1,4988 / 1 /16 ~ In which Eleanor and Tink play a game of many questions and limited answers.
Disclaimer: "The Lord of the Rings" is the property of J. R. R. Tolkien. I only claim ownership over Eleanor Dace, Rávamë (aka "Tink"), and the subsequent plot of their story.
A/N: Thank you for your patience, dear readers! Here, have a fresh new chapter for your trouble. :) Btw, apologies if you left me feedback but it haven't shown up yet. The site seemed to be having some technical errors of the past few weeks, but I still get email alerts every time someone leaves a review and I read every one of them (multiple times, grinning like a fool.)
A big thank you to ChiliLemons for not only being the first to review Book 2, but for also being a constant and uplifting source of feedback on here and on Tumblr since very early in LM. I salute you girl. Also much love and thanks to: MadlyMerry, thesonicsmiley, LaughingFish36, tyrantOFathens, DefenestratedCountess, Whimsical Acumen, Ryanwe, Inksplosion, Fire Fly Freiya, Imamc, B'rucha Yael, colbub, pervychan1, Gladoo89, gginsc, Melissa Fairy, Shiningheart of ThunderClan, princessangelbebe, fireelfmaiden1, CookiewMonstuurrr, Nevermore186, marauderzoe, Lisa Underwood, Reader1, 01NJ10, WickedGreene13, luna153, 7doom, Rebel-Keiki, MHaley, Grencle, secondbreakfasts, Nimril, Red red red ribbon, LittleApollyon, and anon guests for showing your appreciation in the form of reviews on the last chapter of LM and the first of CM! You all make my life so much sunnier. :)
Also, in answer to a few of your worried queries: I will NOT be pulling an Alice In Wonderland and the entire entire story turns out to be hallucination/dream. It will get cleared up a bit more during this book, but Eleanor's soul IS in Middle Earth inhabiting her original elfy body, while her human body is stuck back on Earth without anyone to pilot it (hence the coma). Every choice made, and everything going on around her is actually happening, and sure as hell has consequences to boot. :3
Enjoy!
Part I : Chapter 1
- The Curious Case of Eleanor Dace -
"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." ― Edgar Allan Poe
"The next train is approaching the station. Please stand back from the platform," a monotonous, female voice announced over the Oxford Circus tube station tannoy.
In usual London fashion, every person on the platform completely ignored the safety advice of the 'friendly' robot lady. They all seemed to simultaneously get up from their various seats, or from leaning against the station wall, and move forward over the yellow safety line as the train rumbled and clattered to a stop beside the platform in a gust of displaced air.
I was the only one in the station who didn't hurry to get up.
Instead, I remained where I was, sat right in the centre of the platform on one of the uncomfortable metal benches, a thick book open in my lap, and my hair still whipping in the tunnel breeze. There was no point, after all — the train wasn't going anywhere without me. It never did, not here. Though the robot lady on the other end of the loudspeaker did tend to get a little grumpy if I procrastinated for too long.
The doors swished open and, once again in true Londoner fashion, everyone waiting to get on somehow managed to make space for everyone getting off whilst remaining clustered around the doors like bees around a honey pot.
I sat there and watched as the commuters disembarked and swarmed past me, one after another.
None of them had faces.
Each man and woman that passed me, all dressed head to toe in business wear or everyday work getup, had only a blank blur where their features should have been. It wasn't nearly as unsettling as the first time I'd seen it, especially now that I'd had time to understand the logic behind it. This was a dream, and everything around me — from the station, to the people, to the annoying robot woman on the other end of the tannoy — were constructs of my subconscious. All placeholders for the real thing that was so far away from me now.
It still didn't numb the pang of homesickness that welled up in me though, as I sat there in such a familiar place with such a familiar scene playing out all around.
"Please stand clear of the doors," the robot lady chimed as the doors slid shut, but as predicted, the train didn't move.
I still didn't get up. Instead, I looked down at the thick book nestled in hands, hooking my thumb into the pages to keep my place while turning it over to see the cover.
The Two Towers. Cute.
