This is an AU with OC/SI character, that is loosely based on my own OC from Shieldmaiden- but what if she was someone who read the books, who knows what's going to happen? Who decided she can prevent it all- save her own family, her peoples- everyone?

NO FLAMES PLEASE. I WOULDN'T DO IT TO ANYONE ELSE'S WORK SO DON'T EXPECT ME TO TOLERATE THAT SORT OF THING.

Disclaimer: I don't own J.R.R Tolkien's Silmarillion, Lord of the Rings, Hobbit or any of his other works. Or any other author's works.

The first thing I remember was darkness.

Darkness and warmth. It wasn't a bad darkness, it was one that I'd gotten used to before, many times.

Time and again, I was born, I lived, I learned and loved, and I died. My first life was the remarkably unremarkable one. I was a human girl who loved to read. I got hit by a speeding truck, the end.

And then I realised I was a baby again. Born into a whole new fictional world.

Honestly, my life in A Song of Ice and Fire was something, alright. At least I was thankful I didn't end up living in the War of the Five Kings. Or the Dance of the Dragons. But I did end up being reborn as a Dornish princess when the Daeron, aka the Young Dragon invaded Dorne. I really enjoyed life living as a Dornishwoman- and a princess no less. I was glad to have been born in Dorne where being female didn't mean you were a second-hand-citizen, even within your own family, and being able to fight. I lost the resistance, against the Targaryens, and to my shock, was asked for in marriage to King Daeron Targaryen.

Big surprise. I wasn't the oldest Martell sister, but to my even bigger surprise, I ended up falling in love with him. And then we were killed- by poisonous arrows. End of that life. The next time I woke up, I was back in England- only this time my family wore robes, carried wands, and whispered in hushed voices about the rise of evil.

I went to Hogwarts which was the highlight of that life. I was sorted into Ravenclaw and asides from my schooling and grades, Quidditch games and family, I had nothing else to live for. I died when Fenrir Greyback and Bellatrix Lestrange ended up in the Battle of Hogwarts.

I was depressed. Sad and miserable to leave my previous families behind, and the third broke me no less. I mourned the death of Daeron, the only man I had ever loved in the three lives. The fourth life I was in Alagaësia and I was an elf. And Galbatorix killed me. Sad, sorry sob-story.

I failed. I failed all the ones I loved, and I lost them all. Was there any reason for me not to be broken?

And I was growing sick of it all. Musing over my mistakes and the things I could have done to make it all so better, until I felt that tight, squeezing sensation that signalled I was ready to come out.

And to my surprise, everything was clear again.

More than clear. It was just as clear as the time I'd been born in my last life. Everything was so sharp. So bright. So defined.

I was so stunned, because only when I was born an elf was everything this defined. Was I an elf again? Or God forbid, something else? Not a vampire surely? Or a vampire hybrid from Twilight.

Then a musical voice interrupted my musing: "Amatúlië," A voice shining, shaking with emotion and unshed tears. "Melda yelya." And my eyes snapped around.

Coming face to face with someone who was infinitely more beautiful than anyone I had ever seen in my entire life. Not even the Targaryens, the Martells and the elves of Alagaësia looked as beautiful as this. But I did think that she must have had Targaryen blood because how could she have had silver hair and violet eyes?

She was the most breathtakingly beautiful and heartbreakingly lovely woman I had ever seen. Her hair was purest, finest, woven silver, polished to a bright shine, framing her heart-shaped face with the finest, most delicate, beautiful features, dainty as could be: high, incredibly delicate and finely-carved cheekbones and a finely-cut jawline as well as an exquisitely-dainty, small, upturned nose.

But she had the same colouring as a Targaryen, though Daeron and his siblings' hair was not as clear, bright and vividly lustrous a silver as hers. Her almond eyes were not something commonly found in Westeros either, framed with the thickest, glossiest, blackest lashes. As I recalled, in the books, Daenerys mentioned that only the Dothraki and the Lhazareen had almond-shaped eyes. So I wasn't in Westeros.

Then I noticed that she looked slightly weary, though her eyes were glowing brighter with joy, immeasurable love and unshed tears. My new mother.

