Chapter 14
Turns out, the happiness from getting exactly what you want only lasts as long as the guilt that comes to eat it up.
They gave her a dark large room, whittled from the same grey rock of the Stronghold. Even the bed was a large slab, topped by a packed mattress and pretty, but thin, grey blankets. Not much else could be seen in the darkness, but she was so grateful at seeing a real bed that Glorfindel himself could have been hiding in the gloom and she wouldn't have paid him any mind. The couch had been comfortable but the normality of a seeing a real bed in a place so foreign eased some of the ache between her shoulder blades.
"Thank you." She said, as Lindir followed her in and placed a dim lantern on a jut of rock she hadn't noticed. Soft blue light reached just enough of his face for her to see how tight his lips were set.
Elrond and Glorfindel weren't the only ones mad at her, apparently.
"Hey-" She tried. He ignored her, and started back towards the entrance. "Wait- Lindir, I just wanted to say than-"
The wooden door slammed shut, cutting her off. She flinched.
"Well fuck you too." She muttered.
What was his problem?
She thought he'd be happy to be rid of her! Why was he being weird? She hadn't imagined him jumping for joy when she was finally given an end to her enforced stay, but she also hadn't expected…whatever the hell that had been.
Something completely preposterous occurred to her.
Was this about what she'd said earlier to Glorfindel? About not caring?
She scoffed. He couldn't be mad at that, could he?
No. Of course not. That'd be stupid.
And yet…She bit her bottom lip. What if he was?
The more she thought about it, the more annoyed she got. Why was he mad at her?
And why, she thought, as her hand yanked open the door before she'd instructed it to do so, did it bother her so much that he was?
"You know," she started haughtily. "I wasn't trying to be a dick when- oh- where…"
She blinked as the dark hallway swallow the rest of her words.
Lindir wasn't there.
She squinted, straining her eyes, willing him to appear before her. There was a faint glow far into the ink black, but when she blinked it was gone.
She was finally all alone.
And that was good, she thought, trying to force some cheer as she shut the door. She wasn't some criminal that needed to be guarded. She was a grown woman. She didn't need a babysitter. It was good that he was gone.
Stiffly, she slipped under the blankets, curling onto her side with a huff, determined to forget the look on Lindir's face and sleep. But unconsciousness evaded her.
First, she couldn't get comfortable, rolling over and under, arms up, arms down, leg up, starfish. No position worked. Then she tried reciting surgical instruments, forceps, graspers, distractors, retractors, she got all the way to dilators before she realised that that too, wasn't working.
She even tried to hum to herself, something she hadn't done in years, conjuring up some old sea-tune, one that Mum had sung to her a long time ago. But the tune got stuck in her throat and it closed, refusing to let the rest out. And old hot pain pushed the memory back into hidden memory.
She tried everything. But she kept coming back to Lindir's face, usually blank, now pinched in anger.
Because of her.
Guilt gnawed at her insides, but she tried to talk herself out of it.
Who cares what they think? She argued. You don't need Elrond's approval or need Lindir's friendship. All you have to do is make it twenty days without cracking and you get to go home. That's all that matters.
But no matter how much she tried to stamp it out, the guilt only multiplied until it formed its own mass, the weight of which drug her quickly into sleep.
. . .
Anxiety twisted her dreams into nightmares and tangled her legs in the bedsheets. She kept seeing Gildor, feeling the weight of him curled over her, the panic she felt when she thought he was dead. Then he morphed into Lindir, blood splattered and riddled with arrows. His eyes were open, milk-blind with death and the sight of it shocked her right out of her sleep and over the edge of her bed.
She landed with the slap of tangled limbs and groaned. Confused, she blinked up into the white-yellow morning light and waited for the familiar soft sound of Lindir's shifting armour. While living in the office, he'd sometimes storm in if she made an abnormal noise, looking irritated that she'd chosen to exist.
But this time, the door remained firmly shut.
With a groan and a lot of faffing she eventually managed to untangle herself and sat up, staring at a hole in the wall that had appeared overnight through which the sunlight was coming through.
Absently, she noted that someone had come in while she slept and swapped her lamp with food and water. Her stomach rumbled but she ignored it in favour of examining the hole up close.
