Out of complete silence, a woman's cry arose. And out of complete reverence, the things of the world stilled to listen. The wind stopped blowing. The birds stopped singing. Even the trees stopped creaking to listen. Like a budding flower, it started, slow and gentle, but it rose to a wail that tore at Ffion's heart. Tens of thousands of voices mingled together, crying out in total sorrow alongside the woman. To the ends of the world, the cry travelled, or so it seemed, as even in the familiar darkness that pressed in on Ffion, she could hear it. If there had been land and sea, forests and valleys in this blackness, the cry would have travelled through them. To the ends of the world, the cry would have gone, and into the darkness of passing it would too.

Every ear in the universe and the worlds beyond stilled to listen. Every heart broke. So heavy, so miserable was their song. When it hit Ffion's ears, a weight of sorrow pressed her further into the darkness that was claiming her. Her mind clouded with pain, her heart grew cold and numb, and while there was heat somewhere in this darkness, Ffion felt as cold as ice. She felt clogged with pain, anger, hurt and fear. All she could do was join the cry. So she let out a long and mournful yell to the darkness around her. In her heart of hearts, Ffion longed for the cry to reach the woman, anyone at all, even the God she didn't believe in.

And it did. As the cry echoed in the darkness that surrounded Ffion, she felt herself moving. She didn't know whether she was standing anymore, or lying down, for all she could feel was the sudden lightness of her body. She was being pulled someplace. Even with the absence of wind or air or any sort of friction, Ffion knew she was heading somewhere. For the more she felt light, the more the darkness began to brighten. It turned into deep indigos that faded into pinks, purples and blues. Sparkling orbs of light zoomed past Ffion as she was pulled through bright and colourful clouds of twinkling dust. She could feel the energy radiating off of them, and while it was intense, Ffion's body embraced it as if she'd been meant to absorb the power of these stars. She could feel the pulse of energy going through her veins every time she floated through a dust cloud or near flaming stars. Ffion had never felt so warm. So safe. Far away did the devastating cries seem to her now. Nearly forgotten, but not quite, as the cries of thousands and thousands of beings soon came back to her. But this time, they mingled together like a choir, sounding so desperately beautiful to Ffion's ears.

And then the choir-like cries that were so loud in her ears began to die down to barely a whisper. As it began to dim, so did the brightness of the stars, until they were distant like the stars one saw in the night sky. Then, for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime, Ffion felt a solid object underneath her feet. Looking down, she saw a floor made of solid black that glimmered like polished stone. She slowly returned her gaze upwards, and as her eyes wandered over her surroundings, things began to take shape and form. There were pillars as high as the tallest buildings, made of the finest black stone. There were no walls that Ffion could see, but there were openings that resembled windows, and they looked out into what seemed like millions of twinkling stars. When Ffion took a step forward, the dark floors seemed to form as she went. Curious, Ffion walked for a long time, relishing the sensation of solid floors beneath her. Still, she couldn't feel her arms, nor her hair or even hear her own breathing. There was nothing but her feet and the floor, and they carried her to a place that had walls. They too were made of black stone, and they were adorned with carvings so intricate that Ffion could never have imagined them. There were sculptures made of the finest metals and instruments on display that the girl couldn't even begin to guess as to their use.

A quiet whisper roused Ffion from her aimless wandering, and with sudden-found purpose, she began to walk again. She followed the whisper as it grew louder and louder until she came to the widest hall she'd seen yet. It was empty and quiet, the sounds of her footsteps too little to be given a chance to be heard. At the end of the hall stood a great big throne made of the same stone Ffion was walking on. And while no one sat in it and no one but herself could be seen or heard, Ffion felt the need to kneel before the deserted throne.

"You are familiar."

The voice was loud, solemn and terrible, and it spoke in a language that Ffion did not know. However, the girl understood every word, and in response to the voice's declaration, she lifted her head up to the throne. There sat a figure clothed in darkness, face veiled by shadow and the hood that he donned.

"I never forget a face," he continued. "And while yours is a face I have not seen for many a time, it is a face that I still know."
"I've been here before?" Ffion asked.

The hooded figure leaned forward in the slightest.

"You speak the Common Tongue."

It was more of a question than a statement, and it confused Ffion.

"Of course, I do," she said quietly. "Everyone speaks English in Wales."

The figure leaned back again. While she could not see his face, Ffion couldn't help but feel that he too was just as confused as she was. He said nothing for a while, simply staring, and when someone else entered the great hall, he turned to look. Ffion could have sworn she saw the faint glimmer of his eyes in the low light.

"Is this your doing, Nienna?" the figure spoke.

Out from the shadow came a fair woman, with hair as pale as silver and skin just as flawless. As she walked, the grey cloak she donned fluttered around her ankles, but no sound came from her footsteps.

"I am afraid that it is, Námo," the woman spoke in the same tongue.

Unlike Námo, Nienna's voice was soft and sad. She stood next to Námo's throne and gazed at Ffion, who couldn't help but stare back.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know either of you," Ffion said. "How is it that you know who I am?"