I found myself chuckling through a thin smile, turned it back over and opened it to the page I'd apparently been on, and started to read. Or, at least, I tried to. The second my eyes had focused on the first word, the rest began to blur and shift on the page, as if I was looking at them through flowing water. The more I tried to focus on each sentence, the more the words began to jumble together, until there was nothing left on the page that made sense. I turned to the next page, and the next, and got the same reaction every time before my ethereal head began to throb and I had to shut my eyes.
The sound of the still motionless tube doors swishing open again echoed through the station, and the robot lady's voice filled the tunnel once more.
"Please stand clear of the doors, my lady."
She sounded distinctly more irritable than before, despite the monotone.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I grumbled, closing the book and getting up off the bench.
I didn't bother to shove my way onto the crowded train — each construct I came near automatically shifted to make room as I moved inside. A tall man in a crisp black business suit immediately got up from a seat near the door, and I sat down in his place, setting the book in my lap. I didn't open it again. Instead I just stared vacantly down at the dark cover with its gold lettering and intricate swirl patterns as the train began to move from the station.
Someone sitting opposite me cleared her throat pointedly — too pointedly to be any of my subconscious automatons — and I looked up to see an all-too familiar, gold-eyed version of myself perched on the seat directly before mine.
Tink looked as she always had, completely identical to me in almost every way possible. Chestnut brown hair, worn longer and better kept than my own, a small upturned nose, a narrow chin, and a dimple in her left cheek that only appeared when she smiled or laughed.
For almost three years, I'd laboured under the assumption that she was just another part of my subconscious; just another construct conjured up by my brain in the wake of the trauma I'd endured when I first woke to find myself in Arda.
I knew better now. She wasn't some conjuration of my subconscious like every other person on the train.
She was Rávamë.
A Maia, one of the lesser angelic beings who had been created to help sing the world into existence at the dawn of time, along with the Valar themselves. She was a primal spirit of the wilds, and what equated to the Middle Earth version of a patron saint of all the creatures, animals and beasts that dwelt within in.
She was also a pathological wiseass.
"The Two Towers," she commented dryly, her amber eyes glinting as she smirked, jerking her chin at the book cradled in my lap. "Cute."
"Rather appropriate, I'd say, if maddeningly unhelpful. You both have than in common," I replied smoothly, returning the dry smile.
The spirit that had secretly shared my head for so long chuckled lightly, and as she did, all the other constructs abruptly began to fade out and vanish until the train was empty save for us two. I set the book down on the now vacant seat beside me and leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees.
"How long do you think we've been out for the count?"
Tink crossed her legs and pursed her lips in thought. She was a wearing elvish riding greens and soft leather boots identical to mine, but hers were in a much better state than I knew mine were outside my head. Though very practical and not all that intricate, she somehow managed to make my own attire look effortlessly elegant, almost imposing — something I'd never got the hang of. I couldn't help but envy her that, especially when she was wearing my face, too.
"Hard to say really. Time isn't a fixed construct here. At least not in the sense that you understand it. It doesn't move in a straight line," she answered, gesturing around at the now empty train car.
I narrowed my gaze at her.
"Really? We've been unconscious for God knows how long from a near-fatal antacuilë, and you're seriously going to pull a Dr. Who explanation on me?"
The amused expression slid from her face.
"I'm being serious. Time does move differently here. We could have been out for ten minutes for all I know," she replied snippily, then paused. "And you can hardly blame me for the Dr Who refs, boss; I've been cooped up in here for long enough to watch every season at least five times. By all rights, you should be grateful I'm not quoting every line David Tennant ever spoke at you."
My lips curled in a minute smile, and I felt my eyebrows go up in genuine surprise. "You like David Tennant?"
She beamed at me, and nodded enthusiastically without a shred of shame, her golden eyes twinkling.
"He's wonderfully funny, and has great hair."
I couldn't help it, I started giggling uncontrollably. Tink gave me an immediately sour look, and I struggled to smother my mirth with a hand.
"Point," I conceded, still tittering, "But so help me, Tink, if you dare say the words 'wibbly wobbly timey wimey,' I will be forced to smack you."
That got a smile back on her face, and she leaned comfortably back in her seat as the train rumbled and clattered around the bend in the tunnel. The moment of shared humour was short-lived, however. I felt the laughs die and the smile slip from my face as my mind fell back to what I'd been putting off for however long we really had been unconscious for.
I leaned a little further forward in my seat, clasping my hands together to keep them still.
