Nora's dreams are filled with colors and shapes that make her think of Van Gogh or Picasso. Being a regularly lucid dreamer, she normally directs her dreams to Erebor (while Elves are all fine and dandy, she's always preferred the Dwarven way of life...at least from what she knows about it). She knows that she's dreaming, so she'd definitely lucid, but she can't influence her surroundings, which confuses her. The colors are so beautiful, though, and enchanting, so she doesn't worry about it. The shapes warp and flow and fluctuate in a pattern that is almost dizzying. Actually, come to think of it, she really is getting dizzy. The colors move faster. She doubles over as a wave of nausea hits her. She tries to shut her eyes, but the ever accelerating colors are present even beneath her eyelids. Something starts to squeeze her head painfully, and she gasps and her hands fly up to her forehead. The colors keep accelerating. Falling to her knees and clawing at her scalp, she sobs and begs for it to stop. It does.
All of a sudden, it all stops. The pressure on her head is released. The nausea goes away. The colors stop moving and fade until they're like flecks of paint on a blackboard. She opens her eyes and slowly releases her head and looks up. What she sees is a perfect combination of reality and art. The sky would be a pitch black night, if not for the millions of stars, comets, and galaxy clouds filling the void. The floor she stands on is like a glassy surface of the ocean, perfectly reflecting the sky like a mirror. She walks a few steps forward. Every step creates little ripples. Though, unlike the ocean, which seems to go on forever, the ripples stop at what looks like a glass wall. Furrowing her brow, Nora takes another step. Again, the ripples are stopped. She stomps on the water, creating a much bigger ripple, and it stops in the same place. She stomps again, and this time follows the movement with her eyes to where else it goes. After a few more stomps, she guesses that the edge of the water is actually a mirror-wall in the shape of a massive circle. She estimates that the diameter of the reflective room is about 200 feet. Looking up, she notices a curve in the image of the sky, and guesses that the walls curve into the ceiling, creating a dome.
"Quite right," a voice chuckles. She whips around and sees a figure leaning against the reflective wall. "I am impressed. Not many people from Earth would be able to make such accurate estimations, especially at an age so young." The voice is obviously male, and very deep. She squints in an attempt to see him better, but even the bright universe can't illuminate him enough for her to see properly at that distance.
"My friend, do not torment the girl. Let her see who you are," says a voice from behind her. Her head snaps to look back, but her feet stay put. The second voice is also male, though not as deep as the first. His figure seems taller. She hears a chuckle and turns back to the first. He pushes himself off the wall and begins to make his way toward her. As he walks closer, she sees details that she wasn't able to see before. He's wearing iron-toed boots over baggy trousers, topped with a grey tunic held in place with an iron breastplate and wrist gauntlets. Beneath all of that is an obviously very thick, very muscular body. Hanging from his belt is a blacksmith's hammer. His thick dark hair falls to his elbows in wild curls, and his beard is nor much shorter. Both his hair and his beard sport dozens of intricately woven braids and metal beads. His eyes are a strange and yet elegant mixture of colors: striking deep blue, thick chocolate brown, and stormy gray can all be seen in his irises. His face is young, but his eyes speak of several millennia of experience.
"I hope you'll forgive me for the method in which I brought you here. Eartians do not transport easily, and it was the safest way I could think of for you to come," he tells her. She scrambles her brain for a response.
"Er...Uh...Eartians?" she fumbles. The man chuckles again.
"The term refers to the people indigenous to you home world, dear child. Earth is difficult for me to influence, as its only race that walks with two legs is Man. I created the Dwarves; they are the ones I love best and work with most easily." At Nora's confused expression, he elaborates. "I am Aulë, although my children call me Mahal. I am sure you recognize those names, given the extensive research you conducted of Arda." Nora's eyes and mouth by this point are round as quarters. Of course she recognizes his names. He's the one who created her favorite race in all of Middle Earth! What a fantastic dream this is! But...if this is a dream and she knows it, then why can she not influence it? The man behind her answers her unspoken question.
"This is no dream, child. We have watched you over the course of your life, and we have heard your heart's desires. The last time you fell asleep, your last waking thought was a wish, a plea, almost. What is happening now is your wish being granted. You know how the story of Durinsfolk ends. That was not supposed to happen. Mandos in his vengeful state allowed Azog the Defiler to survive his wounds at the Battle of Moria. There is nothing to be done about the actions of Mandos, but something can be dome about the result. That, dear child, is where you come in."
Nora's mind is reeling. Mandos, the Vala in charge of the dead, allowed a vile Orc to live as an act of revenge, thereby dooming the line of Durin. And she has something to do with the correction of the consequences. On top of all that...who is the guy who told her this? She can't see him...what's his name?
"His name is Tulkas. He is the champion of the Valar," Aulë says, humor in his voice. The other man, Tulkas, is less than amused.
"Do not forget, my friend, that I am the only one besides your wife to support you in this. I am slow to anger, but also slow to forget. I do not forget Mandos's reckless decision."
