Chapter Text
Swimming was a skill many a species was born with. Babies knew instinctively to swim to the surface. And yet, Rosemarie was struggling to find the weak sunlight above her head. Her lungs burned and she felt nothing but panic rise in her chest. The dark waters were throwing her around like a paper ship, making it harder for her to gain her bearings.
She knew she shouldn’t breathe, she couldn’t, but the burn in her lungs was unbearable. Water entered her nose as she trashed and vaguely registered the bright light above her. She was so tired. The edges of her vision were quickly turning black and her chest burned like she was plunged in lava as she summoned the last of her strength to get to the surface.
What did her elementary school swimming instructor say? Swim straight to shore. Or was it drift until you’re on land? No, swimming sounded too exhausting. Looking around, she found the side and she let herself drift to the side before dragging herself ashore on all fours.
Her nose and throat burned as Rosemarie coughed up more water than she had drunk before making the spontaneous decision to jump into the lake with her friends. She didn’t remember the gravel that was digging into her skin now.
She felt a hand on her back and another on her head, dragging the wet hair out of her face. At least Gabrielle, Martin and Flora made it out of the lake before whatever nasty undercurrent had sucked Rosemarie down claimed those two as well. She simply continued to cough up water and whatever dinner she had.
The coughing ceased after what felt like half an eternity. Shivers wracked her body and she took a much-needed breath, despite every breath hurting her for her chest was tight with pain.
“Ennas Nonol.” The hand on her back rubbed soothingly and rose to squeeze her shoulder carefully.
Her voice was shaky as she rasped out a quiet “thank you”. Someone – probably Martin since that someone had a male voice – wrapped a blanket around her carefully tugged her back so she sat on her knees.
Rosie blinked slowly, willing her eyes to focus again. She nearly died back in that lake. With trembling fingers, she wiped tears and some water off her face and she clenched her fingers into the blanket.
Martin crouched down before her. No, she thought, not Martin. Martin had short brown hair. Gabrielle, then. Flora crouched on her other side. Rosie frowned, eyes still unfocused. Flora didn’t have blond hair. Flora hadn’t been wearing anything grey when they’d jumped into the lake, either.
Rosie stared at the pebbles until her vision cleared up. Carefully looking up, she looked into the face of someone who definitely wasn’t Gabrielle, or Martin, or Flora. Looking around, the people beside her were not her friends either. Not even the surroundings looked familiar.
Gone was the lake surrounded by reeds and the soft meadow and Martin’s beat-up yellow car. Tall trees stood proud along a raging river with rocky shores. Had she drifted that far away from the lake while being underwater?
Rosie tensed when one of the strangers reached out and she leaned backwards away from the hand. The men muttered something between themselves before the one on her right squeezed her shoulder softly. She flinched away, flopping on her butt to get away from the man.
“Fear not, Lady. I am Haldir.” He touched his chest briefly. “What is your name?”
She shook her head quickly and looked around, only now noticing the other handful of men dressed in some grey garb standing a little away from them.
“Hiril vuin foeir na menna-ammen na i duin.” The one on her left muttered and the blond one nodded without taking his eyes off Rosie.
“Cin ped-thand.” He cocked his head to the side. “What is your name?”
“Rosie.” She coughed again, her throat raw.
The man, Haldir, she remembered, nodded. “We will make a fire so you can warm up.”
A few of the men around them sprung into action and left the shore on silent feet. She frowned as all of them seemed to have long hair. What kind of weird hairdressing school had she stumbled upon? She tugged the blanket tighter around herself. With wary eyes, she watched as the people gathered and made a small campfire in record time.
Blondie got up and looked toward the fire before casting a look at her. “Tolo anin naur.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Come to the fire. You are still shivering.”
Her leggings were clinging uncomfortably to her legs, and her trainers were soaked – she was soaked to the bone. The warmth of fire sounded nice, if only temporarily. Legs shaky as a fawn’s and chest tight with sheer adrenaline, she made her way to the fire and flopped down on the pebbles.
Her companions – saviours? – eyed her and she finally took the time to take them in. They were wearing some grey period garb and all had long hair ranging from black to light blond. Her glance drifted to what some of them were holding. Swords and bows.
