Apologies for the delay, it's been finals season. Thanks so much for all the reviews/favorites/follows, I was really blown away by the response this story has gotten so far. Tomorrow I'll be graduating, so hopefully I'll have more time to write after that.

Also, warning for depiction of self harm urges in the first scene of this chapter.

Chapter 5

The sun set, and Rivendell faded into gray twilight. Lori lay on her side, the pillow damp against her cheek, tracing the form of the curtains and the window with her eyes. Her face was swollen from crying, her whole body heavy with exhaustion.

The familiar shame came prowling forth, taking hold at the base of her neck. It was her fault, and no one else's, that she'd ended up here, in a strange world where the impossible was reality. She'd made the choice to jump, and now she was sobbing in bed because she couldn't handle the consequences.

The door opened, making her stiffen. Lori forced herself to relax, shaping her breathing to the deep rhythm of sleep, and closed her eyes. Her ears caught the faint rustle of fabric, the thud of something being placed on the desk, and a moment later the door swung shut.

Had that been Strider or Elrond or Erestor, or just a stranger? With a pang of guilt, she thought back to how she'd fled the room earlier that day. The elves had been so kind and welcoming to her, and she'd spent the majority of her time here hiding in her room.

Lori lifted her head so she could see the desk. All she could make out in the dim light was the shape of a pitcher, and she assumed someone had brought her dinner. Her stomach rumbled at the thought, but it took another few minutes to convince her body to move.

Shivering slightly, she padded across the room to the desk. The tray was set up similarly to the last one, with a pitcher of water and empty glass in one corner. There was a round dish containing a meat pie with tiny leaf-like designs on the crust. It was still steaming, and smelled amazing.

Whoever had brought her food had also left a fork and knife on the tray.

Lori lowered herself into the chair, staring at the utensils. The handle of the fork had curving designs on its surface, which seemed to be a running theme in this place. The knife was slightly curved, and the blade was not serrated like a steak knife, but smooth and sharp. She took it off the tray and tested the edge on her thumb.

Tears welled in her eyes again. She sat for a long time with the knife in her lap, intensely aware of the skin on her thighs. The minutes rolled over her like waves. Silently, she wrestled with two edges of a familiar question, heaving back and forth like the world's heaviest coin toss.

The room was completely dark by the time she put the knife back on the tray and crawled into bed.

The next morning, Lori was halfway through her cold meat pie when someone knocked on her door. She wiped her mouth on the cloth napkin and went to open it.

Strider was standing on the other side, and she tried for a smile. She was still groggy from falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, but she'd woken up a little calmer than last night.

"Hi."

"Are you all right?" Strider asked, looking her over. Her dress was wrinkled from sleeping in it, and her hair wasn't in a much better state, but she'd checked her face in the mirror to make sure her eyes weren't still swollen.

"I'm fine," she said instinctively, then realized that was too blatant a lie. "I…I was shocked yesterday and a little upset, but I'm better now."

He didn't look even a little bit convinced by her assurances. "You had every reason to be distressed. I cannot imagine the grief that comes with not being able to return to your home."

The lump returned to her throat, and she looked away. Her composure was more fragile than she'd hoped. "Yeah. At least I know for sure now."

She struggled to think of a way to change the subject, and thankfully Strider picked up on her discomfort.

"I came to take you to the infirmary," he said. "You need a proper sling to help your arm heal."

"Okay," she said, trying to lighten her tone. "That sounds good."

They set off down the open-air hallway. Lori's thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Elrond, and she waited until she'd fully composed herself to speak.

"Can I ask you something?"

Strider sent her a sidelong glance. "You may."

"Yesterday, Elrond called you by a different name. Ara…?"

"Aragorn. That is the name that was given to me by my father. I am called Strider by the folk in the villages to the west of here, and I am more inclined to give that name to strangers."

"Oh." She'd partly suspected that Strider was just a nickname, but she hadn't wanted to ask and risk accidentally offending him. "Do you want me to call you Aragorn, or keep calling you Strider?"

"I will leave that to you. I do not mind one way or the other."

Lori pondered his answer for a moment. She wasn't sure if he really meant that, or what to think of all the other non-answers he'd given her since they'd met. He was technically the only human she'd met since coming here, and she had no reference to compare him to. Maybe all men here, or at least all Rangers, were somewhat mysterious.

