Chapter Two

Acceptance

When Margaret felt herself become aware of her surroundings, it was with a jerky surprise to find that she was wrapped snugly in a mound of blankets and secured over a feather-stuffed bed. 'Who uses those anymore?' Slowly she shifted her hips and winced tightly as a hot pain shot up her back and into the base of her skull. She shuddered and exhaled when she realized her lungs had frozen up with pain. A soft creak came from her right and she blinked to clear her vision. A shadowy figure passed into the room and before it reached the bed the figure morphed into the woman she had seen before.

"Where am I?" Margaret tried and her voice cracked crustily. The woman paused in her step and for a moment, Margaret felt relief at being understood. Not that it mattered, because soon after the woman replied and once more, it was in a language Margaret couldn't hope to understand. A frustrated groan left her and she shifted in bed to bring herself up against the headboard. The woman came forward and with a firm hand she helped Margaret up to settle comfortably in place.

A mug of tea was placed into her hands. 'The hell?' Margaret brought the mug up to her face and sniffed at it experimentally. The herbs were strong and wafted straight through her nose to her stomach, leaving her mouth to water as her hands brought the mug to her lips for a small sip. The liquid burnt her tongue, but it was substantial enough to root her mind back to the present and out of her clouded thoughts. A spark of cold dread went through her bones and her hands began to shake. Immediately, the woman pulled the mug away from her and brought a short hand to Margaret's forehead, feeling for a fever. The woman murmured gently and her fingers glided down under Margaret's chin to lift it up.

Margaret gasped for air, inhaling it out of greed and her head whirled. 'I remember. She found me, but where am I? What happened? Who is she? Who – and,' another wave of panic gripped her throat and she felt a scream bubble up from her gut. The woman proved faster than Margaret's terror and shook out her shoulders, her voice clear and stern. 'Probably telling me – to get a grip. Shit, Maggie, get a fuckin' grip.' Margaret held her breath and nodded her head at the woman; her thick hands came up and gripped the other woman's forearms.

'Wait.'

Alarmed, Margaret's gaze shot down to where her hands were, or at least, should have been. Instead, thick protrusions replaced her fingers. Short and pudgy with heavy knuckles and gnawed out nails. Her arms were bare and scratched; a few dozen bruises now littered her skin almost as much as her freckles did. Sensing her confusion, the woman leaned against the bed and sat down, calling to her. Margaret released her and tugged on the blanket, nearly dislodging the very pregnant portly female in her hurry. Once removed from her seat, the woman stood back and folded her hands over her mouth, worry colored her face.

'No, no, no! What is this?!' Margaret tossed her legs over the edge of the bed and stared at them, wide eyed and dizzy. Her borrowed hands felt over her bare and knotted knees and she could feel the muscles twitch both inside and out. She stood and almost stumbled into the woman as they both stepped forward, one to help and the other out of fear. Margaret took a hold of the woman's shoulders and gave her a slight shake.

"What's happened to me? What am I?" Margaret cried. She let go and spun around the bed in search of a mirror, a glass, anything to tell her the truth. There in the cozy corner of the bedroom she was in stood a long and thin polished mirror. Tripping over her ankles, Margaret caught the edge of the vanity mirror with her clumsy hands and peered into it.

A dumpy creature stood in front of the mirror. There was barely anything there that Margaret could see of herself in the thing. Her brown eyes remained, with the strange tilt to their edges that made her look angry when she wasn't, and her copper stained, muddy strands were loose and tangled down along her face and far lower to the small of her back.

"What…" A hand came up to the creature's face and the image gasped. Past the bruising and the welt that took up half of her forehead, the face was filled with heavy bones and a stern expression. Her cheekbones were dense and her chin far stronger than she remembered it being, even her nose came out just enough to be seen without crossing her eyes. Gone was her fair freckled face and it was replaced with a boulder carved by an amateur. "Oh my God, you're joking… what is this? What is this, seriously!" She stepped closer to the mirror and her gaze flickered over the surface, unbelieving.

The female in the image stood at no bigger than four feet or so, with a broad set of shoulders and an even broader set of hips. Her core was too close to the ground and her center of balance was nothing more than a spinning top about to lose its momentum. Margaret turned her face and another gash lined her sideburn and wiggled toward her jaw. Margaret blinked and glanced at the side of her face again, but her eyes soon closed and she shuddered to breathe painfully. 'Why in God's good name do I have sideburns?' Her hair appeared grown out and waved from the base of her ear and trickled toward her waist, but that wasn't the horrific part, oh no.