Eyes widening, she looked at Blondie closest to her and noticed a sword resting idly by his side. Those weren’t real, right? Where in the ever-loving fuck did those wannabe Barbies get bows and swords that looked far too realistic for her liking? “Where am I?”
Blondie eyed her. “Lothlórien, Lady.”
Granted, Rosemarie wasn’t the most gifted in geography and her sense of direction in the city was abysmal at best, but even she knew that ‘Lothlórien’ was nowhere in her country. It didn’t even sound English. Mum and she would often go camping in the countryside, and one time on a long weekend they drove five hours to the shore to fall asleep by the sea. She knew the cities, villages and even some county names surrounding her hometown. But ‘Lothlórien’ was not one of them.
They didn’t say anything after that – she didn’t ask, they didn’t either. The river was raging behind her and her shoes were slowly drying on her feet where she rested them close to the campfire. She had yet to spot her friends and figure out which way to get home. At least the men kept their distance and whispered among themselves. Her chest still hurt, and breathing wasn’t any easier with Blondie not moving from her side.
The sun started to set soon after and she watched one man emptying some sack of water onto the fire. Blondie turned to look at her and got up. “Come, Lady, we cannot linger any longer.”
Taking a painful breath Rosie pushed herself up on weak legs, swallowing her discomfort. She could do this. Only walk a few minutes until they got to a road and then she could catch a bus home. Blondie and another guy were walking slowly on either side of her as they made their way through the forest. And to Rosie’s horror, they were walking not towards the edge but deeper into the thicket.
Her head was pounding now that she was moving and she knew she stumbled often but it was pathetic enough that she nearly drowned in whatever river spat her out.
It just didn’t make sense. She jumped in a small lake alongside her friends but crawled out of a river alone. Sure, she was under the water for quite a while, but no matter how fast the lake turned into a river she couldn’t be that far away from her friends. And what or where was ‘Lothlórien’? Maybe it was a local nickname of the forest, but she would know about that. And what code were those men speaking among themselves? Or maybe it was a language?
She wrinkled her nose at the pulsing pain behind her temples and the stinging in her nose and the tightness in her chest and throat.
+++
Haldir’s gaze briefly met Maeral’s when the woman between them stumbled yet again. When Lady Galadriel all but demanded he took a small company to patrol the riverbanks instead of the far western border he was inclined to believe her delusional. The river had been safe for centuries, far away from the eastern border and nobody passed the wards stationed alongside its path.
But she had been adamant he left with haste before disappearing back to her mirror.
When would come a time where he would question the Lady Galadriel and for once not be proven wrong? He had wrapped the woman – Rosie – in Maeral’s cloak when he spotted her by the river.
Through his centuries as Lórien’s march warden, he had seen his fair share of elves nearly falling victim to the river. Many underestimated the currents for the surface was slow and tranquil but the depths were treacherous and unpredictable. Drowning was not a comforting way to go – no death was, but some had a sense of comfort. He’d rather fall asleep and fade away to walk the halls of Mandos or die in battle than drown.
He spared another glance at the woman on his right. Her hair was still tangled and damp
He had never seen her before, maybe Lady Galadriel could shed some light on her sudden appearance in the middle of their lands. Haldir was worried. She coughed up a lot of water but coughed up very little from her stomach, and she had not passed out or even voiced discomforts. So he had made sure the woman was walking between him and Maeral in case she fell for good.
And long he did not have to wait. One moment she was walking on unsteady feet, and the other her face turned to a frown and her legs gave out taking the next step. Within a heartbeat Maeral and he had their arms around her middle and on her upper arms.
Haldir sighed and picked her up, her arms dangling over her shoulders and her cheek resting on his shoulder.
“Do you have her?”
“Yes. Fasten your cloak further, I am afraid it is slipping.”
Maeral retied his grey cloak around the woman’s frame before they picked up their pace again to catch up to their company. “Her garments are most peculiar.”
“Indeed.” Haldir had noted the improperly tight pair of trousers and the uncommon footwear earlier, but chose not to comment on it, lest he offended the Lady. Her attire was almost as intriguing as her unforeseen arrival in Lórien and her peculiar fae. “I believe her sudden appearance is tied to the Lady Galadriel’s impatience for us to patrol the riverside.”