But from what she'd seen so far, the name Aragorn seemed to suit him better.

"So this is the place where you were raised," she continued, partly to pry and partly to keep the conversation off herself. "What was it like, growing up with elves?"

"I did not think anything of it at the time," Aragorn said. "It was only when I ventured into the world of men for the first time that I became truly aware of the difference between myself and those who raised me. Humans are mortal, and there is a certain impulsiveness and impatience that comes with that."

"Are you saying elves are…immortal?" Lori asked, trying not to wince at the last word. It was the things that should have been impossible that it made it even harder to come to terms with where she was.

"They are. Once they reach their maturity, they are blessed with eternal youthfulness of the mind and body, and can only be slain in battle or from a broken heart."

She let out a small sigh. It felt like every sentence would take her at least ten minutes to process. Living forever sounded like a serious test of a person's sanity, but she was more concerned with the last thing he'd said.

"By a broken heart, do you mean…?"

Aragorn searched her face for a moment. "Despair. Sometimes caused by grief, or another wound to the heart that cannot be mended."

That hadn't answered her question about how that would kill an elf, and Lori decided she didn't want to know.

"There is something I want to ask you," Aragorn said, filling the momentary silence. "You knew of elves before you came here, but you did not believe that they were real. Are the things you knew different from what you have found here?"

Lori nodded. "Elves are just fairytale creatures where I'm from. There's a few different versions, but the most popular are Santa's elves." She paused, wondering how she was going to explain all the weird lore around Christmas, but Aragorn only nodded for her to continue.

She told him everything she could remember as they crossed a courtyard patterned with fallen leaves and entered the side door of a large building. Aragorn led her down a hallway and into a room that smelled strongly of herbs.

There were a number of shelves filled with jars and bottles of various substances, which she guessed where different medicines. Against one wall was a workbench with more jars, a mortar and pestle, and other tools she didn't recognize lined up at the back. The fragrance was a little overwhelming, but the room felt comfortable and lived-in, nothing like the sterile indifference of the hospitals she'd been to.

"And this is all a story that people tell to their children?" Aragorn asked, rifling through one of the boxes on the closest shelf.

"Yeah." Lori wandered over to another shelf and inspected a row of jars filled with dried leaves. "Most children find out that it's not real when they get old enough, but it's fun to believe when you're younger."

"It is similar here, as well. Most children of men, as well as their parents, believe elves are nothing more than a story. These days, it is rare for elves to wander from their realms."

"It wasn't always that way?"

"No." Aragorn put the box back and held out a piece of cloth to her. It was a silky beige material shaped like a triangle, with two longer ends that would serve as ties.

Lori folded the sling over her arm and began fumbling with the ends, and Aragorn reached out to help her. She moved her hair out of the way so he could tie a knot at the back of her neck. The sling was much more comfortable than the makeshift bandage one she'd been wearing earlier, as it took more of the pressure off her elbow.

"Thank you," she said once Aragorn had finished. He was still a stranger to her in a lot of ways, but it didn't feel wrong to let him help her.

"I believe they are still serving meals in the great hall, if you are hungry." He raised an eyebrow, a note of humor entering his voice. "That meat pie did not look entirely appetizing."

She let out an awkward laugh. "Well, it's not the first time I've had cold leftovers for breakfast." Realizing how weird that sounded, she added, "I guess I must have fallen asleep before someone brought me dinner. Some hot food sounds great, though."

Aragorn took her back to the large building where she'd first met Elrond. At one end of the first floor was a wide room with a tall ceiling, where lengthy windows let in light from above. It seemed to be a kind of cafeteria (or great hall, as Aragorn had called it), with half a dozen long tables placed in orderly rows. A handful of elves were scattered about the tables, conversing with each other or reading, and Aragorn nodded in greeting to them.

Lori could feel their gazes following her as she and Aragorn sat at another table. There was a strange piercing quality to the way elves looked at her—even without their pointed ears, they didn't feel human.

Eventually, she became so uncomfortable that she had to speak. "Are they bothered by my being here?" she asked quietly, making a minute gesture with her head towards the elves.

