Please read Author's note at the bottom

I do not own Lord of the Rings

The series of truly unfortunate events that led up to Olive tripping and falling in front of the King of Gondor himself weren't all that remarkable on their own, however, put together, they created the moment in which would change Olive's life all together.

One could even say, if they believed in such things, that it was fate. Lemony Snicket said, "Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like." But Lemony Snicket doesn't exist here. Not in this universe, not in this time. In this time, and in this universe, exists Olive.

Olive is what one could call a rather plain girl. Or that's how her mother used to describe her to other people, in the very least. At parties with neighbors, in the kitchens where she learned her craft, or in the school yard, in all those instances little Olive was half hidden behind her mother, as she was described as both, a rather plain girl, and a rather odd one. Olive never quite grew out of the titles like other girls her age. After they finished their primary schooling they chose a craft, cooking, baking, sewing, teaching, or simply becomes wives with husbands wealthy enough that they could stay at home.

Olive knew her craft for long before she finished primary school. She knew that cooking was her craft, her mother had done, her great grandmother had done it, cooking and baking were Olive's home. After a harsh winter took her mother and an ambush on the road took her father, she was left with her with her odd and eccentric aunt. And the kitchens in the Capital were the only place for Olive.

The Capital City which was built nestled into the side of a mountain was one of the biggest cities in the kingdoms of Men, probably the biggest after the destruction from the Dark Time took chunks of cities out. Olive didn't see a lot of the city, she spent most of her time between the kitchens, her aunt's home, and the libraries. She didn't bask in gossip, or huddle in dark corners with friends, eyes darting around at the battle worn warriors stationed about, or watch them do a shirtless joust in the training grounds, she hardly bothered to eat in the main dining hall.

These are all just excuses, of course, as to how Olive missed the big glowing sign that she should have been more careful. Unlike so much of Gondor and Minas Tirith she had never met the King. She had seen him, sure, but met him? No. She had seen glances of him across the way, through the windows in the library, out in the Citadel, a tall, lean, muscular man with wave dark brown hair. He took the time to meet as many of the citizens as he could. She had seen him herself, stopping in the hallways to introduce himself to the school teachers, the gardeners, the cleaners. It was nice, and sweet, and so not something Olive wanted to do. Olive had a way of messing up what could be a perfectly normal situation. She was prone to spilling things on herself, tripping, swearing, dropping things and running away.

The King never visited the kitchens, they were nuzzled down under the city, one had to take many flights of stairs to even begin to smell the bread baking. But Olive didn't complain, she liked it. She liked the smell of the warm yeast, the burn of cinnamon in her nostrils. There was a sense of belonging among the quiet 'odd' women. For that's what they were, a group of odd, quiet book worms who found the comfort in the heat of the fire home.

Since the kitchens were so secluded, gossip didn't get there fast. That meant that they were the last to know information that should probably be pertinent. Like the fact that the King of Rohan would be in Minas Tirith and that they would need to cook a special meal for him.

Unfortunate Event One:

Olive was leaned carefully over the potato dough, examining it. It didn't seem like it was all that sticky so she rolled her hands in some flour and started to roll them balls of potato dough into balls for dumplings. The soldiers would need a hearty soup coming in from the cold, many of them were off patrolling the borders and today was the first day that winter made itself known. A chill had come down from the mountains and startled her awake in the morning, and on her way down the kitchens she had been able to see her own breath. She hadn't had time yet to purchase a suitable cloak, so she was left wearing her lighter spring cloak and rushing to work, nearly slipping on a small patch of ice that was outside the dress makers.

As she rolled her sixth ball the door to the kitchens banged open and in came a limping Caeden and a tired groan reverberated through the kitchens as they took in the teenaged boy who was often sent to the kitchens for punishment. He was a thorn in their side, but they endeared him.

That didn't make him less of a handful.

"I've seen him!" He shouted as he snagged an apple and took a large bite from it, he was swatted at by Morah, the older woman in the kitchen who as working on small apple pastries, she smiled at him though, his cheeks filled with apple.

"Seen who?" Lorah, Morah's daughter asked, wiping her hands on a towel that was tired to her apron.

