Full Summary

When dreams stop being dreams, things get confusing.

Anna is back – back in a place she once thought was just a product of her imagination. The silvery locks, bluish-grey eyes, and the pointed ears prove that much. Her dreams were memories. The same memories that led up to her death… well, her first death, before she slipped through a crack in the Halls of Mandos.

Ash, blood, and fire haunt her, the sounds of a dying, burning city echoing in her head whenever she tries to rest. Coming back from death is never easy. Death leaves scars on one's very soul, but who better to heal those wounds than the company of her kin? There's only one problem. Returning to her kin in Arda means facing the elf she sacrificed her life for. The one whose heart she broke all those years ago. But she doesn't have an option to stay away.

Every day the call of the sea grows stronger for him, and it's not his time just yet. He is their emissary, and it's time they finally gave something back. Even if that something happens to be the love he's convinced he lost years ago.

Obligatory Author's Foreword:

This work is undergoing editing, and reconstruction, and this will likely be ongoing for a while, so the edited chapters might be different, both in length and style, as I try to adjust my usual writing style to make this as Tolkien-esque as I can make my usual writing voice sound.

NOTE: While I've done a fair amount of research, this work is not entirely canon compliant, so if that scares you, or puts you off, then you're welcome to leave. As I've mentioned in my bio I write mostly for fun, as well as to keep my writing skills sharp for my original works, and this is one of the few works which is getting extensive edits done. Mainly because I adore the world Tolkien created, and as such want this non-crossover work to be the best it can.

She hailed from the shores of Aman, her mother did, born of a secretive love between two houses different in culture and standing. Vingarína, foam-crowned, they called her, born unto sand, seafoam, and power. There she resided, quietly mighty amongst the Firstborn in spirit – for she was a child of two clans, two noble houses of princes, with hair that sparkled like liquid silver, and eyes so bright which sparked with the light of stars above. Like her mother before her, she delighted in the sea, spending days upon days milling about in the seafoam her mother had named her after. Her father roamed the fields, with hair spun of strands of gold threaded with locks the colour wheat, calling her Meliniel, as was her father-name. Beloved daughter. And beloved she was, of shore and sea, of gold and silver.

But to dwell amongst the Falmari and the Vanyar she was not, for it was on those shores that she met him. A Noldor male, descended from a lesser branch of Finwë's line, and the grace of his face matched those claims. His hair was dark, his eyes a bluish-grey which seemed to reflect the sea Meliniel so loved. Téralosion, he was named, after the pointed ice and snow of the season of his birth. It suited him more so, what with the sharp lines of his face – a far cry from the soft features of her parents.

Silmëwen, he named her, and from then her fate was set. She was to be counted among the Noldor, no matter her seafaring heart or the emboldening words of power which resounded inside her mind. For though she may have held the sweet voice common to the Falmari, the land called to her so, beckoning her away from her beloved shores. With the Noldor she remained. So when the sundering came, she followed her husband. She went with him through the bitter ice to the lands the ones before them had crossed and left behind.

Arda, those lands were called, and they were so very different to the peace of Aman. There was something restless about them, but it was in those lands that they made their home eventually. They had followed Turgon's host, and joy awaited them in the city of Gondolin, such as it was called. For it was there that she was born.

A child Meliniel could tell would strive onwards and upwards, always seeking to better herself. It was a mother's intuition. And so she bestowed the name—

Her eyes snapped open, greeting the clouds marring the bright blue sky above her. The name escaped her, slipping through her grasp like the waters of the Belegaer. The Great Sea west of Arda. She could almost hear whispers of it in the air, beckoning her back to the homeland of her kin. The land where her parents had dwelled for a time. Groaning, she lifted herself to her elbows, a scowl painting her lips as a pounding began in the back of her head. Where was she? She wanted to know the answer to that, and quickly so.

The last thing she could remember were the bright lights of a car followed by a flash of pain… and then that strange meeting. "Oh," the sound left her lips, foreign and strange to the part of her which recalled simply being edain. In that strange world full of technology, without elves, dwarves, or any other of the free-folk of Middle-Earth aside from them. She had died once more in that strange world – for how else could she have encountered the keeper of the slain?

Mandos presided over spirits in his halls. The same halls she could vaguely recall before she had wound up in the body of Anna in a strange world. She had grown there from a babe – not the same kind of reincarnation known to the eldar, but a reincarnation just the same. Now it seemed it had happened once more, only this time she was in her old body. Well, a new body which looked the exact same as her old one. How it should have always been.

She should never have gone to that strange world, but her fate was a curious one, or so it seemed. Though she supposed she could blame being unmarried on that. The strangest fates always befell those ones, and she had been among that number.

Gingerly, she pulled herself to a sitting position. Her head ached something fierce, and she wanted nothing more than to lie back down. But she would not permit herself to do so. There was an undercurrent of unease in the air. She could taste it on her tongue, tingling and sweet. It told her nothing good would come of lingering there too long. Though she didn't have the slightest clue of where she ought to be heading.