Standing on her tiptoes she stuck her head out of the bright hole, balancing her weight on her forearms. It was a narrow space between two sections of rock, that went on forever below and above. What was interesting however, were the bright zig-zagging spots on both sides that reflected down and up, the same light that streamed into her room.
It took a moment and then her mind clicked.
Mirrors.
A series of mirrors capturing light from above and sending it back down into the Stronghold.
Leda felt a bit winded at the scale of it.
How had they managed it? How was any of this possible?
She'd asked herself the same question before. But the more she saw, the more the answer escaped her.
How many centuries had it taken to tunnel themselves into the rock? To build elaborate systems of mirrors to light the caves? To hollow and cultivate gardens where before was barren rock?
She pulled herself up onto the edge and thought of home and Petra. The only place she had for comparison. If she remembered it right, it was an Ancient, functional city built into the rock over hundreds of years. Is that what the Stronghold was? An entire city carved into the mountain?
Time passed slowly as she sat basking in the reflected sunlight, trying to ignore the memory of her dream. It might have been easier if Lindir came to distract her, but he never did. A heavy silence settled around her, and a familiar but nameless emotion joined her too, bloating under her ribs, making her fidget.
Now that she was alone, everything was oddly…still.
She hadn't been still since she was sixteen years old and mum and dad were leaving for a research trip in the Caribbean. Since then it'd been one mad dash to self-sufficiency, a free-fall into her career and then, on one stupid April evening, a heptathlon to an Island that didn't exist.
And now she was static.
She sighed, running her fingers along the edge of the glassless window. Twenty days by herself.
She'd spent the last ten years obsessing over her work. She had no hobbies. No likes. No friends.
Who was she when she wasn't busy hurtling towards the next something?
Olorin, it seemed, had the answer. Or a answer. And perhaps to another question entirely.
The door slammed open, and a bundle of brown cloth hit her in the face. She spluttered and clawed it away to find Olorin staring at her expectantly. No more introspection for her, it seemed. She decided to ignore the rush of relief that filled her at the thought.
"Cease your wallowing!" He barked, spinning back out of the room just as chaotically as he had entered. "And come with me!"
Leda gaped wordlessly after him, shaking out the cloth into what was actually a large robe.
She almost said no.
But what did she have to lose?
Silence quickly rushed back in. And the thought of sitting alone in in it quickly made up her mind for her.
Plus, she reasoned as she shrugged on the robe, didn't she deserve a few answers?
It wasn't till she glanced up, that she realised she was being watched.
Lindir had finally appeared, materialising in the doorway as though he had been there the entire time. She gasped and rocked back reflexively.
Today, his warm chestnut hair was twisted into three complicated braids, making him look younger. Without the usual loose curtain of hair to hide them, his twitching ears seemed even larger.
Quiet stretched between them.
"So, you are still here." She sniffed, trying to appear unbothered as she rolled up the robe's long sleeves and bunched the excess material under her arms to keep from tripping.
When he didn't answer she rolled her eyes. "Still not talking to me?"
At his blank stare she made a noise of frustration at the back of her throat.
"Fine." She griped, marching past him and out into the bright hallway.
Smaller circular holes like the one in her room lined the far wall, lighting the high-ceilinged passageway.
How deep were they? She marvelled. And how large was the Stronghold? How many caves and hallways had the Elves carved?
She peaked behind her to see Lindir following. How many Elves were there that she hadn't seen?
She was only mildly surprised when, after turning their seventh left, she found herself back at the Cave Garden. It was even more colourful during the day and smelled of something sweet that she couldn't place.
Olorin led them to a soft patch of grass surrounded by tall, star-shaped yellow flowers. After a moment's hesitation, she copied him and sat opposite.
He pulled out a long-stemmed pipe, packed the chamber with what looked like a mix of wood shavings and brown moss and lit it. He didn't use a match.
Lindir roamed in and out of her periphery, content to walk the perimeter of their little patch, touching petals and bending to run his long fingers through the soft grass.
Olorin paid her no mind while he dragged greedily from the pipe, but unsettlingly, she got the feeling that he could see her perfectly well.
She eyed his side profile warily.
He looked human. Old and hairy and hunched. But yesterday he'd grown four feet and made sparks fly from his staff and had re-wired her brain. Now he looked about as harmless as an old man sitting outside Tesco feeding the birds. It was like yesterday never happened. It unnerved her.
