DISCLAIMER: I obviously do not own any of Tolkien's ideas or characters aside from Asphodel and the subplot I've created.

So I had kind of planned on abandoning this story, only because I'm super insecure about my writing . . . but a lot of you have been telling me to continue, which is what I'm doing!! All I can say is thank you and that I hope you enjoy!

"Either we are running 'from' what we fear, or running 'to' what we fear. The former is a choice driven by fear, the latter is an action inspired by it." — Craig D. Lounsbrough

--

BODIES.

So many bodies.

They littered the snow, staining the ground beneath her feet a dark crimson. She stepped over them as she walked, eyes set on the only elf to remain.

Gleaming gold metal adorned his body, aiming to protect him from the many foes at hand— although it seemed his armour would offer no aid when it came to the large black outline of a winged figure, travelling closer and closer toward him through the smoky black sky. A flaming fire roared around him, circling in as it became clearer and clearer he had no way out.

Others fled, they ran for their lives through the horror, going every which direction that didn't possess a wall of fire to stop them.

The ellon stood tall, unable to accept his defeat.

The white city had fallen.

"

"My lady,"

"Asphodel."

"Asphodel," Ilyra corrected herself with a role of her eyes. "Lord Elrond will not take well to you bursting into the dining hall, I warn you beforehand."

"The dining hall you say? Where's that again?"

"Nice try."

"Ugh! Come on Ilyra, this is like, super urgent!"

"Can it not be done in a more peaceful manner?"

"I— I guess so." She stammered, balling her fists at her sides. "But still! Let's go."

"Are you always so stubborn?"

"Are you always so hesitant to help a girl out?"

"You do not want to see me angry, Asphodel. Do not mistake me for a fool. Adjust your tone before I leave and do not return."

Woah— the blonde gulped, reining in her sarcasm immediately. It had only been playful teasing, she had not intended to make Ilyra mad, or to stand there, eyes wide like saucers, staring foolishly out into the abyss of Rivendell unable to find the words to say what she wanted. She'd been given a harsh sip of reality — and needless to say, it was really fucking bitter. If one were to go back in time and talk to the tinier, buck toothed, shy as hell little girl that she'd been back in the day, perhaps her response would have been different, perhaps she would not have cared. Not now though, now she was a people pleaser, a product of the ballet, made to give the people what they want. Pleasing was what she did best — until now, here, where arguably just about everyone around her is perfect.

"Asphodel," Ilyra smiled, a hell of lot more calmly than she had before. It kinda made her feel better, just a little bit. Ilyra was that kind of person that could light up a room with their smile alone. "I only mean to tell you to calm down. I understand that you want to speak to Lord Elrond, I do."

"You're right."

She hated to admit it, but it needed to be said. Ilyra was an elf! Of fucking course she was right! It seemed to her that every single one of these godly beings were wise beyond their words.

This was her reality now, a reality she would have to learn to adjust to, regardless of the mile long list of questions bouncing around her mind as if they were basketballs or something. Basketballs . . . Asphodel hated basketballs. Generally due to that one time in third grade she'd been hit in the head with one of the dangerous orange spheres on the playground— and all due to that stupid little boy Jean Deveraux. Her head had hurt for weeks after that, her mother having to mix her up weird and disgusting flavoured teas that she had no choice in drinking or not. They worked though. Mother's teas had always done the job, like magic or something. And when Asphodel finally worked up the curiosity to ask what exactly was in those 'special teas', the only answer Mel had to offer was that it was an ancient recipe passed down to her over generations, and that someday Asphodel herself would learn, (whatever the hell that meant) but she's never been that interested in her mother's coherent mumble jumble anyways.

"So have you always lived here?" Asphodel asked as she ran her fingers over the braided silver locks she still to become accustomed to, and entirely by accident against her ear, before reluctantly flinching her hand away when a tingle shot through her arm. Those damn ears, she rolled her eyes.

"No," Ilyra shook her head, the ghost of a smile pulling at her lips. "I suppose it has only been a few hundred years."

Hundred? Did she mean to say hundred? Probably not, right? It would be stupid to ask— because of course it was a mistake.

But what if?

"I take it you like it here then?"

"I do, though never will there be a city worth more to me than the one I was born." She said, so casually it confused the younger elleth. How could someone be so complacent with losing their home? It was silent between the two as she watched a scattering of emotions flash through Ilyra's eyes, and a sadness Asphodel had never witnessed firsthand. Ilyra had been quick to snap back, momentarily winded as she flashed Asphodel a (happy . . . ?) smile.

That was the thing — the brunette was anything but. She could see it in Ilyra's eyes, the pain that never went away.

