"Eärendil came, shining with white flame, and about Vingilot were gathered all the great birds of heaven and Thorondor was their captain, and there was battle in the air all the day and through a dark night of doubt. Before the rising of the sun Eärendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin. Then the sun rose, and the host of the Valar prevailed, and well-nigh all the dragons were destroyed…"

- The Quenta Silmarillion

Chapter One

TA 2573.

Aínwar's eyes glowered with firelight.

She stirred the tea leaves in the pot, listlessly watching as they spun around in a frothy dance. She had conducted similar tea ceremonies many times before. Nearly thirty years she had lived in this cold, ancient place, and tea had always soothed her to sleep, especially when the cries of dragons outside kept her awake…but this time, the bitter, earthy stench gave her stomach a convulsive lurch. These particular leaves were collected from a different foliage, a plant she had travelled for days to find — a journey which she was now beginning to greatly regret.

The Matron Mother peered down, scrutinizing the preparations. Her bone jewelry clattered on the lip of the pot. "Well? How does it smell?"

"Absolutely foul."

"Excellent. There, see that froth? It is ready."

Aínwar eyed the Matron Mother as she shuffled away, genuinely disturbed by her lackadaisical attitude about the whole affair. The hunched woman had lived a long time, and she had helped prepare this brew for Aínwar's mother and her mother before that, nearly a millennia ago; now, she did the same for Aínwar, who was humorlessly imagining that the Matron Mother had dusted in another ingredient, one which would make the concoction smell nastier and nastier as it boiled…

The wind howled outside of the cave. Aínwar shivered, and yet not from the cold — she had seen her reflection on the surface of the murky liquid. Her face, she solemnly acknowledged, had looked different every year since birth; now, it would remain the same, for the brew she cooked had many special properties, one of which would —

"Rise now, Aínwar."

Aínwar leapt obediently to her feet, the sound of her own bone pendants echoing loudly. She stood stone-still, hardly daring to breathe, as the Matron Mother walked in circle around her in meticulous inspection. The old woman grabbed Aínwar's wrist, feeling her pulse; she wrapped her bony hands around the curve of her calves, her shoulders, touching her hair, as if analyzing the conformation of an auction horse; then, after a moment, she touched Aínwar's forehead and sounded pleased.

"The dress suits you," she said shortly, not one for verbal compliments.

Usually, Aínwar was cloaked in heavy robes, layers upon layers of furs and wool to shield her from the formidable northern weather. Tonight, she wore her mother's gold-embroidered tunic, trembling under the pitifully thin fabric. But Aínwar accepted it with quiet grace. It followed an ancient tradition, for this was Zenta'ganna's own gown, tailored and imbued with a powerful magic during the First Age. Besides, Aínwar knew she would not be cold for long…not after the mythical brew passed her lips. Then she would be a true Firekeeper, with a dragonfire heart that could keep her warm under any conditions.

The Matron Mother seemed to have read her thoughts. "Zenta'ganna herself would be proud to see you wearing this. So would your mother. Tonight, you inherit a formidable responsibility. It is not one to take lightly, and it cannot be easily abandoned. If only I could adequately translate the suffering experienced by all the Firekeepers before you…but that is your own divine path to walk. You will learn, child. You will learn." The steely edge around her voice softened, quite uncharacteristically. "Are you ready, Aínwar?"

Aínwar had spent her entire life preparing for this moment. She nodded fractionally, lips pursed taut. If she kept her eyes fixated on the snow outside, she could imagine that she was a small child again, free of ancestral obligation, listening to the Matron Mother's stories of Middle Earth on stormy nights, just like this…

The Matron Mother presented a wooden cup to Aínwar, who received the drink with rueful care; refusing to look, she swallowed thickly as the pungent smell wafted up to her nose.

"You are the third Firekeeper I have diligently served now," said the Mother. Her eyes were clouded with age, but for the first time since before Aínwar, they had taken on a startling clarity. "When your mother's mother drank the brew, her visions were filled with strife and anguish. She saw endless war. The return of a shadow over the land. Death. It has been a thousand years, and still her dreams have not yet come to pass."

She stilled; for a period, there was little sound but the screaming wind.

"But, your mother…she saw you."

Aínwar briefly closed her eyes. "I am scared. I worry that, whatever visions come to me, I might be better off without them."