The stars above her were all that she recognised, and even then there was one slight difference. A new star hung in the sky, bright and shining, gleaming with a light which made her heart skip ever so slightly. She couldn't fathom the reason.

Gondolin, the plains, mountains, and the trees within and around them were all she had ever known. A covert courier mission, carried out in tense worry and silence, to a city whose name had slipped from her memories, was the furthest she had ever travelled. She had never ever seen the sea before, no matter how much some small part of her urged her towards it. Though that was the Falmari blood in her veins calling, according to her mother.

She smiled then, despite the pounding ache in her head. Part of her was ever so grateful those hadn't been muddled. She would have hated to forget her mother's voice, to lose her father's smile. A hum escaped her then, content despite the strange circumstances surrounding her reincarnation to those familiar lands she had so missed.

There was a white city she missed more, but that she knew would be long gone. How could it not when she had seen half of it turned to rubble with her very own eyes? She could still feel the sting of blade and fire upon her skin, and she shivered then, wrapping her arms around herself as if that would be able to ward off the foul memories.

Of those eyes, burning and cold, boring into her—

She shivered again, harder that time. Silently, she mused on what had overcome her at that time when she had decided to break the bridge. Reckless. That was always a word which he had associated with her. While she didn't always charge in without a plan, it had been noted she had an unfortunate tendency to prioritise other things over her own health and safety. She had thought those other things were more important. Her lord had disagreed.

At the time, she had never quite understood why. She had thought him thinking lesser of her, because she wasn't as old, nor as strong, nor as wise as many of the members of his household. Which, in hindsight, had led to her clashing many a times with her lord so beloved of the Gondolindrim. That smile of his, which she was certain had broke the hearts of many ellith, simply made her want to punch him – if only to prove that she wasn't some lesser weak elleth, simply because she was so young, and had not seen the light of the Two Trees for herself. She didn't have a modicum of the patience or grace most of her kin did, and she had hated herself for it.

Now, especially after living as Anna for a time, she was slightly more liking of the idea of being different. Unique. What was the fun in being the same as everyone else? She supposed the changeableness of being mortal had infected her there. Her parents would no doubt be horrified, or perhaps delighted, and others would no doubt be the same should they know of what befell her, or perhaps they would be slightly jealous as such. For death was the Gift of Man. Their place in the Second Music of the Ainur was assured, their fëa truly immortal even though their bodies were not, whilst that of their kin was uncertain, bound to Arda as they were, but she had faith. They had to.

A smile curled at her lips then, and she breathed in the familiar air. Whilst she had enjoyed being Anna, she was glad to be home, surrounded by the familiar songs of the wild, melodious and intoxicating as they were. Well, she was home in the loosest sense of the definition. Her mirth and wistfulness faded then, replaced by a slow burning sorrow at the thought of home. Because home was a white city which had been destroyed so callously.

She had no home now. The realisation had tears filling her eyes. There would be no more climbing white towers. No more singing to greet the sun as it crested over the peaks of the mountains. No more looking on as golden light reflected itself off the shimmering waters of the fountains within the square. No more skipping over the wooden bridge which had been hastily constructed when an underground river had finally made the surface above it fracture and crack.

By the grace of Ulmo and Uinen they had said, when the sunlight first fell on that buried vein of water. She had been mesmerised by its beauty, entranced by the silvery waters which rippled and gurgled over dark grey rock smoothened by years of waters rushing past. Her mother had told her the sea was vastly more beautiful. Part of her couldn't wait to greet those waters – to sing with them as she was often found to do with the many sources which had been found within that beautiful city.

High dwellings, and places of water, as the Gondolindrim had been aware, were where she could be found if she wasn't sequestered away in the grounds of the House of the Golden Flower. Though she hadn't been as loved as her golden-haired lord was, she liked to think she was memorable at the very least.

A storm, that was what they had called her, the Tempest of the Golden Flower, and while her boldness hadn't always been a good thing, it had at the very least been accepted. She had never been incredibly graceful as the ladies of the court, nor had she ever held anyone's ears as the many scholars had, but when it came to singing – now that was where she truly shined, blessed by the fair voices of the Falmari as she was. Her mother had loved to tell her she ought to have become a bard and told others of her ancestry to garner a modicum of respect – to be welcomed into the courts, given the nobleness of her blood. The thought had never appealed to her though. The sharpness of a blade, on the other hand… Now that had really caught her eye, which was why she had took the path of the blade, striven to become the warrior she had.

Chuckling then, she pulled a strand of her silvery hair before her, twirling around her finger as she had so often done when thinking. It was part of the reason why her lord had insisted it be braided when they trained with the bow and blade. Her hair had been a distraction. It had taken her years to figure out the real question was for whom?

