Chapter 6

Lori noticed immediately that the stranger sitting in the library wasn't an elf.

His shock of curly white hair stood out to her first—all the elves she'd met had long, straight hair without a single gray strand in sight. He was also incredibly short, the bottom of his feet several inches from the floor, and his feet were bare and disproportionately large.

The stranger looked up at the sound of her footsteps, then waved for her to come closer.

"Hullo, there! It's been a while since I've seen a new face around here."

Lori tucked the pair of books she'd been meaning to return against her side and approached the table. She was surprised she hadn't seen this person wandering through Rivendell before, since she would have noticed him immediately.

"I'm Lori," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Bilbo Baggins, at your service." He gestured for her to sit in the chair across from him. "I'd heard tell there was a newcomer that the old Dúnadan brought from the North."

Dúnadan? Does he mean Aragorn? Lori set her books on the table and sat down. Sheesh, how many names does this guy have?

Speaking of names, "Bilbo Baggins" sounded completely different from the names of the elves she'd met. Bilbo had pointed ears visible beneath his curly hair, but that was where the similarities ended. She reminded herself that it would be rude to just blurt out, "What are you?"

Bilbo seemed to sense some of her uncertainty and chuckled. "Never seen a hobbit before, have you? We tend to be something of a rarity once you get anywhere west of Bree."

Lori gave him an awkward smile. "I'm sorry. I'm new to this area, and I'm still trying to get my bearings."

He waved her off. "No need to apologize." Then he paused and peered at her. "Where are you from, if you don't mind me asking? You don't have the look of one of the Snowmen, or the Bree-folk, for that matter."

She hoped he didn't mean literal snowmen, though at this point there was no telling. There were still some things she'd learned about this world that made her feel slightly crazy.

"I'm not a…Snowman, and I'm not from Bree either. I'm from somewhere pretty far away," Lori said. At some point she would have to learn a bit of geography and come up with an answer less vague.

Bilbo lifted his chin. "East of the Misty Mountains?"

"Uh, yes. I'm from the east."

He let out another chuckle and sat back. "It's been a good long while since I've been in those parts. I've been kept posted on the goings-on with a few letters here and there, but of course it's nothing like seeing it with your own eyes." His expression turned slightly pensive. "I've meant to go back, but…" He spread his hands. "As you can see, this is about as far as I've gotten!"

Lori clasped her hands in her lap. She wasn't really sure what to make of Bilbo telling her his life story five minutes after they'd met, but it was information, and she needed as much of that as she could get.

"So you didn't grow up here?" she asked.

"Oh, heavens no. I was born in the Shire, in Hobbiton." Bilbo rifled through the various papers spread on the table in front of him and passed one to her.

Lori turned it right side up and scanned the paper. It was the same map as the one Lord Elrond had shown her, but this one was labeled in Westron.

"You see that little country on the left?" His arm was too short for him to reach across the table, so he simply waved a wrinkled finger. "That is the Shire."

She found the place he was referring to, and her eyes followed the path east until she found the city labeled "Rivendell," nestled at the base of the towering peaks that split the map in two. To the north of that was a hilly region named "Coldfells," and she recognized the word from when Aragorn had first found her. The triangle of names was tiny, just a sliver of information on a vast continent, but it was something of an axis she could use to situate herself.

"What's the Shire like?" she asked, lifting her gaze.

"It is a green country in all but the coldest of months. Hobbits are fond of a simple life—the comforts of home, a cozy armchair and a plentiful garden, and it's been that way for nearly as long as anyone can remember."

Bilbo's gaze had grown faraway again. Lori smiled slightly. He didn't have the air of ancient wisdom like the elves, but there was a long life full of memory reflected in his eyes. He reminded her of her grandfather, and she wondered what he was doing so far from the other hobbits.

He gave a small chuckle and patted the book spread in front of him. "Well, if you want to learn more, you are welcome to read my book once I'm done with it."

Her eyebrows flew up, and she leaned closer to get a better look. The book, bound in red leather, was only half-finished, the neat rows of script halting halfway down the page. She couldn't help but think that Bilbo's handwriting, with its round shapes and pointed serifs, somehow fit him perfectly.

"You're writing a book? Is it an autobiography?" When Bilbo raised an eyebrow at the word, she hurried to correct herself. "I mean, is it a book about your life?"

