A/N: Because I am lazy and couldn't be bothered with making up a language, I have simply given you the Sindarin translation of their names.

"Normal speech"

"Elvish" (will be specified later in the story, but for now she doesn't know which Elvish it is)

Thoughts

Chapter Two – Pixie in Wonderland

When I come around, I am surrounded by trees and I have a major headache. I am in a clearing with my back to a tree, pale silvery-white leaves falling all around me, the sunlight dappling through leafy canopy far, far above me. These trees are HUGE. And I don't mean that they're really tall trees, I mean that they're as tall as sky-scrapers. I turn around to look at the tree behind me; its trunk is about as large as my house (well, what I can see of its trunk). Speaking of my house, where am I? And why are the leaves silver; leaves are supposed to be green!

I shake my head and begin climbing the tree, the large indentations in the bark making excellent handholds. There's a branch about eight metres above me, as wide as my double bed at home. Because I have no shoes on, only socks, my feet are beginning to ache and sting from the strain of gripping. I reach my branch and claw my way onto it, wincing as my hands scrape on the rough bark. I sit on it, wanting to find some food, but unwilling to move, because I don't want to miss it if anyone comes past. My stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I haven't eaten since lunchtime back at home. A small pale gold fruit falls from the tree, onto my lap. I look up, thinking that someone may be above me, but no one is there.

I don't eat the fruit immediately (it may be poisonous, you never know) and it permeates a sweet smell, almost like a ripe apple, but much, much better. My stomach grumbles in protest at my not eating the fruit and another one drops from above. I look in the direction that the fruit came from, but I see no one. What the hell? I take James' hoodie off and wrap the fruit in it and tie it around my waist and I start climbing up again.

I reach another branch, this one slightly thinner that the last, but still thick enough to walk on without fear. No one is here, so where do these fruits come from? I carry on climbing, even though I'm scared I may fall off. By the time I reach the third branch, I'm more than twenty metres above the ground, and the prospect of falling is even scarier. But still, there is no one here.

I mutter aloud, hoping to draw whoever me be listening out. "Where does this fruit come from?"

That's when I hear the tree. I didn't actually hear the tree with my ears; I heard it with my MIND.

Where do you think the fruit comes from, little tree-dweller? Are there any other trees that are kindly giving you their fruits?

I lose my grip a bit, catching myself before I fall. "You're a tree!"

The tree seems mildly amused. Of course I'm a tree. I am not one of the winged-ones, nor am I a spotted-hunter and I most certainly am not a tree-dweller.

"But you speak! I m- mean, think!" I correct myself when I realise that tree wasn't actually speaking.

The leaves around me rustle a bit. Why should I not think?

"Because, you're a tree!" My answer makes sense to me.

I know that. You know that. The tree is rather patient with me. Come, eat the fruit, you are hungry.

I shake my head. "It may be poisonous."

My fruit will not make you ill. The tree gives off an aura of mild impatience when my stomach rumbles again. Eat; I have called the Wise-One of the tree-dwellers. He will know what to do with you.

"Tree-dwellers, what are they?" I take a bite of fruit after I ask my question. The flavour is heavenly, indescribable. It's like the mother of all fruits, that's how amazing it is.

The tree gives a mental huff. YOU are a tree-dweller. Two legs, pointed ears, bright coverings.

"I'm not a tree-dweller!" I say it just to argue, but then I realise what he said (if the tree is a he, it feels like a he). "Wait, what do you mean by pointed ears? My ears are round!"

I automatically feel my ears. My ears are NOT round. I'm happy but freaked out at the same time, and my breath catches in my throat a bit. "I have pointed ears. Like an elf!"

It rolled its metaphorical eyes. Yes, like a tree-dweller. Now, you must return to the ground, the Wise-One waits.

I finish the fruit and I notice that I'm no longer hungry, nor is my head sore (I bumped it, remember?). The scrapes on my hands are gone as well. I just shake my head and chalk it up to a strange fruit from a talking tree with silver leaves. I scarper down to the first branch and look at the elf on the ground. Long dark hair bound off his face frames clear grey eyes. He doesn't look old, but he doesn't look young either, sort of timeless; as though no matter how many centuries may pass, he'll remain unchanged. The hilt of a sword peeks from under his cloak where it's fastened to his belt, and there is quiver of arrows and a bow over his broad shoulders.