Asphodel's brows furrowed as a foul taste pooled in her mouth.

"And you? Are you enjoying your stay?" Ilyra asked suddenly, shattering the silence.

Kinda, is what she wanted to say. Because it was beautiful in the valley, it really was, beyond anything she'd ever imagined in daydreams — only . . . there was still something not right, deep down inside. It kept her awake at night, haunted Asphodel every chance it got — but no! That would be rude to say when these people had been so welcoming to her, and rude Asphodel was not. She knew what it was, without a doubt. It had happened so many times before it was almost silly now. Asphodel just couldn't let go.

"It's been incredible." She started off with, before leading into a small frown. "I guess you could say I've been feeling a little down though. I don't really know how I got here."

"What is last you remember? If you recall, that is. Perhaps I could be of assistance if you're having trouble?"

"I," her words ran away from her. "I think I died."

Sheer horror flashed across the elleth's fair face. Asphodel didn't understand how one second things could have been so calm and collected, and the next the mood had down dived to a startled panic. She cursed herself. What did I say? It was understandable for Ilyra to be shocked when Asphodel had literally just confessed to dying, though clearly alive and well. She thought of how the elleth had been on her case, preaching for her to remain calm when here Ilyra was acting as if the sky was falling from above them. (Secretly, Asphodel glanced up just to make sure it wasn't.)

Then, her stormy blue eyes had lost their composure, snapping to meet Asphodel's. The look on Ilyra's face made her stomach drop, made her heart race, made every bone in her body still. Something was most definitely wrong here.

The blonde waited, ever so patiently for Ilyra to say something, anything at all that would explain her strained behaviour. Yet nothing. Not a single word.

The taller of the elleths wrapped her fingers around the other's wrist and tugged gently, nodding her head toward the end of the path. Conflicted emerald eyes blinked once, twice, thrice, attempting to comprehend what was happening here. Ilyra turned, clasping a soft and warm hand over Asphodel's own. "I know an elf much more knowledgeable on such matters. We must tell him immediately."

They were the only words she had to say before she took off down the path, clearly expecting Asphodel to follow.

"Tell who?" The blonde called after her. "Ilyra, tell who?!"

She followed her; down the cobblestone path, through magnificently decorated hallway after hallway, past elves consumed by confusion as to why the elleths were walking with such speed, past paintings and sculptures and architecture that Asphodel would surely find the time to admire eventually— just not right now. Right now, she walked next to Ilyra with one goal in mind: to attain the answers she so desperately needed.

Ilyra stopped outside of a broad set of wooden doors with intricately carved designs running down each side. She glanced toward Asphodel with those wide blue eyes of hers. "You are sure?" she pushed. Her voice was desperate, a whisper.

"I don't see what you're trying to get at, Ilyra."

Again, she asked, "You are sure you died?"

Asphodel nodded, more confused than ever. "Well, not exactly this life, more like a different one that I'm not sure you would understand even if I tried to explain it—"

Ilyra did not care for whatever else she had to say, throwing open the grand doors to reveal a long rectangular table supporting multiple trays of vegetables and fruits, and the prying eyes of many elves turning their heads to greet the commotion.

The room was silent.

"Ilyra . . . " Asphodel hissed, shooting her new friend a stern glare.

Asphodel's voice had dwindled in Ilyra's ears. Her dark blue eyes singled out one ellon in particular amongst the company, who she solely directed her next words to. "She has been reborn, she has met death. This is not the work of Miluiwen, it is the work of the Valar!"

Not only embarrassed, but frightened green eyes skimmed over the group of elves as Ilyra began to ramble in that strange tongue she did not understand.The elves around the table began to murmur amongst themselves some letting out subtle gasps.

Meanwhile, Asphodel saw Elrond, she saw the elleth that had brought her the dress she was wearing now, who as of current was glancing frantically around the room in confusion. She saw Elladan and (was that another Elladan?) she saw head after head of dark hair, some chocolatey, some leaning toward a darker blackish colour.

Then, she saw gold.

"The Valar you say?"

His eyes were the colour of the sky on a sunny day, the kind of sky that you can't help yourself but to stare up at, drowning her in an ocean of sickeningly sweet blue. Beneath his silver robes he was tall and strong, though still somewhat lean — the body of a warrior. His long hair spilled over his broad shoulders, its strands gleaming against the shower of light pouring in through the open window and just about blinding her eyes. The beauty of the ellon was beyond any measure Asphodel could set, so she began to realize. There was no denying that the elf was perfect in every way she could think of, but above all was his aura, the otherworldly presence he held and commanded over the room. She was pretty sure the elf knew what he was doing as he swept a charming glance up from his glass of wine to stare directly into her eyes. Asphodel had been so wrong to assume Ilyra and Arwen were as beautiful as beauty could get — because now there was him, with lively eyes and a lopsided smile, and she was paralyzed; unable to move under his gaze. She looked away before she could embarrass herself further, a ghost of pink hue staining her cheeks.

