Chapter 18: The Waterfall's Secret
The roar of the waterfall below Rivendell’s dining hall balcony was a constant, soothing murmur. Usually. Now, it was a grim counterpoint to the storm raging within.
"You dare undermine my authority, woman?!" Thorin’s voice, deep and laced with fury, cut through the lingering aroma of roasted meats and herbs. He jabbed a finger towards the long table where the remnants of Elrond’s feast lay scattered. "This is not your realm! These pointy-eared—"
"Thorin, enough." Brittany’s voice was low, controlled, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the stone table. Her tall frame was tense, coiled, though she remained seated. The argument had erupted over her defense of Elrond’s hospitality, a defense Thorin saw as treachery. "They saved your life. Bilbo’s too. Berating their host in his own hall? Is that the honor of Durin’s line?"
Dwalin stood slightly behind Thorin, a grim sentinel. His heavy brow was furrowed, his gaze flickering between his king’s rigid back and Brittany’s dangerously calm expression. He saw the flicker of something ancient and lethal beneath her modern demeanor, the echo of the swordmaster and the witch she truly was. He knew Thorin was pushing too hard. "Laddie," he rumbled, a low warning in his tone.
But Thorin was blind with suspicion and wounded pride. "Honor? They twist words like knives! They hold secrets! You, woman, you consort with them willingly! What promises have you made? What price have they offered you for our heads?"
Estel, who had been listening wide-eyed from his seat beside Brittany, flinched at the raw anger. The warmth and safety he’d felt tucked against her side earlier evaporated. His small face crumpled. He couldn’t bear the yelling anymore. Silently, tears welling, he slid off the stone bench. He needed air. Needed away from the crashing waves of dwarf-anger and the brittle, dangerous stillness of the woman who had felt like momentary sanctuary.
He darted towards the open archway leading to the balcony, head down, shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself disappear. The cool night air hit his face, carrying the spray from the falls far below.
"Estel?" Brittany’s voice softened fractionally, her attention momentarily diverted as the boy rushed past.
But Thorin mistook her shift. "Do not ignore me!" he thundered, stepping closer, his shadow falling over her. "Your loyalty is suspect! Your very presence is—"
On the balcony, blinded by tears, Estel stumbled. The polished marble floor was slick with mist. His foot slipped near the low, ornate railing designed for elven grace, not a child's blind grief.
He pitched forward.
Not over the railing. Under it.
A small gasp, swallowed instantly by the roar of water. His body scraped against carved stone.
And then he was gone. Vanished over the edge, plummeting straight towards the churning white fury of the Bruinen Falls far, far below.
Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, who had just entered the hall from an adjoining corridor, saw it happen. A perfect, horrifying tableau: the small form tumbling, the dizzying drop, the hungry water. His face, usually serene and ageless, shattered. A raw, primal scream tore from his throat, shattering the night's peace: "ESTEL!"
The sound was a physical blow. Thorin’s tirade cut off mid-sentence, shock replacing fury. Dwalin spun towards the balcony, his hand instinctively going to his axe haft. Bilbo gave a strangled cry, nearly upsetting his teacup. Every elf in the hall froze.
Brittany didn't freeze. She was already moving as Elrond’s scream began. A blur of motion, shoving her chair back with enough force to crack the stone leg. Her eyes, wide with a terrifying clarity, locked not on the balcony edge, but on Orik.
The young dwarf, seated a few places down, had also surged to his feet, his face pale as milk. His gaze met Brittany’s. It lasted less than a heartbeat.
In that instant, a thousand unspoken questions and answers passed between them. Can you? Orik’s eyes seemed to scream. Do you have to? Brittany’s gaze flickered with something ancient and wild – the sea’s depth, the witch’s power, the cold focus of the sniper. A tightening of her jaw. A fractional nod.
Then she was running, long blonde hair streaming behind her like a banner. Not towards the stairs winding down the cliff face. Not towards the main doors. Straight for the balcony railing.
"Brittany, NO!" Dwalin roared, understanding dawning too late.
She vaulted the low stone barrier with impossible speed and grace, a golden streak against the star-dusted void. Headfirst, arms outstretched, she dove into the abyss after the falling child, disappearing into the thunderous curtain of spray and shadow.