Being spat out by a Vortice had obliterated her carefully curated beliefs, and every second that passed in the Stronghold seemed to stretch them even further. Everything was on its head here. Elves that looked like supermodels were blood splattered nightmares, old men with canes were all-powerful magicians?
What would the Stronghold, with its power to make everything its opposite, do to a boring, stubborn (junior) doctor with interaction deficiencies issues? (name?)
"It is the one-thousandth, six hundred and ninety-ninth year of the Sun in the Second Age of Middle Earth." Olorin remarked loudly, startling her out of her thoughts.
She blinked at him. "Uh- Sorry, what?"
"It is the date." He said. "I assume you wished to know it?"
"Well, yes." She started, staring at his profile. "But that date means nothing to me. I don't even know where-"
"You are in Middle Earth, the Lonely Lands specifically. The Stronghold is within a small, narrow valley of the foothills of the Misty Mountains. Though I suppose to you, you might not see it as so small." He added, sucking from his pipe. "Should you have witnessed the might of Caradhras, though, I think you would readily agree to this designation of foothill."
"Er…"
"The formation is not long West of Wilderland nor North of the Land of Holly Trees, but the roads between each are seized even as we speak, cutting kin from kin."
Wilderland? Land of the Holly Trees? What fever dream was she living in?
And what did he mean, cut from their kin and roads seized?
He must have sensed her bafflement because he glanced at her, exhaling a plume of thick white smoke that curled up and over the brim of his hat before dispersing.
"I have confused you." He stated before looking away again. "But it is one of the questions I knew you would ask. You did not ask it yesterday, I knew it to be inevitable."
"I was a little distracted." She said under her breath.
"Ah, yes." He mused, surprising her. Maybe humans in Middle Earth were magicians and better at hearing. "How is your head?"
She cleared her throat, remembering the pain from yesterday. "Intact. Despite, you now, being magically cracked open."
His profile grinned. "I believe it was less a crack than it was more a momentary opening of a door."
"A door?" She echoed, doubtful.
He shrugged. "Yes. Albeit a heavy one."
Because that made sense.
"So this-" She waved her hands between her throat and head. "Magic understanding spell…thing. How does it work?"
One bushy eyebrow rose high. "It is not 'magic' that allows you to understand Grey."
"Grey? What is that? I thought we were all speaking English?"
He choked on a mouthful of smoke and coughed it out.
"Goodness no!" He spluttered. "We are not speaking your harsh tongue."
"Look, no offence meant," she said dismissively. "But I don't have to be an Otolaryngologist to know English when I hear it."
"No offence taken. And though I do not know what…that is, I assure you Miss Gauling that you are speaking-"
"It's Ackerman." She interrupted.
Best to nip it in the bud early. No use having another Professor Morgan situation on her hands.
"Doctor Ackerman if you're going to go the full nine yards." She added.
"My apologies then, Miss Ackerman. I assume Dork'tor is your station? And that as I understand, it means you are a Healer?"
"Yes. And if by 'station' you mean 'job', then also yes."
He drummed his fingers against his knee. "And do your people prefer to be addressed with their stations?"
"No. It's a little weird. Me and Annette always used to-" she caught his curious stare and clammed up. "We just uh- just used to laugh about it, is all."
He looked at her curiously. "This...A-nayt, they are a friend?"
She snorted. "No. Well- I don't know. She's my boss. I'm not sure I'd count her as a friend."
She wasn't sure she could count anyone as a friend.
Molly's face flashed in her mind, but she dismissed it. Flatmates do not count as friends.
"And the people you travelled to the Island with." He hedged. "They were also not your friends?"
Do friends let other friends fall into Vortices' by themselves and not come searching for them?
"No." She muttered. "Not by any definition of the word I know."
He hummed and stared into space.
She waited for him to speak but he seemed content in silence, so she found her voice to prod him into a straight answer.
"But- look. You and I and Lindir, when he's not insulting me-" She couldn't see where he was, but she could practically feel his scowl. "-are all speaking English. Not Grey."
She frowned and tried to say the word Sindarin again.
"We're not speaking Grey." She looked up, alarmed. "Why can't I say Grey? Why is it coming out the wrong way? I'm speaking English so it should-"
Olorin turned to face her fully and grinned. "Are you?"