Lord Elrond watched the interaction, cocking a brow before turning to his company with a smile. It was no strange occurrence. Lord Glorfindel tended to have that . . . affect, on the female specimen. "Excuse us, mellyn nin, for it seems we are needed elsewhere." Amusement laced through his tone.

Arwen reached out to clasp her father's robe as he passed. "Namárië, Ada." She said softly. Asphodel turned to Ilyra as the duo held a short conversation in the language she could not understand that everyone seemed to speak. Nevertheless, it sounded beautiful, even if she had not a clue what they said.

Just as she opened her mouth to ask Ilyra who the ellon in silver happened to be, because she was dying to know at this point, the brunette had floated over to Elrond's side. "Only if you may, my lord. I would not have interrupted had it not been important."

"It would not be the first time you interrupt a gathering to announce something of importance . . ." Asphodel threw a glance over her shoulder at the sound of the melodiously deep voice. He was laughing softly, having suddenly appeared behind her. Hmm . . . So it seemed Ilyra was well aquainted with the elf. Maybe they're together? She thought, brows raising. They would've made a good couple, she decided.

Ilyra rolled her eyes. "Says the almighty you," she scoffed, "who as I do recall announced the call of war at my very wedding — when may I add, war was not upon us then."

"Ilyra," he frowns. "I was under the impression I had been forgiven."

She shook her head before proceeding to scowl at him. "My wedding, Glorfindel!"

Lord Elrond's chilling gaze met Asphodel's, then flickered between the two arguing elves as they took their seats in his study. He then let out a prolonged sigh. "Spare us your bickering, please."

Immediately, the two became silent. It was obvious they were good friends, as they'd been teasing each other the entire walk down the hall. Asphodel felt out of place amongst them, a fish out of water. Each and every one of them were so graceful, and knowledgeable as well. The ballerinas she had known for most her life had only known how to scheme, she was hardly used to seeing the good intentions of others — perhaps that is why she was so hesitant to trust these people, when the only thing she'd ever known had been to trust no one.

Elrond lifts his head. "Now, what is it you speak, Ilyra?"

Ilyra stiffened, clasping her hands in her lap. "Oh, yes, what I've been meaning to tell you—"

"I died, okay?" Asphodel can't help but blurt out, because she wasn't about to sit there and listen to them talk about her life like it was theirs. "That's what she's trying to tell you. I don't see why it is of such importance that it had to be said in front of those people in there, and now again to you— but that's it, that's all, the whole story. I died." She finished, undoubtedly annoyed and out of breath. "And I don't want to talk about it anymore."

It seemed as if each of the three elves softened then and there, hearing — and seeing — the distress Asphodel was so clearly in.

"Let me apologize." Ilyra started off. "It was silly of me to say the words for all the dining hall to hear — though I assure you, you are able to trust that the elves who have heard will not relay it again."

She wasn't sure what to say. Asphodel had always been terribly stubborn, and although Ilyra's words were genuine sounding, she was still cautious as to who to trust and what to believe.

"Alright." The silver haired elleth told her.

"Alright?" Ilyra asked, confused as to why she hadn't said more.

The golden elf had remained quiet, observing the interaction with a carefully eye. Had he not known better he would have mistaken Asphodel for her mother; it was all he could think about. The resemblance was uncanny, though he could still see the elleth's father in her features as well, in the strikingly silver hair that flowed down to her waist, and in the sharp tongue that she'd proven to have. Glorfindel could not deny his interest. She had died, after all. If it was to be true, than it would mean she had been through the same he had, she was experiencing the same shock and confusion that he had, and that he needed to assist her in adjusting to this life in every way that he could. There was nothing worse than going through these things alone.

"What do you remember of it?" Elrond pressed, grasping Asphodel's attention once again.

She scratched at her palms, anxiety bubbling within her. Not a single part of the elleth wanted to relive the event, or even think of it at all. Nevertheless, she played dumb, attempting to avoid the topic at all costs. "Of what?"

"Of your death ."

"Oh, yes, that. I was in a car accident."

"And . . . you don't know what a car is."

"Let's just say it was an accident, a really bad accident. I was going home when it happened, and I hit my head, and the next thing I knew I was in that field of yellow flowers, and was it Elladan? Yeah, Elladan. Elladan was there, and then I was here, and then there was you, and Ilyra, and now I'm rambling . . . "

"Where is home?"