"Ah, now three times I have heard that. Some things never change. You are aware of what is in the cup?"

"Yes."

There was a narrow bed closer to the back; the Matron Mother led Aínwar to it, lowering her gently onto the cushions. Aínwar diligently kept the cup upright, afraid to spill even a drop. Only once the back of her head touched the pillows did she begin to panic. Despite laying in the same cave, with the same cabinets and cookware, and the same blankets and crackling fire…she suddenly felt very far away from everything she had ever known, like her soul had exited her body and was floating, watching it all transpire from above.

Thirty years she had awaited this moment, and now she wished she could go back.

"I know not how long you will sleep," said the Matron Mother from the bedside. She folded her legs beneath her, getting comfortable. "The first time, I waited only three months. Your mother kept me waiting for twenty years. And I cannot tell you what you will see, or if it will even matter in the end. That will be up to you."

Aínwar's heart was hammering. "Matron Mother—"

"I know, dearest…but it is time to sleep. You shall dream. Then you shall be reborn."

All of her breath escaped her in one heavy rush. "Alright," she whispered. Nervously, she raised the cup to her lips. The awful odor penetrated all of her senses, nearly making her retch; the brew hovered in front of her face, and she felt so shaken…

"Drink, Aínwar Firekeeper."

Aínwar drank. She gulped down every last drop, even when the brew bubbled in her gut, threatening to rise again. Its vile taste lingered as a thick residue on her tongue; the crushed leaves stuck themselves in her teeth. The Matron Mother nodded approvingly, then leaned back, waiting. Little time passed before all of Aínwar's vision began to sway. Her whole body itched with an intense, prickling heat. Sweat beaded on her temples.

Then she leaned back against the pillow, and closed her eyes.

x

Aínwar opened her eyes to a colorless, dark fog.

Many sensations overwhelmed her at once; most noticeably, she was feeling very exhilarated. The adrenaline started deep in her stomach and quickly ascended to her heart. She thought she was fourteen, having climbed the mountain for the first time, looking out across the northern waste to Ered Mithrin…few memories could compare.

Then, instantly, she was present at that memory; she felt so small and young, and she really was gazing at the Grey Mountains! The nighttime sky in the waste, she knew without a doubt, was unparalleled; for as she travelled more north, they only grew brighter. She sensed the wind pulling at her furs, the bite of cold on her fingers as she pointed…

Look, Tarlaeth! The aurora!

Tarlaeth? Aínwar did not see the she-dragon anywhere…by the time she had turned around, things were dark again, and the nostalgic sense of wonder and adrenaline which had so fleetingly touched her heart disappeared — most unfortunately, the cold remained. It pinched at her bare skin, biting.

Aínwar shivered. Hello? When she spoke, she saw the steam of her breath rise up and disperse into a shimmering mist. How truly bizarre. Crying out, she saw as she turned around…the aurora had endured this strange hallucination. In the black fog, their colors were more vivid than ever. Even stranger, she felt like she could run her hands through the prisms, as if through a rainbow stream of water; she reached up to ripple the aurora, sending the colors glistening energetically forward.

The moment she touched the aurora, she heard a woman's profound voice: We shall keep you safe — but above all, truthfully we are in YOUR hands, Aínwar Firekeeper.

Hello? Aínwar asked the darkness again. Who are you?

She mused on this for a moment.

Well, she resolved, none of this is real, after all. What if…

She experimentally willed the aurora to come closer and, surprisingly, it did. Now she could walk through it with ease. Light as a feather, she danced through the colors with thrilled laughter. Many voices at once began to talk to her:

Do not give her the flame she desires, lest she remember what she is, and burn us as they burned Erebor!

Care to explain the meaning behind your irritatingly impertinent smile, Firekeeper?

I knew you would come for duty…but I dreamed you would come for me.

No, not many voices. Only one. All the same, just of many different sounds and tones — some irate, others dense with fervent compassion.

"T-," she started, the edge of the syllable idling on the tip of her tongue.