Now the tears were really spilling down her cheeks. Whoever delivered me passed me to her, and she took me, almost greedily, to her arms, and clasped me tightly, pressing her rosebud lips against my face. I must have been her first child for her to illicit such a reaction. Like I was a miracle. Or maybe I was the result of a long and complicated birth.

Her shining eyes glanced upwards, and my eyes fell on a tall man.

He was really tall and well-built. His face bore the most regal majesty and handsomeness that I never saw, even in a Targaryen king like Daeron. or Evandar. A magnificent, impressive creature with the most intriguing hair. If my new mother had hair or purest, woven silver, this man had hair the colour of the most burnished copper streaked with pure gold, beautiful high cheekbones, chiselled lips, a sculpted, straight nose and jaw. Eyes the same colour as the richest, greenest emeralds.

And pointed ears.

S***. He was an elf.

His grin was broad, but I noticed his eyes were slightly damp as well- somehow- surely, this was strange, uncharacteristic of such a noble, impressive elf.

He was crying. With tears of heartbreaking joy. I heaved an internal sigh. So this is my father.

And I was an elf- again! Somehow, I knew I wasn't in Alagaësia anymore.

So let me guess...

"She's beautiful, my love," he gazed mesmerised, silently weeping with emotion. "So beautiful."

My new mother glowed, looking up at him. She kissed him, and he enfolded his arms around us both.

Honestly, why should I bother? Something was going to happen anyway. I was going to be killed again, and lose my new family just as I had lost my previous family.

But something told me... That I should bond. Something irresistible. Something like, quite irritatingly, the imprinting of ducklings and baby birds, when they looked at their mother and father. It was too late. I was lost. I was lost and I had no hope. I was going to lose myself in this life.

Or maybe... It didn't have to be that way.

"What shall we call her?" My new mother whispered. The realisation hit me- I could understand them. I could understand Quenya.

But how? I didn't know. It shocked me. But then I remembered, I had also understood the Ancient Language of Alagaësia from day one.

So that meant... Was Quenya and maybe even the other elvish languages like the Ancient Language, in the fact that everyone had a True Name? Did the animals understand them? The trees, did they respond to them the way they did to the elves of Alagaësia when they sang to them to make them grow?

Another thing: Quenya. I recognised it. I was in Middle-Earth. Or Arda.

"I think... Based on what the Valar have told me, and the gift and promise that Eru Ilúvatar made, I shall call her... Eruvandë. Promise of Eru."

My mother glowed. "And that she is. Ilúvatar has fulfilled His promise." She wiped away a tear.

"What shall you call her?" My father asked softly, kissing my brow and stroking my head carefully.

"Something in Lindalambë," my mother stated. I frowned. Lindalambë.Was that...

"It will please your grandfather and your people, to remind them that she is also Teler, as well as one of the Ñoldor, a member of the Houses of Olwë and Finwë."

Oh snap. Oh damn. Finwë. Olwë. I should have seen it coming. The red-hair, the eyes richer and greener than emeralds... My new father...

And he was tall. No doubt about that. This could only mean I was not in Middle-Earth as I assumed before and my father was in fact, the eldest son of Fëanor, or Fëanáro.

"What did you see?" The elf that I could just bet was Maitimo or Maedhros asked quietly. "When you carried her? What did you sense in your dreams?"

What? Wait... They could sense these things, couldn't they? Elven mothers...

"She will be a great light amidst the darkness, a saving hope for many. To countless peoples, she will be their only chance to be saved, to remain in the light."

Maitimo's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"She will lead countless, despairing peoples through the darkness," Mother continued on as if in a daze. "She will guide them, save them, teach them, protect and nurture them. She will be their greatest hope."

And here I was too shocked for anything. Was my mother... Planning a destiny for me already?

Or did someone else?

"Her name is Estela," she murmured. "Hope."

And here I thought I was going to get an unpronounceable mother-name. It sounded similar to Estel, which was hope in Sindarin because the Sindar came from the Teleri.

So my mother must have been a Telerin princess. Olwë's granddaughter, from the sounds of it.

"You have seen it?" Maitimo asked in a deadly-silent voice, until someone knocked on the door.