The plunge stole her breath, the icy slap of the Bruinen like a physical blow. Water roared in her ears, a chaotic, deafening world replacing the fading echoes of Elrond's scream and Thorin's rage. For a heart-stopping second, gravity yanked her down, the churning white fury below rushing up to meet her.
I can’t fail him too. The thought, sharp and desperate, cut through the panic. Instinct, deeper than training, deeper than magic, took hold. As the freezing water enveloped her completely, a familiar, ancient tingle sparked along her spine, spreading like wildfire through her legs.
It wasn't painful, but profoundly strange – bones shifting, lengthening, skin erupting with thousands of shimmering, sunset-orange scales. Her legs fused, powerful muscles coiling into a long, sleek tailfin. Simultaneously, the simple fabric of her tunic molded and hardened against her torso, forming two iridescent, pearlescent orange shells that looked like delicate armor. The H2O transformation was instantaneous, complete. She was no longer just falling; she was in her element.
She kicked, powerful strokes slicing through the turbulent current with unnatural speed. Her elven sight, enhanced by the water, scanned the churning depths, filtering bubbles and debris. Where is he? The falls' relentless power threatened to dash her against submerged rocks, but she moved like an arrow, the tail granting impossible agility.
Her mermaid senses locked onto a small, limp form sinking fast near a dark basalt pillar. Estel! Relief warred with fresh terror. She surged forward, closing the distance in heartbeats. The boy hung suspended, eyes closed, dark hair fanning like seaweed, arms drifting loosely.
She caught him just before his head bumped against the jagged stone, scooping him gently against her chest. His small body was icy cold, trembling violently even in unconsciousness. "Come on, little one," she murmured, the words bubbling out. Her voice sounded different underwater, resonant and clear. She pressed two fingers to his neck. Thready, but there. Pulse.
She angled them towards a pocket of calmer water near the pillar's base, shielded from the main force of the falls. Cradling him, she let her healing senses extend – the surgeon, the witch, the granddaughter of the sea god pooling their focus. No broken bones. A nasty scrape on his temple bled sluggishly, mixing with the river water. Shock, cold, and swallowing water were the immediate threats.
His eyelids fluttered. A small, choked gasp escaped him as water trickled from his lips. He coughed, a weak, rattling sound. His eyes, wide with terror and disorientation, opened.
They focused on her face first, a flicker of recognition dawning through the haze of fear. Then his gaze traveled downward, over the shimmering orange scales covering her from waist to the powerful fluke that moved rhythmically to keep them steady. Confusion replaced terror, then pure, open-mouthed astonishment. "Y-your... legs..." he stammered, teeth chattering violently. "They... gone? Fish?" His small hand reached out, trembling, towards the gleaming orange scales near her hip, disbelief warring with a child's dawning wonder. He pulled back just before touching. "You... you have a tail?"
Above, on the balcony, chaos reigned. Dwarves and elves jostled at the railing, shouting over the roar of the falls. Thorin stood rigid, his earlier fury replaced by a stunned, ashen pallor. "She jumped... she just..." he breathed, unable to finish. The sight of the human woman flinging herself into the abyss had silenced him utterly.
"Idiot woman!" Dwalin roared, slamming a fist against the stone. His knuckles split, but he barely registered it, eyes frantically scanning the turbulent water far below. "Where are they?!" He leaned perilously far over the edge, driven by a gnawing fear he couldn't name.
Elrond pushed through the crowd, his usual composure shattered. "Ropes! Get ropes down there! Archers, mark the current's pull!" His voice cracked, the terror for his foster son raw and exposed. Elven warriors scrambled, their graceful movements sharpened by urgency.
Bilbo, pale and clutching his chest, peered down beside Dwalin. "She dived straight after him," he whispered, awestruck and horrified. "Like... like she belonged down there." The sheer, reckless courage of it froze his blood.
Down in the cold, shadowed embrace of the river pool, Estel stared at Brittany's tail, then back up into her intense, strangely luminous eyes. He shivered uncontrollably. "Am... am I dead?" His voice was a tiny, broken thing. "Are you... are you the Water Lady?"
Brittany pulled him closer, the warmth of her unnatural body seeping into his chilled skin. Her orange scales gleamed faintly in the dim underwater light. "Not dead, Estel," she said, her voice a low, soothing thrum in the water. "Just very, very wet. Hold on tight now." Her gaze flickered upwards towards the distant, blurred shapes at the balcony. And now comes the hard part.