“I feel inclined to agree, friend. Maybe she will give us answers once Lady Rosie is safe in her halls.”
Haldir looked at the woman’s face, frown marring his features when he noticed how pale she turned within a matter of moments. “We shall see. But first, we must make haste. She needs a healer.”
+++
The next time Rosie opened her eyes there was no painful pressure preventing her from breathing, so she sighed. Her dream had been realistic, terrifyingly so, but she felt herself wrapped in flower-scented sheets on a comfortable bed. She was at home.
No, not at home, but in her flat. That small dump could never truly be her home. Home was the two-storey brick house with two bikes leaning against the side and creaky stairs and the basement she was terrified to enter until she had been sixteen. Home with its warmth and the stained carpet where she had shared her first-ever glass of red wine with her mother and spilt; Home with her small bedroom with her pillow mountain instead of a beanbag because those were far too expensive, and her cousin’s hand-me-down toys and books.
Her heart ached when the memories of yesteryears entered her head when her mother’s laugh had echoed through the upstairs hall where the two had painted her bedroom wall with a mountain landscape and flowers. It was a Bob Ross thing, but it turned out clumsy and more cartoony than they had intended – they hadn’t bought all the colours required so many trees had ended up a weird shade of orange.
She heard some shuffling beside her and a warm hand feel her forehead and Rosie hummed. It was almost a parental touch, and it warmed her insides the same way they did whenever Martin would cook her noodle soup with star noodles when a cold struck her down. She sighed contently.
Martin had five brothers, and he was the oldest – but once he and Rosie had met in middle school the boy had adopted her as a sister and they had become inseparable. Maybe I’ll make him some dumplings as a ‘sorry for scaring you’, she mused and gently pushed the hand away.
“Mornin’ Marty.” She rolled onto her back and stretched.
“Good day, Lady.”
Startled, Rosie snapped her eyes open and quickly looked around, eyes falling on a tall woman wearing some period garb beside her bed.
No. Not her bed. Nor was this her bedroom. The room was grand with pillars of what seemed like wood on all sides and open windows. The sheets were not her red flowery sheets either, but bright white with elaborate embroidery on the edges.
She tugged the sheets higher once she notices she was not in her shirt anymore but some high-collared white hospital gown. Everything was blindingly white. She looked at the woman and racked her brain on whether or not she had seen her before. She was beautiful and she could easily see her walk down runways at the world’s fashion shows.
“Hello, Lady. Do you have any discomforts?” The woman’s voice was airy and pleasant and made Rosie relax the slightest. She eyed her and saw ears peek from between long brown strands of hair. Pointy ears.
She slapped her hand to her own to make sure hers were not deformed.
“Your ears? Oh, my deepest apologies, Lady. I had not checked them too thoroughly; we focused more on your chest.”
She batted hands away when they reached out and she scooted further up the bed. “Where the actual fuck am I?”
The woman gave her a look. “You are in the healing halls of Lothlórien, Lady.”
There was this ‘Lórien’ again. She'd hoped it was a term made up by throwing some scrabble letters down, but apparently, those people call this place their home.
“I want to go home.” Rosie tucked the blanket higher and the woman gave a sigh, leaving the room briefly.
Rosie allowed herself to relax and let her eyes wander around the room. Three more beds were in the room, and some vines crept through the large windows inside, curling elegantly around the ledge. It should be cold, but her body didn’t break out in goosebumps, despite a soft breeze gazing upon her skin.
The big doors opened again and the blond man she vaguely remembered from the lake strode in, grey cloak swaying around his frame. He gave her a polite nod as he placed a hand on his chest. “Hiril vuin, I am glad you are awake.”
Rosie swallowed and secretly wiped her clammy hands on the bedsheet. “Where am I?”
“Caras Galadhon, my Lady.”
“And where in the ever-loving fuck is that?”
The man cleared his throat and clasped his hands in front of him. He had a nice built, she thought. He must be a bit taller than her but with wide shoulders and probably strong arms. She eyed the sword on his belt and looked over his attire again. He wore some grey cloak fastened with a leaf-shaped clasp at his neck and a grey ensemble underneath.
“Westward of the Anduin, my Lady.”
She rubbed her face. It made no sense. “And what is that Anduil?”