He looks at me and says something in a strange fluid language. I tilt my head in confusion. It sounds like the Sindarin from the Lord of the Rings movies, but I don't speak any of the Elven languages. He speaks again, in a similar language, and then again in another similar language, none of them quite the same. My head tilts to the other side, like a budgie in front of a mirror. My hands tighten around some of the tree's bark and I feel a wave of reassurance from it. The man continues to speak, this time in something that sounds a tiny bit like really Old English. I shake my head at him, and he says something in a horrible, guttural language that has me clapping my hands over my ears in pain as I cower into the tree's trunk.

The elf looks at me in surprise and offers me a hand. I shake my head. As long as I stay with my nice tree-friend, everything will be just fine. I'll wear clothing made of fallen leaves and eat those fruits whenever I'm hungry. I'll even drink rainwater or something. At least the tree understands me! Speaking of understanding…

I turn to the tree. "You understand him, right? Can you please tell him that I'm not from around here and that I don't speak any of his languages?"

It rustles its leaves at me. I could. Or I could do something even better. Many an age have the tree-dwellers wandered in my forest and I have become quite fluent in their silly languages. I could share my knowledge with you, similar to how I communicate with you.

I shake my head in confusion. "What? You mean, you don't speak English? Then how do you understand me?"

There are no languages in the mind, lost one, I simply perceive what you think. Its answer actually makes sense, in a weird way. You only think that I understand your language because you interpret my thoughts in your own way.

"Oh, right…" My head feels like it's going to burst from all the weirdness around me. "Okay, think some understanding into me, please!"

The tree rustles its leaves in an amused fashion. Or at least, I think that it's amused… Then something peculiar happens and I can see the world from the tree's perspective. The tree doesn't see, it has no eyes. It just knows and understands; the feeling of it makes my brain ache. The incredible sentience disappears and the elf glances at the tree then back at me.

I press my palms to my aching temples as he speaks, I can understand the words, but it's strange and I have to put each word together like a puzzle.

"You understand me, now?" At my nod, his face softens in sympathy. "Come, I have medicine for you in my home."

I cling to the tree and try to form a sentence. "My mother… I… She told me not to follow strangers home."

The leaves rustle around me again. Go, little lost one; he will not harm you, and if he does, I will have my forest avenge you. Come visit me again, soon, strange child.

I decide to trust my strange tree-friend's judgement (trees are good, no matter what anyone says) and I clamber down and brush my jeans off. I pull James' hoodie on again and put the second fruit in its pockets, my fingers brushing the photograph as I do so. My heart clenches. Where are my friends, and are they as lucky as me? I, at least, had a tree to fend for me for the single hour I was alone. I attempt to sort through the new languages I know, but it's difficult and I give up half way through, deciding to try again later, when my head isn't aching.

As the elf leads me through the forest, I notice that there are fewer and fewer silver leaved trees, all of them being replaced by more familiar kinds, like oak and pine and birch. There are other plants amongst the trees, some I recognise, and some I don't. The flowers are in full bloom, adding colour everywhere your eye can see. There is a warm breeze and the air is fragrant with leaves, flowers and herbs. Overall, my surroundings are practically paradise. Birds call overhead, I see a few amazingly tame herbivores (deer and others, though I don't know exactly what they are) and brooks babble delightfully (I don't mean literal babbling, that would be annoying). Not just my surroundings are incredible, though; I am, too, and I don't mean it in a vain way. I can see, and it isn't as though I had eyesight problems before, but now I can really see. Like in Breaking Dawn when Bella opens her eyes as a vampire. Okay, maybe not that clearly, I mean, I'm not watching dust motes spiral about, I'm just seeing in amazing detail and so far ahead of me that I may as well be an eagle or something. My hearing is also better, the slightest rustling, or even the footstep of a bird far above me, I can hear it all. My nose, too, is like a bloodhound's, things that I could not smell before, I now smell with ease.

