Word spread like wildfire of Rivendell's foreign visitor. There were many stares, many cautionary whispers that followed her around the outpost where ever she ventured; through gardens, down stairs, along the warm breeze and under awnings. Maude could not escape the scrutiny unless she hid in her guest-room, which is precisely what she elected to do.
In her room, she danced. She altered one of the pairs of shoes she had been gifted by the Elves of Elrond's house, and spent her time drifting between adagio and allegro, from plié to relevé, pretending that she were in the studio with the company pianist, Colin, and rehearsing for dances which never met the stage. It was liberating, to dance without an audience, and if she were being honest with herself, she preferred it that way. There was no pressure for perfection, no-one to stand and scold her for any sloppy movements, or improvisation. Her twists and turns were wild, and she was content with the burning in her toes.
For nearly a week, she saw nothing of her travelling companions, nor of the grey wizard, Gandalf, or the Elf-lord, Elrond. And so she continued to dance, in the morning, in the evening, throughout the night. She was a woman frozen in time, with no need for sustenance, and little need for sleep, if she was careful not to over-exert herself. And, when the exhaustion did arrive, she would sleep for half the day, then return to her dance.
There did come a day, however, when her practice was rudely interrupted; Hobbits, apparently, did not know how to knock. They caught her at an odd time, as she tumbled to the ground head-first, and cried out at her action. She rolled swiftly and landed in a seated position, with her right leg hooked over the left, then gave a startled laugh. The following hour was spent explaining to them that she was a dancer, and she had by no means hurt herself in the fall. Of course, this new information had the hobbits wishing to watch her perform, and they proved difficult people to refuse. They agreed to meet at dusk.
"May I bring Bilbo along?" Frodo asked her, and, having caught the name of the elder hobbit and the tone of his voice, Maude nodded.
She appreciated the fact that the hobbits had most likely never experienced ballet, and that they would be far less critical and difficult to impress than the elves. In truth, Maude was rather frightened of the elves; it was bizarre for her to be around people so human and yet so inhuman.
"You mustn't laugh at me," she warned the hobbits before they departed, and they only glanced at one another in confusion.
A sliver of excitement rushed through her, once the weight of performing had worn off. The hobbits were wonderful—there were few so kind as they that Maude had encountered in her life, and their enthusiasm had in retrospect been delightful.
The before the sun set, she set about pinning the sleeves and skirts of one of the Elven gowns, so that the fabric would not get torn when she danced. The modifications had her wanting to help out the costume department once she found her way back to London. For Swan Lake, she thought to herself. Kevin probably won't want me anywhere near the production—least of all the costumes—but maybe if I can convince the elves to let me bring some of their fabrics with me ...
Maude put a halt to her inner monologue and dressed herself for her meeting with the hobbits.
Creatures were chirruping by the time she made her way down to the gardens by the pool, and the sun had begun to nestle into the horizon for the evening, leaving effulgent red skies in its wake. There were stars visible even then, flickering with the faintest of lights. Dusk had never been more alive than it was in that moment.
Frodo and his elderly cousin were by the water when she arrived, peering into its depths as though searching for something spectacular; and it was a sight to behold, indeed, as she proclaimed from behind their backs upon approaching, and causing both hobbits to nearly tumble into the water in their fright. All three laughed once they had recovered, and Bilbo extended a hand toward her to shake.
"Not a word of Westron, you say?" Bilbo asked the younger Baggins.
"A few," he replied, "but not enough for conversation, so don't you go about telling her any of your long-winded tales."
"Nonsense!" cried Bilbo. "Although, even if I did, she hasn't the tongue to complain, has she?"
"Uncle!"
"I'm joking, lad."
Maude simply looked on.
Sam, Merry and Pippin joined them soon after, arms filled with an assortment of foods.
"It's customary to provide something to eat when someone else is providing the entertainment," asserted Pippin, taking a seat on the ground with his kinsmen. They shared the food between them when Maude refused the offer, and grew comfortable in the warm evening breeze.
"There are no Elves about," she assured herself quietly, turning her back to the audience for a moment of preparation. "This isn't a show ... just a bit of fun."
She exhaled slowly, placing her arms in Cecchetti third and legs in fifth. In her head, she could hear Jack at the piano with his ivory keys and arpeggios, guiding her form with the sound. And she performed with more heart for the hobbits than she had for her English audiences; there were few things worse in her mind than a life without the joys of an art so beautiful, and she wanted to leave them with with a perfectly pleasant impression.
From the ground, Bilbo whispered, "How does one go about standing on their toes like that?"
Frodo hushed him, and they continued to observe in silence, breaking it only to applaud when she had finished. Bilbo stood to do so, and the others followed suit, and for a moment Maude felt rather emotional about receiving a standing ovation for a solo performance, however small the audience. She wished then that she could invite them to a show back in London, perhaps with Kate Hannigan and Eric Ivanov as its leading dancers—the two were nothing short of phenomenal, and Maude would go so far as to say that one hadn't seen a performance until they had been audience to one of such a standard. Kate and Eric were the poster couple for ballet, and Kevin never let anyone else forget it, not that one could even if they tried.
Another sound of applause chorused from a few hundred yards away, and all pairs of eyes turned to see Strider accompanying a female elf through the gardens, both wearing warm smiles upon their faces. Embarrassed, Maude began to wonder if Elves slept at all, and headed over to them, rubbing the back of her neck as she did. If Kate and Eric were the poster couple for ballet, Strider and his female companion were the poster couple for everything else. Her presence had washed the years and weariness from his face, and his eyes carried the elevated weight of his song from the nights on guard around the fire.
