A/N: Yes, I know this took forever. I got distracted and that last half of the chapter was giving me loads of trouble but it's finally done and now I can move onto the next one. Hallelujah!
Rule Number One of writing about food: Never write about food when you're hungry. It'll only make you more hungry. I found this out the hard way.
And now, back to our regularly scheduled Alice POV. Just a heads up, English dialogue is normal while Sindarin dialogue is italicized.
Edit: We're getting closer now. Only a couple more chapters to go and then we'll be right where we originally left off (and then, brand new never-before seen plot! Hurray!). Remember, odd-numbered chapters are always from Alice's POV and even-numbered ones are from Celírion's, which means the next chapter after this will be following Celírion again.
History Will Be Kind To Me
From Lands Beyond
Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see." - Mark Twain
03. Alice in Wonderland
Lothlórien, 2998 of the Third Age
Pregnancy, Alice decided, was a real drag. When she wasn't vomiting up her breakfast in the mornings, she was fantasizing about all the foods currently unavailable to her ever since she'd made the tumble down the proverbial rabbit hole.
"I would murder someone for some chocolate," she mumbled one afternoon. "I'm talking First Degree, premeditated murder."
Her self-appointed guardian, Tinuthel, by now used to her charge's foreign murmurings, barely glanced up from her embroidery. Not for the first time, Alice wondered if elves had miserable pregnancies just like humans did. Not that she'd probably ever know. She hadn't seen any pregnant elves around. In fact, now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen any children around either. Alice glanced over at Tinuthel, trying to guess at her age. Physically she didn't look much older than Alice herself, with her perfect, unblemished skin and glossy dark hair. And yet...she carried herself with too much poise and grace for her to think she was anywhere near her own age. If anything, she reminded Alice of an old woman wearing the skin of a much younger one.
Alice glared at the shirt given to her to mend. The last time she'd had to sew anything was when her great-aunt wrangled her into helping her put together a quilt...and that had been with a sewing machine. She glanced back over at Tinuthel, eyeing the perfect stitching on the collar of the dress she was embroidering. Clearly her own horrid skills were not needed here. Alice wasn't a moron, she knew Tinuthel was just trying to keep her busy.
Well, she could keep herself busy just fine on her own thankyouverymuch!
Alice stood, laying the shirt with its needle and thread back into the basket at her feet. She could feel Tinuthel's eyes follow her as she crossed to the other end of the room and disappeared into the pantry/storage room only to reappear again with a bucket in hand.
"Me...go...water," she said in Sindarin, stumbling over the words with the grace of a two-year old. Tinuthel smiled, leaning her head in her hand and waving Alice away with the other.
"Go."
She didn't need to be told twice. Alice darted out the front door of the talan before coming to a screeching halt at the top steps leading down.
Ah. My old nemesis. So we meet again.
The steps wound down, down the silver bark of the great mallorn trunk forcing Alice to stretch her neck to spy the final steps down on the forest floor below. She'd never been a fan of high places and her new home in the trees was doing a wonderful job at pushing her acrophobia to its limits. It didn't help that there was absolutely no railing on these stairs.
Fucking elves.
Carefully, Alice made her way down the steps at the speed of sludge, leaning against the mallorn trunk as if to put as much distance between her and the nothingness on her right as humanly possible. It took a lot longer for her to get to the bottom than she would've on any other staircase back home, but then those stairs had had handrails. At least they had given her the illusion of safety.
Maybe they'll install some for me? You know...once I can form complete sentences that they can understand.
And the funny thing was, if she'd asked, Alice wasn't entirely sure that the elves of Lothlórien wouldn't go out of their way to add railing to their staircases. If the last month had taught her anything, it was that her hosts were more than happy to accommodate her. She imagined that they didn't see a whole lot of pregnant women. It would certainly explain why they practically tripped over themselves (except they didn't trip because elves) to aid her day in and day out. Though...there was one in particular who did seem to follow her around more than most…
"Oh...it's you again." Speak of the devil...and he shall appear. Alice craned her neck up as a curtain of familiar silver hair came into view. Jeez, he's tall. And he was. Taller than her father even, who she knew for a fact stood well over six feet.