"We haven't really had the chance to talk much about… everything really," I said, looking at her. Her expression didn't really change, but I saw the lingering look in her eyes shift into neutral caution.
"No, we haven't," she replied slowly.
I wrung my fingers together, pinching my lower lip between my teeth as we continued to just look at one another while I thought. "Honestly, I have no clue where to even start."
She shrugged.
"How about we play Twenty Questions?" she suggested casually. I eyed her, and the shadow of a scowl crossed her face."What? I didn't hear you come up with a better idea."
She had a point there.
"Ok, Twenty Questions it is, though we might end up needing more than that," I conceded, sitting up a bit as the train banked around a sharp corner, the rails squealing. "First question: Why didn't you tell me you were Rávamë all this time?"
A flash of guilt abruptly appeared on my mental companion's face, and she dropped her gaze from mine to the floor of the carriage.
"I couldn't, boss, and really I didn't quite know myself. It's complicated," she said, rolling her shoulder in a half-shrug.
"How about you just give it to me as simply as you can, and we'll workshop it up," I offered. She considered that, chewing her lip again, and nodded.
"Ok, in simple terms, there's a big difference between knowing something here," she tapped her temple with her index finger,"and knowing it here," she made a fist and held against her chest over her heart. "I could 'feel' what I was, but since we share the same mental space, I was limited by you and your knowledge. As long as you didn't consciously 'know' what and who I was, I couldn't tell you anything because I didn't 'know' it, either. You had to figure it out for yourself. You follow?"
"Kind of," I said slowly, trying to. "But you told me you were something else. You said you were a figment of my subconscious."
Tink looked me directly in the eye, expression very serious.
"Did I?"
I stopped and thought about it.
Being an elf had its various perks, and one of them seemed to be an enhanced episodic memory. If I stopped and concentrated hard enough, I could remember almost any event or conversation that had happened since I woke up in that cave nearly three years back. So I thought back to the first time I'd come face to face with Tink, lying on my back in the grass on the planes of my subconscious, listening to her try and talk me into opening my eyes…
"'Since when do figments of my subconscious know how to use sarcasm?'" I repeated the words aloud, and they seemed to echo through the whole train. "I said that. I called you that the first time we met."
Tink nodded at me with a slightly reproachful little smile, and leaned forward with her elbows on her knees exactly like I had done. "You were the one who named me that, and it was half true, of course. I do reside and work through your subconscious mind, and I am a spirit of survival, but it was still a very limiting mantle you assigned to me."
"A limiting mantle?" I repeated, making it a question. Tink opened her mouth to say something but I held up a hand. "You're going to have to explain this bit from the ground up, before we start throwing blame around, Tink. At least until we're on the same page."
Tink pursed her lips, her expression more dubious than annoyed, but nodded in acceptance.
"In short, your perception of reality restricts me. You honestly believed when we first met that I was just a figment of your subconscious, so that's what I was limited to existing as," she explained, rolling her wrist in a rather dramatic gesture that encompassed her whole form. "Now that you've accepted that I'm something else, something more, I'm more free to share my knowledge and help." She gestured towards me with a palm upturned. "If you want it, of course."
I just looked at her, unsure whether the intrigue or exasperation was winning for control of my expression.
"…Are you seriously trying to tell me that the only reason you're now able to be your true self, is because I subconsciously shouted 'I do believe in fairies'?"
Tink's own expression went flat, and her amber eyes practically burned with the temptation to roll skywards, or maybe smack me upside the head.
"You really have no idea how painful it is living inside your head sometimes."
"Oh, I think I do," I countered with a slightly bitter grin. My interest beat my confusion back and I crossed my arms and leaned forward on them so mine and Tink's faces were all but a foot from each other. "Alright, next question: How did you end up inside my noggin in the first place?"
Tink shrugged, flickers of guilt marring her features again.
"I don't remember."
I blinked at her, genuinely surprised.
"You're serious? I thought the memory loss gig was exclusive to me."
"It is, boss," she said, and the snark had completely gone out of her tone. She fiddled with the sleeve of her tunic — a nervous mannerism I didn't recognise as one of my own."It's just a hunch, but I think that whatever you did to erase your own memories also erased mine. I can't remember anything beyond what you do, at least not consciously."