"Why yes, it is, but only part of it. Otherwise there would be very many descriptions of what sort of tea I had with breakfast and who said what at whose birthday party, and I fear that would grow dreadfully dull for the reader." He smoothed out the crisp white pages, as if clearing away imaginary wrinkles. "No, this is only the tale of an adventure that I went on when I was younger."

"That's amazing." She was impressed, not just that the entire thing was handwritten, but also that he'd been able to put onto paper something interesting that had happened to him. "I'd love to read it when you're finished."

"You might have to form a queue with a few others for that, dear," Bilbo said, but his eyes crinkled at the corners. "Perhaps you should get started on your own tale. It's better to write things down while you still remember them, eh?"

A small knot formed in her stomach, though she tried not to let it show. There was no ignoring the fact that there was an entire year of her life that she couldn't remember. If she tried putting down on paper everything that had happened since the train, she wasn't sure she'd be able to handle the sheer absurdity of it.

Even back in her old life, she'd never made a habit of keeping track of the things that happened day to day. She didn't like keeping a diary for the same reason she didn't like looking in the mirror.

"I wonder about the elves sometimes," she said, trying to change the subject. "I mean, if they wrote down everything that happened, it would probably be, like, ten volumes."

"Or more," Bilbo agreed with a small smirk. "It is easy to feel like quite a small fellow around the elves—and not just because they're twice my height." He pointed his quill at her. "But there is value in brevity, see? We cannot forget the towering oak, but we treasure the springtime flowers nonetheless."

That was…stunningly cliche, but it was still a nice sentiment. Lori glanced out the window at the frosted gray of the balconies and the auburn trees beyond. "I could go for some springtime flowers right now."

"You'll see in a couple months that Rivendell is quite beautiful in the spring," Bilbo said. "Will you be staying that long?"

"I think so." She fiddled with the edge of her sling. It made sense to stay at least until her arm healed, but after that…

"It is a good place to rest, and I have enjoyed each and every one of my days here," Bilbo said. "They call it the Hidden Valley. But I do not know that it is such a good place for hiding."

Lori turned to him, startled by his last comment, but Bilbo was only shuffling the parchment scattered about the table, seeming lost in thought.

She let out a small huff. There was nothing for her to hide from here, unless there were more trolls nearby.

Movement at the other end of the room caught her eye, and she looked up in time to see Elrond ascending the stairs that led to the second level of the library. Lori shifted in her chair—there was something she'd been meaning to ask him, and she'd been trying to work up the courage over the past few days.

"Excuse me," she said to Bilbo as she stood up. "It was really nice talking to you."

"And I am sure we will meet again soon," he replied cheerfully.

Lori caught up with Elrond at the top of the staircase, and he turned with a graceful incline of his head.

"I trust your arm is healing well."

"It is. Thank you." She swallowed, struggling to find the words for what she wanted to say. "I wanted to ask you about, um, my memories."

"Your lost ones, I presume?"

She nodded. "Aragorn told me you have…" She couldn't bring herself to say magic powers, and after a moment of fumbling, she pressed on. "I was wondering if there might be some way to get my memories back. If not, I completely understand, but I just thought I'd ask."

Elrond listened to her with gentle patience. "It is within my power to access the minds of others and uncover what is hidden. But in your case, I would not recommend it."

She tried not to feel creeped out by the idea that he was a mind-reader—after all, she had been the one to ask. "Why not?"

"If what you were told is true, these memories were taken from you to spare you the pain and anguish they would cause. Bringing them back into your consciousness may cause more harm than it would do you good."

Lori bit the inside of her lip. She'd thought about that several times before, about how she might have spent her missing year confined to a hospital bed or some creep's basement. After hearing Aragorn talk about the ruined kingdom of Arnor, another awful thought had occurred to her. Maybe whatever had killed her was also happening to her friends and family.

She wanted to know, so badly it burned. If she could understand what had killed her, maybe that would help her make sense of what she was supposed to do here.

As if sensing her hesitation, Elrond continued, "I will leave the choice to you. If this is something you wish to pursue, I will do what I can to help you."

"Thank you," she said, her voice tinged with hoarseness. "I need some time to think about it."

"Here, you have nothing but time," Elrond said kindly, then turned and continued across the curving second floor of the library.

Nothing but time. Lori hugged her injured arm to her chest and tried not to feel like that was a curse.

As the days grew warmer, the mornings were filled with birdsong.