He called himself Celírion. Or at least, that's what she assumed his name was anyway. Her grasp on Sindarin was still fundamental at best and appalling at worst. For all she knew, she had been calling him by the wrong name for the last few weeks and he was just too polite to correct her.
Without preamble, the elf plucked the bucket she'd been carrying from her fingers and began walking in the direction of the nearest stream. Alice let out a long-suffering sigh. This was exactly the kind of behavior she'd been having to deal with lately.
"You know, I can do that myself," she muttered under her breath as she made to follow him. Celírion peered over his shoulder at her curiously, but otherwise kept walking with those long, elegant legs of his that had Alice nearly jogging to keep up.
The stream was mercifully close-by and she was breathing hard by the time they made it to the grassy bank. Alice had never felt this out of shape in her life. She supposed this was just one more thing she could blame on her pregnancy (as she did everything these days) but she had a feeling at least part of it had to do with all the physical activity she had been doing after a lifetime of laziness. Attempting to catch her breath, she flopped onto the grass unceremoniously while her self-appointed pack mule set about filling her bucket for her. Alice not-so-subtly studied the arch of his back. Well, at least he was a very attractive pack mule. She could certainly do worse. When Celírion was finished with his task he stood back up to his full height and turned around just in time to notice Alice ogling him. He grinned at her, showing off every one of his perfect white teeth.
Alice kept staring.
For one hysterical moment she wondered if he did that on purpose just to throw her off. Then again...she thought as he reached out a hand to pull her to her feet. Perhaps not. He was too...oblivious. Did he even realize just how attractive he was? Probably not, considering he was constantly surrounded on all sides by other insanely attractive people every day. Alice, on the other hand, found that being around such people at all hours had begun to make her far more aware of insecurities she had long thought she'd put to rest. Seriously, the longer she hung around these people the more disgruntled she became.
Or, you know, it was the hormones.
...It was probably the hormones.
Alice shook herself from her thoughts only to realize that the object of her internal monologue was staring at her expectantly. She stared back, raising her eyebrows. Celírion tilted his head curiously and then raised his own brows. He...was he copying her?
She pursed her lips. "What are you, five?"
She didn't wait for him to reply, just huffed in annoyance and grabbed at the bucket hanging idly at his side. He relinquished it without a fight but then Alice immediately found herself regretting her decision as her arm struggled to accommodate the now much heavier bucket. She grasped the handle with both hands and glanced back in the direction of Tinuthel's talan. For a moment she briefly considered carrying her load all the way up the steps herself...and then promptly discarded it. She looked back at Celírion.
"I changed my mind," she sighed (a bit overdramatically), offering the bucket back to him and switching to Sindarin. "Help?"
He smiled good-naturedly and took ahold of her burden once more.
"Yes."
"...That can't be right…"
Alice stared dumbly at the sunshine colored fruit hanging merrily above her. She blinked. There...there couldn't be orange trees here...could there?
Aren't oranges native to Asia?
She peered down the row of neatly lined fruit trees, spying orange, fig, and lemon trees. Her eyebrows shot into her hairline. None of those trees were native to Northern Europe...at all. Nor, for that matter, did any of them do well in northern climates. So...how were they here?
Elves, she decided after investigating the area further and recognizing eggplants, pea pods, and and even an olive tree. Elves and magic. With a jolt, she realized that, quite without her say-so, magic had snuck its way into her life and had become as real as the orange tree she was currently peering up at.
When did my life become so bizarre? She asked herself. At the back of her mind, a cool voice replied, When you fell down the rabbit hole Alice. Viciously, she stuffed the thought away to dwell on at a later time...a much, much later time.
Instead, Alice decided to wander around the gardens some more, the basket she'd been given to harvest fruit now long abandoned at the base of an orange tree. She saw a familiar fuzzy fruit hanging from a bough nearby and she eagerly grasped for it. Peaches! Juice dribbled down her chin as she bit into it. It was ripe and sweet. She hadn't eaten a peach in months. Suddenly feeling like a kid in a candy store, Alice ran back to snatch up her basket and began filling it up with all of her favorite fruits.