She rolled her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. "Of course I am, I know English when I hea-"
"But are you really?" He leaned forward excitedly. Despite the space between them, Leda still angled her body backwards, feeling crowded. "Listen to yourself, Miss Ackerman. Really listen. To the words. To their weight. To the twist of your tongue and forget all else around you."
"I can't-"
"Just try." He insisted, eyes bright.
She felt ridiculous. But she still made a show of closing her eyes and concentrating. She even mumbled some nonsense, but it didn't work. Of course, it didn't. Because magic translations spells were nonsense.
All she could hear was her own, flat voice and she recoiled away from it.
Was that really how she sounded? All hollow and dull?
"See?" She said. She opened her eyes and tried one last time to listen to the words at the same time. "I told you it wouldn't work. How am I supposed to lasta an i paeth ir lá istan lasta an Sindari-"
She clapped a hand over her mouth. What the hell was that?
It was rough, and no amount of flowery language could change her deadpan delivery, but she definitely wasn't speaking English anymore.
Slowly, she lowered her hand. Aggravatingly, Olorin looked like he'd just witnessed the funniest thing in years.
"What-" she paused, making sure what came out of her mouth sounded like English. "What the fuck was that?"
"I assume 'thuuck' is a expletive on Earf? You say it quite often in stressful-"
"Olorin!" She snapped.
"My apologies." He didn't look sorry in the least. "But you see now, yes?"
See? Of course she didn't see. Maybe if she threw away her understanding of…everything, she might be able to. But could she? How was she supposed to rationalise any of this? So an old wizard stuck his knobbly fingers in her brain and…re-wrote it? And she's just supposed to get on with it?
She rubbed a hand over her throat as phantom claws tightened around her skin.
Could the spell be classed as a violation? Had she been manipulated against her will? She didn't ask to be changed by magic. And yet, where would she be without it? She thought worriedly. Was she supposed to thank him or be mad at him? And how did it work? What about her thoughts? How come she could think 'Sindarin' but say 'Grey'? What happened when she went home, would she never speak English again? What-
"You are panicking." Olorin said, interrupting said panicking.
Lindir reappeared again, strolling to a stop just behind Olorin.
He was stared intently, head cocked to the side. Their eyes met, and after a moment he clicked his tongue, seemingly satisfied that she wasn't having some kind of attack. His eyes swept over her once and then he turned back to examining a cluster of blue flowers, forgetting her.
"How can I not?" She admitted quietly. "I don't understand anything."
"And that distresses you." He surmised. "To all else, what has happened might be wondrous and viewed positively. Yet you view a miracle with fear."
"Wouldn't you?" She pleaded.
She felt upside down.
This place. This Middle Earth. It was turning everything inside out. Every time she found her footing, it would twist and throw her off, leaving her more disorientated than before.
He sighed deeply and twisted the ends of his ridiculous beard around a thick index finger.
"Under any other circumstances," he began slowly. "It would have been a simple incantation."
She sat up straighter. Weirdly, it felt like he was offering her something other than an answer. Like a way out. Or an olive branch.
"These weren't normal circumstances?" She guessed.
"It is not every day a human woman crawls out of a river and proclaims herself to be from another world." He said drily.
Despite feeling so terribly unmoored, she managed a small smile.
"For others," he began. "It would be like pushing open a door that was already ajar. To open communications, to make them more receptible to understanding. But your mind was a wall of mithril. Harder yet, fore mithril can at least be shaped by Dwarven hands."
Dwarves? She mouthed. She shouldn't be surprised. Knowing her luck, she'd run into a giant beanstalk and a few giants before she got to go home.
"Perhaps more difficult," Olorin continued. "Is that it was not thoughts, but a sustained understanding of language. The door had to be opened and kept open. It was and is very complex. Even now, your mind pushes against our efforts. It repels it. It took the combined essence of myself, Laurefindil and Artanis. And even then it was…challenging."
She frowned. "So you've done this before? Made others understand?"
He nodded. "Yes. Others from Middle Earth. Should there be conflict, it is wise to show each side what the other desires to avoid bloodshed. Much of the time, both parties realise they are much the same."
Something horrible clenched in her stomach. "You mean you manipulate them."