They usually woke Lori up at dawn. Sometimes she welcomed the sound, and would lie in bed and listen to their simple two-tone harmonies. Even the birds here seemed more musical than back home, and she wondered if it was part of the magic of the valley. Other days, after a restless night of sleep, she would clamp a pillow over her ears and try to block out the trilling.

Today was good. She rose and had breakfast with Bilbo, who told her about a new poem he was writing. They went to the library together and he gave her a book of tales that he considered a favorite. Afterwards, she left him to his writing and found a sunny spot to read.

Absently, she adjusted the sling where it pressed against her neck. Another week and she'd finally be able to take it off. Elrond had recommended a few exercises to strengthen her arm again, and she was anxious to get started on them. It had been annoying, not being able to use her dominant hand for anything.

A while later, the sound of soft voices reached her ears. She briefly glanced up for the page she was on, then did a double take as she recognized the couple strolling on the other side of the nearby stream. Aragorn was walking beside Arwen, Elrond's daughter. Lori was sitting out in the open, but their attention seemed to be focused on each other more than anything.

The quiet bubbling of the stream drowned out what little she might have been able to hear of their conversation, but something Arwen said made Aragorn pause and turn to face her. He reached out to cup her cheek and kissed her.

Lori realized she was staring and snapped her gaze back down to her book, heat rising on her face. Of course, it was hard not to stare around Arwen. She had trouble not stumbling over her words in front of someone who was so effortlessly beautiful. But she'd also caught them in a private moment, and she felt more flustered by it than she should have. Maybe it was the fact that elves, as far as she'd seen, weren't really prone to physical affection, and witnessing it now was a bit of a shock.

After a while, Aragorn and Arwen continued down the path they were on, hands joined. Lori glanced at Aragorn's retreating back and thought, Good for him.

She adjusted the book in her lap and went back to reading. The one Bilbo had recommended was full of tales from lands around the Shire, stories of heroism and magic that reminded her of Arthurian legends. It had been so long since she'd read anything for enjoyment instead of learning, and the simple pleasure made her feel younger.

Maybe it was the fact that most of the people here were decades—if not centuries—older than her, but Lori had begun to feel more like a child since coming to Rivendell. In a way, it was something of a relief.

When the scuff of footsteps sounded behind her, she realized how hunched her posture had become, and instinctively straightened. She knew who it was before she turned around—the elves, and even Bilbo, were all much quieter when they moved.

"You move like a soldier would when standing at attention," Aragorn said as he sat next to her.

"My dad used to get after me about having bad posture," Lori said, adjusting her shoulders. "I need to get back in the habit of sitting properly."

"It is a good habit to keep. Was it your father who instructed you in such matters?"

"Both my parents did." Her jaw tensed, and her gaze fell to the stream. She couldn't think of anything else to say about it. Thinking about them hurt.

"Lord Elrond told me you had asked about regaining your lost memories."

Lori nodded. She went back and forth over her decision every couple of days, but she still hadn't taken up Elrond's offer. There were times when she wanted to remain in the fragile peace she'd constructed here, and other times her curiosity overshadowed her sense of self-preservation. She had to keep reminding herself that she could always wait until she'd fully thought it out, but there was no taking it back if she decided to confront her lost memories.

"Do you think it would bring you peace, to know the cause of your death?" Aragorn asked.

She looked up at him. "It's…I mean, it bothers me every day that I don't know. I keep coming up with new scenarios, and it scares me to think they might be true." She smoothed the pages of the book. "I don't think it would give me peace, exactly. I know whatever happened was bad. I just wish…"

She broke off and swallowed. She hadn't even told this to Elrond. It scared her to say the words out loud, but it was worse keeping them lodged in her throat.

"I just wonder if I had the chance to say goodbye."

"Perhaps you had a year to do so," Aragorn said. "Whatever pain you suffered, that does not mean there was not healing also."

"Maybe," she said softly. He made a good point—even the worst year of her life couldn't have been all bad. She smiled slightly and glanced at him. "Thanks, for that."

He inclined his head, and they sat in companionable silence for a while. Aragorn had a way of offering advice without ever seeming condescending, even during those first days after he'd found her stumbling through the wilderness. He shared some mannerisms with the elves, but never seemed quite as detached. Not that the elves she'd met were ever rude, but she'd never been able to forget that they weren't human.

