Chapter 6 - Wake
The following morning did little to lift Elanor's spirits after her sickening revelation.
She had slept fitfully all of the previous afternoon, plagued by the knowledge that somehow she had managed to change the story with her appearance in Middle Earth. Fretting, restless and beginning to grow hungry, she was profoundly relieved when an elegant figure had tapped on the door, laden with a tray of food.
Elanor's first encounter with an Elf was somewhat bewildering. The woman, who called herself Indilwen, was not as lofty and serious as she had always imagined an Elf would be. She was only an inch or two taller than herself, with luxuriant dark brown hair, smooth skin, and delicately pointed ears. Whilst Elanor marvelled at her grace and the litheness of her form, Indilwen was not as inhuman and mystical as she had come to expect. Beautiful, certainly, but not altogether dissimilar from herself. Her cheekbones were fine, her jawline elegant, and she looked like she would never need makeup in her life, but she had a warm smile and a playful glint in her grey eyes.
Indilwen smoothed the coverlet and gently placed the tray of food upon Elanor's knees.
"Eat," she had said, in a voice that seemed to be both wise and joyous all at once. With that, she swept out with a last twinkling smile.
After realising that the Elf would not return until later, Elanor had done as she was bidden. She had been given a simple meal of bread and soup, but relished their warmth and freshness. The soup was thick and pleasantly flavoured, whilst the bread was crusty on the outside and soft within.
Then, despite her resolution to wait to see Indilwen again, she had fallen peacefully asleep.
With a full stomach and weary mind, her dreams were mercifully free of Frodo Baggins until the morning sun rose. She awoke with a sickening jolt from a particularly vivid picture of driving a small dagger into Elijah Wood's chest.
Breathing fast, she attempted to still her queasy stomach.
This is all my fault… oh gosh, I wish this had never happened… oh gosh—
Distraction appeared to be the best remedy. Climbing gingerly out of bed, Elanor stretched. Every part of her ached; 2 days in bed after 3 weeks of walking had caused her muscles to seize up in protest.
Feeling slightly less shaky than the previous day, she decided to explore the corners of her room. She had a sneaking suspicion that the beautiful screen in one corner concealed some kind of washstand. Shuffling over slowly, she smiled as she peered behind it.
The actuality was significantly better than her meagre hopes. Instead, there sat an ample bathtub made of some kind of light, marbled stone, and a toilet which was far less primitive than she'd expected. Like the rest of the room, it was extremely elegant. The bath had a hole at the bottom for drainage, but no taps. On the wall nearby was a lever, which Elanor soon recognised as a pump. Beneath this was a large pot resting on a small stove. The pot was rather like the huge, stainless steel vessels Elanor had used for cooking pasta when she'd worked in an industrial kitchen one summer. It's lid was beginning to rattle, and she realised Indilwen must have crept in while she slept to light the stove for her bath.
Intending to thank the Elf-woman later, she hurried over and cautiously touched the handles of the pot. They were quite cool. The bulk of its weight, however, was far too much for her to manage, even had she possessed her normal strength.
I'll have to carry it to the bath in smaller amounts, she thought, eyes roving about. Finally, she spied a regular-sized silver bucket and carried it back to the stove. Dipping it carefully inside, she transferred half a dozen buckets into the bath.
At the sound of pouring water, Elanor could ignore the call of nature no longer. Leaving the scalding water to cool, she turned to the toilet.
It appeared to have some kind of plumbing, but Elanor did not spare that much thought as she hefted up her nightgown. Instead of a toilet roll, someone had left a pile of folded paper towels in a tiny tray attached to the wall.
A thought struck her as she realised how many weeks she had been away from home: What do the Elf women do at that time of the month?
She had not considered this dilemma whilst travelling with Boromir. It struck her now that Middle Earth's feminine products were probably primitive at best. She hadn't taken any supplies to the medieval festival, and counting the days of her cycle had not been her foremost concern while staggering through the wild. Now, however, she was reminded distinctly of the time she'd gone skinny dipping with some other girls on school camp. One of them had decided it would be highly amusing to steal prudish Ellie's clothes so she had to sneak back to camp in nothing but a diminutive towel. She'd been ill-equipped—and mortified.
Attempting to block that memory out, Elanor pulled her nightgown over her head. She would have to ask someone—a female, preferably—about where she could get her hands on supplies.