Though she supposed the distraction when it came to hair went both ways. Hers was silver and liked to glow under the light of the moon and stars when she sung to Uinen and Varda. His was gold and ever so radiant under the light of the sun. It was almost breath-taking when he stood between her and the sun's light. The glow highlighting those golden locks had been magnificent, and it had made her catch her breath a few times. Before she reminded herself that she wasn't supposed to be musing over his beauty because she was petty and hated his guts.

She could still remember when she had first met him, back when she had barely come up to his hip in height, her face still lined with baby fat, her eyes shining with the innocent wonder only a child could possess.

She would never forgive him for making her blush and act as shy as she had. Her mother had never failed to remind her that she had been one of the most rambunctious elflings to ever grace the city of Gondolin, and was forever infinitely amused, in all her motherly glory, at how she had behaved upon meeting the elf lord. Which, in hindsight, was probably why most of Gondolin had at least known of her existence – thanks to her rambunctiousness and not her shyness when it came to a certain golden elf lord. If only because she was a walking disaster, who normally wound up with an injury or two. The amount of time she had spent as a child, teary-eyed, in the Halls of Healing under the stern, scolding gaze of the healers there. They, much like her mother, had been immune to her tearful apologies and whimpers of pain. Well, by her seventh visit there in the space of a month, that was.

Shivering yet again, this time thinking of the healers of Gondolin, she tried to turn her thoughts away from them and their stern lecture which had often reduced her to tears. Instead, she thought of him. How his name eluded her still. How her own name eluded her still. "Will you give it back to me, I wonder?" she mused, smiling as a blossom from one of the flowering trees nearby fluttered down to brush against her skin.

The sounds of waters rushing close by had her climbing to her feet. They were bare, the boots she had worn so long ago gone, leaving her in a flowing white dress which reached her ankles. It was one of the kinds of dresses her mother had made, and she had loved to dress her up in as such.

Not that she had enjoyed wearing them. Dresses like the ones her mother designed weren't well suited for climbing. She was certain she would have scandalised half of the Gondolindrim had she not opted for a tunic and pants when nimbly climbing the highest building she could reach in time for either sunrise or sunset.

It was hardly a surprise that her favourite celebration happened to be the Gates of Summer, Tarnin Austa, when the city was adorned with lamps which shone like stars, and the budding trees were adorned with lights which gleamed many colours. They were like jewels.

She could still remember when her father had taken her along, even as young as she was, to help hang those lights on the main golden tree which grew in the courtyard outside the main building of the House of the Golden Flower, with their lord's private quarters just off to the side of that same courtyard.

She had climbed it, tall as it was, but her mother's chiding and the fact it didn't give the best view of the city led to her rarely climbing up its gold-tinted branches. Truly, it had been fitting that the House of the Golden Flower had taken up residence nearby it.

But that tree was long gone, she reminded herself, along with the fountains, and the high towers she had loved to visit. How ironic it had been that it had been the morning of the Gates of Summer that Morgoth's armies had attacked.

She could still remember the light coming from the north rather than the east, and that piercing cry which had broken the silence that they always held from midnight until sunrise. She would never forget the way it had echoed, and the chaos which had followed the cry of the creature bearing down upon the city.

"Dragon!"

The memory of that word, the way it had been screamed, made her eyes snap open, and she hadn't realised they'd been closed, caught up in the past as she was.

Coming back to her senses, she stared at the forest around her, free from the fires of dragon and balrog, clear of the poisonous song which had emanated from the serpents. The great worms which had laid waste to her homeland. They weren't near her anymore, and for that she was eternally grateful. Their songs hadn't gone on for too long, nor had they poisoned weaker minds, given how the warriors of the Gondolindrim had fallen upon them, caught their attention, while others were led through Idril's Secret way – to safety, or so she hoped.

Dimly, she wondered if he had survived. But she supposed she could figure that out when she found some of her kin. She presumed she was safe in her assumptions that they still lingered on the shores of Arda – because she knew that was where she was. She knew in her bones that she hadn't been reembodied in Aman. Which, she supposed, was rather unusual, but far less than what she had already experienced.

She doubted anything could top that. Her hands slapped her cheeks then, pulling her out of the spiral of memories before she could slip back into them, because she needed to get moving. She could hear it in the sounds of the winds and the waters even before she reached them. They whispered about danger afoot, and her eyes widened then as a piercing howl rang out behind her.

Wolves.

Her teeth sunk into her lip, and part of her cursed at how she had been left there without her a blade or any other form of weapon. She would have even taken a spear, no matter how terrible she was at using one. As it was, she was bare-handed and utterly vulnerable, and whilst her uncanny strength might have allowed her to kill one without a blade, she did not fancy her chances against an entire pack.

"Valier," she muttered, forcing her legs to move. Her feet plunged into the stream, and she cared not even as stones bit into the soft skin of her foot. She knew the pain of a wolf's jaws would be far worse. "Please do not let them find the trail," she whispered, splashing through yet another small tributary. Though she knew her wish was in vain. She had a history of bad luck, and for some strange, inane reason, she doubted it had broken even after her death and subsequent rebirth.

EDITED: 22/08/20