The train of thought reminded her of what she'd witnessed earlier that day, and she turned to Aragorn with a lighter expression.

"So…you and Arwen."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"I didn't know you two were together." She blinked. "It's not a secret, is it?"

"No." The smile he'd been holding back revealed itself. "We would not have it that way, even without my clumsy attempts at courtship in my younger years."

Lori stifled a laugh. She couldn't imagine Aragorn being clumsy at anything, but she also didn't think there was any way to be smooth around someone as beautiful as Arwen.

"How long have you two been together?"

He shrugged. "Some thirty years, give or take a few."

Lori did a double take, then tried to do the math in her head. Aragorn didn't look older than forty. Had he started dating her when he was ten?

"I have walked these lands for more years than many would guess," Aragorn said.

She didn't know if it would be rude to ask how many more years, so she settled on a different question. "Are you part elf?"

He tilted his head. "There is some elvish blood in my lineage, but it has thinned over many, many generations. The trace of it that remains is not enough for me to call myself part elf."

"Well, it's nice that you can trace your heritage back so far. That's not very common where I'm from."

A frown flickered over his face, and she wondered if she'd said something wrong, but it disappeared as soon as it had come. "It is easier for some families than others to recall the history of their bloodline."

Lori hummed in agreement. Anyone more than two or three generations past seemed like a complete stranger, though she did sometimes wonder about what their lives might have been like—so different from her own, yet tangentially connected by blood.

"It must be different for elves," she said, sitting up straighter. "If they're immortal, they could technically meet their ancestors, right?"

"Indeed, though it is not very common," Aragorn said. "Elves will typically have no more than two children in their lifetimes, and the gaps between generations can span a thousand years or more. That is more than enough time for an elf to lose their life in battle."

Lori bit the inside of her lip. There was another reference to battle. There were times when it seemed like a shadow hung over the lands beyond Rivendell. What was it that they were so afraid of?

Aragorn's thoughts seemed to be along similar lines, and his voice was somber when he spoke again.

"I must leave tomorrow, and return to the wild."

Her eyes widened, and she stamped hard on a sudden feeling of disappointment. "Oh. Okay. You need to go back to…being a Ranger?"

A smile flickered at the corner of his lips. "Indeed. I have tarried here for longer than I should have, but it has been a welcome reprieve from the northern winter."

Lori couldn't help but wonder if he'd stayed to keep an eye on her, then brushed the thought away. He had friends and family here—and a lover—and like he'd said, the weather here was mild during the winter. When he left, it would be to save more lives, to guide and protect the people who needed him.

But within the tiny circle of belonging she'd managed to carve out here, Aragorn would be taking a large piece with him when he left.

"Well, I hope you stay safe," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

Aragorn nodded his thanks. "I do not know when I will next be able to return to Rivendell. But you will be safe and provided for here."

"I know." She clasped her hands together. "Thank you again for bringing me here, and for…for everything."

He smiled. "I will say it again—you owe me no thanks. I wish you the best in your days here."

He squeezed her shoulder, then stood up and walked away. Lori bent over her book and took a shuddering breath, her eyes roaming over the words on the page without taking in a single one.

The days began to run together, folding over one another like crashing waves. Lori ate and read and lay awake in bed for long hours. When her sling came off, she did small exercises to regain the strength in her arm until the habit slipped away. Whenever Elrond asked about her health, she would start back up again.

It felt like she'd been living here for a lifetime, for a month, for a day and a half. She had trouble remembering the content of the books she'd read, or what she'd eaten the previous day. She thought back to Bilbo's suggestion that she write down the interesting parts of her life, but none of it was worth recording.

Occasionally, Bilbo or one of the elves would inquire into her wellbeing. She thought that maybe they could see how she was withering on the inside, but she always smiled and replied that she was all right, that she was content, and they never questioned her further. She was fed and safe and surrounded by kind people. How the fuck could she say she wasn't happy?

Spring was in the air, and she felt like the layer of damp autumn leaves unearthed after the snowmelt.

The days she played music were a little better. Lindir offered her a violin, carved of light brown wood with curling designs inlaid at the edges. Once her right arm was strengthened enough to hold the bow, she would play for hours, falling into the familiar rhythm of repeating a song over and over until it was perfect.

It was on one of these days that she was standing in one of the smaller pavilions, swaying slightly with the melody. Her gaze flickered up as someone passed through the arching entrance, and she paused and lowered the violin from beneath her chin.