Oh my God they have cantaloupes! And plums! And lemons! I can make lemonade now! Fucking lemonade!
Alice scurried from one garden patch to the next like a greedy squirrel gathering nuts for the winter. By the time she was done her basket was practically overflowing and far too heavy for her to carry herself.
Damn. Where's an elf when you need one?
No sooner did she think those words when no less than three elves appeared out of nowhere to help her carry her fruity bounty home. Two of them were blonde, but one of them was a lady who had dark hair like Tinuthel. She pulled a fat cantaloupe from Alice's basket, as one of the blonde elves hoisted it up with astonishing ease, and cast a wry smile her way. She said something, though it was too complex for Alice to understand (though she thought she might've heard the words for 'you' and 'eat' in there somewhere).
Was...was she implying something?
Alice's eyes narrowed. "I really hope you didn't just call me 'fat'."
The elf just kept smiling that mischievous smile of hers though, and tucked the cantaloupe under one arm before tucking Alice's hand in the crook of the other, steering her off somewhere that was most assuredly not the direction of Tinuthel's talan.
"Ummm, where are you taking me?"
The she-elf didn't reply, just continued to drag Alice off towards the center of the city.
Wait...isn't that where…?
Sure enough, the massive white trunk of the mallorn at Lothlórien's heart appeared, as well as the great elegant hall settled amongst its branches.
Galadriel's Hall.
Alice felt her heart leap into her throat. She hadn't seen Galadriel since...well...that day. Not that she had anything against Galadriel, per say, but they hadn't exactly parted on the best of terms, what with her suffering a massive nervous breakdown and Galadriel seeing...whatever it was she saw in Alice's head.
Before she could suffer yet another meltdown however, her guide veered off just left of the Lord and Lady's humble abode and pulled Alice into a large white building at ground level. Judging from the smells emanating from the place, she knew exactly what it was before she saw the interior. And of course her nose proved to be right.
A kitchen.
A very large kitchen. Alice felt beads of sweat form at her temples as they drew close to one of the many clay ovens situated in one corner. Elsewhere she spied drying herbs and spices hanging from the ceiling and rows upon rows of shelves lined with jars and bowls filled to the brim with every kind of ingredient imaginable.
Unbidden, Alice felt her mouth water.
Her self-appointed elf guide towed her through the mayhem of the kitchen, easily dodging cooks with hot trays and wickedly sharp knives, before laying her cantaloupe on a table and gently pushing Alice onto a stool nearby. And then, without a word, she set to work.
At first Alice wasn't quite sure why she'd been dragged here, but after the nameless elf began chopping her cantaloupe into pieces, it dawned on her.
She was cooking for her.
It actually ended up being a fascinating process to watch. The dark-haired elf deftly sliced Alice's cantaloupe into small pieces before depositing them into a large ceramic bowl to be mashed with what appeared to be a wooden pestle. When the fruit had been ground into a thick soupy paste, she added several pinches of different herbs she had pulled from one of the shelves and a generous helping of cream and some other liquid Alice couldn't identify and then dumped everything into a little kettle to be hung over the nearby fireplace. And then they waited.
While the fragrant concoction bubbled over the fire, the elf finally introduced herself.
"Lúthiril," she smiled, holding both hands to her breast.
"Alice."
Lúthiril's smile grew wry again, as if Alice had done something particularly cute before saying, "I know."
She wanted to smack herself. Of course she knew what Alice's name was. Everyone and their mother probably did at this point.
"Right. Duh."
Although she knew for a fact the she-elf had no idea what she had said, Lúthiril laughed anyway, clearly amused by the girl's behavior.
Alice sighed. "Well, I'm glad one of us finds this funny." A breeze from the window wafted the scent of her soup towards her. It smelled heavenly. Her mouth watered. She glanced beseechingly over at Lúthiril. "I don't suppose you'd know if it's done yet?"
