Chapter Text
After leaving Lord Elrond’s study Lorena found she needed something to brighten her spirits; it didn't take her long to track down Merry and Pippin.
The two hobbits were leaning over the balcony that overlooked the courtyard at the entrance to Rivendell, the same one they’d entered through only a few days prior. Apparently they had also heard of the expected new arrivals, despite the news being relatively recent.
She joined them as she was curious herself, but she took care to crouch behind a large pot plant and peer through the leaves, knowing that the sight of a skeleton looming over a balcony would not make a good first impression and may scare the visitors away entirely. She smirked at that thought; perhaps she should offer her services to Lord Elrond and aid him in keeping away unwanted or aggravating guests.
They settled in to wait and were rewarded soon after.
The first to arrive was a man.
He was tall and handsome, with dark hair and shadowed eyes that observed everything around him with a keen, assessing gaze. He seemed wary, with a soldier’s eye for unseen threats, but despite that he had a noble bearing, standing straight and proud.
“Who do you think that is?” Pippin whispered, despite the fact that the man would be very unlikely to have heard them from that distance anyway.
“He has a white tree embroidered on his vest, which I think is the symbol of Gondor.” Merry supplied quietly, having spent many an afternoon with Frodo, Pippin, and Bilbo pouring over the old maps and history books in Bag End’s library. “Wheres his horse?”
Indeed he rode no horse and had little baggage with him, carrying only one bag and a cumbersome round shield that was strapped securely to his back. A large sword hung at his side, and she saw his hand hover over it slightly as people approached; Lorena had a feeling the action may have been more out of habit than actual fear of danger. She made her own observations as the man visibly forced himself to relax.
“His vest is of a fine make too. Look at how well-crafted the tunic is, with beaded embellishments and everything! It must’ve been expensive. I’d say he’s a noble of some sort, a high ranking one too.” Lorena put her seamstress and tailoring training to good use, and her speculations led to more murmuring from the three of them as they attempted to figure out the mysterious lone traveller’s backstory.
The man seemed exhausted but lifted his shoulders up as he was approached by Lindir and Lord Elrond, bowing stiffly and accepting their welcome with practised poise. He was clearly out of his comfort zone, but he performed all the necessary niceties and was led away by another elf, presumably to somewhere he could rest and recover from his journey.
Merry wondered aloud why the man would travel such a long way, as according to Bilbo’s maps Gondor was many, many miles to the east. It must’ve been very far indeed, as Lorena had never even met someone who hailed from there before. They sat on the balcony telling tales between themselves for almost an hour before the next visitors arrived and their attention was once again diverted.
Cantering into the courtyard below was a small group of elves, dressed in elegant garb not dissimilar to the robes she’d seen the inhabitants of Rivendell wearing, though these were fashioned more practically to be fit for travel. The elves were similar in look to the ones she had already met in that they were all tall, willowly, and beautiful, though their hair was of a lighter shade, pale blonds, reds, and silvers shining in the afternoon sun.
As they dismounted one stood out from the rest. He was positioned at the front, and was dressed finer than the rest, with extra embellishments on his robes and a thin silver circlet upon his brow. He must’ve been of some import as the others in his party seemed to defer to him.
Again Lord Elrond and Lindir came forth to meet the new arrivals in the courtyard as stable hands stepped forward to take charge of their horses.The greeting between this group and the elves of Rivendell seemed much friendlier than the one that had taken place earlier, the two groups chatting freely amongst each other as if old friends.
After they’d been led away it was another long wait before the last visitors of the afternoon arrived. By then Merry and Pippin had grown bored and gone in search of some pre-dinner snacks, but she remained, leaning against her pot plant and enjoying the sun on her face.
It was nearing sundown when the clattering of hooves and the clinking of armour echoed through the courtyard below. Lorena turned and resumed her hidden crouch, peering down at the group of dwarves trotting into the courtyard with fascination. She had met one or two dwarves when she lived in Bree, and her friend Kira had sworn she’d met a dwarven king once, but Lorena herself had never had the chance to speak to one. They tended to keep to themselves when not with their kin, and few had use of a seamstress or tailor when travelling through Bree.
While the few dwarves she’d seen had mostly been merchants travelling to and from the Blue Mountains - or the ones that had surveyed the cave she claimed for a few years when she was wandering - these dwarves were clearly of a more warlike nature. Each one was armed to the teeth with fierce looking axes, deadly looking swords, spiked maces, and other weapons she had no name for. Add to that the heavy plate armour each one wore and she was surprised their poor mounts weren’t collapsing under the weight.
Their deep voices carried up to her, though she didn’t understand the gruff and guttural language they used. She had heard it spoken before but they were notoriously secretive about it and rarely used it in the company of strangers.