Nienna looked down sadly and calmly approached Ffion. She gently brought the girl to a stand, lifting her by the elbows. Ffion was nowhere near as tall as Nienna, and she wondered how she could be this short compared to another woman, as she was already taller than most girls in her classes. Nienna brushed Ffion's hair back, and she was surprised to find that her ears felt longer than they usually were. When Nienna's hand fell back to her side, Ffion rose hers to her ears and felt their pointed tips.

Suddenly, as confusion was beginning to set itself deep within her bones, Ffion's mind came alight with familiar visions of fire and destruction. She could hear the explosions, the screams and the shattering of glass. She could feel her skin bubbling, the heat burning her lungs, and the pain shooting through her legs. She could see walls crumbling to dust, men and women falling to their deaths, a giant creature made purely of shadow and flame.

The thoughts accelerated inside her head, and Ffion wanted nothing more than for them to stop. She couldn't breathe, but the images wouldn't stop flooding her mind. All of a sudden, she felt like a terrified child, incapable of settling the emotions bubbling to the surface. Eventually, she could hear herself breathing, but her breaths came in gasps, and she felt as if she would return to the darkness from whence she came. The beating of her own heart became loud in her ears again, but it was hammering inside her chest as if it belonged to a hare running for its own skin. The room began to spin, and Ffion sat down, attempting to make everything slow down to something her brain could cope with. Never in her life had she seen something so horrific. No wonder these were the things she saw during her night terrors. Ffion felt sick to her stomach.

"Now you remember," Nienna said calmly.
"Remember?" Ffion said between breaths. "This is just a dream—a nightmare I have all the time."
"Dreams are but a window into the soul, a gateway into the deepest and darkest corners of ourselves."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"This dream of yours is a memory," Námo said plainly.

Ffion couldn't help but let out a dry and humourless laugh.

"Then what's this? Is this a memory too, or am I dreaming?" she said, somewhat annoyed. "I don't know either of you, I don't know what this place is."
"This is death."

Words left Ffion. She couldn't even laugh this time, either. Námo had said this with such a stern and dispassionate tone that it made it hard for her to think it was just a sick joke. Even upon looking at Nienna, Ffion could tell that Námo's comment was meant to be serious. The woman's sorrowful face had seemed to sadden even more.

"You're lying."

This comment did not please Námo at all. Thundering clouds appeared above him inside the hall, and the winds picked up so harshly that Ffion was nearly knocked over. It was Nienna who calmed him, and once again stepped forward to explain.

"Can you recall any memories of your lifetime?"

Ffion didn't have to think hard. She could easily picture her mother, her father. She could remember Dafydd and the stupid rumbling of his old rabbit. Ffion remembered the feeling of forging rings, the sensation of cold showers, the broken bones she'd sustained after a few of her night terrors.

"We are the ones responsible for this life that you've led."
"What, so you're God?" Ffion said sarcastically. She stood back up at stared between Nienna and Námo. "You're out of luck. I don't believe in God."
"We are not the Gods that your world speaks of," Nienna said. "We are of the Ainur, beings that helped shape the world that you once lived in."

Ffion narrowed her eyes at Nienna.

"You seem uncertain."
"'Course I am," Ffion said shortly. "I've never once believed in gods, nor have I ever heard of a God claiming to be part of a race. Aren't gods just supposed to be gods? Apart from that, you're expecting me to believe that I'm dead. I don't know how you expect anyone to take well to that."

The ghost of a smile reached Nienna's mouth, and Námo reclined in his throne. Both of them seemed entertained, or at least somewhat amused by Ffion's behaviour. She thought it was typical of gods to laugh at mortals, but was nonetheless irked.

"The nightmares, as you claim them to be, are memories of a life that was taken from you far too early," Nienna said. "They are a lingering residue of something that Námo did many an age ago."

Ffion's brow frowned again.

"I'm twenty-one years old," she said flatly. "You know that, right?"

Námo turned to Nienna. And though Ffion couldn't see his face, she could tell that he had not expected her to be so young. This was, of course, strange to Ffion, who could not understand why these... people, thought that she should have been ages old.

Nienna turned to Námo, and they whispered things to each other that Fion wished she could hear. But from this distance, and limited by the strange physics of this place, all she could hear was the sound of her breathing.

"You've returned to us far younger than we had anticipated," Námo said sternly. "I had hoped that you'd live a far more accomplished life than you previously had."

Námo stood from his throne and pulled down his hood. He was a fair man with delicate features, but they were stern and cold, and his eyes and hair were as dark as the stone beneath his feet. With a barely discernable nod, he asked for Ffion to follow him. She did so without question, as it seemed the appropriate thing to do, and she followed Námo and Nienna until they reached a window far greater than those in the hall. Outside Ffion could see a land of unimaginable beauty, filled with green fields and oceans of the most vibrant blues.