The hunger on her face must've been obvious because Lúthiril slid from her stool and grabbed a meter-long metal pole and used it to hook the cauldron by its handle and pull it out of the fireplace. She set it carefully onto the dusty stone floor to let it cool before putting the pole back in its corner.
In the end, the soup ended up being as delicious as she could've hoped. Alice had never had cantaloupe soup before, but by her third spoonful it became her favorite soup ever.
"I don't know what you put in this," she said to a grinning Lúthiril in between mouthfuls, "But you are now officially my best friend."
And thus began the friendship of Alice the Mortal, and Lúthiril, the Cook.
Learning Sindarin was torturous.
It wasn't at all like learning German or Spanish. For one, her teachers in those subjects had been fluent in English as well as the language they taught. And for another…it was unlike any other language she'd ever encountered. At first she'd thought it reminded her of Arabic with its fluid, sinuous tones but then after a while it begun to remind her of Swedish or Welsh when she listened long enough. Many of the words certainly seemed to have more in common with Scandinavian ones than they did with the quick and sweeping vocabulary of Arabic or Farsi. Still…even Swedish had some similarities to German (and by extension English) but for some reason Sindarin seemed as alien to her two months into her stay as it had been when she'd first arrived. Even constantly surrounded by it on all sides as she was, it was nothing if not a slow-going process.
As well as extremely frustrating.
Eventually, even the ever-patient Tinuthel seemed to take notice of her charge's ever-growing vexation over the matter.
"Alice," she heard the elleth call to her from the center common room one afternoon. It was still strange having her room so close to the 'living area' of a house instead of upstairs and down a long hallway. Talan layouts, unlike every other building layout Alice had ever encountered, often mimicked the shape of a flower, with a circular common room of sorts being at the center of the dwelling and additional rooms attached around it like wide petals. Though it certainly made things more open, it also left little room for privacy. Grudgingly, and still half asleep from her sorely-needed afternoon nap, Alice poked her head out from behind her door like a prairie dog poking its head out from its burrow.
She froze.
Sitting at the center table was Arwen. The Arwen.
It wasn't especially difficult to ascertain who their illustrious guest was, after all, Alice had caught sight of her once or twice on her daily outings and one would've have to have been deaf to not hear the murmurings of 'Arwen Undómiel' that followed in her wake. That and she was easily the loveliest creature in the room. Liv Tyler may have been beautiful, but Arwen Undómiel was otherworldly. She was like an ethereal faerie princess compared to her handmaidens or Tinuthel.
Alice, who had never been particularly interested in females before now, felt her heart flutter.
"Come Alice," Tinuthel said, voicing two of the few words the girl understood. Alice obeyed and shyly moved from behind her door to sit down in the chair offered her.
"Hello," Arwen greeted with a smile. Alice, who had always thought likening someone's voice to a bell was ridiculous, suddenly found herself uncomfortably realizing that Arwen's voice did indeed sound like a bell. Well, there was a first time for everything.
"Hello," Alice parroted back, her throat suddenly very dry. She ducked her head. God, she felt like a twelve year-old with her first crush! What was wrong with her?
Arwen, however, either didn't seem to notice or was a saint and didn't remark on the girl's flustered demeanor. Instead, she spoke a few more words, though Alice barely caught any of them. Tinuthel, however, did and replied back in kind.
Suddenly, one of Arwen's handmaidens moved forward and deposited a rectangular wrapped package on the table in front of her. She glanced at the elf curiously, then Tinuthel, and finally Arwen. They all gave her encouraging looks. She looked back down at the package, examining it closer. It was thick, about the size and weight of her PS3 back home, and wrapped up in fine linen. When she peeled the cloth back, she came face to face with a leather-bound book with a sturdy dark cover that bore a simple patterned border along its edges. Alice flipped through the pages. Blank. All of them.
It was a notebook.
She looked back up to see Arwen give her a bright grin as she mimed writing on the table. Alice was speechless. Of all the gifts given to her these past weeks, this was by far the most thoughtful. Suddenly, and quite without warning, she began to cry.
