DISCLAIMER: I obviously do not own any of Tolkien's ideas or characters aside from Asphodel and the subplot I've created.
"It's never too late to be what you might have been."— George Eliot
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SHE WAS THE SPITTING IMAGE of her mother, save for the silvery blonde hair cascading across the soft pillow on which her head lay. With her fair Vanyarin looks and high rose flushed cheekbones, Elrond himself was rendered unable to distinguish the elleth's face from that of her late mother's. It was all too familiar for the Lord; the pale gleaming skin and long lashes that could only belong to the descendant of his oldest friend were discerning to look at.
The elleth was many things, but she was not her mother, Elrond needn't forget.
"Gi nathlam hí." His voice was soft, piercing through the silence like an arrow to a target. He had watched from afar as she awoke, confusion flooding her features.
Asphodel choked on her own breath, lost for words at the beautiful artistry decorating the expertly architected room. Chalky hand carved stone arched across the entrances surrounding her numb body, opening out to a wondrous escapade of green trees and cloudless skies. Leaves, an array of amber and olive shades, twined down the pillars supporting the painted stone ceiling. The pillowing echo of falling water made its way to her ears, momentarily succeeding in putting her questioning spirit at rest. She was quick to regain her memories, remembering Elladan, the man with pointed ears and starry eyes who'd confronted her in that beautiful, let her make that particularly clear, meadow. Though the scenery of golden flowers in her last conscious moment previous was beautiful— this, she took a sweeping glance of the room, was certainly more what she had envisioned the afterlife to be.
There was an indescribable sacredness here. Asphodel felt more present than she ever had, as if her mind had been freed of it's ties and chains, as if she could finally breath for the first time in her life. An otherworldly emotion had clasped onto her heart and refused to let go— and though confused, she welcomed it, like that of a close embrace, a reunion to something, someplace, she had never even known.
A kaleidoscope of green, amber and grey flecks danced through her irises as she was unwillingly thrown into a different conscious— one that without a doubt did not belong to her.
"I worry for you, Miluiwen. It can not be easy holding the very essence of time itself in your hands."
"That is only it, meldonya. I shan't take it for granted, for any gift given is not one without reason." Her friend did not see. How could he not see?
"You are not wrong. Though that does not mean you should do as you please without worry."
"I've seen it, Elrond, there is a world beyond ours that beckons me. Worry," she laughed. "is the last of my worries." The elleth did not lie. Any and all evidence of the emotion was a far off cry in the distance, so far away she deemed it non-existent.
"But there is a world that needs you, here. Do you think it wise to chase the danger of the unknown? To go against the wishes of Thranduil, all the while as you bear his babe? I advise you to reconsider this, my friend, if not for my wellbeing, than for at the very least your own."
The Lord cast a solemn glance out over the river, grey eyes trained on the rippling waves over the jutted rocks. Miluiwen, he frowned, always so stubborn.
The wind tugged at the chocolate blonde locks of the elleth who could not, as Elrond feared, see the danger in her untameable curiosity. The world was not as kind as the she hoped it to be. How could she not know better than anyone, having lost her father and mother to the dooms of this darkening world? Some things, Elrond would never understand.
"Thranduil does not know of which he speaks. He has not seen it, nor have you. I can not blame the blind eye for turning away in the face of wonder. I am here, now . . . Safe. . . If that were to ever change, I like to think that Thranduil, life in whole, would continue on without me."
Intensity crackled through the cool evening air— and in the eyes of Lord Elrond, who looked to the blonde with desperation.
"Can you be so sure, Miluiwen?"
"Elrond— you're Elrond." She rose a shaky hand, pointing at the lord, eyes glimmering with uncertainty.
Who's memories had she just seen— and how? Something about those vivid memories left her feeling a sense of nostalgia.
"And you are Asphodel." Lord Elrond smiled, like it was nothing, like she hadn't just said his name and he hadn't just said her's.
"How the hell do all of you people know my name?"
"I could ask you the same, mellon nîn."
"Is this supposed to be heaven . . . ?"
"This," Lord Elrond smiled, casting a glance at the scenery around them as pride flashed through his wise grey eyes. "is Imladris."