The group dismounted from their shaggy ponies, landing heavily on iron-shod boots and adjusting their armour and weapons into their correct places. From her hiding spot Lorena could see the legendary beards dwarves were said to be so proud of; they were glinting in the sun, decorated by jeweled clasps and gleaming metal beads woven into intricate braids, shining so brightly it was hard to see them in detail.
The arrival of Lord Elrond and Lindir quieted the boisterous group, and a most uncomfortable exchange was had between one of the white-haired elder dwarves and their hosts. The vaguely hostile air didn’t dissipate with introductions, and even from afar she could sense the tension, tight as a rope and ready to snap. Elrond was of course the picture of hospitality, but Lindir looked as though he was sucking on a lemon.
A chuckle behind her made her turn her head, revealing Glorfindel, glowing as usual despite the lowering light. He too was watching the charged exchange below, distinctly amused.
“The last time dwarves visited Rivendell they bathed naked in one of the sacred fountains.” He said nonchalantly, as though remarking on the weather. The image made her snort as Glorfindel continued.
“Poor Lindir was most traumatised and nearly had a conniption before Lord Elrond stepped in and sent him on an errand to the library.”
“That was very kind of Lord Elrond.” Lorena replied with mock seriousness. The dwarves in the courtyard below were being led away by Lindir, who was unusually rigid and appeared to be exercising great effort to maintain his welcoming disposition. He wasn’t quite succeeding, as his jaw was clenched so tight he was liable to crack a tooth; while none of the dwarves reached for their weapons it was clearly a near thing, as armoured hands hovered over ax handles and sword hilts.
Glorfindel let out a final chuckle and grinned at her, a definite air of mischievous anticipation about him.
“I think dinner tonight will be most interesting.”
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The tales Lorena later heard of the very entertaining dinner were definitely amusing, though she did not see it unfold in person. No, she had decided to avoid that particular event, as she was reluctant to show herself amongst so many strangers not accustomed to her appearance. The discussion with Elrond had also left her feeling somewhat raw and washed-out, and socialising while people gaped at her was not something she felt she could do.
She instead spent the evening in the library with Erestor, another elf and one of Lord Elrond's chief advisors. He was not particularly genial; indeed he himself was absent from dinner as he felt “little need to socialise with mortals.” He also seemed to hold a grudge against the dwarves for their desecration of the ancient fountain Glorfindel had mentioned earlier, so it was probably for the best that he avoided them. He was not one to hold his tongue for the sake of peace.
Erestor had asked to speak with her soon after their group arrived at Rivendell, and had introduced himself by examining her as though she were a rare specimen or some kind of unique creature. He had asked to spend some time with her as he had said he wished to record her encounters with the dark magic that had cursed her, along with its effects on her person.
He seemed particularly interested in her belief that she was thus far invulnerable to most physical attacks, and got a disconcerting gleam in his eyes when he suggested testing her hypothesis. In exchange he would help her refresh her reading and writing skills, both of which had become rusty in the long years she’d been away from civilization.
They thus spent their evening alternatively discussing various aspects of her curse and practising her reading with some of the library’s less precious books. Erestor wasn’t exactly encouraging, but he wasn’t cruel either, and she felt she’d made some progress by the time she bid him goodnight. She also promised to meet him on the training grounds the next morning to go through some of his ‘tests’. She had a feeling she may regret that, judging by the fervent excitement he’d shown which was antithetical to his usual punctilious demeanor.
Lorena had thankfully had her clothes returned to her that evening, and she was particularly appreciative of them as she left the library, as the air was turning cooler as they entered the winter months. She pulled her cleaned and patched-up poncho over her head and wrapped up against the chill; though she didn’t feel it too much it was still an unpleasant sensation when an icy breeze whistled through her ribcage. She pulled her hood up as said breeze ran its cold fingers along the inside her skull, grateful that she had decided earlier to pull on a pair of her trousers as well.
The night was still young, and judging by the faint music and chatter she could still hear coming from the direction of the Hall of Fire she would have the grounds to herself for a little while longer, so she decided to take a stroll. Arwen had recommended a certain area of the gardens that she said looked particularly beautiful by moonlight, so Lorena resolved to seek it out while the grounds were relatively empty.
She stepped off the path, enjoying the feel of the grass between her toe-bones as she meandered along. After some wandering she found the night-garden sequestered behind Lord Elrond’s gallery and had to admit Arwen was right.
While the night around her was dark, the flowers in the flowerbeds glowed with a very faint effervescence, which in sunlight would have been impossible to detect. There were little to no lamps in the area - likely by design - and the resulting gloom allowed the magical flora to shine.
Lorena knelt down next to them; the illuminated flowers were pale blue and star-shaped, nestled in amongst pale-veined leaves that let off a dimmer - but still enchanting - glow of their own. She ran a finger along the edge of a petal, relishing in the feather-like softness beneath her fingerbones. She’d never seen anything like it before, and was so entranced that she didn’t hear the faint murmur of voices coming from the arched windows of the gallery behind her.