"No." He said sharply. His mouth twisted and his eyes flared white. It was the closest he had looked to being annoyed with her. She flinched back, pulling the robe tighter around herself as a shield. "I simply help each side interpret what they already see and hear. I do not force or manipulate or change."
The sting of reproach made her cheeks grow hot.
"Right." She accepted. She was a little afraid he was going to grow ten feet tall again and start spitting fire at her, but as she watched his eyes dulled to their normal blue and he seemed amiable once more.
He blew a smoke ring upwards. Leda tracked it as it rose until it was lost in a beam of sunlight.
"It will not harm you and is not permanent." He said after a while. "And depends upon your proximity to myself or the others. It merely allows you to understand the intention of the words, and filters it through your mind back into Grey. Your mind searches for the Grey equivalent and if it cannot find it- or if it does not exist, then you will supply it in your native tongue. As with your Dok'tor and thuuck." And then, as though he couldn't contain it anymore, he added eagerly: "What does it mean?"
She strategically chose to ignore that enquiry. "But why-"
"Do you hear Engleish?" He shrugged, allowing her to dodge the question. But from the amusement in his eyes, she knew he'd bring it up again. "It is your own mind. Perhaps it does so to make it easier for you to transition. To comfort you in a way."
Well. That was almost…scientific. She could understand the brain's stress responses. Trauma responses. His explanation wasn't a fix it to her confusion, but it was relieving to find some common ground.
"How could I hear the words just now? I tried to speak but my sentence just…fell apart. I couldn't understand anymore but the words were still in Grey?"
He nodded, as if any of that made a lick of sense.
"Understanding is not something to be forced." He said cryptically. "When you think of it in terms of Earf, you do not understand. The gate of mithril closes over your mind again. But should you accept it- and not fight against it, you find meaning in Grey. The language flows through you unhindered."
She nodded slowly. "So if I start thinking logically about it all, it stops making sense?"
He spread his hands. "Precisely, Miss Ackerman."
But it didn't feel precise. It felt like he was asking her to take a lot of liberties with her beliefs. Like he was asking her to take a huge leap of faith and trust him. And she didn't know if she could do that. Lindir popped up on her right, sniffing a blue petal he'd taken from a flower. She pursed her lips. Did she trust him? Or – and here, her heart thumped – Gildor? Or Belwen? Could she ever?
"I can offer you no explanation that would soothe you fully." Olorin said gently. "It is a matter of our will. We willed your mind to do only what it is already capable of."
She surprised herself by snorting. "Don't tell me, the power was within me the whole time."
The smile he flashed her was secretive. "Perhaps."
Silence settled over them until something else nagged at her.
"I suppose I should ask you what you are, then." She said. "I mean, you look human."
He blew a plume of smoke straight at her face.
"Do I?" He asked airily.
"Well- could you not?" She coughed and waved at the fumes to disperse them. "You look like an old man but you're talking about- about- Harry Potter crap. Like witches and wizards and ghosts and toads-"
"Toads?" He chuckled.
"I mean- Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat-"
"Why on Aman would I do such a thi-"
"-Or turn water into wine?"
He hummed, and this time aimed his smoke upwards. "Yes, although I'm not sure why I would."
"Regardless." She said quickly, realising that pulling information from Olorin was like pulling teeth. "You're not like me, are you? You're magic."
"No. I am not like you. I am of the Wizards. Of Aman. But as I said before, our definitions of 'magic' wildly vary."
She screwed her mouth to the side. What did he mean? Magic wasn't magic? He was a Wizard but he wasn't? What was a 'Aman'?
"I am sure you could have asked Lord Elrond all of your questions." He mused innocently, just as she opened her mouth to ask something else. "That is, if you hadn't so grievously insulted him."
Her mouth snapped shut.
Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she remembered all the things she'd said yesterday.
"I didn't mean-" She tried.
"What we mean," he interrupted wryly. "And what we say, are often found to be two of a kind."
It was suddenly very difficult to meet his eye. "I didn't mean any harm."
"No?" There was no anger in his voice, but she got the distinct impression that he was telling her off. "Then why say it?"
"I didn't-" She licked her bottom lip. "What I said- what I meant yesterday was that I didn't care about here. That before- That I only care about getting home."
He swept a hand over his chest.
"But I am of 'here', no? As are Lindir and this Garden and Elrond, who argued to keep you here when others would see you sent to your own kind with no question of your mysterious circumstance."