"Which is where?"
"Arda."
"Yeah, doesn't ring a bell." She laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
Why am I laughing? I shouldn't be laughing, I'm dead.
"Ring a bell?" Elrond repeated the question slowly, shooting her the most adorable look of confusion.
Her immediate reaction is to laugh, because it's silly, it's a simple expression that everyone knows— except this guy couldn't have understood what she was trying to say. This guy is from the afterlife, or wherever she had been to sent to after that accident. Asphodel organized her words carefully, in able for Elrond to understand. "I don't recognize the name— is what I mean."
He stiffened, his heart sinking in his chest as he fought the urge to frown. Had Miluiwen failed to mention the very place she had married her husband? Elrond regains composure, turning to face Asphodel. "Very well, you have much to learn, child."
"I presume you to be hungry, no? Travelling such distances has a tendency to to drain one's energy."
"I could go for a coffee."She shrugged, silver hair spilling over her shoulders as she stood up next to the bed.
Elrond's inquisitive eyes followed her every move. He was rather unsure of whether or not she would be able to succeed in the action. Many a time had he seen elves, freshly freed of the grip trauma, attempt to hold their own. The action was pride driven, despite the fact that he knew she was in pain. No sane elf would ever want to admit to defeat.
As per usual, his concerns were validated the moment Asphodel felt her trembling legs give out beneath her. A loud groan rang through the room, the elleth now splayed out across the cold stone floor.
Would it have been so hard to ask for help? God, why didn't I just ask for help?
That's it! She'd completely embarrassed herself in front of the most graceful man she'd ever met, a feat only a girl such as herself could manage to accomplish. Making it, like, what? The third time that day she'd fallen on her face? It was kind of maybe not as bad as she had made it out to be though, considering Elrond had rushed to her side and helped her onto her feet the moment it happened, not laughing or teasing Asphodel for her weaknesses. Seriously though— she noted to swallow her pride in future circumstances as an effort to never have it happen again. Cold were his hands asElrond had offered her the same kind smile, looping her arm through his.
"Thank you." Asphodel murmured lowly, though Elrond could hear her words clear as day. The blonde was an avid 'mumbler', as her mother would have put it, and the circumstances did not call for Elrond to hear her words. Maybe it's those pointy ears of his, she reasoned. She had hardly ever been able to hear the words of others without having to ask for them to repeat themselves. In the moment, however; his clean crisp voice was clearer than ever. Noises were everywhere, filling her ears. She was picking up on everything.
He tilted his head down to meet her eye. "You need not thank me."
The beautiful man, whatever he was ( and Asphodel was scarily unsure at this point), guided her down a small flight of steps leading out of the bedroom.
The same song as earlier floated through the early evening air, veiling over the chatter of the many birds in (Imladris? Was what Elrond had called it?) Something like that. . . The dwelling had been built into a diving valley, with waterfalls sheltering all signs of life from every edge. The sight overthrew every wonder of the world in which she had came, and it leaves her heart feeling just a bit lighter than before.
Why hadn't this, this, been in any of those lists titled Great Geographical Landmarks, she wondered? The question sat at the back of her throat, begging to be asked, begging to be answered as her virgin irises took it in. The energy of the earth, of the trees and the flowers and the sky above, called to her soul. It was like a cellphone, ringing through her heart, saying pick up, pick up!
"Where am I, Elrond?" she asked.
"We reside in the valley of the elves— as I see you do not hold ties to it's true name."
Her hazy green eyes narrowed. Had she heard him correctly?
Valley of the elves.
Ah— that would explain the pointy ears.
Since when had elves become a thing when you die? They had only ever been the telling of her mothers inanimate fairy tails. But than again— so were many other things on the never ending list of stories that Asphodel didn't really feel like listing off. She also supposed no one had ever been around to tell of what happened when you died. It's not like they could tell people that they were going to be bombarded by flawless beings and singing birds.
Asphodel shot him the most I have no fucking idea what you're talking about look she could muster, attempting to make it clear that his words weren't making any sense.
