"I'll wager the sun is on the rise. Must be nearly dawn," Bofur says dejectedly.
"We're never gonna reach the mountain, are we?" Ori asks, his voice filled with sadness. Suddenly, a certain Hobbit peeks around the corner, grinning and holding a ring of keys.
"Not stuck in here, you're not," Bilbo whispers.
"Nora!"
Hang on...that's not part of the movie...
"NORA ISABEL! GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE NOW!"
Nope. Definitely not the movie. Jumping out of her bean bag chair and yanking the buds out of her ears, she quickly turns the phone off and hides it in the pillowcase on her bed. After stuffing the power cord under the mattress, she rushes from her room to the kitchen. She keeps her head low, knowing that anything she does can blow Regina's fuse. Well, more so than it already has been. Looking up slightly, Nora sees her foster mother seething and holding one of Janice's many Barbie dolls. Regina holds the doll up in front of Nora's face and says in a dangerously low tone, "Explain."
Nora looks at the doll. This one features Annalise from Barbie: the Princess and the Pauper. Or at least it did. It looks as though it lost several rounds with the garbage disposal. Nora knows what's to be expected: she'll truthfully deny she had anything to do with it, and will be blamed for it anyway, then Janice (or Jackson) will get a new toy. Except this time, she doesn't deny it. This time, she really is responsible. last week, her foster sister flaunted the doll, saying she preferred the princess over the pauper, and then proceeded to explain every tiny detail of her reasons. That wouldn't have bothered Nora much, except that everything Janice said was a very intentional stab at her. Knowing that she would be on the receiving end of harsh punishment if she was caught, she didn't lash out. Instead, she took the doll during the night and hid it under the vegetables in the freezer. She waited until a few days after Janice got over it (which was pretty quickly), then made her move. While her foster family was out, Nora stuck the doll feet first, arms first, and then head first into the disposal. Elation clouding her caution, she simply threw it into the trash and congratulated herself for a job well done.
Now, observing the doll with missing arms and feet and shredded features along with a livid Regina, she wishes she'd been more careful or hadn't done it at all.
An hour later, Nora has bruises on her back and is cleaning all of Janice's toys. Janice herself is out shopping with her mother for a new doll. Her "brother," Jackson, and her "father," Alex, are in the den, watching sports and munching on chips and pizza, which she'll no doubt have to clean later.
She doesn't cry. She learned to deal with pain, to block it out, a long time ago. The bruises she gets now are nothing compared to the dislocated bones and cracked ribs she used to get.
She doesn't cry. She's never had the luxury of self-pity. Any time she's ever shown any signs of that, she was criticized or beaten.
She doesn't have any friends. Her foster siblings make sure of that. She never gets treats or gifts, courtesy of her foster parents. She can't even speak to the school counselor for fear of Alex and Regina finding out. When pranksters go looking for a target, Jackson happily points them toward her. When cliques go looking for someone to bully, Janice eagerly volunteers her. Still, it's a big step up from the home she was born into. She doesn't complain, and why should she? Sure, she's treated unfairly, but she has food in her stomach, a warm bed, a dozen or so books, and the pain of recovery from punishment is lowered to mere discomfort.
Nora is far from naïve. She knows that many of the kids around her lead better, happier, safer lives than she does. They don't have to be hardened. They don't have to learn to bypass pain. They don't have to hide. She counts herself fortunate, though. She doesn't have to work around a cast. She doesn't have to worry about makeup. She doesn't have to worry about bottles being thrown at her. She doesn't have to deal with Snapchat or Instagram along with other 13-year-olds. She doesn't have to sneak into the kitchen at night to steal food.
Nora finishes cleaning the toys just as Regina and Janice pull into the driveway. She quickly rushes to her room in the basement and shuts the door, then collapses onto her bed. Knowing she won't be called out this late at night, she allows herself to relax. After a few minutes, her restlessness gets to her. She sits up and looks around her room.
Her eyes land first on her desk, and her designs for everything from buildings to clothes to machines. Middle Earth is never far from her mind, and many of her designs feature things that could be used by its inhabitants and built with its resources. All of the papers, protractors, rulers, pencils, and erasers are in neat stacks. Nah. She needs to have steady hands to draw those designs and work the math. The MMA clothes and black belt hanging from a hook in the wall would be of no use to her right now, either. Her eyes wander over to the bookshelf, which supports nineteen books, all of which show signs of wear and care. Eight of them are about Middle Earth. Four of them are about art and architecture. Two are books of poetry. The other five feature music. Upon seeing those, Nora's eyes wander over to her Yamaha p125 piano, the little stand beside it covered in pencils and notebooks filled with original compositions. On the other side of the piano and huddled into the corner are the rest of her instruments: a flute, a fiddle, an acoustic guitar, and a saxophone.
She smiles, slides off her bed, and reaches for the fiddle. Many would think that a bedroom in a basement is cruel, but Nora loves it. It's the only room in the entire house in which she can play her instruments and not be heard. She takes the fiddle out of its case, rasas the bow, and positions them on her shoulder. She starts off with a simple C scale and makes her way through the different keys. After warming up, she allows her fingers to play what they itch for. She plays until her arms threaten to fall off. Sighing in defeat, she sets the fiddle aside, pulls out her phone (bought from a pawn shop with scraped money), sets it up, and sinks comfortably into the covers as The Hobbit begins to play.
Hours later, she watches Thorin speak his final words. She thinks about how it just doesn't seem, right that Azog would fulfill his vow and end the line of Durin. It doesn't seem right that Thorin is never able to truly see Erebor with complete clarity of mind. It doesn't seem right that the dwarves of Ered Luin regain their home in Erebor, only to lose the beloved leader they'd hoped would rule it. It doesn't seem right that young Fili and Kili lose their lives before they even have a chance to fully grow into adulthood.
As Thorin's eyes become glassy and empty, a tear slides down Nora's cheek, as it does every time she sees or reads these sorrowful scenes.
If only she could go to Middle Earth and somehow save them. If only she could go to Middle Earth and leave Britain behind. If only she could go to Middle Earth and escape her past. If only she could escape her present. If only she could be free of her so-called family. If only she could find a real family, one that would truly love her and care for her.
What's the use of wishing? I'm never going to Middle Earth. I'm never going to have a real family, she thinks as she drifts off to sleep. Just before she's fully out of consciousness, a voice, so quiet and ethereal it could've been dreamt, gently whispers...
"Not stuck in here, you're not..."