Her mouth went dry. "He…they wanted to send me to other humans?"
The thought was distinctly worrying. She hadn't even had the chance to ask about the humans that lived there. Elrond had called her human, but how close was the genetic, aesthetic and intellectual similarity to the humans of Middle Earth? Was it Homo sapien to Homo sapien? Or was it more Homo sapien to Neanderthal? One preferring tools to advance itself and the other having a proclivity for cannibalism.
And even, she reasoned worriedly biting at her lip, if they were Homo sapiens or a Middle Earth version of them, what's to say they weren't like the humans of three-hundred thousand years ago? And not like the humans of just six hundred years ago? What if they'd sent her to them and they were in their ritual sacrifice phase of evolution? Or in their White, Manifest Destiny phase?
What, she thought with dread, if they'd found her instead of Gildor and Glorfindel?
Olorin looked very casual puffing away on his pipe, but his stare was heavy on her shoulders.
"You are human, not Elven nor Half-Elven. Your concerns are not for them. They thought it best to send you to your people, for all the knowledge the Elves possess, understanding of the Second Born is still mostly a mystery."
Her stomach twisted.
"But of course," he continued conversationally. "This does not matter. You do not care for a community of 'murderers'."
"I didn't mean-" She cut herself off.
What did she mean?
All her beliefs, upside and inside out. Middle Earth was twisting everything. And she wasn't sure she was ready to admit that.
Murder was wrong. She knew that. Harming people was wrong. She was right, for Christ's sake!
So why was Olorin's simple stare making her feel all types of wrong?
"I took an oath." She said with feeling. "That means something to me. I don't… I don't think you're- well I mean technically you are but-"
He watched her struggle with her own words and offered no reprieve. Instead, he blew another smoke ring, then another one though it's middle and watched them float off together.
She tugged at the sleeves of her robe.
"I just think that chopping someone's head off isn't the way to end a disagreement." She said defensively. "I won't pretend to know how it all works, but at least at home we have things like the United Nations. Peace talks. Mutually assured destruction. We don't just...barbarically cleave someone in two with a hatchet because we disagree with them."
"Nor, I suppose," he quipped. "Do you strangle innocent girls who crawl out of rivers?"
Flaxen hair filled her mind. Her heart gave another painful thump at the thought of him.
"How is he?" She asked quietly. "And Belwen- how is she?"
"Why would you care for two murderers?"
Shame made her anger burn hot.
"That's not what I meant!" She spat. And then, conscious that he'd just admitted to being a Wizard, decided to wind her neck far back in.
"I didn't mean them." She said more measuredly.
He hummed. "And yet, they are as much 'here' as I am."
She swallowed thickly. Once again, Middle Earth was shifting everything of its axis.
"They are better." Olorin offered after a while. "Though still not complete."
That didn't make her feel any better, but she nodded anyway and thanked him for telling her. Finished with teaching her a lesson, he allowed them to lapse into silence. The stillness around them only interrupted by Lindir occasionally flitting in and out of sight. She was about to ask to go back to her room when Olorin suddenly moved.
"Come!" He said, shooting to his feet, faster than should be possible for an old man. Even one who was actually a Wizard.
"Uh- where-" She tried but he was already walking off, swinging his gnarled staff from side to side.
Lindir materialised, holding out a hand to help her up that she stubbornly ignored. She immediately regretted it, however, when her pressure dropped and black spots filled her vision. When they cleared, she found Lindir watching her like he knew exactly what had happened and knew, without seeing or hearing so, that he was definitely laughing at her.
"Shut up." She muttered and hurried past him after Olorin up one of the stone staircases.
They walked for maybe twenty minutes. Time was unknowable in Middle Earth. The Elves didn't have, or possibly hadn't invented, clocks.
At one point the ground angled up, and she found herself sweating at the temples as they rose. The air grew colder, and she unrolled the sleeves of the robe to keep in the warmth.
Olorin stopped them and gestured out of one of the holes cut into the rock. Leda was surprised to find not another rock face but the outside. They must be along the outer wall, because when she stuck her head out she could see the crag running across the valley floor and if she held her breath, she could even hear the water that ran through it.