"I am Duinhir," he startles me out of my thoughts. "If you have a name, I would like to know it, as I cannot call you 'Lost-one', as Hírorn does."

"Hírorn? Is that my tree-friend?" He nods, and I finally have a name for it and can stop calling it 'tree-friend'. "My friends call me Pixie."

He frowns at the strange name. "Pixie? What does it mean?"

"Um, it's a type of fairy?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "Do you even have fairies here?"

"I know not what this 'fairy' you speak of is." He examines me for a moment. "You need a new name."

I scowl. "But I don't know any names!"

"If you cannot choose a suitable name, I will choose for you." There is silence for a few minutes as he ponders what my new name should be. "You will be known as Eryniel until you come of age. From that day, you may choose to assume a new name, or someone may bestow a new on upon you."

"So I am to be known as the Daughter of the Forest." I frown. "That's not very original!"

"It is who you are, now." He regards my clothing carefully. "Where did you come from?"

"Not from here, that is certain." I think for a moment. "I'm not even from anywhere on this world!"

"I did reach that conclusion myself," he says, dryly. "Not that it matters, as you cannot go home. I would help you, but I have not the skill."

Silence reigns between us for a while, and I notice that I'm getting hungry again. I don't want to ask him to stop to find food, so I take out the second fruit and nibble on it; marvelling at how quickly it satisfies my hunger and how my second headache since awakening seems to disappear.

Duinhir regards me quizzically. "You have been given a great honour."

I finish chewing and say, not at all intelligently, "What?"

"You have been given the fruit of the Rhovanel tree. It is an honour only below that of being given the nectar, sap and seeds." He catches my elbow as I stumble over a tree root. "Few ever even see the fruit, let alone have the opportunity to eat it."

"Why, and what does it do?" I think of another question, this one even more valid than the last. "And where are we going, we've been walking for ages!"

He walks faster. "I am taking you to my sister's home, as I assume any pain you might've had has been healed by the fruit. The fruit aids healing, not as much as the sap does, but enough that any minor ailments will be fully healed. The Rhovanel give it only to those who have great destinies."

"Great destinies, what do you mean by that, and why are you taking me to your sister's house?" My curiosity burns within me.

"My nieces were your height a few years past, so they will most likely have clothing that is more… proper that you may wear." His face darkens. "And yes, great destinies. The last person to receive their fruit was chosen by the Valar to guard the East from Sauron the Deciever."

Fragments of his words get stuck in my mind and my feet stop moving as I blanch because of my realisation. "The Valar. Sauron. Oh, Heavens above, I'm on Middle Earth!"

He stops at my anguished wail.

"Explain," he says, tersely.

My brain scrambles to come up with an explanation. "Back home, there are stories, legends, all to do with Arda. Most of us believe that they are but tales, but now I am here, and I am not so sure."

He nods his acceptance. "All tales contain some truth, even if it is but a grain of it."

We unexpectedly stop, even though all I can see are trees. He spots the confusion on my face.

"Look to the sky, Eryniel." He appears faintly amused.

My eyes swivel upwards and I tilt my head back. The air exits my lungs in an awe-inspired gasp. It's a tree city. The city is in the trees, literally. There are wooden bridges spanning over the empty space between trees, ropes connect different branches together and there are ladders and staircases that allow you to access the higher reaches. Doorways, windows and arches are in the tree trunks and there are gardens hanging down from trellises attached to the bark. If I was still human, I would have had an excitement-induced asthma attack by now.

"This is one of the quieter areas in the city; my sister lives on the outskirts, though not quite as far out as I do." He smiles at me for the first time today. "Welcome to Caras-in-Gilgelaid."