“Anduin,” he corrected. “It is a river.”
Shaking her head she looked around. Anduin was not a river she had ever heard of. She knew some of the bigger streams of Europe for trivia nights, but Anduin was not amongst those.
“Doesn’t ring a bell,” she uttered. Maybe she had hit her head and was unconscious or in a coma and this was but a queer tale her mind spun. She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe, if she willed Martin or Flora into the room, they could make sense of this. But when she opened her eyes the only people in the room were the woman and Blondie.
The woman sighed and turned to the man. “Marchwarden, please get Lady Galadriel, she wished to be called upon once the Lady woke. I am afraid she will work herself into a fit and I cannot provide the answers she seeks.”
Blondie nodded and glided out of the room on silent soles.
“Do you have any pain, Lady?”
Rosie shook her head no. “I want to go home.”
The door opened again and Blondie entered again, this time followed by a woman who – if Rosie would have to guess – could be found in an ancient painting of a goddess. Long golden hair flowed freely down her back and a white gown draped around her body like it was liquid held there by the gods. She was simply... ethereal, despite her somewhat stern aura. Rosie had to swallow.
“Hannon le, Lennien. I shall take it from here. You have done well.” Her voice was deep and soothing as her bright eyes rested on Rosie. The woman, Lennien apparently, bowed and left the room. Blondie remained by the window. “I am grateful you are awake, my child. Lennien had been worried for you did not gain a conscious mind throughout the night.”
“Where am I?” She asked again. Maybe this woman was able to answer.
The woman stepped closer. “You are in Caras Galadhon, child. Haldir has told me you have been found by the river.”
Flashes of wild waters crossed her mind and Rosie briefly felt tightness return to her chest. She shuddered as the reality set in. “I almost drowned.” Rosie began mentally checking– really checking – her body for pain, but nothing came. There was no sting in her nose, no rattling coughs that fought their way out of her, no vomiting. She sucked in a cautious breath, prepared for pain. There was only a dull headache.
She had swallowed her fair share of water when her mother first taught her how to swim, and she remembered the feeling of water in her airways. But now, in the soft bed in some weird city, there were none.
“Lennien is one of our most skilled healers. You should feel no discomforts.” Rosie looked back at the woman. “I thank the Valar that you arrived well, for you are later than expected.”
“Later than – excuse me what?”
The woman – Galadriel, Rosie reminded herself – regarded her with gentle eyes before taking a piece of cloth off a free bed and setting it before Rosie. “Get dressed, child. I shall wait for you here. All your questions will be answered in time.”
So she was shooed behind a tall partition on the far side of the room and after much silent wrangling and internal cursing, she smoothed the blue garment down. The pagoda sleeves fell softly and the embroidery was simply exquisite – whoever made the dress had skill beyond measure. With a frown, she noted she had not been given shoes. Rosie stepped out and looked at Galadriel again, who, apart from a spark of mirth in her eyes conveyed no further emotion.
“Come, let us walk. Marchwarden, you may take your leave.” The man gave a respectful bow and exited the room.
Against her better judgement, Rosie followed the woman around for most of the day. And wherever ‘Caras Galadhon’ was, it was breathtaking. Tall trees of white bark and lush green leaves surrounded her on all sides and many had small flats built high up in the air, connected by intricate bridges and steps. The birds seemed to sing tunes ever so fair and happy and every person they came across gave a small curtsey or bow to Galadriel.
Whenever she dared to peek down to the forest floor, she saw handsome men and pretty women between beautiful flowers and lush moss. And as the hour turned later and the sky took to a darker blue, the air stayed pleasantly warm.
She was speechless. She'd not asked one of the many questions. In fact, she had not once even opened her mouth and Galadriel seemed in no rush to return her to the healing room or to fill the silence with chatter.
The bridges and platforms they crossed were so delicate and seemed afloat in the trees, Rosie had half a mind to crawl over them lest they break and she fell to her doom, but the twisted vines and branches were sturdy. They descended stairs that wound around a thick tree trunk and she followed Galadriel to a garden.
“I am surprised, child, for you have not shared your questions yet.”
Rosie shot the woman a look of surprise. “So you’re willing to answer them?”
“As many as I can.”