The edge of her jaw near the back where the bone met her throat, a small field of hair was there and it looked to her like the beginnings of a beard. 'Oh, no, no, hell no!' Margaret tugged at the small patch of fur there and whined silently in the back of her throat. She jumped out of her skin when the woman's hand rested on her shoulder and her lovely face appeared next to Margaret's – the creature's – upper arm. The woman soothed her with incomprehensible words and rubbed a tender palm against Margaret's back. Fresh tears pooled at the corner of her eyes and Margaret couldn't force the strength to stand back into her legs. She dropped and rolled onto the ground like a bag of potatoes.

"Bella? Belladona, is she ill?" Belladonna looked over to her husband who stood at the entrance of the bedroom, his manners keeping him at bay in the presence of an unclothed female. Belladonna sighed and gently knelt next to the fallen dwarf and shook her head.

"I do not know. I do not know if it was the sight of her injuries, or… or something else." Belladonna waved to her husband, "Fetch me some of my newer clothes. They may yet be large enough for her to wear." Hastily, Bungo nodded and removed himself with a sharp turn and retreated into the hallway. Belladonna returned her attention to the dwarf that had curled up on the guest bedroom's floor. She grimaced and brushed a handful of hair away from the girl's face. "Oh, my dear, how I wish I could know your mind. Your words mean nothing to me. I wish I knew what I could do for you."

Margaret felt her depression deepen as the couple conversed behind her curled form and anger settled in the dark parts of her stomach. "What's going on, please! I just… I want to go home! How did I get here, please… just let me go…" She knew it didn't matter what she said, though, as the couple either truly couldn't understand her, or had chosen to ignore her. Both notions brought more hot and frustrated tears to stream over the bridge of her nose and onto the ground she collapsed on, curled into the tightest ball she could manage with her new and hulking body. Good God, even her breasts were being a menace to her now of all times, giant lumps of stone that they had turned into! The pattering of feet came to her ears and the quick chatter of the couple was her only warning before the woman with the pointed ears tried to turn her onto her back.

For a brief and childish moment, Margaret stiffened and held herself in place, but the woman was going to have no more of her nonsense, it seemed, and tightened her tiny fist into Margaret's shoulder and pulled. Margaret relented more out of surprise at the sheer force the woman seemed to have rather than any politeness that finally graced her. She swallowed forcefully and blinked through her tears. The woman's lips were pressed into a mother's frown and the man behind her huddled close by with his hands fiddling at his sides.

A dress was placed into her vision and the woman commanded something with a small shake of her fist that held the dress. Margaret glanced between the woman and the dress and thought better of fighting her over it. 'She's pregnant, you rude asshole. Stand your ass up and mind your goddamn emotions.' Margaret coughed into her arm and rolled onto her rear-end before shakily taking a stand on feet-far-too-big. A small smile graced the woman's face and Margaret took a weird notice at how her pointed ears twitched. If her situation hadn't been so dire or horrifying, the action would have been strangely endearing.

"I'll… I'll wear the dress, I'm sorry." Margaret sniffed and took the clothing in her hands. The woman's smile turned sweet and she turned to tap the man's chest and pointed out the door. The man whose eyes had been riveted to the floor since Margaret had stood up, nodded and scooted along his heels to leave them in the room. Margaret felt her eyes go wide again when she spotted the hairy tops of enormous feet. "I guess I'm not the only one, then. That's good, right?" She turned to the woman and at the woman's confused smile; she sighed sadly and remembered, "right, communication issue. Goddamn it."

The woman held out her hands and cooed some soft words to Margaret in an attempt to coax her. Margaret sighed heavily and turned the cloth over in her hands, "This… this may not fit me, you know?" She knew the pointed-eared woman couldn't understand a lick of what she was saying, but it was better than the silence between them. The woman gently herded Margaret toward the bed and cajoled her into the dress. Margaret grunted softly as the wide dress came over her head and settled on her shoulders. There was a giggle off to her right and Margaret glanced up in time to see an amused glitter pass through the woman's bright eyes before she hid it all behind a slender hand.

Margaret glanced down at herself and in the spur of such a moment, she chuckled in despite of her tear-stained face. She tugged at the sides of the dress and turned to the woman, giggling just as haltingly. "Yeah… I look, I look pretty fuckin' ridiculous, don't I?" The words felt good against her tongue and it gave Margaret a second to come down from her panic and fear. Margaret shook out her head and furiously rubbed her palms over her face as she turned and dropped onto the mattress. The poor bed squeaked and gave a small crack and for one disturbed moment, Margaret feared the thing would collapse. A second passed and she spared a glance at the woman, still stutteringly scared of breaking the bed.

The woman could only burst into laughter at the sight of Margaret's face.