The roar of the falls above was a muffled thunder, the icy water a constant, shocking presence against Estel’s skin. He stared, transfixed, at the impossible sight of Brittany’s shimmering orange tail moving effortlessly in the dark water, his small body trembling violently. "Are... are you magic?" he whispered, awe momentarily overcoming his terror.
Brittany shifted Estel slightly, her powerful tail keeping them stable in the churning undertow. "Magic? Maybe a little," she murmured, her voice a resonant hum underwater. "Right now, the important thing is getting you warm and dry." She glanced upwards again, the silhouette of the balcony crowd stark against the starry sky. "Hold your breath tight, just for a moment," she instructed, tucking his head against her shoulder.
Her tail snapped like a whip. They surged upwards, breaking the surface with a splash near the riverbank, far downstream from the falls' violent heart. Gentle, terraced pools fed by the Bruinen's calmer flow lapped against smooth stones here. Cool mist hung in the air, carrying the scent of wet earth and moss.
"Up here!" Brittany called out, her voice clear and strong despite the river's roar, cutting through the frantic shouts above. She raised one arm, waving towards the distant figures clustered on the balcony. "The pools! Bring blankets! He's cold!" Estel clung to her, coughing weakly, his eyes still wide as saucers fixed on her submerged tail.
The response was immediate. Shouts echoed – commands, cries of relief, the pounding of boots on stone stairs winding down the cliff face. Brittany treaded water easily, her orange tail shimmering faintly beneath the surface, holding Estel securely against the current trying to tug them downstream. The cold barely touched her; the sea god’s blood ran warm. "See? Nearly there," she soothed the shivering boy.
Elrond was the first to reach the riverbank, leaping down the last few rocks with an agility that belied his usual calm dignity. His eyes were wild, fixed solely on Estel. Dwalin and Thorin followed close behind, their faces grim masks of urgency, with Bilbo scrambling breathlessly in their wake. Other dwarves and elves streamed down the path, arms laden with blankets and cloaks.
Elrond splashed into the shallows, arms outstretched. "Estel! Give him to me!" The raw fear in the Elf-lord's voice was palpable.
Gently, Brittany pushed Estel towards his foster father. The boy scrambled the last few feet through waist-deep water into Elrond’s desperate embrace. The elf lord clutched him, murmuring reassurances in Sindarin, pressing his face into the boy's wet hair, his shoulders shaking with relief.
Thorin stopped dead at the water's edge, his boot sinking slightly into the mud. His furious scowl from the dining hall was replaced by utter, frozen disbelief. His gaze wasn't on Estel or Elrond. It was locked on Brittany, specifically on the unmistakable, iridescent orange tail fin breaking the surface as she shifted her position. "By Mahal's forge..." he breathed, the words barely audible over the river.
Dwalin, reaching Thorin’s side, followed his king’s stare. His hand, which had been reaching instinctively for his axe at the sudden movement in the water, froze mid-motion. His jaw went slack. He blinked, hard, as if trying to clear a vision. "Lassie...?" he managed, the gruffness replaced by sheer, dumbfounded shock. "Yer... yer legs..."
Bilbo peered around Dwalin’s bulk, his eyes widening comically. "Good heavens!" he squeaked, pointing a trembling finger. "She's... she's got a tail! Like a great big fish! Or... or perhaps a mermaid? Are those real?" He seemed torn between terror and fascination.
A stunned silence fell over the gathered dwarves and elves, broken only by the rush of water and Estel’s quiet whimpering. Everyone stared, transfixed, at the impossible sight of the tall warrior woman floating serenely in the moonlit pool, her lower half replaced by powerful, scaled muscle and a graceful fin.
The silence by the riverbank was thick, broken only by the Bruinen’s rush and Estel’s weak coughs. Elrond, clutching his shivering foster son, finally tore his gaze from the boy to the figure half-submerged nearby. His eyes, ancient and usually unreadable, widened fractionally as they tracked the iridescent orange scales gleaming in the moonlight, the powerful tail fin gently stirring the dark water. Shock, cold and sharp, replaced the frantic terror that had gripped him moments before. "You..." he began, his smooth voice catching, unfamiliar uncertainty coloring the single word.