"But you're still able to 'feel' when something is… I don't know, right?"
"Essentially, yes."
"Well, that's good to know I suppose, if a little frustrating," I uttered, unsure of how to treat that bit of information. Then I felt a wiry little smile tug at my lip and I looked up at my semi-angelic doppleganger. "Also: 'boss'?"
I was reasonably sure the mischievous expression that appeared on Tink's face right then would have been a mirror image of my own were it not for colour of our eyes.
"It's still your head isn't it? You're the one in the driving seat," she told me frankly, as if I was a little dense. I was a little tempted to throw a joke about her calling me 'Captain' from now on, but decided now wasn't the time for Star Trek gags.
"Ok, one more question. Why the shared mental space? I mean you're a primal spirit of creation who can conjure fire with a single word. Couldn't you just… I don't know, conjure up a body of your own?"
Tink regarded me patiently, but exhaled through her nose in a self-calming fashion.
"The operative word in that statement being 'spirit', boss," she said, and she injected an emphasis into the word that seemed to encompass more than just a single meaning. "We can't exist fully in the mortal realms without a physical body to inhabit, and when we do we're severely do you think that psychopath Sauron is so hellbent on getting the One Ring back? Once he does, he'll have enough of his original power back to be able to take corporeal form again. A etherial spirit form is pretty useless when you can't interact with the world through it; even more so if you're attempting world domination."
"So instead of plotting to take over the world, you've just decided to casually hitch a ride around Middle Earth inside my head all this time?"
She shrugged, her expression as unreadable as an alabaster statue. I chewed my lip and sat heavily back in my seat.
"Aaaand you also can't remember why you're in here because I erased both our memories. This is all… ugh, very confusing and very creepy."
"Oh quit complaining. It's not like I'm spontaneously taking possession of you without your permission. That would be creepy, and I couldn't do it even if I wanted to," she retorted snippily. I stopped at those words, feeling my face go a bit pale as turned back to face her very slowly.
"You mean taking control of me from inside is actually possible?"
Tink looked uncomfortable again.
"Technically yes, but it's not that simple."
"Nothing around here ever is."
"Touché," she conceded, sweeping her hand in a gesture of acknowledgement like a fencer. "I can do some things, when you're emotional enough, or when your self-control is weak."
The memory of what had happened when I'd fought the Uruk-hai, almost been killed by it, only to find it half incinerated, and me lying in the middle of a patch of dead forest. I shivered.
"Like what you did with the flames?" I asked. Tink inclined her head in affirmation.
"Exactly, but I couldn't do anything to truly compromise your freewill. It would kill us both."
"Explain?"
She considered for a moment, feline amber eyes tracking over me.
"Bodies and souls aren't these disjointed chemical reactions and mystical constructs Earth science makes them out to be. They're two halves of the same thing, one unable to function completely without the other."
She held up both hands with both index fingers extended and tapped them together for emphasis.
"I know that," I told her, feeling a little patronised. "And 'compromising my free will' ties into this how?"
"I'm getting to that. If I were to hypothetically force my will over yours, it would severe the bond between your fëa and hröa, and the fallout would damage you," she explained plainly, lacing her fingers together in front of her and staring pointedly at me. "Now, putting aside the fact that I wouldn't have a sassy chatting companion anymore if you were brain-dead, it would also make piloting your body all but impossible. It would leave me trapped in here until you died of old age. And since you're apparently an elf… that could be a long time."
What do you say to something like that?
"So to summarise," I spoke finally after a couple of moments of processing time, "I'm not in any immediate danger of you spontaneously seizing control of my body? At least for more than a couple of seconds when I'm jumped up on adrenaline?"
"Pretty much." Tink confirmed. "The only way I could ever completely take control is if you willingly let me do it. Handed me the reins, so to speak."
"Right…"
I slouched back heavily in defeat, my back making a dull thud agains the back of the seat. The train screeched around another bend, and I regarded Tink pensively as the both of us swayed in synch to the moments of the carriage. "I don't suppose that, now that you've miraculously regained your own real name, you have mine stashed away in there, too?"
She pulled another apologetic face and shook her head.