I nearly jumped- if I could. I forgot, new-born babies, even elves, couldn't do that.

"My lord, my lady." An elf maiden opened the door. She was grinning. "The king and the high prince and the rest of the royal family is here."

And here. We. Go.

And the door flew open and the House of Finwë came trampling in like copper, dark and blond stallions in all their mighty glory.

To say that I knew what to expect now that I was in my second life as an elf, would be a lie.

My life in Ellesméra was not unpleasant. In fact, I rather enjoyed it. I had a feeling I would enjoy it in Valinor- only this time, I knew what to expect, and it was far worse than the Fall of the Riders and Dragons.

However, before we get to that, let me first just say, that I was even better coordinated than in my previous life.

I could move my limbs and sit up straight, hold my head up fairly early as an elf-child in Alagaësia but in Arda, I could do it even easier. I knew from what I read about Tolkien's elves that I would be able to walk, run, talk, even sing and dance before I reached my first begetting day. And that I would celebrate my coming of age at fifty years, though full maturity came somewhere between their fiftieth and one-hundredth year. I was probably going to be taller than any elf in Alagaësia and any human in either world as well, if my father's height- and reports about Galadriel's- was any indication. Elves grew quicker physically in Alagaësia.

Another difference: elves in Eä did practice marriage. They didn't just take mates depending on how long they wanted to, they got married. And they married and fell in love only once in their lives, which was a good thing because being immortal... Well...

But I did fall in love. Once. Many lives ago, and worlds away. And I what if the same thing happened again, only this time on a more permanent basis?

Leaving that aside, Finwë, my great-grandfather, was the only elf that married more than once- hence the scandal and the debate on whether or not that should have happened. There were people that may not have accepted his second marriage at all.

And they weren't always vegetarian. In Valinor, they certainly weren't. Food was plenty here.

I had to roll my eyes at this. This was sounding less and less like something from the Middle Ages and more like...

Well, it is fantasy.

As I had arrived in an earlier stage of the elves' timeline, children hadn't gotten so scarce for them. I knew that an elf-child in Arda hadn't been born since somewhere between five-hundred to a thousand years. In Ellesméra and Alagaësia in general, children were still rare, but there were two living in the capital during the time of Eragon Shadeslayer.

And it would explain how Fëanáro and Nerdanel managed to have so many children- the greatest number for any elf in either world.

And I was shocked to realise that Celebrimbor or Telperinquar and I weren't the only grandchildren of Fëanáro- and Nolofinwë and Arafinwë.

They had plenty of those.

The sons of Fëanáro- except for Tyelcormo and the twins had all married by then. Even Curufinwë and his was only recently, and his wife had also recently given birth a few months before my own birth. Which brought in mind Celebrimbor.

Or Telperinquar.

At this point, I realised I was going to have to call them by their Quenya names not their Sindarinized ones.

But what was my mother's name? Eärélen. A strange name, but it meant Sea-Star or Star of the Sea in Lindalambë. And somehow, my mind, coincidentally of course, connected it with Shiera Seastar of Westeros, one of Aegon the Unworthy's Great Bastards (not that she had been born by the time I arrived). She had an impressive waterfall of silver hair and a heart-shaped face too.

What did I look like? Did I inherit my mother's looks? As much as I would love to say I inherited the glorious pure silver tresses and deep, luminous violet eyes, I took after my father in this regard.

My features were a mixture of both parents. How did they blend together so perfectly? I don't know. But put me next to my father, and you would not be able to deny the spitting resemblance, even without the hair and the eyes. Put me beside my mother and the striking similarity would no doubt hit you like Lauerlin's light. I inherited her heart-shaped face and the almond shape of her eyes and her lashes and delicate, fine brows. My bone structure and features were a breathtaking mix of the two of them. But my hair and eye colour came from my father.

I inherited Maitimo's famous copper locks which in turn came from Nerdanel. It was, as I mentioned, the colour of purest, burnished copper, with streaks of spun gold, likely also from the same person who gave Tyelcormo his famous fair hair colour too. Only mine was also streaked with my mother's silver. Silver, gold and copper, even I had to be impressed. My mouth was my mother's though, and my neck and hands, that was certain.