“Where am I?”
A hint of a smile crossed Galadriel’s face. “You are in Lothlórien, child. The land of your foremothers.”
She thought back to those evenings with her mother, peering into faded photo albums. “No, my mum’s family migrated from western Russia. Dad was from Ireland.”
Galadriel looked over the garden, eyes focused on a gazebo-like structure. “Your past has been hidden from you as much as your future is yet locked out of your reach.”
“What-“
“Come, it is late.” Galadriel walked off leaving Rosie to follow quickly. They ascended grand white steps to enter an elaborate home that once again robbed her of all breath and coherent thought with its beauty. It simply seemed to glow. As she followed behind Galadriel, she felt like a puppy rushing after its owner to beg for food scraps.
“Meleth nìn, where have you been?”
Rosie flinched and turned around to watch a tall man with silver flowing hair in long robes descended another set of steps to approach Galadriel. His elaborate neckpiece glittered in the light. He looked almost as stern as Galadriel.
“Fear not, meleth, I have shown Lady Rosemarie the city.” She turned to Rosie and the man gave her a polite nod in greeting. He seemed nice enough despite his, well, resting bitch face, and he was one of the few people who didn’t simply try to touch her for whatever reason upon meeting her. She liked him already.
“Êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn.”
She shifted on her feet. “Uh, yes nice to meet you. I think.”
“Come, I am sure you are starved, child.”
The meal – feast, really – was something she never had before and Rosie had to refrain from shovelling everything into her mouth without chewing. She did eat one more berry tart than she should have eaten, though, but who would fault her for that. It was delicious, and who knew when she would have that again.
She wiped her mouth with a napkin and sat back, looking around. Several lanterns bathed the room in soft white light. How fire could be white, she didn’t know.
“Ledhia o man sad?”
“Uin duin.“
Rosie looked to the pair and raised a brow. ‘It’s rude to talk about people in another language’, she heard her mother’s voice in her ear. If they insulted her she would throw a fit. Not in front of them, of course, for she did not want to seem ungrateful, but her mirror would be the silent witness to a heartfelt rant and pacing.
The man sat up more rigid and looked at Rosie. She squirmed in her seat. Could she go? Hopefully. But then, where would she go? She could try to find her way back to the bed she woke up in, maybe she would even get there without falling off some ledge or making a fool of herself by asking around.
“Your name is Rosemarie?”
She nodded slowly. “Yes... And you are?”
“I am Lord Celeborn, Lady. I am most pleased to finally meet you.”
“Finally?”
The man, Celeborn, nodded and placed his napkin down. “Indeed. Your arrival is most overdue. But you must be tired, so we should retire for the day. I shall answer all your questions on the morrow.”
“Galadriel said the same, yet has not answered a question to make sense of this whole thing. And I only asked one.”
The two shared a look. “Exactly like her, is she not?”
Celeborn nodded. “Terribly so. My heart aches at the familiarity of it all.”
Later, after a content silence from the two strangers and a tense silence from Rosie, she slipped beneath soft sheets in a bedroom in the house of Galadriel. Could she call it a house? Probably. It had a living room, a kitchen, and at least two bedrooms. Though, she was confused by two tall guards at the doors. And the fact it was built in trees. So it was more of a treehouse? A terribly elaborate one?
She recounted everything that had happened. What would her friends think? Are they alright? She did suddenly disappear in a lake after all. Her throat closed up at the thought of Martin noticing her absence, or at the possibility that her very best friends would have to plan her funeral with an empty urn.
Those people were most peculiar. Apart from their deformed ears, they seemed so... androgynous and almost ageless. Nobody had a damn wrinkle. They were all frighteningly good-looking and a little taller than her. And they wore period garb and carried bows and swords. She could make no sense of it all.
Those people sounded like those fun creatures her mother talked about when she was a toddler. Alexandra would always tell her the adventures of magical things of all kinds that lived in the woods and went on adventures as bedtime stories. But the older she got, the more those seized.
And they all had weird names. Galadriel, Lennien, Haldir, Celeborn... Whoever gave their children those names was in desperate need of a hard whack. Hopefully, Celeborn would answer her questions. Her last thoughts were of her undoubtedly exciting day as she drifted into a long-overdue slumber.