"Sorry, boss. I'd tell you if I knew, but I don't. And I don't know because—"
"You don't know because I don't know. We're still sharing the same mental space, so we're still limited by my own lack of conscious knowledge. Yes, yes, I get it." I cut across, eyeing her with only mild irritability behind my weak smile. "Are you sure you don't come with a manual or something?"
Tink gave me a flat look of masterful deadpan.
"I'm a spirit of creation, boss, not a lawnmower."
I snorted in a half laugh, the smile on my face becoming a little more real at the thought. I now had my very own guardian angel, who not only looked like a better version of me, but was endowed with a wicked tongue, mean temper and a vaguely sadistic sense of humour. Super.
"There is something else I've been meaning to ask, Tink," I started to ask, looking at the reflection of myself in the window behind her. "Why do you look like me?"
"Mmm?"
"You said it yourself, you're an ethereal spirit. Theoretically, couldn't you take any shape you want? Why this one?"
Her eyebrow quirked in a tiny flash of amusement as she eyed me.
"You'd start taking on another person's characteristics too if you'd been stuck sharing their head for over twenty years. Honestly though, I don't know, I've never tried. It must be to do with how I ended up in here in the first place. I could probably change shape, I suppose, but this form feels the most comfortable."
I grinned wickedly at her and wiggled my eyebrows.
"You aren't even a little curious?"
Tink's expression didn't change, but her eyes gleamed with sudden playfulness, and the shadow of a smirk glided over her mouth. She sat up a little straighter in her seat, squaring her shoulders, lifted her chin in a prideful gesture — and suddenly grew a foot taller than before. Her brown, wavy hair turned abruptly pin straight and golden blond, her shoulders broadened, her rinding greens writhing about her to accommodate her suddenly larger, masculine form. The last to change was her face, the recognisable features of my own face abruptly disappearing, only to be replaced with a squarer jaw, higher cheekbones, icy blue eyes…
And I was suddenly faced with the surreal situation of sitting on a London Underground train, staring slack-jawed up into the face of a very displeased looking Glorfindel.
He regarded me in distaste, as one might at finding something unpleasant on the sole of one's shoe.
"Curiosity killed the cat, Élanor," Tink said in an utterly flawless mimicry of the elf lord's baritone, turning his nose up and glaring down at me just like he'd used to do when I'd still been training. The entire tableau sent an actual shiver down my spine.
"Ok, never mind, I surrender! Turn it off!" I squeaked, throwing both hands up in front of me in defeat.
Tink let out a hearty laugh through Glorfindel's voice, the sound ringing like a bell around the train car. The gold hair and tall, noble features of a wide-smiling elf lord shifted suddenly back down into the form of a familiar, petite, brunette she-elf with golden eyes and a dimpled grin.
Like I said, sadistic sense of humour.
"Proud of yourself?" I asked a bit sourly.
"Very," Tink sniffed regally, throwing her arms over the back of the empty seats and crossing her legs. I gave her a playful kick in the shins, and she chuckled lightly, watching me with her amber eyes still twinkling with amusement."Can I now ask you something?"
"Tit for tat, I guess," I answered, shrugging and taking up the same relaxed posture as her while the after effect of her display wore off. "Knock yourself out."
"Why are you still calling me 'Tink'? Haven't we discovered my real name by now?"
I considered the question seriously for a long minute before answering.
"Because Rávamë has three syllables, and Tink has one. It's shorter."
Tink just blinked at me.
"Seriously? That's it? It's shorter?"
I nodded.
"It's short, sweet, and to the point. Like you," I answered, beaming at her.
"I'm touched," she said dryly. I shrugged with a wave of my hand.
"Think of it as paying rent. If you're going to remain resident in my noggin, I'm at least going to pick the nickname I shout when I need your attention."
A look of genuine surprise crossed her face and stayed there for a long while. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it, then shook her head slowly, a minute but warm smile touching her features.
"A nickname, huh?" she said, quietly. I returned the smile, and nodded once.
"A nickname," I repeated, just as the train suddenly tore from the tunnel and into brilliant daylight.
A/N: A comparatively short one I know, but the next one is already underway and will be much longer, I promise. :)
Thank you so much again to all of you who have been with me since LM, and to all of you who have just joined this crazy train; welcome! I hope you enjoy the ride!
Until next chapter, much love,
~Rella