"Quite a few of your people live on these shores."
"My people? You mean humans?"
"No. Man has never stepped foot on these shores. I am speaking, of course, of the Eldar."
"Eldar?"

Námo sighed.

"In the Common Tongue, one would call them Elves."
"You can't be serious," Ffion muttered under her breath.
"When the Eldar awoke after their creation, some of them travelled to these shores. Others chose to remain in the place where they awoke. We call this Arda, or Middle-Earth if you will," Námo explained. "Your branch of the Eldar chose to remain Arda, and they built great cities, created many beautiful jewels and crafted many splendid weapons. The city you were born in was named Gondolin."

Ffion looked up at Námo. There wasn't a hint of malice behind his words, and his eyes showed no lies. It wasn't reassuring, however. If anything, it was disconcerting. As somehow, deep inside her, Ffion seemed to know what he was talking about, and it terrified her.

"The memory you have retained is the memory of Gondolin on the day of its destruction."

The screams echoed in Ffion's mind again.

"You were barely a single year old when the city fell," Nienna continued sadly. "When the Eldar die, their spirit passes into these halls, and it lingers here until they are ready or worthy to return to physical form. For you, it was different. A soul does not age in these halls, and you hadn't lived long enough to be worthy to return to Arda."

Nienna smiled wistfully. She took a step forward and placed a gentle hand on Ffion's shoulder.

"After quite a bit of convincing, Námo ensured that your soul would be given another chance to live. When the time came, and you would die naturally, you would return to these halls, fulfilled, and return to Arda to continue your life as it should have."
"But it did not work as we had hoped," Námo said flatly. "You are far younger than we had hoped, still an Eldarian child."

Ffion couldn't quite believe her ears, and her mind was caught somewhere between the urge to cry and the urge to laugh. Her mind was reeling, unable to comprehend or process any of the words that had been spoken. She looked away and back outside, to the green fields and pure white buildings that somehow felt so familiar. And the more she looked at them, the more they were. There was nothing logical about this, nothing to ground her, no proof that whatever Námo and Nienna were saying was the truth. Looking back into their eyes, Ffion couldn't help but want to believe them. But then, what was to be said about her parents?

"Then... my name. It isn't Ffion, is it?" the girl muttered. "And the parents that I've lived with for the past twenty-one years—the ones that fed me, clothed me, loved me and took care of me—they were all just some game for passing the time, is that it?"
"It is unfortunate that you remember them," Námo said bluntly. "Your spirit was meant to return only with the experience of your body."
"So, send me back."

Námo and Nienna both stared at her.

"We cannot do that," Nienna said.
"Well, why not!?" Ffion shouted. "You sent me there, you can send me back!"
"The world from which you came follows the same life and death laws as the Men of Arda. We cannot send you back, for there is nothing to return you to. You cannot be re-embodied there."
"So, you're just going to let my soul rot in these halls for all eternity!?"
"As you do not have the experience, the honour, nor spent time reflecting—"
"You underestimate me, Námo!" Ffion shouted. "I have spent my entire twenty-one years of life being plagued by nightmares that you gave me. I spent most of my nights in reflection, trying to think about what they mean, and why it is that I am forced to relive them nearly every single night. I have spent more than half of my life going to school, learning about the ways of the world and acquiring knowledge beyond most people my age. I pushed everything that I've ever wanted in my life so that I could help my family—my father. I went to get higher education to be able to help expand his business, help him do what he's always dreamed of doing. I have sacrificed friendships, my dreams and my desires for the sake of my family, and I would do it again in a heartbeat.
"So, don't you tell me, Námo of the Ainur, that I lack life experience. That I have not spent enough of my life in quiet contemplation. Because it is all that I've ever done. And even now, standing right here in who-knows-where while I am supposedly dead, I have more honour and respect for my life and my family than you have in your entire body."

Námo was quiet. He stared at the gleam in Ffion's blue eyes and the stern expression on her face. Her entire body was shaking with fury. And while he'd usually banish one's soul for speaking to him in such a tone, Námo was moderately impressed with the nerve and determination that shone in the girl's eyes.

"On any other occasion, I'd send your soul to rot in my halls for all eternity," Námo said finally. "It is not wise to offend one of the Ainur."

Ffion didn't budge. She stared straight up into Námo's dark eyes.

"But as it was our wrongdoings that have brought you to this, I will let it slide."

Námo and Nienna shared a look.

"As promised to you many an age ago, we will return you to Arda as you are now, so that you may live your life as it was originally intended," Nienna said. "We welcome you back to Arda, Ir-"
"Stop," Ffion interrupted her. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know anything."

Nienna and Námo frowned.

"I don't want to remember my life."
"You are aware that we cannot let you return to Middle-Earth with your memories of the other world intact."
"I figured," Ffion said shortly. "But since you're robbing me of my identity, I request permission to forge myself a new one. I don't want to be bound by a life I lived for only a year."

Námo and Nienna said nothing for a while until Námo took a few steps forward. He placed a gentle hand on Ffion's head, and in a warm rush of air, everything faded to white.