Aragorn looked directly at them, and Lori's discomfort eased a little. "Not at all," he said, turning back to her. "As I said before, elves seldom venture from their realms these days. It is also rare for mortals to come to the Hidden Valley. You are a subject of curiosity for them—that is all."

Lori thought back to the path they'd taken to get here, how the entrance to the valley itself had been concealed. "Then this place is something of a secret, right?" When Aragorn nodded, she asked, "Will I be allowed to leave if I know where it is? I-I'd never tell anyone, but…"

"Lord Elrond is not so stringent in this matter as other elf lords," Aragorn said with a slight smile. "He deems you trustworthy, and you are free to leave whenever you wish."

"Not that I'd even know where to go," she said, her lips curving in a bitter arc. "I barely know anything about…anything here."

"You have time to learn, and there are few better places to do it. The library of Rivendell is very nearly unmatched in its collection of lore and history."

The smell of cinnamon hit her nose, and Lori looked up as an elf with black hair approached their table and placed two dishes in front of them. The porridge was still steaming, and her mouth began to water.

"Ni lassui," Aragorn said. The elf nodded in response, sent an inquisitive glance at Lori, and walked away.

She hardly noticed, too busy with trying not to burn her mouth on the porridge. It was slightly sweetened with cream, and she was a little embarrassed at the speed with which she polished it off.

"A library sounds like a good start," she said, remembering where they'd left off in their conversation.

"You are versed in your letters?" Aragorn asked, eating his own breakfast at a much more reasonable pace.

"I can read and write. But only in Eng…" She paused to recall the word Erestor had taught her a couple days ago. "Westron."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "What was the trade of your family?"

Lori blinked at the change in subject. "Um, my dad was…is the manager at a hotel, and my mom works in analytics for a shipping company."

His brow furrowed. "I am unfamiliar with some of those terms."

"Sorry." She blushed and tried to think of less modern terminology. "My dad works in hospitality, like running an inn…?" This seemed to make more sense to him, and she continued, "My mom worked for a company that traded things. Merchants, I guess."

"Your world seems quite different from this one."

"It is. I wouldn't even know how to begin describing it." She wasn't sure she wanted to. Just thinking about her parents made her chest ache. She ran her spoon around the rim of her bowl, trying to steer her thoughts away from that. "Speaking of jobs, I just realized I don't have any money to pay for this food, or the clothes, or anything."

"You will not need it here. Elves have little need for coin, and they would not be willing to accept it in return for hospitality." Aragorn finished his meal and set his spoon down. "If you venture into villages of men, they will expect payment there."

Lori glanced around the room. Are elves communists, or something?

"Were you planning to follow your father's trade, or your mothers?" Aragorn asked, bringing her back to the present.

"Oh, I actually decided to work in, um…" She hesitated, wondering if she should even bring it up. "Computer science."

He tilted his head. "I have never heard of such a thing. What manner of tasks were you assigned?"

Lori sighed. "Database development, programming with SQL, Java, CSS, managing spreadsheets…I'm guessing you've never heard of any of that before."

"Not in the slightest," Aragorn said, his gaze having turned slightly vacant as soon as she started listing programming languages.

"It's fine. Like I said, I have no idea how I would explain it." She turned her spoon over in her hands. She'd spent four years in college learning skills that were completely and utterly useless, now.

It hit her again, how far she was from home, from any semblance of a recognizable life. She'd been stranded in a world she didn't know, one that didn't know her either.

It had never been more lonely to be a stranger.

The silence in the library was unbearable.

Lori ran a hand over her face, dragging her fingers through her hair and tightening them into a fist. She was seated at a table near the wide windows stretching across one wall of the library, a book lying open in front of her. Aragorn had taken her here after breakfast, then excused himself to take care of some other things. She didn't blame him for not wanting to babysit her all day, but she missed his company.

All she had left now was the silence, and not much to distract her from it. The book in front of her was completely legible, written in neat, round, English letters, and the first chapter detailed the history of a place called Númenor. It was the first book she'd picked up in a long time that wasn't a textbook or a magazine article, and she was having trouble making it through more than a paragraph at a time.

Maybe she would have been able to focus better with some music—movie soundtracks, classical, lo-fi hip hop, whatever she could get to just make the quiet stop.

With a sigh, Lori closed the book and went to place it back on the shelf. If she couldn't concentrate, she might as well go back to her room and curl up in bed.

