Maude, having never been particularly loquacious, struggled against her own tongue when faced with the Gondorians and the dwarves in the courtyard. It was difficult for her not to reflexively answer the questions they posed out of sheer politeness and amiability. She was loath to allow herself to be presented as rude to the other guests, but under the shrewd eye of Gandalf the Grey, she had no choice but to uphold the pretence that she was a mute, and no more. On every occasion that she did open her mouth, she could almost feel the wizard's staff being driven into her solar plexus in a semblance of their training hours.
"A woman of Gondor, surely," a member of the Gondorian party had boomed. "A solid build and fierce expression! Never would you see such a look to a dainty maid of Rohan or Bree-land."
"Yes," mused Gandalf, looking far too proud of this successful development in remaining unobtrusive. "A woman of Gondor."
Meanwhile, Maude herself was dubious as to whether or not the Gondorian's words were worth being flattered or affronted by. Ballet dancers on general principle were seen to be precisely "dainty", if not in the least delicate, and it were by her own principle that she disallowed her expression to be anything other than pleasant. Of course, it was inevitable that a dancer pack some muscle and tenacity for the sake of their very career, but for it to be plain enough to be detected by a complete stranger seemed entirely ludicrous; thus Maude put the colourful description down to Gondorian pride. In any case, it seemed have been intended as complimentary.
"But what, if I may ask, would a woman of Gondor be doing here in Rivendell?" a fellow Gondorian, whom she had been led to believe to be a figure of great importance, had gone on to ask.
Maude could almost see a literal black cloud forming above Gandalf's head at the question; if it had not worried her, too, she may even have been amused.
"That business was not mine to know, Boromir," Gandalf replied, as casual as a summer breeze. "Nor is it yours."
That had been the only snag encountered during both her introduction to the men and the dwarves. The dwarves, it seemed, were far too occupied with the visiting elves to heed her much notice at all. There were many silent, glowering exchanges to be observed between them as Gandalf feigned ignorance and carried on quite merrily. Maude could only watch the wizard with a discerning eye in trepidation of his good mood. In their short acquaintanceship, she had grown accustomed to the fact that a happy wizard suggested proclivity to destruction—more specifically, her own.
No matter, Gandalf had dismissed her by noon. However, it was by unfortunate coincidence that Elrond had caught sight of the dismissal and promptly frogmarched Maude to his library, where a smiling elf awaited her behind a desk stacked high with thick, leather-bound books. Several moments later it struck her that this was to be a lesson in linguistics, when she peered at the open pages of the book nearest to her.
The old idiom of it's all Greek to me came to mind.
Within ten minutes of the lesson, Maude had compiled a list of problems with the elf named Calaeron's educational infrastructure. At the top of that list was his perpetual distraction with her mother tongue. In fact, Maude was certain that his questions (as interpreted by the rising cadence of his voice) had absolutely nothing to do with anything, and were simply excuses to hear her speak. This suspicion was only reinforced by the grand smile he wore when ever she humoured him.
Below that was an issue beyond fault of Calaeron himself: Gandalf's movements around Rivendell were activating the effects of the Elfstone at random intervals, meaning that the mellifluous tones of the Elvish language would abruptly change to English when Calaeron was attempting to teach her proper grammar. To his credit, he did seem to pick up on her change in body language immediately thereafter the wizard wandered into proximity and halted his lesson, though he would then begin another bout of encouraging her to speak.
The eleventh time that it happened, she tried reasoning with him that she was embarrassed by the situation involving her native language, but it only gauged yet another satisfied smile from the elf before he continued about his business.
When Gandalf joined them some hours later, Maude all but leapt from her seat. By that time, her list was more of an encyclopaedia and Calaeron was looking as jovial as she had seen anyone since Kevin won artistic director of the year amongst the English companies in 2009.
"I think that it is about time you learnt the art of wielding a sword," said Gandalf, guiding her from the room as Calaeron called a polite farewell behind them.
"Please, don't ever leave me with him again," she implored as they crossed through the gardens. "His fascination was mortifying."
"Yes," replied Gandalf brightly, smiling at the sky, "a lovely day it is indeed."
Maude stared ahead, jaded.
By the late evening, after Gandalf had released her from his keeping, Maude was decorated with innumerable discolourations of the skin and at least several cuts, the most painful of which was throbbing on her shoulder. Interestingly, it had been Maude herself to inflict the wound, when she had stupidly decided to rest the blade, point up, against her left torso in a manner she intended to be casual and relaxing; and perhaps it would have been, had she had the sense to use the flat side of the blade to do so. Despite this, the pain in her shoulder was not nearly as dismaying as Gandalf's reaction to her stupidity, and that feeling of ignominy hounded her as she made her way back to her room with her head hung low.
She was ascending the steps leading to the guest quarters when someone called her name from nearby. Underneath the gazebo to her left stood Strider—or Aragorn, as she now understood—whose hand was raised in greeting. With him was a blonde elf whom she nearly dismissed as Glorfindel, before her eyes adjusted to the dusky moonlight and revealed a stranger garbed in earthy green tones. It was his presence that stirred hesitation at the apex of her chest as Aragorn beckoned her over. Already, it was too clear that Gandalf's impression of her was an ever-dwindling one, and so it seemed that the last thing she ought to do was approach a stranger whose language was incomprehensible to her in his absence.