"Later," Brittany cut him off, her voice firm despite the surreal tableau. Her focus remained pragmatic. "He needs warmth. Now." Her tail propelled her effortlessly closer to the bank, the movement fluid and utterly alien to the dwarves and elves gathered.
Orik pushed forward, wading into the shallows without hesitation, boots squelching in the mud. He grabbed Brittany under her arms, ignoring the startled gasps and Thorin's choked exclamation. "Alright, sister," he grunted, his voice thick with sarcasm, "Time to get your soggy arse out of the drink. Can't have you scaring the fish any more than you already have, yeah?" He heaved, water cascading off her scales.
Brittany offered no resistance, letting her tail drag heavily over the smooth river stones. The transition from water to air always felt jarring, the scales drying rapidly in the cool night breeze, becoming duller, heavier. Her legs reformed with a subtle shimmer, unnoticed by most in the dim light and general shock, leaving her dripping and human-shaped again, though her simple elven tunic clung transparently. Orik draped a thick dwarven blanket around her shoulders like a cape, chuckling. "Nice dive. Very dramatic. Remind me never to piss you off near deep water."
On the bank, Elrond had already cocooned Estel in layers of elven cloaks, murmuring reassurances. The boy, though still shivering violently, twisted in his foster father's arms, his eyes wide and fixed on Brittany. "She saved me!" he blurted, voice trembling but insistent. "She went whoosh off the balcony! And then she had a tail! Like a great orange fish-lady! It was brilliant!" He struggled weakly against Elrond's protective hold. "Can I go back in? Please? Just for a little swim with her? I won't fall this time!"
Thorin seemed to finally find his voice, though it was rough, unsteady. tail?" He stared at Brittany, water-darkened blonde hair plastered to her skull, the blanket failing to hide her powerful frame. His gaze flickered to the river, then back, struggling to reconcile the warrior he knew with the impossible image still burning in his mind. "You... dove... and then..." His expression was pure, uncharacteristic bewilderment. "What madness is this?"
Dwalin stood beside his king, arms crossed over his broad chest, his own shock hardening into a deep, wary skepticism. He studied Brittany, then Orik, who was casually wringing water from his beard as if helping a mermaid ashore was an everyday chore. "Seems yer brother's got a few surprises tucked away, lassie," Dwalin rumbled, his eyes narrow slits. "Or should I say... sister?" He emphasized the word Orik had used, the implication hanging heavy in the air. Loyalty warred with confusion in his gruff features.
Bilbo just gaped, hopping slightly on the balls of his feet, caught between fascination and sheer terror. "Mermaid? Grandfather never mentioned those were real! Are there... are there many of you? Do you eat sailors?" He flinched as Dwalin shot him a silencing glare.
Brittany met Thorin's stare, water dripping from her chin onto the blanket. The warmth of the wool was a stark contrast to the fading chill of the river and the ice of their earlier confrontation. She didn't flinch. "The madness," she stated, her voice low and carrying perfectly over the river's rush, "was letting a child get so upset he fell off a balcony during a pointless shouting match." She glanced at Estel, softening slightly. "Focus on him, Thorin. He needs a healer, a fire, and dry clothes. Not your disbelief." She squeezed the blanket tighter, the weight of her exposed secret settling on her shoulders like the sodden wool. Orik nudged her with an elbow, a silent, familiar gesture of support amidst the stunned silence. Estel’s pleading eyes, full of newfound wonder, met hers across the bank.
The night air bit sharply against wet skin, carrying the mineral scent of rushing water and the distant sweetness of Rivendell's gardens. Estel’s eyes, huge and pleading, locked onto Brittany’s, a desperate hope shining through the shivers wracking his small body. "Don’t go," he whispered, the words barely audible over the Bruinen’s relentless rush, yet cutting through the stunned silence on the bank like a blade. His small fist bunched the blanket Elrond held tight around him. "Please."
Elrond’s arms tightened instinctively around his foster son, his own gaze flickering between the boy’s terror-stricken face and Brittany, dripping and defiant under her borrowed dwarven blanket. The Elf-lord’s normally serene features were etched with residual fear and a sharp, assessing intelligence. He saw the raw vulnerability in Estel’s plea, the unnatural calm radiating from the woman who had plunged into the abyss and emerged… changed.