Damn hormones!
Thankfully, the four elves, though surprised by this sudden outburst, seemed to innately understand that these were tears of joy and not due to the girl's dissatisfaction with her gift. Alice clutched the book to her chest tightly and gratefully took the scrap of linen given to her to blow her nose before she could embarrass herself by wiping it on her sleeve.
"Thank you!" Alice may have been completely useless at Sindarin, but she at least knew that much.
Pleased, Arwen smiled, stunning the girl into complete silence.
Their guest stayed a little while longer, chatting softly with Tinuthel and coaxing a few more words from Alice before she left.
Alice clutched her gift to her chest as she watched her go.
Arwen's book, as it turned out, came to be extremely helpful in the coming weeks and months. Words which she had been expected to memorize on the spot were now meticulously documented into her notebook with more zeal than she'd ever exhibited when taking notes on French or Spanish in high school. Then again, in high school she had been able to communicate with her peers just fine in English, whereas in Lothlórien she felt like she had the linguistic skills of a toddler.
It was amazing what desperation did for one's work ethic.
Which was exactly why Alice often found herself clumsily scribbling away in her notebook (writing with quills, as she had quickly found out, was far more difficult than the movies had led her to believe) in Galadriel's Garden with the overly cheery Celírion to keep her company. She couldn't remember exactly when the arrangement had started, only that every time she came to the garden with her notebook and quills he would appear to painstakingly teach her new words and help correct her pronunciation.
Mostly though, he was just distracting.
"Don't you have better things to do?" Alice mumbled one afternoon as she hunched over that day's vocabulary. It was becoming quite the challenge to focus on the notes scribbled on the page before her and not on the heat of the body sitting next to her.
Oblivious to her inner turmoil, Celírion cheerfully rambled off a few Sindarin words to her but then glanced sideways when her quill remained idle, her fingers limp. He has really pretty eyes, she thought before suddenly realizing that he was staring at her. Embarrassed, she hastily ducked her head.
Her morning sickness had finally abated a couple of weeks ago. Sadly though her joy had been short-lived when it became clear that a very different sort of symptom had taken its place. One far more…carnal. Out of the corner of her eye, Alice spied long pale fingers settled just inches away from her hip. Shamelessly, she wondered what they would feel like brushing against her skin or gripping her hair as-
A concerned hand fell upon Alice's shoulder, halting her decidedly inappropriate daydreams. She froze and glanced over at her companion in horror.
God, what am I doing?! He's right here!
"I'm sorry! I-I…I should…" She rose hurriedly, jostling the book from her lap and nearly knocking over her bottle of ink in the process. Thankfully Celírion was far quicker than she and deftly snatched the bottle from the edge of the bench. He made to return it to her, but Alice was already stuffing her book into the bag at her feet and then making excuses as she retreated away. She backed away as if placating a bear instead of the rather confused elf before her.
"Me…me go." And then, before he could protest, Alice turned on her heels and ran. She didn't stop until she made it all the way back to her room, where she stayed for the remainder of the night.
She couldn't ignore it anymore. Alice stared down at her stomach with a look that seemed to indicate that it had offended her in some way.
She was getting bigger.
In fact…she was starting to feel like a whale. With a lamentable jolt, Alice realized she could barely make out the tops of her toes anymore. She craned her neck forward. Ah. Much better.
By her estimate she was only about four months along…so why was she so big?
Apparently, Arwen seemed to have some ideas.
"Twins," She suggested to her one humid afternoon as they sat at the edge of a pool with their skirts hiked up and their legs submerged up to their knees. Ever since her impromptu visit Arwen had gradually begun to seek Alice out, whether it be for a chat in Tinuthel's talan or joining her when she was out and about. It had been awkward at first, what with her shoddy Sindarin and that fact that it was Arwen, but eventually she had grown used to her company just as she had everyone else's (which was to say she could look everyone in the eye without feeling completely inferior…though she often still felt that way…a lot).