Asides from my parents, my looks brought about the disturbing realisation of my heritage. I was Fëanáro's grandchild. And the great-grandchild of Finwë, Míriel Þerindë and Olwë as well as the grandniece of Elu Thingol and Melian. I was the niece of the other six sons of Fëanáro, the daughter of the eldest son, and the daughter of a Telerin princess.

What a tragic irony.

I didn't know how long it would be- I didn't have the date yet, but someday, my father, my uncles and my grandfather were going to turn against my mother's people and slaughter them in Alqualondë.

How in the Valars' name could my father be such a person?

He was the most wonderful, caring father I had ever had. So gentle, warm, tender with me. He was always there for me. He was there when I needed a nappy change (unfortunately I have to admit that- baby elves needed diaper changes), he was there when I needed to bathe, when I fell, when I stood up, when I walked and talked for the first time. He was always the warmest and most loving father of all.

And it would make the loss even more unbearable.

I had no idea that the sons of Fëanáro apart from Curufinwë were even married. But Macalaurë had married a Telerin maiden too, Carnistir, a Ñoldorin maiden, Curufinwë did as well, and Tyelcormo was currently interested in a Vanyarin maiden. Not sure who that was, but hopefully, just hopefully...

Like I said, I had no idea that the sons of Fëanáro were even married or in the very least romantically involved in any way. After all, didn't Tyelcormo lose his brains over Lúthien? And on the whole, made things a whole lot worse for her and her family? Heck, wasn't it Tyelcormo, Carnistir and Curufinwë's servants that tied up Eluréd and Elurín deep in Nan Elmoth so they perished, despite Maitimo- my father- trying to find them? What if I could prevent that? What if I could prevent all of it?

On the other hand, what if, accidentally, I made things worse?

I had to plan this carefully.

On the bright side of things I was born in Valinor. Home of the Valar and the Maiar. But an icy chill swept through me when I realised that at this point, Sauron might have been here. Only then he was known as Mairon the Admirable, a Maia of Aulë the Smith. A sizeable number of Maiar were seduced by the dark promises of Morgoth and I had to be extra careful. It was suspected that Ungoliant, the mother of the giant spiders, was one of those maiar. And Thuringwethil, Morgoth's vampire herald- possibly the first vampire. And Draugluin, the first werewolf. And the Balrogs. They were all maiar.

And only I knew of the threat.

At this point, baby Estela slumped over backwards onto the grass and let out a huff. How the heck was I supposed to save my entire family and Ñoldorin people from annihilating each other and countless innocents, from being subject to the Doom of Mandos? Yup, this was all on a baby's shoulders.

Or the Telerin people from being slaughtered in Alqualondë? Or the Sindar of Doriath? The House of Dior and Elu Thingol (the former not being the fashion brand from Paris)? Menegroth?

I had knowledge but that came with gaps. I didn't know what would happen to my mother, the sweetest, gentlest, caring and tender mother in the whole universe (or all the others- I still loved my parents from my third life, adored them to bits). I didn't know how to prevent Gil-galad/Ereinion from dying or even whose son he was- Artaresto's or Findekáno Nolofinwion's? And Írissë? How was I supposed to prevent her from meeting Eöl and Maeglin from existing to develop the hots for his cousin and destroying Gondolin?

Impossible.

"And here," my eyes opened at the sound of the voice. "The home of my eldest son, my firstborn Nelyafinwë."

"Magnificent." Another voice breathed. I recognised the first as my grandfather Fëanáro's. "You must be proud, Fëanáro, you've taught your sons well."

I could hear him chuckling. Was it any wonder? I mused. The most brilliant of the Ñoldor and the father of mighty, handsome and gifted sons- seven of them, the largest amount for any of the elves, even in these days.

My eyes peered at the figures at the gate and I slowly nudged myself up. I still hadn't mastered that, finding it easier to roll over and grab something to pull myself up. But I managed to end up in a sitting position, so that wasn't too bad.

I silently rolled behind some bushes. As much as I trusted my grandfather (he must have gone mad around the time Morgoth was released), I didn't know this other person.