He starts climbing up the tree, pulling himself up deftly and gracefully. I haul myself up after him, cursing the many scrapes I seem to be getting from all the tree-climbing I'm doing. After climbing to the first branch, we take the stair case that is hewn in the trunk and he knocks on the large double doors at the top of it. As we wait for someone to open the door, I notice that there are things hanging from the branches and twigs of the trees. Bits of ribbon, gemstones, pieces of mirror; pretty things, basically. A gemstone glitters in the sparse sunlight, and I have the urge to climb all the way to the top, to see if I can find pure, undappled sunlight. A young child that looks to be about five years old (though you can't tell with elves) pulls the door open, staring curiously at my outlandish attire. However, I am completely forgotten when he sees my companion.

He gives a happy cry of, "Uncle! Nana, uncle is here!"

Duinhir catches him as he leaps up and hugs the child to his body. There is some muffled shouting from inside, and a female version of Duinhir rushes towards us, her long gown rustling behind her. Her face contorts into startled relief when she sees us.

"Brother, you should have told me that you were coming!" She sounds a bit exasperated, as though she has had this argument with him before. "And who is this?"

Her voice is kind when she asks, and I can't help but smile at her. "I am Eryniel."

"I found her by the Rhovanel trees," he elaborates, crisply. "She has no home, no family, no friends and no possessions but those that she wears."

The elf woman gasps in sympathy. "I am Taengened, and this is my youngest son, Gaellir. You are most welcome here."

She looks like she is about to ask questions, but her brother shakes his head. "She is not of this world, my sister."

They share a look that seems to last for hours, when in reality its only seconds. The little boy is content to play with Duinhir's hair, sometimes looking at me with wide eyes. I make a face at him; he giggles at me and makes one of his own. This is the sweetest child I have ever seen, and I normally do not like children. The adults snap out of their staring match as our face-pulling war begins. Both of them look at me in amusement when I win with my patented, cross-eyed, tongue out, ears pulled face.

My companion just shakes his head. "I was hoping that she may borrow some of my nieces' clothing until such time that I have her own made for her."

Taengened smiles. "Of course, I still have their clothing from when they were about her size."

She pulls us inside and I fall in love. This house-within-a-tree is utterly incredible. Glowing crystals (I guess that candles are a bit of a fire hazard when you live in a tree) light the interior, and some of the furniture is actually carved out of the tree. I barely notice when I'm pulled down several flights of steps, that's how amazed I am by everything. We reach a sort of storage room, with trunks, boxes, chests and unused furniture piled everywhere. She sorts through a nearby chest, pulling out a large bag, and heads to the back of the room where she looks in a large wardrobe after peering at me for a few moments. She motions for me to come join her, and I look quizzically behind me at Duinhir who remains where he is while I walk towards her. She pulls out several articles of clothing; some Elven tights, a few shirts, some dresses, a cloak, a pair of plain black slippers, leather boots, some socks and some underclothes. I blush as I suddenly realise why he stayed behind. She puts it all neatly into the bag and hands it to me.

As we walk to the upper floors, I realise that I have something very, very important to ask about. The siblings chat quietly and I wonder how to broach the subject. I have a bright idea.

"Taengened, can you please help me with the clothing?" I look at her, trying to convey all my confusion and fear. "I have never worn garments like these before."

Her brow furrows. "Certainly. Brother, would you please take my little one into the sunshine; I have not had the chance to, yet."

I breathe an inward sigh of relief as she takes me to what must be a guest room.

Before I change my clothing I turn to her. "Before I came here, I was a mortal."

She looks confusedly at me.

"I have no female relatives," I try again. She still looks blank. "Nor do I have any FEMALE friends."

Her face clears with understanding. "I see, you do not know how we elves have children."

I nod desperately, blushing so hard that I'm sure that I've become Rudolpha the Red-Faced Loon.

"It is a very good thing that I have already had two daughters." She laughs, "How old are you, young one?"

"Two months shy of seventeen, why?" I ask.

She thinks for a bit. "For every four turns of the seasons that Men age, Elves age but one."

I then think for a bit. Sixteen multiplied by twelve; add ten and multiply it all by four then divide by twelve once more.

I flinch reflexively. "I'm sixty-seven years old, by that reckoning!"

"Elves age far slower than Men, and we stop once we reach maturity." She shrugs. "You have about thirty-three years left until you are full grown and about eight until you come of age."