"…Twins…?" Alice had never heard that word before and it took more than a little miming on both Arwen and her handmaiden's part for the meaning to finally click.
…Twins…
…Twins?
…Twins!
Oh…oh noooooooooo…
Alice glanced down at her middle worriedly. That…she wasn't quite sure how she felt about that. Probably petrified…or definitely petrified.
"…I think I liked you better when there was just one of you."
Sometime in September, as the summer began to wind down, the elves threw a party.
The days leading up to it were a flurry of activity, with Lúthiril endlessly busy in the kitchens preparing a feast and Celírion off doing...whatever it was he did when Alice wasn't around. As for herself, Alice had been wrangled into helping string up garlands of flowers and lanterns alongside Tinuthel and a dozen other ellyth. She didn't mind all that much. It kept her busy and it was nothing short of a wonder to watch Caras Galadhon transform from a forest city into something that could only be described as...well...Wonderland. It was quite the sight, with the mallorn trees draped in flowery finery, trickling petals down to carpet the forest floor with every passing breeze and colorful lanterns hanging cheerfully from the boughs of every tree. Everywhere she looked was a riot of color and opulence and it was impossible for Alice not to get caught up into the spirit of it.
The day before the festival, Alice was dragged along to the bathhouse at the edge of the city to primp and preen with the other ellyth. It wasn't the first time she had been there of course, and originally she'd found the act of washing surrounded by so many others strange and rather embarrassing, but eventually the convenience of extra pairs of hands and the sheer welcoming camaraderie of the other ellyth put her at ease. Beautiful though they were, the elves were kind and nonjudgmental...well...most of them anyway.
She could still remember the shocked gazes of a few ellyth when she disrobed, revealing not only bare skin, but the tattoos on her back and forearm. Though that particular incident had been well over two months ago, Alice could still feel the curious stares as she now scrubbed at her skin, wishing to finish and escape as soon as possible.
It's a tree, she thought grumpily as one elleth eyed the design on her back curiously. I thought you people liked trees?
"Do not...them," Tinuthel murmured as she cast a disapproving look towards the ogling elleth which sent her scurrying. "They...curious." Although Alice could only make out a handful of her guardian's words, she could still grasp the soothing meaning behind them. She shrugged her shoulders, but cast Tinuthel a small smile as she tipped her head back to rinse her hair out.
The following day came too soon, and with it more than a few surprises.
"For me?" Alice was unable to contain her shock as Tinuthel laid a bundle of bright green cloth in her lap just as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Tinuthel smiled. "For you."
It was a dress. A very beautiful dress actually, with fitted sleeves and a delicately embroidered bodice. Alice admired the stitching, recognizing the gown as the one Tinuthel had been working on for the last several weeks. So this was what she had been making. Shyly, she reached over and wrapped her arms around the elleth, pulling her into a hug.
"Thank you."
Tinuthel held her close for a moment, and then pulled back and bestowed a kiss upon her brow. "You are welcome Alice." A joyful grin spread across her face then and she added, "Now...us...you dressed."
The festival was in full swing by the time Alice and her guardians arrived and it quickly became clear to her that when the elves partied, they really partied. Everywhere she looked elves laughed and danced and feasted while the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien overlooked all from their place upon the dais at the center of the revelry, reminding her of a couple of doting parents looking down upon their many children. Somewhere amongst the revelers, Alice spied Arwen dancing with someone. Dazed and overwhelmed by the sights and sounds, Alice was steered in the direction of one of the many tables scattered about the area and she sat down heavily only to gape at the spread atop it.
Lúthiril has been busy.
The food was a spectacle in of itself, with roasted game swimming in fragrant sauces, golden crusted pies, succulent fruit tarts and cakes, and elegant glass jugs filled to the brim with what was clearly some sort of liquor. Alice lamented the fact that she couldn't partake in that last one, but she happily plucked a sticky cake from its place amongst its brothers and nibbled on it as Tinuthel settled beside her.
