city, specifically: London.

'Ah. I do remember him mentioning London. And a land called "Oxfordshire". Do you know it?'

Yes, fairly well.

John from Oxfordshire … Sarah tried to keep her face neutral even as the revelation burned bright within her brain. John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, of Oxfordshire. Home of his alma mater, and probable inspiration for The Shire.

How did he get here?

'The same way you did, I believe: by stepping through a door. The price he paid for his travels, if it is of interest to you, was a loss of his ability to taste or smell.'

Sarah almost burst into silent laughter. Anosmia — one of the few telltale symptoms of the virus. The irony.

Did he ever get back to Earth? He had, obviously, but how he'd done it was beyond her.

'Alas, I was not there to witness his return, but return he did. He roamed Middle Earth for the better part of a year, determined to learn all that he could about how our world had come to be, our customs, the differences between our races, the plants, the birds, the landscape. Above all, our speech. He said it was his occupation, to study different tongues and unspool them like ribbons.'

Tolkien hadn't created his epic magical world from nothing — he'd recorded and reported on it like an explorer. Sarah found this both mind-blowing and not remotely surprising.

But … if he'd only visited once, long before the events of either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings, how the hell could he have known everything that he ended up writing?

What else did he do while he was here? Did he ever discover the reason for his travel between worlds? His purpose?

'John was brought under the wing of one of the noblest and wisest Elves who has ever lived,' Elrond said. 'She treasured the insights he brought from his world and, as a sign of gratitude, shared with him not only the history of Middle Earth, but visions of things which had not yet come to pass. Indeed, things which may have yet to begin, even as we sit here today.'

Ah. Galadriel's Mirror.

'You speak of purpose,' Elrond said, tapping the page she'd just written on. 'Tell me, Sarah, what do you believe yours to be?'

What a question. I wish I knew.

The only other "galandrandir" to have crossed into Middle Earth before her was one of the founding fathers of high fantasy literature, beloved across generations. So where the fuck did that leave her?

To say Elrond was difficult to read would be a grand understatement, and he had been around for a hell of a long time, but Sarah was fairly sure even he didn't have telepathic powers like Galadriel. He would have no idea that John (J.R.R.) was a household name on Earth, or that he'd already been dead for twenty years by the time Sarah was born.

After a few moments of her being unable to write anything new for him, Elrond changed the subject. 'Gandalf tells me your world is blighted by sickness, the likes of which you have never seen before. Is this true?'

Yes. It's a scary time to be alive, she wrote before adding, as an afterthought, on Earth. Being here, however, is the safest I've felt in a very long time.

'Well, my earlier offer stands,' he reminded her. 'You would be a most welcome addition to our homely house. My daughter Arwen is already quite taken with you — she adores adventures and stories of the world beyond Imladris.'

She hated to give the possibility serious thought, but … hypothetically, if no one could help her get home after all, Elrond's offer might not be so bad. What if this was her purpose? What if Rivendell wasn't just a stopover, but the destination? This wasn't just one of the safest places to be in Middle Earth, it was also undoubtedly one of the nicest. The Elves seemed to actively like her, not just tolerate her. She couldn't imagine ever really belonging to the Dwarves' intensely tight-knit community, or to the perpetually tiny world of Bilbo and the Hobbits.

But did that necessarily mean she belonged here instead? What if she never felt settled anywhere? Sure, the doom and gloom on Earth was relentless, but at least it was familiar. And it was, crucially, always ultimately tempered by the joy of checking in with her family and friends. She'd been a branch on a larger tree. Here, she just felt like a twig floating downstream, never resting, always alone.

Thank you, Lord Elrond, she said in response to his offer. It's just … In all honesty, do you think I'll ever find the door that will take me back to Earth?

His smile was sympathetic. 'I would be lying if I said I was capable of summoning such a door.'

She'd been expecting him to say that, but it still cut like acid to hear it.

'However,' he continued, 'I would not concede defeat yet.' He glanced at the sunset that had just begun. 'Meet me in the western courtyard at a quarter to midnight. I hope to have clearer answers for you by then.'

She nodded, and they parted ways outside the library. A mystery midnight meeting … o-k-a-y.