"The King!" He crowed, and they groaned again. The King had a veritable stalker in Caeden. He spent his days skipping out of his school work and following the poor man around, dodging his guard and trying to catch glimpses of the man from around corners like an infatuated school girl. They had lived through many of Caeden's stories of the King, how he bent and picked up some rubbish, how he trained with the guards, how he helped groom the horses, if Caeden wanted too he could probably tell them the last time the King took a shit.

"Yes, yes, we know, your infatuation with the poor man." Lorah rolled her eyes and went back to sifting flour.

"No, not him!" Caeden rolled his big brown cow eyes then, "King Eomer, of the Mark."

There was silence in the kitchens. Morah opened her mouth and then shut it again, Lorah looked horrified.

"The King of the Mark is here?" Her lip trembled, "Is he – is he, dinning here?" She asked. Olive set her latest potato dumpling down and looked around the kitchens, all five of them had stopped working.

"Yes! Tonight, to honor the alliance with Minas Tirith!" Morah nearly fainted and a cold sweat broke out on Olive's forehead.

"Why did no one tell us that company would be coming?" They all came alive at once, moving to huddle around Caeden who was helping himself to another apple. This one did get smacked out of his hands.

"I figured you would know. If any of you made it up to the dining hall you supply you might have heard."

Lorah was flustered, and sputtering, "We're the damn kitchen staff, and you would think they would let us know when we're to prepare something special. Oh, this is a disaster. I don't even know what kind of foods those from Rohan enjoy. "

Olive wrung her hands on her dress, it was too cold for it outside, the light blue fabric was made of a thin material and she only wore a thin chemise underneath.

"I'll go the library." She announced. "I'll go the library and get a book of Rohirrm foods. Then we'll try to make some of them, with parts from Gondor… like our alliance!" She announced.

The women nodded about themselves and decided it was a good plan. In her hurry, she left her cloak and barreled up the stairs, as she reached the top, the cold bit into her and her body reacted accordingly. Her hands buried themselves into her armpits, her lips and nose began to tingle, her chest tightened, her breasts tightened in the cold, fearing people could see she crossed her arms over her breasts and dodged ice patches to get the library.

Unfortunate Event Two:

Once in the library Olive realized that she had forgotten her book satchel in the kitchens. It was her trusty pack, she could fit five or so books in it depending on their size and it was all the way down in the kitchens. But Olive didn't think too much of it, because how many books could their possible be about Rohan foods?

32.

This was what she realized when she found the section she was looking for in the giant space. There were 32 of them. That's Thirty-Two. They took up a whole row of in the library, all there bound and ready to go.

And there was no such way to pick just one. How could she? So she picked the most recent additions, and the oldest one. That was six. With her arms packed full she wasn't able to see much, she bumped into shelves and people as she made her way to the checkout desk. Looking down at his nose at her as Burtho, the librarian. He was a large, brooding man who tended to look down upon people in a way that made them uncomfortable. His large rotund body looked squeezed into place behind the large oak desk.

"Hello Burtho my friend." Olive greeted. He gave a surly smile. "My lovely friend Ollie! How fare you?" He asked as he examined her books and wrote her name down on the ledger as well as the date and year, and started in on the book titles. His handwriting was clean and clear and precise and she needn't tell him any of her information, he had it already.

"I'm well, as well as a woman in a hurry can be, how are you?" She asked him. He chucked, and pushed the books over to her, he didn't have to give her the regulatory speech that he gave most newcomers, books must be returned or re-checked in with his person in a week.

"I'm well. You have a good day, enjoy those books, and find a cloak will you, you'll freeze to your death out here!"

The books were so tall and heavy in her arms that she couldn't see past them. She was a tiny figure as is, small and lithe, with wide hips and thin shoulders like her mother. Her arms struggled from the weight of the books.

Unfortunate Event Three:

The night before, one of the guards, during a midnight celebration had been sent home by his general with a glass of water, it was a scolding. He shouldn't have been that intoxicated a night before he had to go out and do patrols. It was irresponsible and deadly of him to do so, so he was sent to bed early with a glass of water to tide him over until the morning in hopes of ridding him of the hangover.

However they must have had some hungover soldier in the morning, because the man had spilled the water all over the ground, and overnight with the chill coming off the mountain and the threat of snow imminent it had frozen over into a thick block of ice.