Lindir held up a hand. "Please, do not stop on my account."

"Sorry." The violin swung with a half-rotation of her wrist. "I get kind of flustered when other people watch me practice."

He tilted his head. "Surely you do not think I would belittle your work."

"Well…" From a technical standpoint, she knew she was good, but still nowhere near Lindir's level. "Actually, if you did have any advice for me, I'd appreciate it."

"Your skill is considerable," Lindir said, stepping closer. "But you pull the notes from the instrument instead of inviting them to come forth."

She let out a dry laugh. When Lindir raised an eyebrow, she said, "That just sounds like something a musician would say. I'll, uh, keep that in mind."

"For elves, song is creation. And true creation cannot be forced." He held out a hand, and she handed him the violin and the bow. He placed it beneath his chin in a practiced motion and played a series of high, clear notes.

Lori watched him, entranced. Once, she might have been jealous, but it was hard to feel that way about an immortal being with centuries of practice. Chills crept over her arms. If there really was such a thing as a divine act, this had to count as one of them.

Lindir paused after a few minutes and stood still, as if he was considering something.

"Music is cuil. It is life." He smiled. "It is somewhat complicated to describe it to someone who does not know the language. But I believe music makes it a little easier to understand that which is difficult to explain."

Lori returned the smile as he handed the instrument back to her. "Do you think it would be possible for me to learn Sindarin?"

"I believe Erestor would be willing to teach you. He is more of a tutor than I."

"Okay," she said, her fingertips pressing into the strings. "I'll ask him."

She had music and words. Maybe that would be enough to keep her afloat.

A couple weeks later, Erestor found Lori in the library, sitting at a table scattered with scraps of paper.

"What are these?" he asked, making her look up.

She set down the scrap in her hand and blushed. "They're…flashcards."

She was being very frugal with her use of paper, so the pieces were much smaller than the index cards she would have used back home. Even in a place like Rivendell, paper wasn't in limitless supply. Bilbo had shown her how to scrape ink from a piece of parchment, so once she had memorized a word, she could erase it and write another one.

Erestor picked up one of the pieces of paper and examined it.

"I wrote Sindarin words on one side and the meaning in En—Westron on the other," Lori explained. "It helps me study."

"Most interesting." He placed the card back with a small smile. "I must say, you are one of the more diligent students I have had over the years."

She let out a small laugh. It was nice to actually feel good at something again. "Who else have you tutored here?"

"Aragorn was my student in his earlier years. He had a habit of neglecting his studies to exercise other skills in the training yard. I had to make clear to him that the mind must be honed just as much as the sword-arm."

"I can't even imagine him as a child." Her smile turned bittersweet. She'd thought about him several times since he'd left. Some nights she lay awake and remembered the smoke-scented shelter and the freezing nights under the stars and wondered if he'd managed to find a comfortable place to sleep. She remembered the night with the troll and wondered if he was safe.

"Many years have passed since he came of age," Erestor said, breaking her out of her thoughts. "He carries burdens that he did not have as a child."

Lori blew out a sigh through her nose. "Don't we all."

Erestor sent her an assessing glance. "Pedig edhellen?"

"Uh." She blinked, searching for the right words in the unfamiliar language. "Pe…din edhellen."

He dipped his head approvingly. "Practicing your speech will help you more than studying alone. Any of the elves here would be willing to assist you."

"Right." Lori took one of the cards from the table and fiddled with it. "Once I have a few more words memorized, I'll try practicing out loud."

She didn't say out loud that she needed the cards, that she needed the familiar quiet space that came with studying. Now that she was learning Sindarin, she could fill her head with new words. When the silence at night got too loud, she could mouth translations to herself until she calmed down.

Maybe she could cobble herself together into some semblance of a straight-A student in this new world, because she wasn't sure what she would be otherwise.

Disclaimer: I've never touched a violin in my life, and I have no idea what it's like to play one. I listened to Dr. Ford from the Westworld soundtrack while I was writing that part, that song has some of the best string performances I've ever heard.

Anyway, it was fun to get to Bilbo in this chapter! I love the idea that he's one of those old people who loves to overshare with strangers.

Next chapter will be a turning point of sorts, and then we'll be getting on to a new arc in Lori's story. Thanks so much for all the reviews/faves/follows etc, and see you soon!