Olorin, who's hand hovered just above her shoulder as if to catch her should she launch herself out of the window and try to get home by herself, pointed at the opposite mountain wall. Lindir, ever cat-like in his not-so-subtle curiosity, crowded beside her to look too. She looked up at him. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, widening his nostrils to get as much fresh air as he could.
How long had it been since he'd lived outside? Had he ever?
This high she could see that the mountain extended to the left as far as she could see and to the right, rose high into the clouds.
"They say this whole region was Giant country." Olorin said.
Leda frowned. What had she said earlier about Beanstalks and Giants?
"Let me guess, they built castles in the sky and never the two shall meet?" She snorted.
Olorin frowned down at her. From this angle, his nose looked even larger.
"No of course not," he said dismissively. "The sky would never hold their weight."
Right. Because the density of Giants was the real issue at hand.
"The Rock Giants remain."
Leda blanched. "Excuse me?"
"They are here. In parts of the mountain itself. They went dormant thousands of years ago." He said all this as though it was completely believable and not totally insane. "Some of their kin, those who chose not to sleep, still live in the Mountains further North, and far West of here in the North Moors."
"Er…" Leda wasn't exactly sure why he was telling her this, other than to give her nightmares of being eaten alive by a Giant that found out her bedroom was in it's ear. "Right. And you're saying that these Giant's definitely existed in reality and not just in…myth?"
He nodded; his long beard tickled her cheek.
"Yes." He said seriously. "I think often of them. I would have liked to have seen one of their warriors."
Warriors?
"And these Giants, they're heavy sleepers, are they?" She said it jokingly, but there was a small part of her that worried that Middle Earth had the ability to make reality out of all myth's.
Olorin laughed.
"Yes. But it would take something far louder than your voice to wake them." He sounded regretful. "Not even I could make them show themselves by voice alone no matter how much I wish that I could. They would be great allies in the war."
War. The word tasted like ash in her mouth. He'd said it earlier. That the Elves had been cut from their kin. That the roads were seized. The muscles in her neck jumped. Was it the Orchs? Were they at war with the Orchs?
Olorin stared for a while longer before stepping away.
"Come. Best for us not to dwell on what might have been."
Leda lingered a second longer, shivering in the cold air but unable to stop herself from sucking in large lungful's like Lindir had. She couldn't see the pass between the rocks her, she'd travelled through. Maybe only the Elves could see it.
But there was something else, a jagged black line across the rock that caught her eye.
A question nagged at her mind, but it stayed just on the tip of formation.
"Miss Ackerman?"
Frustrated, she turned back around. Olorin stared curiously before smiling.
"Come along, now." He said, pointing his staff up the hallway. "We have a stop to make."
. . .
Olorin blew the last of his smoke in her general direction before stowing away his pipe.
"That stuff'll kill you." She muttered, flapping her hands at the smoke.
He barked a laugh and slapped his hand against a smooth stone wall. "Will it, now?"
She was about to tell him of the dangers of tobacco ingestion but a seam appeared in the rock, lengthening until the outline of a door appeared. Leda was so shocked that she missed his joking reply when he ushered her inside. Magic wasn't magic, her arse. That was magic if she'd ever seen it.
"You are just as bad as Elrond." He called over his shoulder as he led her, dumbstruck, into a domed cavern. The space was huge and slightly circular, occasionally shaped by delicately carved pillars with vibrant green ivy curling around them. In the middle, was a large fountain, and a large patch of greenery and trees.
At random intervals, thin white voile hung from the ceiling, helping to lay the space into sections. The rock here was a different shade this high, more sand than grey and everything was made more brilliant by the beams of sunlight that streamed down from skylights she couldn't quite make out. Along the side walls were carved doorways and windows, climbing almost to the ceiling, but in the middle of the floor were Elves.
So, so many Elves.
The space was filled with beds, some hidden behind the hanging curtains, some out, displaying the Elf that was lying, or sitting. In the middle, in the small garden, Elves stood or sat or lay on the grass, or stooped to run their hands through the fountain water.
Most were bandaged and lying or sitting, but occasionally, a tall, dark haired Elf in grey would run between the beds, carrying trays of utensils or water. Sometimes they were splattered with dark stains. Sometimes the stains were bright red.
"Jesus Christ." She breathed, something exciting making her skin feel like it was buzzing. This might be the one place in the whole of Middle Earth that she felt… stable. "Is this a Hospital?"