"You do not know who you are." Elrond said suddenly. He tilted his head to the side, shifting his body to face hers.
The disappointment that flashed through his wise grey eyes told Asphodel everything she needed to know. There was something he knew that she did not. The two stood staring at each other, for she didn't even need to give an answer verbally. Elrond knew, of course Elrond knew. It seemed he had an inordinate wealth of information locked up behind that beautiful face.
She had not the need to ask 'who' he was referring to, or why. There was someone else who she was meant to be— or someone else that was meant to be her— whichever way around it was. Her heart slammed against her ribs as the realization hit.
Who was she? Who was Asphodel Dupont, and who had Elrond expected her to be?
But she didn't ask; because she wasn't sure if she wanted to know.
The sun had fallen and rose again, basking a glimmering blanket of light over the bed she had been tossing and turning in throughout the night. Asphodel didn't have to look in the mirror to know she had dark circles looming beneath her unmistakably green orbs. Besides, it wasn't as if there was a mirror in the room anyway. There was a bed, a few pieces of furniture, and nature— because don't you forget, the room was literally open to the elements! She wasn't sure if she loved it or hated it.
Her memory rewinds, to a time where she woke up in the morning and made herself a coffee before having a shower then going to the ballet. Every. Single. Day. It felt so weird, not having matters to attend to. Except she did have matters to attend to, she just simply couldn't. Her windowsill flower garden would wilt, Elouise would throw a fit when she didn't show her face at rehearsals, and pumpkin, her adorable orange tabby cat, would be sent to live with her Aunt Marie who would most certainly feed him way too much cat food. She can't think of a time when she had been more eager to do . . . things . . . any 'thing', than she did now, staring up at the ceiling from the suspiciously comfy bed that had been so generously offered to her.
Elrond would be here soon. It meant she'd have to struggle into the dress, you heard right, the dress that an elleth with chocolate coloured curls had given to her on the evening prior. An array of conflicted opinions bounced around inside her skull, some telling her It's just a dress Asphodel, put it on! and others shouting at her No! You'll look ridiculous!
Truth be told, the dress was pretty enough for her not to hate the way she looked in it— despite the underlying similarities she had to a snobby 12th century noblewoman. Asphodel bit her chapped lip, glancing down at the deep sapphire hue of the garment as she pinched the skin beneath the dramatically long sleeves. Yep, still not a dream. She sat down on the bed, watching the comings and goings of fluffy white clouds drifting through the sky over the valley. Serenity was the word for it, the only word for it. Than again it conflicted her; conflicted over the absence of conflict from within. She should have felt more disarmed. She should've wanted to cry. Instead, she toyed gingerly with the small emerald gem looped through her silver necklace, thinking of her mother and how much she would have adored this place.
Okay, now she felt like crying.
The thought of her mother alive had the tendency to do that to the girl. Especially when it came to these type of things, because it wasn't just the thought of her as a whole, it was nothing in particular. The pain lay in seeing pieces of her mother in everyday objects, everyday moments, that snuck up on her when she least expected it.
"My lady?"
Her silver head of hair whipped to face the owner of the voice.
"Please, call me Asphodel." She offered the elleth the barest of smiles, tucking a piece of tangled hair behind her ear.
"I have been sent to show you our city by the request of my Lord."
"You mean Elrond, right?" she asked.
Small and intricately braided locks of hair — that Asphodel couldn't quite decide if they were dark blonde or light brunette — fell across her shoulder as she nodded.
"What's your name?"
"I am Ilyra, my lady."
Pretty, she thought, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. An overwhelming wave of insecurity washed over her, seeping in the longer she kept her eyes on Ilyra. Asphodel looked down at her dress, feeling kinda out of place— not that it wasn't a nice dress, it was really nice, but it really didn't belong on her body. You can put a fancy dress on anyone, it doesn't mean shit if they can't pull it off. Ilyra's silky waves were straight out of a hair shampoo commercial, her pale face was runway ready without the slightest hint of makeup present, she was stunningly perfect, something Asphodel felt she could never amount to.
Though as the blonde had observed, it was kind of a thing around here to be so casually flawless. First Elladan, then Elrond, now Ilyra.
