Skin Changer : A Hobbit FanFiction (Discontinued)

Pride Cometh Before The Fall

Ilma scowled as one of the elf women Lord Elrond had assigned her tightened the fastenings of her borrowed dress. A royal blue, the overlong garment was supposed to bring attention away from her sunburn - which was already fading, thanks to some elven magic - , and to her hair, which had been braided rather intricately, and painfully, in the fashion of unmarried elfmaids.

Or, at least, that’s what she’d been told.

She refused to put on the shoes, though, claiming religious reasons when the older women insisted. Honestly, how was she supposed to commune with the earth if she couldn’t feel it?

The women chattered amongst themselves as they worked, taking full advantage of the fact that Ilma couldn’t understand them. She spoke bear, and Black Speak, and Entish, but she’d never gotten around to learning her mother tongue.

Oh, how she was regretting it now.

She sighed in resignation as a sheer overdress was slipped over her shoulders and clipped on with bracelets at her elbows and a high, corseting belt. She couldn’t believe the layers elven women were expected to wear; her overdress was even longer than the dress itself.

“There,” one elf said as she lay a simple coronet onto Ilma’s head. “You are finished.”

Thanking the women for their time, if not their efforts, Ilma made her escape. Ducking down a hallway with every intention of getting lost, she breathed a heavy sigh of relief when she found herself confronted with a balcony. Stepping out into the fading sunlight, she let her mind drift as the breeze hit her face.

Her burn was going to get worse.

But that was fine, she’d been burnt before.

Then again, there was that one time when-

“Ahem.”

She jumped, a hand flying to her heart as she turned to face whoever had spoken. The elf behind her smiled a bit crookedly at her antics, and she felt herself blush.

Hopefully she could pass it off as sunburn.

“My lady,” he bowed, his long hair falling about his face attractively. “If it pleases you, I will escort you to where your company dines.”

It most certainly did not “please her”

She bowed her head politely. “You are too kind.” Taking his offered hand in one of her own, she held her skirts with her other as she’d seen the women of Rivendell do. She must’ve looked pretty good, as several elves, and even some of the dwarves, looked up from whatever they were doing as she and her escort entered the open dining hall. Swallowing nervously, she allowed herself to be steered into a vacant seat at a table shared by Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin. Of course, the only open seat was next to the dwarf.

Well, technically it was next to Gandalf, as well, but he didn’t count.

“Ah, Ilma, welcome.” Elrond said graciously. “We were just discussing how your companions came across blades crafted by High Elves in a troll horde.”

She looked to Gandalf. “The trio that took up residence on the East Road?”

The old man’s eyebrows rose. “You knew of them?”

Ilma nodded sagely. “Yes, though I did not deal with them directly. Several creatures were driven from their homes in the caves.”

“Ah, yes,” Elrond said, putting down his glass. “You are trained in the ways of the wood elf, are you not?”

“yes, my lord.”

“Do you mind my asking which Kingdom you originate from? I am sure they would like word of your arrival here in Rivendell.”

Ilma sighed as she picked at the food before her. “I don’t belong to any kingdom, my lord Elrond. I was cast out at a young age, as most of my mind are.”

There was a silence, and the elf lord looked at her sadly. “How old are you child?”

The elfmaid thought back through the years, not exactly confident as she said, “About five hundred, or so. Why?”

Elrond’s eyes widened. “Why, you are but a child! At what age were you cast out?”

Ilma grew quiet and stared at her hands where they lay on the table. “I do not remember living with my people, my lord. If I may,” she added, meeting the elf lord’s worried gaze. “I would like to walk amongst the trees.”

“Of course, my dear. Make yourself at home.”

“Thank you. Excuse me.” She stood, sweeping her skirts out from beneath her as she left the dining hall, gladly exchanging the din of conversation for the quiet breeze as she descended a wide staircase and made her way into a large, high walled garden. The trees whispered to her, the tinkling of their leaves beckoning.

Come, they called. Come and sit beneath us, and we shall gift you with our splendor.

Obviously elven arrogance was contagious.

Ilma ignored the summons of the tall, beautifully maintained trees, filtering out their hubris in her search for a humbler resting place. Then, she heard it.

Please sit with me, fair maiden. Your flesh is weak and your body weary, and, though they are nothing compared to my greater brethren, I have both shade and trunk to comfort you.

Smiling to herself, she made her way to the tree that, though of the same breed as the others in the garden, was twisted and stunted, with leaves growing on only one side. It had suffered a harsh winter in its youth, and never recovered, and yet, it was the most beautiful tree in all of Rivendell.