The house itself was not a house if you could call it that. It dwarfed Malfoy Manor in my third life, and looked more beautiful than Sunspear and the Red Keep in my second. Like in Alagaësia, elven strength, talents and inventions (though I'm not sure about the magic just yet), granted them as much leisure time as they possibly needed. Plus, they didn't need to be fed as often as humans or dwarves and certainly not Hobbits. It was surrounded by ten acres of flowers of all kinds, arbours of roses in red, coral, pink, yellow, white and even blue and purple (I never knew Winter Roses existed outside of Westeros), gardenias, wisteria, honeysuckle, creeping vines and ivy. And flowers that didn't exist in any other world which I hadn't learnt the name yet.

The flowers were all arranged in ornately-shaped beds, like mazes, and guarded by very few of my grandmother's sculptures. Ammë wasn't the fussy type. Winding footpaths, led to the fruit orchard where pear, apple and even orange, mango, cinnamon and other trees grew. Seriously, how do elves in Middle-Earth- who didn't display the same sort of magic as their counterparts in Alagaësia did- manage to grow all those? The spice gardens were neatly laid out as well, on the other side of the flower gardens, full of ginger, garlic, peppers, mint, watercress and more. Near it was the herb garden full of things some of which were used for cooking and the rest used for healing. A series of pools and fountains interconnected with the music of miniature waterfalls, protected by shrubs. The waters fed the gardens.

I was curious when I saw all this. I knew my mother was a Telerin by birth. I can imagine she needed an outlet for all that restless, pent-up energy exuded just by living near Tirion and the rest of the Ñoldorin cities. She also needed a hobby. Atar and Amil were devoted to one another, and adored each other but my father was the first son of the high prince and eldest grandson of the king. He was also the most remarkably brilliant lore-master, he helped his father with countless projects including architecture, sculpture and smithing- which were really hobbies more than anything- he tutored some of his nephews, youngest brothers and his cousin's children. He was also an athlete, and for years on end neither of them had any children.

I learnt that early on.

So Ammë had to integrate herself with Ñoldorin culture, didn't she? Not just find an outlet for all that energy, and suppress her emotions over her childlessness? Not that her adoration of gardening had faded with my arrival.

She would place me in a sling around her so that she could carry me while doing her work, and watch over me at all times. As I grew older and showed no interest in destroying the plants, she placed me on a soft blanket or a wicker basket so she could keep watching me, only stopping to feed and change me.

So Amil had created a masterpiece with her garden and Atar did the same with the house which shamed Malfoy Manor in comparison. My grandfather opened the gates and beamed in pride.

"They've worked together to create this wonderful home. It's a miracle that they've finally been able to bring a little one to fill these halls and gardens with life and joy, after all this time."

I peered through the shrub.

"Yes, I've heard. All of Valinor rejoices and congratulates them still." The stranger was a dark-haired Ñoldo. "May she be forever blessed with happiness."

"Násië." My grandfather breathed.

"But not all your sons are married." Stranger said.

Fëanáro frowned. "It takes some time. Maitimo didn't appear lucky in love until he met his wife. I had almost given up hope."

He would have said more, but I decided to roll out of the bushes, gazing up with gooey baby eyes and sucking my fist.

"Little One!" Fëanáro crowed.

"Haru!" I squeaked, breaking out in a big, adorable baby smile and lifting my arms up.

Fëanáro chortled with joy as he lifted me up, kissing me on my soft cheek. "Look at you! You've doubled in height the last time I saw you! Soon you'll be taller than Atar!" I giggled.

"And here, Alacion." He announced. "Is my granddaughter Eruvandë Estela." I giggled waving my chubby baby hands around.

A little over the top? Maybe, but I needed to charm everyone to get them on my side. Maybe I could stop Morgoth and Sauron this way.

The elf, Alacion grinned.

"She's beautiful," he murmured. "Hello there, princess."

"Fëanáro?" Amil came out from behind the garden. She blinked. She had her own gardeners but most of the time, she worked herself.