She knew she shouldn't have been comparing herself to the elleth, she really did. There was just that awful voice screaming at her from the depths of her mind, telling her she wasn't good enough, (particularly due to the years of criticism she had endured throughout her time in the ballet industry— though she supposed it didn't matter now).
"Would you mind, maybe," Asphodel was hesitant, pulling at her cold fingers awkwardly. "helping me out with this rat's nest on my head?"
"But of course." Ilyra said, flashing her a wide grin. "We will need to be quick."
She lead Asphodel out of the chamber, down a long winding path lined with trees of green and pale blue daisies. She walked fast, almost too fast. The smaller elleth could hardly keep up with her long legs.
They were equally silent. They were separately becoming lost in their own thoughts, and separately conjuring their own assumptions of the other, was the real truth.
Asphodel looked over to Ilyra, taking her eyes off of the scenery around her for only a small second to find the elleth staring at her with tightly stitched brows. Her navy eyes blinked rapidly as if to focus and zone in on her face, before she quickly looked away. Ilyra was unable to hide the rosy tint that had crept across her cheeks.
"What?" Asphodel couldn't contain her amusement. "Do I have something on my face?"
"No, you do not, I assure you. My apologies. It— it is just, you are so enthralled by the simplest of things, Asphodel. It is refreshing."
Her words were strange to hear. She didn't see herself as anything short of ordinary, let alone refreshing. It made her immediately regret even asking why Ilyra had been staring to begin with. It's like every question she has (and there's so so many) she is entirely unprepared for its answer.
Asphodel took a prolonged sigh, casting a glance up at the tree branches mingling above. "I mean, how could you not be enthralled? This place is magical, out of a movie or something."
"A movie?" Ilyra asked, slowing in her steps
"Ever heard of cell service?"
"I can not say that I have." Her laughter is soft and pillowing as they reach their destination.
She's beginning to think she preferred it this way over before, when anyone could contact her whenever or wherever they wished to do so. Many could argue, but the way Asphodel saw it, technology took the humanity out of being human. Sometimes she wished it was the old days again, when people wrote heartfelt letters to each other and actually had to get out of bed or walk down the street if they wanted to speak with someone. Sometimes she wished people just cared more.
Asphodel grinned with a shake of her head. "Then forget it."
Yeah, she definitely liked it better this way.
Twenty five and a half minutes later and Asphodel's hair was twirled into two half up braids meeting at the back of her head, keeping the unnecessary hair out of way of her face, though still freeing her silver strands beneath. Her eyes still widened each time she caught a glimpse of her own hair. It had been brown only week ago, and things like that just weren't possible. Still, there she was in the mirror, with silver hair and skin devoid of scars, scars that she should very well have, considering she had been in a car accident, and— holy shit, pointy ears!
"Oh my god!" Asphodel screeched, jumping to her feet and wandering closer to the mirror. No way did she have pointy ears! The unlikeliness was unfathomable.
It was true though, was what the Asphodel realized as she got closer. Her eyes had not played a trick on her. There they were: her ears, modified a different shape than they'd always been. How the hell had she not noticed it sooner? Instinctively, she brought her hand to her left ear, staring back at her reflection as she touched its pointy tip.
It can't be true.
"Do not do that!" Ilyra was at her side in an instant to pull her hand away.
"Why?" Asphodel frowned, lacklustre.
She has pointy ears! Pointy fucking ears!
"Elven ears are sensitive, Asphodel." Ilyra scolded, releasing her grip on the blonde's arm. "Do you know nothing?" She asked the blonde, her jaw literally slacked in disbelief.
Well I don't know much, Asphodel's brows furrowed, her emerald eyes dulling down to a washed out green as the finality of Ilyra's words hit her.
The other elleth soon realized the severity of her comment, slapping a hand over her mouth. "Forgive me, my lady, I am sorry. I say such things with no further insight in mind."
"It's okay." Asphodel murmured, suddenly feeling very aware of the fact that she was walking around this place, talking to these people, going on with her life as if she knew what was going on.
It wasn't ok.
She had to talk to Elrond— now.