Summary: What few memories Minastauriel can currently grasp all seem to point towards an impossible past. Minastauriel is very sure she is not from Númenor, but Elrond is far more open to the idea.
After the world crtl+alt+deletes most of her memories (thank you Lunathepurpledragon), Elrond and Minastauriel try to fill in the blanks.
On a related note, Minastauriel shares my terrible skill in sketching. I am a fair painter, but I am awful at drawing.

Notes: Glossary at the end
Please DO NOT add to any private collections

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Might you rebuild my ancient city

8th March 2931 – POV MInastauriel, mostly. The Healing Wards of Imladris

Minastauriel could not imagine a nicer person. Admittedly, her lack of extensive memories made that an easy claim. However, it wasn't as if she had forgotten how people generally interacted. Specifics and names were a challenge, but Lord Elrond turned out exactly as she had imagined – patient and kind, just like how he appeared in her distant memories. Indeed, the main differences between her memories and the Elrond in front of her were small differences in his appearance. His hairline, for instance, was further forward than expected, devoid of the thinning hair at the temples typical of aging mortal men. There was also a subtle glow about his face; despite the maturity and elegance he exuded with each breath, his countenance remained astonishingly beautiful, almost as if he were in his twenties or early thirties, until one looked into the striking grey of his eyes.

Another difference was how much more relaxed and inclined to smile he was in the present-day, whereas the several memories she had of him often showed him frowning or furrowing his brow.

And wasn't that interesting! For all her struggles to remember others, Elrond stood out in her recollection.

Perhaps it was his presence in several memories that gave her a biased opinion. To her fair-weather memory, she thought she had hoped to meet him one day, but never had any true belief in getting the chance... perhaps she was from very far away?

It felt like she was in an entire new world, so perhaps she was from a distant land. When Elrond had explained she was in his home, Imladris, he had led her to look out the window. She was not surprised by the cascading waterfalls; she had heard them as soon as she awoke. She was unprepared for the natural beauty of the valley and how the elven buildings were placed in perfect harmony with the land; side by side with the greenery and flow of water rather than replacing or impeding it. She could have gazed out the window in peaceful delight for hours without growing tired of it; and that was only what she could see from a single window. The Wards were – as expected for a place of healing in a home first built to be a stronghold – deep within the complex. Though the view was partially blocked by other near buildings, outside her window, Minastauriel could still see the tranquil scene of Imladris in early spring. A herb garden sprawled from beneath her window to a low stone fence. This garden was being tended to by several elves wearing pale grey and green robes, encouraging the small plants to burst back into life after the sleep of winter. Strong trees reached towards the clear sky, their branches of blossoms and budding leaves swaying gently in the breeze. She was pleased to recognise her favourite tree – magnolia – was included in attendance. The valley walls rose steeply around her, adorned with lush foliage already, and dotted with the occasional waterfall, their soothing sounds blending seamlessly with the whispers of the wind. From what she could make sense of her hearing, there was a much larger waterfall somewhere behind her and the wards. The Bruinen her mind supplied, and Minastauriel was impressed that such a roar of water could still sound so serene and calming.

Eventually, she had needed to sit down back in her bed, her days asleep making her legs hurt after just a fleeting time standing.

While sipping floral tea sweetened with honey, Minastauriel noticed a pile of clothes on a side cabinet near her bed. Most of her memories were crystal-clear, but since waking up she had repeatedly had to squint and look at a closer distance to see any detail at all. She wondered if, whilst she slept, her eyes had been damaged.

One item bore a shade of blue that sent a flurry of almost-memories through her mind. Even without having seen the entire item, she could remember those were for wearing on her bottom half. Did these items belong to her? They had been placed close to her.

"Lord Elrond, I see?" She gestured to the pile.

Handing her the clothes, Elrond adopted their pattern for learning vocabulary. He spoke slowly, using visual aid as needed, both on paper and with hand gestures. "You wore these when you arrived – that is, came to - Imladris. These are your clothes." Pointing to each item, he added, where possible, names. Breeches, short tunic, and a cropped bodice. She also had socks but those were currently being laundered.