"Maude," said Aragorn again, more firmly this time, and she felt as she had during their first few days together; so like a chagrined schoolgirl she went to him, head bowed and hands clasped before her. However, she was caught off guard by the sensation of hands tugging at the neckline of her gown, and batted them away indignantly.
"For a man so engaged with propriety you're terribly forward!" she admonished him, and he raised his hands with the palms facing her, looking suitably chastised. "Honestly, if you wanted to see my shoulder, you could have simply asked."
"It seems you have forgotten a thing or two, old friend," mused the elf. "Tact, first and foremost."
Aragorn looked uncomfortable as he pointed at the ugly bloodstain on the gown.
"Grey," was all she could tell him, recalling Pippin's attempted ministrations in teaching her several Westron words. A moment later she realised that she had just blamed the wizard on her wound, and her eyes grew wide. "No! Amin? Amin. It was an accident." She gestured to herself. "My fault."
"She must have begun her lessons in Sindarin," said Aragorn thoughtfully.
"Well, a single word is hardly cause for celebration." The elf regarded Maude with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Nor, for that matter, is a woman having managed to injure herself with her own weapon."
"Be kind, Legolas."
"I jest, Aragorn."
The Ranger went on to introduce Legolas, whose name Maude pronounced with a languid tongue, though neither made a mention of the matter out of courtesy, for amongst her physical wounds there lay a wound of pride, and they saw no reason to trouble her further. Aragorn also strived to make it clear that her infringement of Gandalf's rule would be inconsequential, as Legolas was permitted to know the details of who she was and how she came to be in Middle-earth. That at least gave her some peace of mind, and the tension from her muscles—as well as her earlier irritation at Aragorn's endless list of pseudonyms—seemed to wilt away as the conversation drew on.
The moon scaled the stars until it sat at the crown of the sky, by which time Maude had discovered a manner of gesticulations to communicate that she wished to retire to her chambers, and she was bid goodnight.
Amin - I/My/Mine
A/N: I don't know if this is considered a long chapter or a short chapter, but it is a chapter nonetheless! So, here we have some brief introductions between Fellowship characters (do not fear a lack of Gimli, for my love for him is undying) and an attempted language lesson.
If it's any consolation, I feel terrible about the semi-hiatus and am working on the next chapter as we speak—I may even put it up tonight to compensate. I'm not sure what the problem was with this particular chapter, but I literally rewrote it a dozen times with varying plotlines and I'm still not entirely happy with it. Also, I think I got a little bit intimidated by the amount of reviews and follows this story has developed. But things should be back to regular updates, now that the muse is appeased and I know precisely where I want to go with this story.
Good feedback, bad feedback, I appreciate it all the same!
FlayAltadusa: Thank you! I am trying very hard with Gandalf because he's such a wonderful character and quite possibly my favourite across all works of fiction. Capturing his voice and persona can be tricky, but I shall fight to the very end!
glitterballx: Thanks a lot, lovely!
Kai-Aala: Do you reckon you'll go all out for a professional dance career? And I do quite like that title!
Ninja Elf Girl: Thank you very much! It's always a challenge to remain original when there are so many OC stories on here.
Antheila: Romance, romance ... I, personally, think a little bit of romance in a story is always lovely. But it is a matter of whom, my dear! It seems as though it would be impossible to keep everyone satisfied. Some people like a good Legomance, others a little bit of Boromance, some like a good canon-pummelling Aragoromance (I should really stop with these, but Legomance has fuelled a trend in my mind), and others like a bit of romance with non-Fellowship characters or an OCxOC twist on things. There are too many options! I will definitely be keeping people's reaction to things in mind, though. If people start shipping Maude with someone, I'd definitely be open to going for it.
WriteWithFeeling: Thanking you kindly, dearest! And I think she may need to make a pair. It seems that she would have all the necessary materials to do so! And thank you for the suggestion! I love them, because they really fuel my imagination. Dancing is rather magical, no?
Alexandra: You, my dear, have impeccable online social grace, and I thank you for that. The wonder of their reaction to it is a large part of what inspired Maude in the first place! I mean, ballet itself is a beautiful art, and it's something I think that every race of Middle-earth could appreciate. As for the communication issues, we shall just have to see ...
N. : Thank you very much for reviewing!
Oxygen Pirate: Firstly, I am very appreciative of your name, my good reader! And I hope I've not made you wait so long that you've lost interest.
laurentaylor14: Thank you!
Simpletons: Yes, this pleases me greatly! Do you dance with a company? If I make any mistake about your revered art, please let me know, even if it seems pedantic. I hope the story can continue to tickle your fancy!
Cara-Ra-Ra: Greatly appreciated, deary! I'm working hard to keep Maude as realistic as possible, flaws and all, and if she ever crosses that border into "Mary-Sue" territory, or simply becomes an unbearable character, do let me know. And alas, I too have two left feet. I can literally stumble when I'm not even moving. But yes, fighting is so choreographed that I find it difficult to believe a dancer would manage to avoid incorporating it into their technique! Every hero needs a name for the bards to sing about, don't they? It's not at all lame, my dear, and never shut up!
Guest: Thank you! Here it is, over two months after your review. Oh, dear ...