…

The rest of the week was spent in completely frustration, both for her hosts and herself. Margaret had taken two days of rest before she managed to stand on her feet without swaying comically or skipping straight into a tumble and smashing her skull into a wall, or the floor, or on the rare occasion when she made it that far; the door. Communication was still at a null and void stage between her and the couple that housed her, but she managed. The woman and her could trade hand gestures such as 'food' or 'water' (which resulted in hot tea more often than not), as well as 'bath' and 'help.' Beyond those flimsy attempts, though, Margaret was left to have conversations with no one else but herself.

'Which probably makes me seem right fuckin' crazy.'

When she did manage to leave the bedroom, she was in desperate need of the bathroom and a faltering half-charade passed between her and the man of the house. The woman picked up sooner than her partner and led Margaret to the bathroom. A deep, stone tub sat in the middle of the room and was surrounded by fluffy towels and a basin for smaller washing needs. It had all been very confusing and Margaret was left to wonder if she had honestly just died in that car-crash, or flat-out abducted by a weird occultist couple in a compound.

She very nearly believed the last part when she stepped outside for the first time since waking up. The shades of the grass that rolled along the tops of the hills were damn near painful to look at, and she held a hand to her eyes most of the time while she followed being the woman. She fumbled along in her trot like a six-year-old child and held onto the basket she was given with a death grip. Her new body was atrociously hard to control and every few minutes Margaret found herself bouncing into things and knocking them over, much to the dismay of her hostess and her passing neighbors.

The first order of business for the week had been clothing. As much as she appreciated the generosity of her hostess, Margaret couldn't stand how bloated she felt in the dress that was an inch or two too small for her tank of a body. None of the other dresses worked, either, because it didn't matter how pregnant her hostess was, it didn't compare to the girth that Margaret now sported. At least she was able to make the mother-to-be laugh outright by imitating a bulging stomach and sore back. Small blessings, to be sure.

It was with this, though, that Margaret felt the first stirrings of alienation. Though her hostess was kind and lovingly sweet, her husband seem to stand truer to the feelings of the public, or at the very least, the immediate community that surrounded their home. The woman's husband was painfully polite and almost obnoxiously patient with his partner's quirks and pet projects (for example, Margaret's care and nursing), but that was usually as far as his good nature and humor extended. He wasn't outright rude to Margaret, but he didn't go out of his way to be friendly, either.

Their neighbors proved to be quite the same in cloth, if not color. Margaret found she bowed her head more and turned her gaze away quicker when she was in the market with her hostess. She was taller than all of them, by half a foot or more depending, and it pained her to hear the scoff or snuffing of their noses whenever she came along with the other woman to the market. By the end of the week, Margaret had had enough of the xenophobia and remained indoors more often when she could, but even then she was confined to the guest room.

The second week came along and her hostess grew worried, Margaret knew, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the room. The world outside the door had proven to be far too much too soon, and so she hid.

…

"You say you found her?" Gandalf inquired lightly. He shifted gently in the chair and fiddle with the cup of tea Belladonna had given him to drink. The young couple sat before him and on their shoulders he could see the weight of concern and confusion that drained their strength. Despite the summer sun that poured in from outside, the mood of the home was dank and dark.

"Aye, she was lying out beside the road halfway from Bree when we found her." Belladonna answered softly. Her fingers tightened around her mug and she fought against the need to grit her teeth. She could see that her husband's jaw was edged and it shifted with a small click. Belladonna shook her head and sighed, "She… appeared mangled, Gandalf. When I saw her, I feared she had been set upon by wolves and left for dead."

"That does, indeed, sound very upsetting. And you stopped for her?" Gandalf pressed with his bushy brow raised in curiosity. Though Belladonna seemed more earnest in her care for the newest addition to her home, Gandalf knew that Bungo was equally worried. It was in the pinch of his mouth and the twitch of his feet.

"Yes," Bungo answered now with a firm grip on his armrest, "we couldn't very well just leave her, even if she had been…" He waved his hand vaguely but did not utter the word. He grumbled and kept his gaze at the tip of Gandalf's beard. "She awoke when my wife had made it down the hill, and I believe her confusion won out. She was frantic at the sight of us."

"Indeed?" Gandalf peered toward the exit of the living area, toward the hall that led to the guest room.

Belladonna's gaze flickered to follow Gandalf's for a brief second, "We couldn't speak to each other. She… I do not know if it is the injury on her head, or perhaps a deeper fear, but the words that she does seem to say…" Belladonna shared a look with her husband and Bungo cleared his throat with a exasperated shake of his head.

"They just sound like gibberish." Bungo finished quietly. "Not in the sense of a child trying to emulate conversation, but rather with the intelligence of any adult. She knows what she speaks, Gandalf, we are failing to understand her. Or it is the other way around."

"Have you tried asking her to write for you? Or suppose another form of communicating?" Gandalf questioned. His brow furrowed deeply over his eyes when Bungo and Belladonna both shook their heads. Perhaps there was hope yet.