We could pause the story here, and talk about fate, and longing, and how all things happen for a reason, but we're not going to.

Olive was notoriously clumsy. It was why she was no longer allowed to light fire in the kitchens. It was why her housemate and her aunt didn't allow her to touch any of the nice tea wear or go anywhere near the sword rack they had that belonged to Olive's father. She had been the crudest dancer at school and was always the last to get picked for games because she was prone to knocking over everything her way and injuring herself in the process.

That ice patch would soon become the bane of Olive's existence. That ice patch, with it's singular clear and glassy surface would become the turning point in Olive's life. With the clatter of the books in her arms, and the blood rushing in her ears from the cold and the hurried thumping of her heart she wasn't able to hear the solid march of boots headed her way, without being able to see over the books, she didn't see the ice patch in her way.

Which was why, when her feet hit it, they came right out from her under her. The sensation of falling made her stomach jumble, her heart leapt her in throat and ice was hard and sharp under her. The books came crashing down one of them landing on her knee the other on top of her head. She lay flat on her back on the ice for some time. She knew that her eye glasses were probably somewhere broken on the ground, and that was fine, because she really only needed them to read. The high arched ceiling above her was beautiful and she decided that there, on that patch of ice, was a good place to die. So she laid and waited. Her head throbbed, both of her knobby elbows felt downright abused and she was sure that she was bleeding somewhere down on her knee. Her whole back felt like a bruise.

"Excuse me, My Lady, can you hear me? How badly are you injured?" There was a man speaking above her, which was a clear interruption of the death she was clearly experiencing so she ignored it.

She would have continued to ignore it too if that person didn't lean down and scoop her up by the shoulders and cradle her, this same person barked out orders:

"Get someone here to be rid of this ice!"

"Fetch me a towel."

"Gather her belongings!"

The man, because he was a man with an ashen voice, and large hands cradled the back of her bruised head causing her to wince.

"You've got a bump here. You can open your eyes, it's alright." She peeked one eye open, and then promptly squealed.

Because of course it was, because of course it was a very tall man, with dark brown wavy hair that dusted his shoulders and the most piercing blue-grey eyes she had ever seen on another human, he was wearing an all-black outfit complete with dark black boots and a silver and red trimmed cloak. Of course he was the King. She squealed and tried to roll away but he caught her other shoulder and brought her in close. He was crouched down and her upper body lay between his legs. He hiked her up so that her head rest on her shoulder while his other hand checked for injuries.

"You've hurt your knee."

"Y-y-y-our M-m-m-m" He silenced her with a glace in her direction and she felt her entire body heat up from embarrassment. Because of all the people to test gravity in front of, it would be him. And oh boy, he was much more beautiful up close. His bone structure was fine, almost elven, his eyes were intense and he was surrounded by a woodsy, man-like smell. His eyes were the most intense part of him though, light colored but shrouded in dark lashes he was beautifully set. A solemn, thinking look about his face.

"It's alright." She pulled forward and sat up on her own. Or went to at least, the moment her palm touched the ice she slipped again and her head bounced off a book, this time the reaction was swift. She curled into a ball on the patch of ice and waited to be struck by lightning. The King leaned forward again and held her up, he helped her slide off the ice before leaning down to help her up, hugging her tight to him. He was looking down at her.

"Your lips are blue, have you no cloak?" He asked softly, so softly she knew no one else could hear. There was too long a pause and then she shook her head.

She could see the men around her gathering her books and once they were held out to her she made a split second decision. Because what could be more embarrassing than slipping and falling in front a King? Watching him give you pitying looks, the looks she had been getting all her life, the looks she got when she left out games, when she showed up to class in her mother's gold rimmed eye glasses, that look, the deep 'I'm sorry for you deep in my soul' look, the 'Me and my friends are going to talk about how sorry we are for you later on' look, so in a split second decision, she took the books and ran.

Despite the throbbing of her knee, leaving her eye glasses on the floor, she made it down the stairwell and into the kitchens where, when she turned to Morah, looking startled at her disheveled appearance, she burst into tears.

To Be Continued

Author's note: Hey y'all, so this is my first LoTR fanfic, so please bare with me. I'm all for constructive criticism. This chapter has not been beta's all the mistake are mine. Please drop me a review! I'm excited to hear from all of you.