Her voice wavered. Who had she meant to call? She had just been so certain of the name! Aínwar's trembling fingers hovered above her lips; she felt like she had just lost something very important. She thought she might cry, just at what she could not possibly know. But before she could gather her bearings, another sea of voices began to wash over her, starting as foamy ripples by her feet, then submerging her entirely:

—an ocean inside — a tempest — dragonfire — drowned by your seas — the tides — so much like fire and water — I could do this for —

"For eternity?" she whispered, and for the first time since entering her sleep, her words felt loud and real. Soft sheets were pulled over her head, and they smelled like a summer breeze; though they were distant and distorted, she could hear bird calls, smell the sweet frost of an early morning, feel a gentle pair of lips brushing away from her forehead…

For eternity, meleth nîn, said a voice, somewhere abstract, far beyond the pair of beautiful blue eyes in front of her. She stared into them, unable to look anywhere else. The man's features were obscure, unidentifiable.

"Oh, my love, I was having a terrible dream," she was finding herself saying. It was all very unintentional, as Aínwar was not willing these words on her own…they were simply coming out of her. Somehow, she could feel his palms on her cheeks, a thumb caressing her jaw. "Long before we sailed, when you were nearly—"

Hush now, Aínwar, the transcendental voice commanded, but softly… Why do you dream of memories many Ages past? We are here now, as we have been together for all this time, everlasting.

There were tears in her eyes. She went to brush them away, but she could not move either; the ardent heat of the stranger's face came close, and just before their lips touched, the heartrending vision disappeared back into darkness, vanishing with a foggy flourish. Aínwar meant to say his name. She knew it was there…she could taste it! It nearly came out of her too, almost with a cry…

The aurora once again bathed her in light. Exhausted by her journey, she stood weakly in witness to a new onslaught of visions. She was dancing, a golden gown swirling around her figure; standing at the foot of a tremendous, shadowy mountain; laughing with a stranger; dreaming; crying; screaming, reaching out; there was a vial of light and something with a ruby red glow…and a sword that shined...and all of these visions happened so quickly, she was overwhelmed and fell to her knees, sobbing…then she was running towards a tower of dragonfire, her hair flying around her face as she turned to look for —

Who?

Then Aínwar really did wake up. She flew up with a gasp, still tasting the stranger's already forgotten name, almost wishing she could have remained in that dream forever. His hands. His lips… They had felt so real. She breathlessly stared at the wooden cup, empty of its contents now. An infinite amount of time seemed to have passed since she had forced it down. Daylight had broken through the darkness, the fire had burnt out, and a layer of powdery snow had covered the floors, reaching as far as her blankets.

She threw the blanket from her and leapt out of bed, unable to wait to tell her story.

"Oh, Matron Mother, I must—!"

But the Matron Mother had not been able to wait this time. Not as she had done for a thousand years. Not for Aínwar.

Suppressing a choked sob, Aínwar leaned forward and closed the old woman's eyes.

TBC

A/N: I am not one for an author's note at the beginning and end of every chapter, so I will make this brief!

I was once a dedicated FF writer. And I thought I had gotten out all of the stories I wanted to tell...until this one appeared to me. I put it off for months, persistently lured back into the throes of adulthood, but the compelling need to write came to me again and again. With an annoyed sigh, I sat down and started outlining.

Sooo...this is Suns and Stars. It has everything I want from the stories that I like to read. At least, I think it does...now it's just a matter of good execution.I really don't want to fuck this up. If you're here for lots of fun LoTR AU, you're in the right place. Or if you're a filthy animal like me and you're just here for the Thranduil smut, you're also in the right place. I wouldn't necessarily call this fic a slow-burn, but I do like taking my sweet time.

This fic is rated a very strict MA! There will be lots of elven lemony goodness. I promise you that.

I am getting constantly yoinked by fanfics that start and then end, never seeing their conclusion. That's a big reason I always filter stories by their completion. So, if you're here to follow the journey from its early stages, I already really appreciate you. Things could change of course...but as of now, this story hovers somewhere between 300-350k words with about 60 chapters. It's a big boi. Also, I am going to be posting this to Wattpad, and maybe somewhere else. Yeah.

Enjoy, follow, and review! I am not fixed in my ways. I have always been dedicated to reading my reviews and taking constructive criticism. I mean, just don't be an asshole, you know?

Oh, how strange it feels to be typing into Doc Manager again. Is it 2004?

Chapters with mature content will be marked with an (M) next to their names in the index.