"Ah, yes. My lovely Yavanna..." Aulë trails off with a smile and a distant and dreamy look in his eyes. Tulsa sighs in amusement and begins to walk towards them.
"Millennium after millennium have come and gone, and still he is as much of a fool in love as the day he met his bride," he tells her. She smiles and turns to look at him as he approaches. He's about a foot taller than Aulë, and though not quite as stout, is just as muscular. He's wearing a simple green tunic and leather belt with brown leggings and viking boots. His thick dirty-blonde hair falls to his shoulders in waves. Unlike Aulë, with many braids and beads, Tulkas's hair is simply tied half up, Thor-style. His beard is short and neatly trimmed. His face has youthful features, but his eyes, his scars, and his nose (which looks as though it was never properly set when it broke) all suggest a life as long as (if not longer than) Aulë's.
"What is it that you want me to do exactly?" Nora asks them. She has a hunch, but she doesn't want to get her hopes up yet. Aulë smiles at her.
I want you to do what you have always wanted to do. Save the sons of Durin. Tulsa and I have gifts to help you along." Nora's heart almost stops. A chance to save them? How could she possibly say no?
"First," Aulë begins, "I have a bead for your hair. Any Dwarrow who sees it will immediately recognize it and assist you without hesitation." He walks over to her left side and starts weaving a few strands of her hair together in a 4-strand lattice braid. Her curly brown hair is waist-length and thick, so there's plenty to work with. He places the clasp on the braid a foot from her scalp, so that it rests on her shoulder. "This type of weave and its position indicate that you belong to a family. The clasp bears the symbol of the family you belong to. In this case, it would label your status as a member of my family." Nora forces herself not to show any expression. She learned the hard way that being labeled as a family member and actually being one are two very different things. He seems to be able to read her mind, though, and softly squeezes her shoulder. "I may not be able to provide that kind of family, but I am certain you will find one in Arda." Before she can ask what he means, Tulkas speaks up.
"My gift to you is this bag," he says, holding up what looks like a medieval ;?t+?
ravel pack. It looks full, but when she takes it from him, it feels empty. Seeing her confused look (and probably reading her confused mind), he explains. "An enchantment lies upon it. You can put anything into it that will fit through the opening, there is no limit for space. You need only place an object inside and when you wish to retrieve it, simply think of it and reach for it. You can also pull things from it which you never put inside. For instance, any supplies you might need, or clothes of any kind." Nora thinks about this for a minute, then gently sets the bag on the ground and opens it. She closes her eyes and thinks of her favorite possession. She sticks her hand in as far as it will go, and barely a second passes before she feels it and grasps it. Opening her eyes, she slowly pulls it out of the pack. She flips it over to look at the back and sees the engraving that she'd done herself: "Even a rock moves on." She smiles, recognizing the object as her very own fiddle.
When Social Services found her, she was in the hospital recovering from extensive injuries that nearly killed her. While she was there, a social worker took a liking to her. The woman talked with her almost daily, and learned that Nora had an affinity for music. When she was well enough to leave the hospital and go to a foster home, she gave her the fiddle as a symbol of moving on to a better life. A few months later, Nora heard a quote that reminded her of the woman, and she carved it into the back of the instrument. For the next several years, that quote and the fiddle reminded her not to let herself be trapped by her past.
Now, holding her beloved instrument, she thinks that this may be more than simply a wish being granted. It may be a chance for her to move on. The smile still on her face, she gently puts the fiddle back in the pack and thanks Tulkas before shouldering it and standing.
"When do I start?" she asks eagerly. Tulsa chuckles.
"In a moment, child. We have one more gift. Once you arrive in Arda, you will take on the physical age of a small child and grow at the rate of an average dwarrowdam. You will come to understand the purpose of this in time. You will also have the ability to shape shift into any animal you wish. This also you will come to understand." Nora stares at Tulkas with wide eyes. Not trusting herself to speak without squeaking, she simply nods, but she can't hold back the small grin of excitement.
"Are you ready?" Aulë asks her. She turns to face him and eagerly nods her head. He smiles. "Very well. Prepare yourself. This hopefully will not be as uncomfortable as it was before, but better safe than sorry." She smiles and closes her eyes. The shifting colors return and move at a brisk pace, but they aren't dizzying this time and there's only a slight pressure on her head. She feels her body change and looks down. Her hands are now small and chubby. Her limbs are short, and her clothes hang like curtains. Just as she starts to wonder what kinds of clothes she should pull from the bag, the colors disappear. In their place is a thick forest in every direction.
Author's Note: Hey guys! I'm gonna ask for patience from all you wonderful readers. This is my first fanfic (at least in the sense of actual writing instead of head cannoning), so please pardon any errors or bad writing as I get the hang of this. I would appreciate any feedback you guys have. Compliments are nice, but criticism is good, too. If there's nothing to criticize, there's nothing wrong, and I know there's at least a few things wrong that I don't see and can fix. Thanks!