"Paris."

"Home, is not Arda?"

"Now you're speaking my language."

"And of your family, Asphodel? Did they reside in this Paris as well?"

"My mother did." A brick in the form of memory smashed through her chest. She wasn't sure if she could take it. "But that was before — before she died."

"Dead . . . ?" Asphodel could hear Ilyra choke out, her voice shaky.

Asphodel's head of sliver hair whipped from direction to direction. "I don't understand. Can someone just tell me what's going on?"

"How do we know it is her, Elrond? How are we sure? She could be lying! She's lying! It can not be!" Ilyra cried, her melancholy echoing through the study. Asphodel could only feel guilt. One second ago Ilyra had been fine, and then she had to go opening her mouth and ruining all that is good.

Elrond was calm in spite of the abrupt revelation. His wise eyes met Asphodel's, suspense brewing, before they flickered fo the other elleth. "Ilyra, I advise you to choose your words carefully."

She bowed her head shamefully, refused to look the confused girl in the eye. "You are right. I shall see you tonight, Asphodel."

She had disappeared before anyone had the chance to protest of her leave.

Deciding to let it slide for the time being, Asphodel took a deep breath, letting the irritatingly chilly air fill her lungs and did her of hesitation. "You knew my mom." She said.

With a glance up at Glorfindel, it was clear to her he did not wish to speak on the topic; thus, Elrond clasped his hands together tightly, fighting the voice in his head that screamed in agony. It was incredibly difficult not to let his emotions take hold as shock shot through him. It was his duty to provide Asphodel with the information.

"Yes, she was a dear friend of many, including Ilyra; it is why she is acting out as such. I too, am gravely saddened by your revelation."

"Ho— how?"

"We are not the strangers here Asphodel, you are."

"You're telling me that my mom, Mel Dupont, knows all of you people, has been to this place, and has failed to mention any of it to me throughout the course of twenty three years?!"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person. My mother would never hide something like that from me."

"Your mother, was not who you have grown to think she was."

"She's my mother! Not yours! I think I know what I'm talking about."

"Asphodel." Glorfindel's smooth voice pierced the silence.

She ignored him. How could she not when such accusations were being made? "You can think what you want to think, I don't care. My mother is a Swedish immigrant, she's lived in France since I was a baby, since before I was born. You're not going to convince me."

"Your mother was cousin to my wife, born in Tirion upon Túna, and in Greenwood the Great did she reside."

"All of these stupid made up names are giving me a headache, I'm telling you, you're mistaken."

Something in Elrond's eyes told Asphodel he wasn't going to listen to her anytime soon. A poisonous pit of sadness and confusion had begun to boil in her stomach. All of this talking had put her in a worse mood than prior; she could have snapped at any moment. Who did these people even think they were? Speaking for her mother?

"You do not know your father, correct?"

"Stop." The girl hissed angrily, her

"He is here, in Arda."

Asphodel flinched. "Stop it." It didn't take a genius to tell she was at her cliff's edge, ready to scream at the Lord if he pressed any further. Her nails seeped into her own flesh, drawing crimson liquid from pale skin.

"Elrond," The blonde ellon cleared his throat, shooting Elrond a steely blue glance, "I think that is enough for today."

"She does not see, Glorfindel."

"And bombarding her with a family history will solve this issue?"

"She, is right here!"

A warm hand slid over her shoulder, fuelling the overflowing conflict of emotions in her mind at the sudden touch. "I shall show you the way to your room, Asphodel."

She stood up, happy to be orvet with the torturous meeting and to (hopefully) be given some well desired time to think.

"Asphodel?" Elrond's voice came out quieter than it had usually. She turned to face him briefly, a frown pulling at her lips. "I may have been harsh, but only with good intent — contrary to popular belief." He shot a glance at Glorfindel. "The sooner your accept it, the better. You can not run, not from this. "

"I'll keep that in mind." Or she would try to . . .

"Will you?" Glorfindel asked after she'd shut the door behind them.

Asphodel turned around to face him. She hadn't really been able to get a good look at him until now. Perhaps that had been a good thing, because she truly felt as if she was about to faint.

"Will you run?"