Standing naked behind the screen, she trailed her fingers through the hot bathwater. It was the perfect temperature, so she climbed over the side of the tub and sank into it with utmost relief.
Pushing thoughts about the female biology aside, she shuffled down until everything but her head was immersed in the steamy bathwater. She preferred not to look at her own thinness; every rib and vertebrae stood out, and her hips were like sharp interruptions along her sides.
But, she was clean.
Sitting on the side of the tub were a collection of fragrant soaps. After soaking luxuriously for a time, Elanor rubbed herself clean. She blushed, knowing that one of the Elves had washed her when she arrived unconscious. It was immensely satisfying—and less awkward—to do it herself.
At length, she stood up. Water ran down her lean body in rivulets as she squeezed it out of her hair. Reaching for a conveniently placed towel, Elanor wrapped herself in it and stepped back onto the tiles.
"Clothes," she murmured, a wry expression on her face as she surveyed the nightgown. She had no desire to wander Rivendell in nothing but those strange pyjamas.
She peeped around the screen to check Gandalf or Indilwen hadn't returned, and then scampered for the wardrobe standing nearby. Pulling it open, she was disappointed to discover it was mostly empty. However, there was one dress—a simple yet pleasant gown of grey—along with several long tunic shirts, tights, and undergarments. Scorning the underwear—which resembled soft-woven cotton bikepants—Elanor grabbed the dress and half ran back to the safety of the screen. She made a second dash for her backpack for a pair of modern underwear and a bra and began to dress.
The silvery garment fit fairly well, despite her unusually skinny frame. It had a modest neckline, slim waist and immensely droopy sleeves. She had not yet discovered a mirror, so she had to trust to hope with her appearance as she finger-combed her hair.
Feeling somewhat wearied from her exertions, Elanor returned to the bed and sat on the edge. Without anything to do, her thoughts strayed back to Frodo.
This has to be a nightmare… he can't be dead… Sam's gonna hate me… and probably no one else will trust me either, much less help me get home… this is terrible…
She had not been resting long when someone tapped on her door.
"Come in," she called nervously.
Gandalf was pleasantly surprised to see Elanor awake and sitting upon her bed when he entered shortly after the eighth hour. She had dressed in the soft grey gown provided by the Elves—this brought a triumphant smile to his face—and looked considerably better rested.
"Good morning, Miss Elanor," he intoned courteously, giving her a small bow. "I hope you are recovering from your ordeal."
She gave him a hesitant smile. "Pretty well."
Gandalf paused, noting the fear and guilt in her eyes.
"I believe there are several things we ought to consider ere the Council this day."
"That might be good," came her soft response.
Reaching for a nearby chair, Gandalf seated himself imperiously and removed his pointed blue hat before beginning: "This council, Miss Elanor, is of greatest importance—of this I am sure you are aware." She gave a tense nod, and he continued. "Frodo did not fail in his quest to bring the Ring to Imladris; the outcome was not as I would have wished it—" Elanor's face paled to chalk-white at that "—but we must look forward now. Lord Elrond believes the only course of action is to see the Ring destroyed, as I believe you know.
"You spoke of a small Fellowship travelling with the Ringbearer, and this is in accordance with Lord Elrond's plans. However," he leaned in, his blue eyes reflecting the seriousness of his words, "none but he and I know of your strange foresight. It would not do to reveal too much. All who have gathered are united in opposition to Sauron, but this does not mean they are in agreement. There has long been animosity between the Firstborn Elves and the Dwarves. Furthermore, with Frodo travels a man who may change the fortune of Middle Earth. Aragorn, son of—"
"Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor," she supplied quietly.
"—yes, just so," Gandalf beamed, surprised at her knowledge. "Lord Aragorn has the power to reclaim the throne in Minas Tirith from Boromir's father, Denethor, the Steward."
"I do remember that from the movie," Elanor affirmed. "He thought Gondor was doing alright even without a King."
Gandalf nodded again. The woman was quick-witted and sensitive. She is a valuable source of information, especially in light of Saruman's betrayal… but she is unschooled, and unfamiliar with our ways… that is of lesser concern, however.
"Indeed, miss; Lord Denethor is a hard-willed man, and his son has come to find answers to many questions. It appears that word travels swifter than the Maeras in your world, but tidings of the Ring are few and far between in Middle Earth. It's very existence is unknown to many, and but a few believe it to have been destroyed or irrevocably lost."