"Eärélen Telpelinda," Haru- Quenya for grandfather- grinned. "My apologies for interrupting, I just thought of showing Alacion your home and gardens. And my granddaughter of course!" He chuckled. "They are beautiful, are they not?"

Alacion chortled. "Which one?"

Amil smiled. "Perhaps you would like to come inside?" She invited. "Maitimo is in his study. Guests are always welcome here, and family."

Always so gracious, my sweet Ammë.

"We would be more than happy to, if you would Alacion." He grinned and inclined his head. "It would be my honour, fair princess." Alacion said politely.

"Excellent." Amil beamed. "I should probably call Maitimo. He's still quite busy."

But as luck would have had it, Atar stuck his head out of a window. "Atar!" He greeted. "And Alacion. What brings you to Tirion, or at least, outside?" He reappeared outside.

So this stranger elf was not from Tirion. "I had some business to do with an elf in Tirion," he shrugged. "When will you come to Formenos? Introduce the new little bundle of joy there?"

"Soon enough," Atar promised, taking me from Haru. "But first, we must take this little one to Alqualondë! To meet our kin."

Our kin! My eyes went big. Yes! Olwë and the Teleri. The Ñoldor didn't have a bad relationship at all prior to the Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Maybe if I could get them to believe...

Believe what? I was a baby. And Morgoth being released and Sauron seemed to far-fetched for anyone's imagination unless you've read the books. And how would I explain all this knowledge? That my grandfather and his sons would become kinslayers and exiles? It sounded insidious to say the least.

"I'm sorry I was unable to attend the Essecarmë." Alacion said, regretfully. "But my son as you've heard, did a silly little stunt with his horse involving a hill. He was incapacitated for two weeks. But I heard it was a grand affair."

"It was," Atar said, shifting me. "Even King Ingwë attended himself."

I blinked. Wait. So the tall, majestic and regal-looking elf with the gold hair was...

"Come." Atto clapped his hand on Alacion's shoulder. "Let's go inside. We can prepare a feast just for you. Did Alimien, Canyaner and Alassë come as well?"

"She is staying with our kin-" I lost track of the conversation.

If I could go to Alqualondë and even more firmly establish the relationship between the Ñoldor and Teleri... Maybe, just maybe- and my heart started to race excitedly at this- the First Kinslaying could be prevented! The Teleri and Sindar would be safe from slaughter and the Ñoldor and House of Fëanáro would be saved from the Doom!

We could easily take down Morgoth, I thought really enthusiastic. I wasn't stupid. I knew we would still need the help of the Valar but at least the elves weren't slaughtering each other for the sake of three stones, no matter how pretty.

I cheered up at the thought. I had my list of skills and knowledge, from living in Dorne, and then Hogwarts and later Ellesméra. Now I was going to add to the list of skills. I was the granddaughter of the most skilled and brilliant elf ever to have been born. Fëanáro created not only the Silmarils, but the Tengwar system of writing, the Palantíri which could see the past, the present and the future as well as communicate with ones' minds over a distance- something which Gandalf said that not even Sauron and Saruman could do. And Míriel Þerindë was my great-grandmother. Although she wasn't the most favourable character to me, even I've read what Tolkien said about her:

'If but one fragment of the broideries of Míriel were seen in Middle-earth, it would be held dearer than a king's realm; for the richness of their devices and the fire of their colours were as manifold and bright as the wealth of leaf and flower and wing in the fields of Yavanna.'

Whoa, where did that come from? Did I really memorise the text from lifetimes ago?

It would appear so, but something did not seem right.

Something was definitely up.

Quenya words:

Amil: Mother.

Atar: Father

Atto: Daddy

Ammë: Mummy

Haru: Grandfather.

Násië: Amen.

Quenya and Sindarinized Names:

Nelyafinwë Maitimo: Maedhros (the Tall)

Curufinwë Fëanáro: Fëanor

Findekáno (Nolofinwion): Fingon (son of Fingolfin).

Macalaurë: Maglor (the Mighty Singer)

Tyelcormo: Celegorm (the Fair)

Carnistir: Caranthir (the Dark)

Curufinwë: Curufin (the Crafty)

Írissë: Aredhel (Ar-Feiniel)

Artaresto: Orodreth