The air outside was brisk, and she tucked her arms against her chest as she took the curving stone path away from the library. She was thinking about asking someone for a jacket or whatever the equivalent was here, though she still felt weird about receiving things without having to pay for them.

The lilting notes of a harp made her look up. She'd heard snatches of music since arriving in Rivendell, but this was the first time she'd actually been free to explore on her own without anyone expecting her or guiding her along. Her footsteps carried her down the path, following the winding melody like a scent, and eventually a wide pavilion came into view.

In the center was a round fire pit carved directly into the floor like a bowl, and several stone benches with cushions were placed around it. An elf was seated on a wooden chair at one end of the pavilion, plucking notes like petals from the harp beside him.

Lori hesitated, half-hidden behind a barren tree with white bark. She wanted to give the elf some privacy, since she knew some people didn't like to be watched while they played, but the music was incredibly relaxing. Following the progression of the notes helped her calm down, gave her something simple to focus on.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, but she was jolted out of her trance when the music stopped. The elf lowered his hands and looked right at her. Heat flared on her cheeks, and she froze.

"You are welcome to join me if you wish to listen," the elf said.

He didn't sound annoyed, but Lori still blushed as she started down the path towards the pavilion. "I am so sorry. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything, I just—"

"I take no offense," the elf said as she approached. "Music is not something to be hoarded or hidden from others, would you not agree?"

"That's a fair point." Lori sat down on a stone bench a few feet away. Most of the elves she'd met seemed pretty easygoing, and she wondered if that was a side effect of their long life. "H-How did you know I was watching?"

"I heard you approach."

The elf said it so matter-of-factly that it took her a moment to gather her words. It seemed the elves' pointy ears were different in more than just appearance. She tucked the thought away to remember later. "Um, you play beautifully."

"I thank you." He inclined his head. "My name is Lindir. I had heard there was a newcomer in the valley, but I know little more than that. Where do you hail from?"

Lori hesitated. Even if Strider had believed her story easily enough, it wasn't a great conversation starter. "Um, I'm Lori. I come from a place pretty far away from here."

She waited for Lindir to press the subject, but he only resumed idly strumming on the harp.

"It is rare that I am able to listen to music from foreign lands," he said after a while. "If you wish to share anything that you know, I would be most appreciative."

Lori smiled to herself, wondering how such an elegant being would react to something by Nicki Minaj. She wished again that she had her phone and earbuds with her. As much as she enjoyed the harp music, she missed listening to familiar songs with the volume nearly high enough to hurt.

"I can't really sing," she said. "I used to play the violin, but…" She gestured to her sling. "I would have to wait until my arm heals before I try playing again."

"I have a number of instruments in my possession, and you are welcome to them once you have recovered," Lindir said. "But why are you unable to sing?"

"Oh, I can, technically. I'm just not good at it," she said with a small, awkward smile.

"All skills are lacking at the beginning." Lindir turned back to his harp, strumming out a melody that reminded her of a climbing vine. "And all art is a matter of cultivation. My fingers stumbled the first time they found an instrument."

Lori found that somewhat hard to believe. She had difficulty imagining the elves here as being anything other than perfect—unless they were like birds, and they were born ugly and awkward before maturing into something more majestic.

"I understand what you mean. It took me hours of practice on the violin before I stopped sounding completely horrible." She shifted on the bench, hoping he wasn't about to try and convince her to sing or something. "If you don't mind, I think I'd just like to listen to you for now."

A small smile lifted the corner of his lips, and Lindir resumed playing. Lori watched the nimble movement of his fingers over the strings. After a while, she shut her eyes and tried to lose herself in the music.

It wasn't until I started writing this chapter that I realized Rivendell is basically a commune. We stan Comrade Elrond.

On a more serious note, while I'm writing this fic I keep thinking about that "Cool now I'm depressed in Egypt" meme because I know a lot of people think of Middle-earth as an escape from the problems of daily life. I've certainly been hyper focused on going somewhere else, thinking it would make me feel better. I guess what I'm trying to show through this story is that even if you're in one of the most magical and peaceful places on (Middle) earth, you can't really run away from your problems/mental illness whatever else. Anyway this chapter is sponsored by Lexapro babeyyy stay tuned for the next one!