His eyes were the bluest blue she'd ever seen, holding hers with a deep intensity. He had hardly intended to look so tantalizingly beautiful, at least she assumed. Asphodel got the feeling it came natural to him, like first nature or something like that. You know when you can just tell that someone is effortless in their actions? Glorfindel didn't even have to try to make it seem so. He looked straight out of an Armani advertisement, like his face belonged on the cover of Vogue magazine, not here in this hallway, staring down at her with that dangerously attractive grin. )And god, was he so much taller than her!) Standing at a grand height of 5'10, Asphodel had never really considered herself short before now. The ellon next to her had to have been at least 6'7, if not taller. (She didn't exactly have a tape measure to figure out his exact measurements— because that would be creepy.) Though above all was his hair, she observed, possibly the most jaw dropping part about him. His locks were the colour of sunlight on a winter's morning: smooth, shiny, and not a single strand of frizz in sight.

Asphodel concluded she would kill for hair like that, letting out a soft sigh and ripping her eyes away from the ellon. If she dared to look any longer, she feared she would never stop.

"Maybe," She ran a hand through her newly minted silver hair with a shrug, finally answering his question. "maybe not." Her answer was honest.

He smirked.

He totally saw you staring. Damnit, Asphodel. You need to learn how to be more subtle.

"I take it you do not like being told what to do."

"How did you know?" She laughed quietly.

"Well you see . . . It is not everyday an elleth yells at Lord Elrond in his own study. I will admit, it is amusing to see a dear friend rendered helpless at the hands of yourself."

Immediately, she snapped her eyes to meet his in defense. "What's that supposed to mean?" Asphodel scoffed, crossing her arms and giving the ellon a pointed glare.

Her glare doesn't seem to affect him in the least; he only shakes his head, expression stoic. "You are extraordinary." Was Glorfindel's gracious reply.

Asphodel felt her breath hitch in the back of her throat. The look he gave her was, was something else . . . She could not put it into words if asked to. She knew she needed to put a stop to these childish thoughts— though how could she help herself? The elf was the prettiest thing she'd ever seen. He literally glowed, an iridescent light radiated his body. Now that, was what she considered extraordinary.

"Please," She laughed, tucking her head down to her chest in a measly effort to conceal the dust of rose that had tinted her pale cheeks so suddenly. Dial down the charm, Goldilocks, she was tempted to tell him. "I'm anything but. All I did was die, Glorfindel."

"I am not sure you understand, Asphodel." He murmured, gazing out upon the sun blanketed valley as the two neared the end of the winding corridor and began down the same stone path she had first came. Asphodel's brows furrowed, Glorfindel turning to cast a glance down at her from above. "It is a miracle you have returned to us alive. What Miluiwen did . . . We did not think either of you had survived. Do not underestimate your worth, titta minë."

"You knew her too then?"

"Yes, very well, ages ago.." Glorfindel said little, his deep voice low and reminiscent.. She stole a glance over, expecting him to be frowning, though she is met with the opposite; a joyful grin. "You are," He paused, letting a small smile play his lips. "just like her."

"I know." Asphodel rolled her eyes, before realizing how carelessly she had replied to the statement. "I mean— I just, I hear that a lot."

Glorfindel let out a small chuckle as his glimmering sapphire eyes met hers. "I am not surprised."

"It's just crazy, to be here, and to have all of these strangers telling me things about my mother that I'd never thought to be remotely possible." If she went further into it, she might have just broken down into tears — which was certainly not the impression she wanted to make on Glorfindel. Actually, she had no clue of what sort of impression she wanted to make on him, she was just overthinking as per usual. Asphodel sighed. "I don't know, I guess it just kind of makes me feel stupid."

"You shall come to realize it to be the opposite, I am sure."

They slowed as they neared the room she'd been assigned to stay in, though Asphodel had no idea how they'd gotten back. Imladris was truly a maze. A sinking feeling in her chest had the blonde tapping her foot against the ground continuously; she was anxious. All of this information, be it real or not, was far too overwhelming for her to handle in one measly afternoon. She needed time to think, a lot of it . . .

"Dying wasn't supposed to turn out this way, Glorfindel. I don't know what to do, I don't know anything. I don't even know what I don't know! You people speak a different language than I do."

"I know." His blue orbs pierced hers, sending a shiver down her spine without even asking for permission. She knew it wasn't cool that she was swooning over some old man that had been friends with her mom back in the day, totally not cool. It didn't matter though, she decided, a content smile on her lips.

Asphodel thought of all of the times in her past life she had limited herself to small pleasures, like ogling at men she knew were unattainable, or going ahead and eating the entire tub of ice cream, just because she could. She would make sure for it to be different this time around, she would stare at all of the beautiful people that she wanted and eat all of the food that she desired. She would be limitless .

Did he really know though? Asphodel turned her head to gaze upon the elf, who much to her surprise, had already been looking at her.

"Eventually." Glorfindel murmured.

"What?"

"You will learn how to live again."