"...dance my lady?" Alice turned in time to catch Brandir gallantly bowing before his wife. Tinuthel gave him a wry smile, replying with something she didn't quite catch before he pulled her to her feet and into a dance. A lively tune picked up in the background and Alice hid her smile as she bit into her cake, watching Brandir twirl his wife about the center of the clearing. After all the trouble they endured looking after her, they deserved to enjoy themselves for the night. She made to turn back to the feast then, fully prepared to spend the rest of the evening stuffing her face, but it turned out somebody had other ideas.
"Lady Alice!" The girl in question paused, her fingers hovering in mid-air over a very tasty looking meat pie. She knew that voice all too well by now. She sucked in a breath through her nose before letting it out in a huff and turned to stare up at the familiar face behind her.
Like everyone here, Celírion was dressed in his best and Alice couldn't help noticing that his tunic was almost the same shade as his jewel-bright eyes, while his hair was pulled back into one of the many complicated braided hairstyles she'd seen the elves favor. He grinned down at her merrily, his smile a little too wide.
"You...lovely Lady Alice!" It took a moment for Alice to catch the meaning but when she did her eyes grew wide and her mouth grew slack. She noted then his exuberant smiles and exaggerated movements and a thought occurred to her as she glanced over at the pitcher of liquor out of the corner of her eye. Was...was he drunk? He said something more to her but his words had taken on a slurred quality and so she had trouble making out anything other than her name. Yep. Definitely drunk.
Clearly someone had been taking advantage of the free-flowing liquor this evening.
Alice pursed her lips. "Hinsetzen. Du bist betrunken."
Celírion gave her a queer look. "...not sound...your language."
Alice ignored him. Not that that stopped him of course.
"…you like…dance?"
She glanced between the ellon and the lively group of dancers behind him and then made to open her mouth and decline. Unfortunately Celírion seemed to read her intention on her face and she barely caught the wry smile appear on his own before she was bodily pulled to her feet and led into the crowd.
"Ummmmm,' Alice said dumbly as nearly every elven gaze fell upon her. Oh God, this was worse than that time on stage in elementary school! She dropped her gaze to the ground, hoping a hole would appear to swallow her. Cool fingers grasped her own and she glanced up reflexively.
Celírion smiled at her. "Do as I do." It was a familiar phrase, one she had heard many times from both Tinuthel and Brandir when either of them wished to teach her something. He started slow, his fingers cool against her own as he guided her through a simple set of movements and though she had the long limbs of a dancer, they weren't as well acquainted with the practice as her partner, who moved through the dance with a natural grace. Nonetheless, she did her best to mimic him as best she could. Alice caught Celírion grinning at her as she twirled a little too far to the left and she made a face at him.
"I no good dance."
But Celírion was already waving her concern away as he pulled her forward, their bodies inches away from one another. "Nonsense!"
Suddenly the tune changed, morphing from a cheery (though meandering) song that Alice could easily keep pace with to a much more spirited one. One glance up at Celírion and she saw his eyes glitter.
Oh no.
Whatever protest she was about to voice was quickly lost on the breeze as she was swept up into a far more lively dance than the last. No sooner did Celírion spin her around though, than she was whirled from one partner right over to another. Unlike herself though, her new dance partner took the move in stride and easily looped his arm through hers and swung her around in a move reminiscent of that ridiculous Cotton-Eyed Joe dance she and her friends did at every Middle School and High School dance. And so the dance went with her getting passed from one partner to another until she was flushed and dizzy and laughter began to bubble up from her throat. By the time she was finally passed back to Celírion again she was laughing and giggling like someone half her age, something that seemed to please her friend greatly.
"No more!" She laughed as she settled back into her seat later. Celírion grinned good naturally at her and she leaned back against the table, attempting to catch her breath as he made to sit beside her. She caught the sound of liquid being poured into a cup and then her friend handed her a cup of water which she accepted gratefully before gulping it down greedily.
Another song had begun in the clearing, this one slightly less exuberant than the last, and Alice caught sight of Arwen dancing with someone again. She squinted. There was something…off about Arwen's dance partner. He didn't seem to blend in as well with the other elves around him. Though lithe and lean, he was just a touch too broad about the shoulders and...was that…facial hair?