"A dancer," said Strider, his arm through hers. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"You surprise me, Estel," she laughed. "See the strength in her arms and legs? From Bree to Imladris, she walked with you, and you did not question her endurance?"
"I questioned it. I questioned many things, Arwen."
"A dancer is most welcome, here, but I do not imagine my father would have her stay," said the she-elf with a sad smile. "A pity; it would have been lovely to have her dance for us all, one night." Arwen surveyed Maude for several moments in quiet assessment, then gave another soft laugh. "Oh! but I do think we're making her nervous, Estel. I think an introduction is in order." And, once names had been exchanged, she added, "We really must begin to teach her the language ..."
"Gandalf is insisting that there would be not point. He intends to find a working spell, yet I see him growing more frustrated each day. But the grey wizard is nothing if not determined."
Arwen's voice became serious as she asked, "And what of the visiting Men? The Gondorians? They will be suspicious of her, Estel. If it is made known to them that we have in our company a woman from another world, how do you think they will react?"
"They cannot meet her; not until we've decided what to do with her."
Maude was frightened by the solemn conversation she could not understand.
The following day, Maude was called to a meeting alongside Gandalf the Grey and Strider. Her fate was to be decided by the wizard, the Ranger, and the Elf-lord before Rivendell's visitors could arrive. Gandalf had muttered a number of things under his breath when she made her appearance, and watched her with an intent gaze for the seconds that followed. When nothing occurred, he emitted an indignant shout of "confound it all" and took a seat opposite Elrond. She was reluctant to sit with him afterwards, until Strider rested a hand upon her shoulder and guided her to a seat of her own, with himself placed between the young woman and the wizard.
"This is quite infuriating," said Gandalf, tapping his staff against the floor as he did. "We are going to get absolutely nowhere unless we can efficiently communicate with one another, lest the woman be doomed to spend an eternity in a world that is not her own!"
"And yet you deny her the education, Mithrandir," returned Elrond pointedly.
"Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but unless one party is fluent in both tongues, the other cannot be educated."
"In any case, we are not here to discuss her education," the Elf-lord dismissed the reply with a gesture of his hand. "We are here to discuss where she will go, following your departure. Alas, she cannot journey with you, as she has not the skill to survive—"
"Pardon the interruption, but that may not be true," Strider interjected. "Peregrin Took informed me that she engaged a Ringwraith in combat at Weathertop. Whilst she may have been unsuccessful in terms of defeat, she survived the encounter."
"The Nazgûl were drawn to the Ring—they would not have cared enough about the confrontation to end her life." Elrond straightened his back, eyeing the Ranger with some scepticism. "I had not imagined that you would be so enthusiastic about her joining the Fellowship, Estel."
"Estel," came Maude's own voice quite suddenly. The second time the word fell from her mouth, it was a question: "Estel?" She had heard the name in conversation used to address the man she knew as Strider, and it had pestered her mind throughout the night.
The Ranger, however, ignored her and continued to speak to Elrond, "Do not mistake my attitude for enthusiasm. I only vouch for her skill because I know that she cannot stay here in Rivendell; and what other choice is there?"
"Lothlórien," Gandalf replied. "Perhaps Lady Galadriel—"
"Lothlórien?" echoed Elrond, incredulous. "Lothlórien is leagues away, Mithrandir! And there are more important matters to attend to than the delivery of a mortal woman to the Golden Wood!"
At his harsh tone, Maude shrunk back in her seat, and set her sights on her hands. They clutched at the arms of the chair so tightly that her knuckles were burning white, and the veins stood prominent between them. Though he had not shouted, there was an argument in his voice, and in that of Gandalf's. It was queer, how civil they remained throughout the adversity.
As they debated, Strider placed his hand atop her own to grab her attention, then pointed to himself and whispered, "Strider. Estel. Aragorn."
Maude repeated the name as quietly as he had, while the exchange went unnoticed by Elrond and Gandalf. A slow-burning agitation coiled in her stomach at the lie she had been told, when she had been true and honest with her own name. Her jaw set, and she removed her hand from underneath his and folded her arms across her chest. It was maddening; she understood scarcely anything in Middle-earth, and the Ranger hadn't even the heart to give her his real name.
"We are tiring our friend," he interrupted the dispute in as mannerly a way as he could muster. "This may be a quarrel for another day."
It was agreed, and Gandalf followed Elrond out on to the balcony to discuss other matters, whilst Maude made her swift exit and retired to her chambers with even less equitable information than she had when she woke up that morning.
There were no fallacies in a dance.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has added this story to their alerts! It's much appreciated, I promise you.
Antheila: Yes! I'm trying to keep the creativity flowing. Too many times I've found myself at a dead end with my writing. Many thanks again!
FlayAltadusa: Thank you for taking the time to review the chapters so far! And I have no problem with acronyms. Acronym-ise away! And all of your compliments make me want to cry. Seriously. It means the world to me.
smore9: It's always nice to have reviewers I can rely on for potential plot ideas!
CGKrows: Ooh! What kind of dancing do you and your sister do? Also, feel free to correct any of my mistakes when it comes to dance theory. And thank you for the idea—I really like the notion of her harnessing her dance skills in a fight!
Like It D: Hard road all of the way. I am not a fan of gratuitous deus ex machina, and I'm trying my best to keep her from straying into the category of Mary Sue. If she makes mistakes, I want people to know that she's made them, and I want her to suffer the consequences. Same goes for her being irrational—I don't want other characters to think, "Oh, I can see her point" when there's little or no justification for it. Kind of like what she's doing with Aragorn, now! It's quite infantile, what she's doing, because she hasn't even considered why he might lie about his name. And long comments are good, deary!