I frown from uncertainty. "There is a difference?"

She nods. "Yes, when one reaches maturity, you cease to grow; when you come of age, you are ready for courtship to begin. Elves only start to be able to bear children when their tenth century approaches; and only when both the mother and father are ready and willing."

The biggest sigh of relief that I have ever breathed is loosed from my lips. Having children is something I will probably never be ready for, but now I am being told that I will only have one when I am ready. I throw a mini-party in my head, but then I realise that there is something else that I may want to ask before I turn a thousand years old. "Are there any physical changes that allow us to have children? Mortals bleed a few days each month."

Her eyes widen in what may be shock or horror (personally, I wouldn't blame her). "Stars above, no! Nothing of that sort, at any rate. We do not manifest any direct physical signs; ours are more subtle, our scents become sweeter, our flesh is warmer to the touch and our cheeks flush more, but that is all."

I heave another sigh of relief and impulsively hug her, feeling really grateful that she would help a random stranger in this way. "Thank you, very much. I do not know who else I would have turned to if you did not help me."

She pats my back and strokes my hair, the action almost bringing tears to my eyes, it's so similar to my mother. "I am glad that I have helped you, then. Come; let us see about your attire, then."

I let her change the subject, not blaming her very much for wanting to do so. I do, as well. She explains how the fastenings on my clothing work and shows me what goes where, then leaving me to change my clothing by myself. I take of most of my own clothing off, leaving my underpants and socks, and I pull on a pair of russet tights and a creamy white shirt (it's loose and flappy, rather like a peasant blouse). A hunter green waistcoat/corset hybrid that is fastened at the front goes over the shirt and I finish off my new (utterly bizarre) look with the boots. I loosen my silver-gold hair from their pigtails and pull it back in a French braid, keeping my spare elastic on my wrist. I put all my own clothing in the bag and make my way back downstairs, where I hope someone is waiting for me.

Someone is waiting for me, a whole three someones. Taengened gives me a pair of fingerless gloves like the pair Duinhir is wearing, and I realise that they're meant for climbing trees. She helps fasten my bag of clothing across my shoulders on my back and gives my hand a gentle squeeze.

"Come back if you need any help, or even if you wish for some companionship." She's definitely the mothering sort, I will be sure to come see her again. "Brother, you both could stay for the night, you are quite welcome."

He shakes his head. "No, I must go and see Lainthel for Eryniel's clothing, and then we must make our way to my home."

They hug and before I leave, I hug her again, muttering a quick "Thank you," and following Duinhir out the door.

We do not go down, instead walking over the bridges and branches for about an hour, until we reach another home like Taengened's. Another Elvish woman ushers us in and we are surrounded by rolls of brightly coloured fabric and mannequins. Ah, a seamstress; better, an ELVISH seamstress. I wander off to feel the fabrics, but I hear Duinhir saying that I need a full wardrobe as soon as possible. I wonder if this woman, Lainthel, also makes boots and shoes. I peer through a doorway on my right. Yes, yes she does. Before I can go a-wandering again, Lainthel pulls me into a small room off of her main working area and begins measuring me. Around my hips, around my waist, around my shoulders; my arms, neck, thighs, feet, hands, chest and height are also measured. She asks about my preferred colours and shoos me out as I thank her.

Once we're outside again, I turn to Duinhir. "Thank you, though I do not know how I will repay you."

His answer is gruff. "You may repay me by being a good student. I grow weary of knowing things that no other knows, I will teach you these things."

I stare at him. Who are these generous people, not many people on Earth are willing to help strangers. The already dim sunlight begins to fade as he takes me through the forest to his home, a humongous grey tree, and sets me up in a room painted pale blue. I'm far too tired and overwhelmed to take my surroundings in properly, and I fall asleep the second I get into bed after a quick (vegetarian) dinner.

That night, my first night on Middle Earth, I dream of five graves. Mine, James', Lacey's, Aaron's and Gwen's. Our families stand crying around them and I am filled with dread.

I am never going home; I do not have a life to go back to, because sadly, I am dead. All I can think of is: How the Hell did I die?