Her eyes widened.
Frantically, she grasped ahold of Celírion's sleeve and pointed in Arwen's direction with her other hand. "Man!"
Confused by her sudden outburst, her companion glanced over at Arwen's dance partner…and then smiled. With a chuckle, he gently pushed her accusatory arm down and then leaned in close to whisper to her.
"Aragorn."
Stunned, Alice stared at the couple as they danced. They were making eyes at each other.
"Holy shit," she breathed. "Aragorn's here."
A/N: The last half of this chapter was a pain in the ass (I say that a lot, but only because it's true). Thankfully the last bit hit me and I think this ending is much better than the one it had before the rewrite. Or maybe not? Let me know. I'd love to hear from yooooouuuuuu! :D
Chapter Timeframe: August 2, 2998 T.A. - September 29, 2998 T.A.
Today in "Middle Earthean History, Culture, and Geography Notes AKA Stuff I Feel Like Talking About":
- If you're wondering why Alice isn't panicking and having constant nervous breakdowns anymore (like she did in Chapter One) that's because we spent a month in Celírion's POV and, if you remember (in the last chapter), he mentions Alice locking herself in her room immediately after moving in with Tinuthel and Brandir. During that time she got all the emotional turmoil and self-pity out of her system (for the most part) before she made the effort to join society. Part of the reason we skipped seeing that is because you wouldn't have wanted to read about it and I wouldn't have wanted to write about it (I can only write so much angst before my brain melts). The other reason is because we needed an introduction to Celírion and what better time would there be than when Alice has locked herself away from the world so she can feel sorry for herself?
- Oranges, peaches, and other such fruits are originally native to Asia while cantaloupe came not only from Asia but also the Middle East and Africa. As Alice guessed, the reason the elves can grow so many exotic fruits and vegetables in a place so far north is partially due to good old normal 'elf magic' as well as the preservative powers of Galadriel's ring, Nenya. As for how they got there in the first place, in my own personal headcanon, the elves brought them along with them when they made the Great Journey from Cuiviénen in the far East. Potatoes, tomatoes, and other such crops however, will not be showing up in this fic as they are 'New World' (American) foods and weren't brought over to Europe and the rest of the world until the 16th century.
- This fic takes place 20 years before the original events of the War of the Ring. During that time, Arwen was actually kicking back in Lothlórien with her grandparents, not chillaxing in Rivendell with her dad and brothers.
- One of the many symptoms of pregnancy is an elevated libido. Some people get it and some people don't. Unfortunately for Alice though, she did, and boy are the hormones a ragin'. Thus Alice suddenly finds herself wanting to jump Celírion's bones even though she barely knows the poor guy (not that that's ever stopped her. She did get pregnant from a one-night stand after all).
- Hinsetzen. Du bist betrunken is German for 'Sit down. You're drunk'. Admittedly, I have not taken German since High School (which was quite a few years ago), so I cheated and used Google Translate. If anyone here does speak fluent German and would like to correct me, please do.
- If you've never done the partner-changing Cotton-Eyed Joe dance (I don't know if it actually has a real name so that's what I'm calling it), you should. It's ridiculous but super fun. Like Alice, it always ended up playing at every Middle School and High School dance I went to and always ended with my friends and I laughing.
- Aragorn's whereabouts around this time period are kinda sketchy. We know he and Arwen became betrothed in 2980 T.A. and that Arwen later leaves Lothlórien and travels back to Rivendell and Aragorn goes hunting for Gollum in 3009 T.A. So that leaves us with a 29-year gap where we have no idea what Aragorn was doing. Thus I feel within my rights to claim he's been chilling in Lothlórien this whole time. Why hasn't Alice seen him? Because he's been hanging out at Galadriel's house with his girlfriend, the one place Alice has avoided thus far.
Sindarin Names and Their Meanings/Pronunciations
Lúthiril - Charming Lady (loo-theer-eel)
Arwen - Noble Maiden (are-when)