"We do not even know her name, Gandalf." Belladonna spoke sadly. She placed her mug away on a small table beside her and stood. "We attempted to, perhaps, jog some sense of memory or other by taking her out and allowing her to see the land, but she only grew more fearful and withdrew…" Belladonna gestured behind her toward the hallway. Her voice fluttered with worry when she turned back to Gandalf, "I only meant to help her, Gandalf, not harm her further."

"Hush, my dear friend, hush now." Gandalf stood and hunched over with a hand to Belladonna's slender shoulder. "I shall see to your guest and find an answer to this mystery of yours. She is a dwarf, you say?"

Belladonna nodded once, "Aye, but even that seemed to surprise her. She was alarmed by her appearance. I thought at first it was her injuries, but she looks upon her hands and feet, those uninjured, with dismay." Belladonna's hands rested on her swollen stomach and caressed the top absently. Gandalf nodded and bowed out of the living room to head toward the guest room.

Now more than ever, he wished to see this guest of theirs. The hallway took a winding turn deeper into the hill and the sunlight could not quite reach the end, but the candles flickered happily as he passed them. He found the door to the guest bedroom and knocked once, twice, and then waited. He could hear her from within, shifting and padding to the doorway. He stepped back and remained hunched, awaiting her appearance. There was a heartbeat's moment before the door knob was turned and the door whined open.

She was stout and sturdy, as were all her kind. Her shoulders dipped from her neck in a feminine slope not found in the males and her squared chin rose to bring her earthy eyes to his face. He offered her a smile and after a hesitation, she returned it. Her hair was at a great length and pulled tightly back in a messy tail, contained by two leather strips. She wore a long and patterned dress, but from the shift of her feet and the cast away gaze, she felt uncomfortable.

"Hello, my dear." He greeted her. The female dwarf raised her gaze back up to his face and in her eyes; he could see her acknowledgement and her intelligence. She understood his meaning, it seemed, for her low voice parroted his greeting in her language, but his words held no meaning for her. He sighed and gestured with an open palm to be allowed inside.

In this, she did not hesitate and stepped back with the door still in her hand to allow him entry. He shuffled inside, mindful of his cloak, and soon found a chair set up close to a darkened and quieted fireplace. He groaned as he sat and the female came toward him, her hands worrying together in front of her. She asked something of him but cut herself short and bit her bottom lip, her eyes closed in dispirited patience. He pointed to the bed and she sat with her face now colored in a blush, either embarrassed or relieved, he wasn't sure.

"Let us begin simply, shall we?" Gandalf murmured to her. The woman jerked her gaze up to his face at the sound of his voice and frowned with a tilt of her head. She shook her head heavily and with exasperation, spoke with a rapid breath. Perhaps she was explaining that she could not understand him, perhaps it was asking him to keep silent, in the end, it was only a low rumble of her voice.

Gandalf leaned forward in his chair and pointed to himself, "Gandalf." Then, with a heavy hand, he moved his fingers toward her and pointed, waiting a few seconds before returning his hand to his chest and repeating his name. A spark appeared in the depths of her eyes and their dullness faded. She grinned and sat forward on her bed, her hand at the base of her throat.

"Marrgret." She replied with an eager face. She swallowed and paused and he could see that his name rolled in the back of her throat as she tested the sound. She nodded to herself and focused on his gaze, her lips slowly forming his name. "Gaanelf."

"Such strange pronunciations, my child, truly. Marrgret?" He asked, his fingers laced together to rest on his lap. The dwarf shook her head and pressed her lips against her tongue, concentrating.

She sighed and crossed her index fingers, using them to show the beats in her name. "Maar. Gaar. Ret." The sounds were strange, but he could bring himself to pronounce them well enough. He murmured her name two or three times under his tongue before smiling at her.

"Margaret?" The smile that overcame her face set a beauty to her features that was hidden beneath her heavy bones and frowning lips. He chuckled deeply and steeped his fingers before his face. "Good, very good. Let us attempt mine once more. Gan. Dalf. Try, child."

The smile on her face flickered, but the corners of her mouth twisted with determination and he could see the hope flare up in the back of her eyes. "Gandalf?" He nodded his head and a wave of relief seemed to take a hold of her, so fiercely in fact, that she sprung from the bed and stumbled forward to wrap her arms around him. The hug was intense and Gandalf had quite forgotten how powerful dwarves could be, even unwittingly.

"It is a start, Margaret." Gandalf soothed into her hair as he felt her body shake with silent gasps. He would not go looking for tears; he could only imagine the fear and loneliness that plagued her. Gandalf gently caressed her shoulders and rocked her gently, giving comfort to the young dwarf.

"It's a very good start."

Notes: A bit fast pace, but hopefully the third one will finally get us rolling into the story. Reviews are welcome and appreciated!