Elanor looked thoughtful at this.
"Is there a problem, Miss?" he inquired.
She shrugged. "Just a bit different from the movies. I guess Peter Jackson couldn't imagine people not knowing all about the Ring. This seems more logical, though—you guys can't broadcast it like we could on the internet or in newspapers."
Concealing his ignorance about Peter Jackson and the internet, Gandalf smiled and smoothed his thick grey beard.
"Precisely. Lord Boromir will be astonished indeed to discover these tidings; as will many others. On behalf of Lord Elrond, I beseech you to seal your lips during the Council; not as an insult, for we offer none, but to ensure that no further disruptions occur."
"Yeah," she whispered, low. "Gandalf, about Frodo—"
He nodded, urging her to continue.
Elanor's voice was pained but steady. "My appearance here set off something that caused Frodo to die, didn't it?"
Gandalf pressed his lips together. She blames herself, and grieves for him as if she knew him…
"Gandalf?" she persisted.
He struggled to meet her gaze. "That is how Lord Elrond perceives it, yes. Never before has such a thing occurred, but the very fabric of Arda seems to have been rewoven by your coming."
The revelation seemed to rest heavily upon her, but she nodded bravely.
"Well, I'll just have to do my best to get things back to how the story goes."
Smiling inwardly at the way she shouldered the burden, Gandalf nodded.
"What do you believe this to entail?"
Elanor leaned backwards wearily and stared out of the window.
"I'm not really sure, yet. I know the people that are supposed to go on the quest, and how they will react to the Ring," she admitted.
Somewhat alarmed, he raised a warning hand. "Do not reveal too much, dear lady, for such a thing could wreak havoc!"
"Oh, of course not," Elanor cried. "I know enough about it to know that telling you your future is a terrible idea. Besides, I never had contact with Frodo, and his storyline still changed. There's no telling what will happen to the rest of you even if I do nothing."
She is wiser than you first believed, his inner voice prodded him gleefully.
"Well spoken, lady." Noting the time, he hurried to a conclusion. "Is there aught else of importance you wish to speak of? For I must depart, to speak with Lord Aragorn."
Elanor considered it for a moment, before speaking: "Just that Sam is important—he is good and optimistic and has strong character. He needs to go on the quest—and is probably… probably one of the better people to carry the Ring."
"Very well," nodded Gandalf. "I have but one more request; when you speak with others, take heed, for though you speak the words of the Common Tongue, it is as unlike our language as a pebble from a precious stone. Your accent is peculiar, though not of the greatest importance. However, many words you use are as unknown as the Black Speech of Mordor in these lands. Guard your tongue, for your own sake as well as Lord Elrond's and my own."
Elanor looked taken aback, but swallowed the criticism with a certain degree of dignity.
"I will—endeavour—to be cautious," she said finally.
"Excellent," Gandalf smiled. "And now, Lord Elrond desires you to come to the council."
Elanor hesitated at Gandalf's words, not sure how to address her other concerns.
"Ah, Gandalf?" she said, finally, after he had nearly reached the door in his long, purposeful stride.
"Yes, miss?" he replied, seeming a little surprised to be addressed again.
"I have—ah, some—problems—other problems, that I need help with."
He smiled like a benevolent grandfather. "Name them, lady, and I will do my utmost to aid you."
She could feel her cheeks heat up as she contemplated the awkward situation before her.
"I need—I need some, things, for a woman—for women. Women's things," she finally blurted, studying her toes. Trying to ease her own discomfort, she smiled at him shyly. "I also need some shoes."
Gandalf, thankfully, took her peculiar request in his stride.
"Naturally, lady. I will send Indilwen to see to your needs, and she will then lead you to the place we shall meet. Do not tarry, for the council begins shortly." With that he bowed courteously and disappeared, an amused twinkle in his blue eyes.
And there is Chapter 6!
I had originally intended this chapter to also include the Council of Elrond, but when I assessed how much I needed to include in that scene, the cumulative length would've been 6,000 words!
Instead, I decided to split them up. You shall have Chapter 6 now, and hopefully very soon (as soon as I'm done editing) Chapter 7, The Council.
I do hope you're all liking this so far! More coming either today or tomorrow.
Thanks, Finwe ^_^