She did, however, hear the metallic clang of something heavy hitting the floor, and was jerked out of her fascination by the sound of hurried footsteps on the stone path. They were headed her way.
Lorena froze, hoping to avoid detection by remaining still and praying the shadows hid her. It seemed luck was against her, as the footsteps slowed, then stopped completely just a few feet away. The heaviness of the footsteps immediately told her this was no elf, so she kept her head down and tucked her arms under the cloak of her poncho, relying on her hood to keep her face hidden.
She identified the interloper as a man as soon as he spoke, his voice deep and tinged with embarrassment.
“My apologies, I did not mean to disturb your evening my lady.”
She battled to keep her voice even as she responded. “No apologies necessary, my Lord.”
The feet shifted in place but didn’t leave. He clearly wasn’t satisfied with her minimal acknowledgement, as he spoke again.
“Why do you hide your face so?”
Lorena sighed, suddenly feeling very, very tired. She had spent so long hiding from others, and she was sick of it. She knew the man’s charming demeanor would cease the moment he saw her as she truly was, though she felt for the first time that she was past the point of caring any longer. She had clearly gotten too used to the indifference of the elves.
The man still waited for an answer, and Lorena decided honesty was probably the easiest option; she had always been a terrible liar anyway. “I do not wish to frighten you, my Lord.”
He seemed to find that amusing, as he chuckled, and the condescension in his voice stirred her apathy into indignance.
“Come now, my lady, I am certain there is nothing about you that could frighten me, I am a son of Gondor and a veteran of many battles.” She huffed at his arrogance, though made a note to tell Merry he was correct about the man’s origins.
“Fine, have it your way then.” In one movement she stood up, yanking her hood down with perhaps more spite than necessary.
Her interloper blanched as her gaping skull was revealed by the moonlight. A part of her was extremely satisfied at the fear that grew on the man's face as he beheld her, but another more sensible part of her knew that she was being unnecessarily malicious. Even if the man had deserved the fright for being annoyingly smug.
The vindictive part of her won out without much effort and she enjoyed watching him stumble backwards and reach for the sword at his belt, only to grip desperately at empty air. He had likely disarmed himself for dinner; she was sure he regretted his observance of guest etiquette.
“By the Valar, what are you?” he rasped, clearly shaken but trying to hide it. “Some servant of the Dark Lord?”
She almost laughed at the fear in his voice, despite her indignation at the accusation that she was evil; she found she couldn’t truly blame him for his assumption though, much as she might want to. He was far from the first to accuse her of collusion with the enemy, after all.
He kept one eye on her as he scanned the ground frantically for some kind of discarded branch or stick to use in his defense. She knew he’d find nothing, not in Rivendell’s immaculately kept gardens. She decided to put him out of his misery and pulled her hood up again.
“No, not his servant, simply a victim of one of his servants.” The man paused in his search and examined her properly, a sudden realisation dawning on his face.
“You are the… ‘strange guest’ Lord Elrond mentioned when I arrived.” His shoulders slumped in sudden relief as he ran a hand over his face, exhaustion replacing the panic. She had a realization of her own as she saw his features more clearly.
“You’re the man who arrived earlier today, the one without a horse!” She recalled, and he narrowed his eyes at her. He didn’t deem her worthy of a response, however, as he simply straightened his shoulders and adopted the mask of a nobleman as though putting on an old and ill-fitting tunic.
“Forgive me my rudeness, my Lady.” He bowed stiffly, and said the last bit with a bite of sarcasm in his voice and not a little bit of hostility. “I bid you a good evening.” Without another word he strode off, not glancing back and clearly in a bad mood.
As he rounded a corner and disappeared she heard a laugh behind her, in the direction of the building. She turned, seeing Strider leaning on the arched doorframe of the gallery, seemingly having witnessed her encounter with the proud ‘son of Gondor.’ A wide grin stretched across his face, and she couldn’t help but return it with a weak one of her own.
She had found, to her surprise, that she actually enjoyed the Ranger’s company when they weren’t fleeing from mortal danger. He seemed more relaxed within the walls of Rivendell, laughing easier and engaging her in witty conversation, even asking after her wellbeing when they encountered each other in passing.
He seemed to spend most of his time with the elves though, particularly the children of Elrond. Tonight seemed no different, as she could see Arwen lingering in the darkened doorway behind him.
“I think you may have frightened the man half to death.” Strider chuckled, amused and entertained. She waved him off and began walking towards the rooms she shared with the hobbits, thankfully located in the opposite direction of her new… ‘acquaintance’.
She found she was no longer in the mood for a moonlit stroll.