"Enough!" Thorin Oakenshield’s voice was a grating rasp, shattering the fragile moment. He stepped forward, boots sinking into the muddy bank, his rage simmering back to the surface, fueled now by profound disorientation and distrust. His eyes, dark as coals, burned into Brittany. "This sorcery ends now. What manner of creature are you, to twist your form like foul magic? What dark purpose brings you among us?"
Brittany met his glare without flinching. Water dripped from her chin onto the wool blanket, the cold a distant sensation compared to the heat rising in her chest. Orik shifted subtly beside her, a solid, sarcastic presence. "Creature? She’s the one who fished your sorry hide out of the Trollshaws, Oakenshield," he drawled, his voice cutting through Thorin’s bluster. "And just saved the kid you scared half to death with your shouting. Maybe check your own reflection before tossing accusations." He gave Brittany’s shoulder a nudge that was almost casual, a stark contrast to the tension.
Dwalin stood rooted beside Thorin, his thick arms crossed, tattoos stark against the torchlight reflecting off the water. His gaze was a complex mix of suspicion, grudging respect for the impossible feat he’d witnessed, and deep-seated loyalty to his king warring with the evidence before him. He remained silent, a mountain of conflicted disapproval.
"The only purpose here," Brittany stated, her voice low and carrying an unnatural resonance in the damp air, her eyes never leaving Thorin’s, "is getting this child warm and safe. Your interrogation can wait." She gestured towards Estel, whose teeth were chattering uncontrollably despite the layers. "Look at him."
Thorin’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking furiously. He glanced at Estel, saw the pallor, the violent trembling, the wide, frightened eyes still fixed on Brittany, and a flicker of something – shame? – crossed his stony features before vanishing beneath renewed suspicion. "He fell because—"
"Because the air was thick with your anger, Thorin Oakenshield," Elrond interjected, his voice smooth as silk over steel. He rose, lifting Estel effortlessly. The boy whimpered, reaching a small, shaking hand past Elrond’s shoulder towards Brittany. "The why matters less now than the remedy. He needs the healing halls. Immediately." His ancient eyes, holding the weight of centuries, settled on Brittany. They were unreadable pools, yet held a silent command, an acknowledgment of the impossible, and a plea wrapped in authority. "You possess skills beyond… conventional means. Skills that might aid his recovery from shock and chill. Will you accompany us?"
The request hung in the air. Thorin sucked in a sharp breath, outrage flaring. "Accompany? Into the heart of the Elf-hold? After revealing… that?" He gestured vaguely, angrily, towards the river.
Brittany ignored him. Her gaze shifted from Elrond’s intense stare back to Estel. The child’s face was pinched with cold and fear, his outstretched hand trembling. The raw need in his eyes mirrored a void she knew too well – the terror of abandonment, the desperate grasp for stability. Gibbs’s face flashed in her mind, cold and dismissive. Not again. Not this child.
"I will," she stated simply, the decision settling like stone. She shrugged off the damp blanket Orik had draped over her, letting it fall in a sodden heap. Her simple tunic clung, plastered and revealing, but she stood tall, water-darkened blonde hair slicked back, radiating a formidable, utterly human defiance beneath the lingering scent of river water and the impossible secret she now wore like armor. She stepped forward, towards Elrond and the reaching child.
Orik scooped up the discarded blanket, wringing it out with a grunt. "Well, wouldn’t miss this for all the gold in Erebor," he announced cheerfully, falling into step beside her. "Lead on, pointy-ears. My sister likes her patients warm, and frankly, I could do with a fire that doesn’t involve dodging dragonfire. Yet."
Thorin sputtered, stepping forward as if to block their path. Dwalin’s heavy hand landed on his king’s shoulder, a silent restraint. "Laddie," Dwalin rumbled, his voice low and gravelly with warning. "The boy."
For a heartbeat, Thorin vibrated with thwarted fury, his gaze boring into Brittany’s retreating back as she walked past him without a glance, following Elrond towards the winding path leading back up to the Last Homely House. Orik flashed Thorin a deliberately insolent grin as he passed. Estel, nestled against Elrond’s shoulder, kept his eyes locked on Brittany, a fragile hope replacing the terror as she drew closer. The dwarves parted silently, Bilbo peering out from behind Glóin with wide, bewildered eyes, the roar of the Bruinen fading behind them as they climbed towards the luminous glow of Rivendell, leaving Thorin rooted in furious, impotent silence on the dark riverbank.