Lindir, silent as ever, passed by her to where Olorin waited impatiently ahead. After a moment she hurried along as they kept close to the walls. The doorways were blocked by the same gauze that separated the main space into sections. But occasionally, behind the curtains, she could hear cries of pain.
Lindir looked down at her when she caught up to him. She thought he might finally break his silence, but instead he just stepped closer. She hoped that meant she was at least half forgiven.
Olorin stopped at a doorway and held aside the thin curtain for her to step in.
She was only confused for a split second before her eyes landed on a familiar, joyful face.
Her heart thumped, but this time with a strange mix of relief and joy.
"Little Leda Acker Gauling!" Gildor exclaimed as he struggled to sit up. "Where have you been? I have been dreaming of you."
Author's Note
Time for another unnecessarily long end note! (I can hear you groaning from here)
Whew guys. Boy am I sorry this took so long. I had to break this stupid chapter in two AGAIN. Which severely messes up my 'Finish the story under 100k words so you keep your sanity' target I was going for lol
The translation spell broke my damn back, but it's just as low concept as I wanted it. I didn't want something super timey-wimey fantasy-sci-fy-y and this is just vague enough that I hope it's easy to just suspend your belief and go 'eh. Ok.'
Words like Rhovanion and Eregion are translated into their English forms, because from a narrative point, everything is already translated, therefore the reader wouldn't read Sindarin on top of Sindarin. Plus I just think their translations are cool and wanted to use 'em lol
The last line is inspired by one of my favourite lines from one of my favourite books Unburnable by Marie-Elena John. A character, when seeing her adult daughter for the first time since she fled their island aged fifteen looks up and says, "Eh eh, doux doux. Is dream I dream of you." Like it was fate that she would come back and see her mother again. Just beautiful. I always think of it.
As I've said before, this is my first ever long-fic. I'm a short story writer at heart, so I'm way out of my depth here. How am I doing for character development and pacing? Was this chapter too long? Too tell-y instead of show-y? If you're a writer too, how do you manage your own pacing?
I also know I said it was slow burn. But realistically, is Chapter 15 too long to wait for any meaningful Glorfindel/Leda interaction? Should it be faster? I've also never written a romance before lol so this is really just a fic of firsts so I'm sorry.
How is everyone? Shit just…hit the fan, right? I hope you're all safe. I hope you're all well. And I hope you're all happy. All my love and joy to you and your loved ones. Thank you again for reading, you guys are so supportive and so lovely. I only want good things for you!
I'd also like to tell you some good news, I'm going to keep it vague, but I've just been accepted onto a writing course with one of the 'Big Five' publishers! I'm so excited. Hopefully it'll be so inspiring I get loads of chapters out before I start my new job in March.
I wish you all a magical, wonderful, happy 2021. Here's to getting humanity back on track!
Aobh x
Translations/Explanations
Wilderland- Rhovanion
Land of the Holly Trees - Eregion
Lonely Lands – Eriador
Grey- Sindarin
lasta an i paeth ir lá istan lasta an Sindari" listen to the speech (words) when I can't hear (listen) to Sindari-
(that last one is probably total nonsense but at least it looks pretty, right?)
Guest review replies
Guest - Thank you so much for taking the time to review! If you are the guest that has been with me from the beginning, I adore you very much. If you are not, I still adore you too and thank you for reading!
Aneka - Aneka, thank you so much for reviewing again! You've been such a joy to have on this journey with me. Hope you're well, hope you enjoy the new chapter.
WithaV - Whew! What a review. I was so thankful for it and your observations. Lee-da is the pronunciation I go with, but I think traditionally it is Lay-da or Leh-da. Being compared to Ohtze's The Hematic is the HIGHEST of high praise and I actually squealed when I read it. Ohtze's writing is to die for and I can only hope that one day I can craft a story like they can. I'm glad that you like the representation. When I was younger I used to get so upset at the lack of representation in OCs so I wanted to write one. I hope that I keep writing a diverse world you can enjoy. Yes, prejudice will be explored in this. As you can see from Leda's quick assumptions, her own prejudices must be worked through as well. Being a minority shoved into a fantasy world, I thought it was important that I at least try and touch on some of these subjects and I hope to do them as well as I can. Thank you again for your lovely review.