Elrond repeated each term, with Minastauriel doing her best to remember each word. Writing vocabulary was not yet an option so, she had to rely on listening carefully and then repeating the words back to him. She picked these Sindarin words up as quickly as she had the previous ones, usually not needing a word repeated more than a few times.

Elrond assumed her fast-paced learning meant she was relearning a once-fluent language. The reality was the words themselves had been forgotten but not their context; so now she is filling these gaps as if she had only just forgotten them. All this enhanced by her language-learning hobby. In the logic of soft magic worlds, she must have known Sindarin once; now she was remembering it, one prompt at a time.

Minastauriel ran her fingers over the fabrics of her clothes, noting the difference in the material compared to that of her shift. They were all well made, but despite her shift being unmistakeably intended as an infirmary gown, it possessed a delicate elegance surpassing its medicinal purpose that her original garments couldn't hope to replicate. Clearly designed for a taller person, it cascaded gracefully to her ankles, though the ill-positioned placement of the gentle waistline told Ministerial it was intended to only reach her knees. Unlike the bold embroidery on her peculiarly short tunic, or Elrond's intricately decorated robes adorned with leaves and stars, her shift bore simpler detailing akin to that of the healers' attire.

Tatharon, who she had met briefly earlier, and Lurlosel wore near matching grey and green robes in what Minastauriel could only assume was a uniform for the wards, as the elves working in the Ward garden wore similar clothing. Upon closer inspection, you could discern various plants finely stitched into the fabric, mirroring the wall art and real-life examples growing outside her window.

Despite its lack of vibrant hues, the lacing at the collar of Minastauriel's shift was surrounded by tiny white flowers, stitched in tiny proportions. A charming touch to the otherwise unassuming garment. The edges of her sleeves and the shift's hem had more tiny flowering embroidery, overlapping then turning into short ruffles. There was something delightful in wearing such a soft simple outfit, though Elrond and Lurlosel had immediately gotten her a blanket to wear across her front. The act of placing the soft burgundy covering had been done so naturally, Minastauriel hadn't worked out it was because the shift was slightly transparent until she lifted her arm and saw how much the light of the sun passed through.

So far, her mind had absorbed all new vocabulary like a sponge – what else could she learn? Perhaps she could start with a word she had since remembered.

Reaching out, she delicately gestured at a green broach her host wore on his chest. "Laeg?"

After learning words for colours, Minastauriel observed. "I no see Eldar wore breeches?"

"Many prefer to wear long robes at home but wear breeches when travelling," Elrond quickly drew a little elf in a simple house wearing robes, and another walking to destination unknown in breeches, "Or riding a horse." The elf gained a companion on horseback. Minastauriel squinted, but soon had to pick up the paper and hold it close to her face before she could see the pictures.

Elrond made no comment, and Minastauriel mourned there was no elvish magic to offer her that would fix her eyesight.

Pointing at the horse, she asked – "I Imladris horse? I horse Imladris?"

After Lord Elrond explained with many, many pictures how Minastauriel had made her way to the valley in detail, including basically being forced onto Elladan's horse and delivered to Imladris in that manner, Minastauriel felt off kilter... but her host did seem very apologetic over everything, to that point that she felt bad for causing such a hassle in the first place.

Elrond was very understanding of her reaction to his sons and instead advised "If a strange man grabs you, fight then get away fast. Use your nails and your teeth. Do you understand?" Looking up from where she had been admiring Elrond's tiny drawn Minastauriel, fists up ready to wallop an angry looking man with big hands, she nodded then repeated 'teeth' with a laugh.

"I fight strange man, I use nails and...' she pointed at the tiny fists drawn in charcoal, "no teeth. I no fight on teeth."

8th March 2931 – POV Elrond Peredhel

"You will not fight with teeth?"

"No! No teeth, I not fight on - I will not fight o- with teeth. Bleh! What? Lord Elrond, smile?"

Lord Elrond looked to the side as a wide smile formed on his face. "You bit – fought with teeth - Elladan and Elrohir."

She gaped at her host like a fish out of water, before garbling out "NO! No teeth fight, no bit. No!"

He nodded twice in affirmation. "Yes." He tried to keep the smile off his face, but knew he was failing.

"Oh... Oh – Elladan Elrohir... I words?" She mimicked a contrite position. 'I bit! With teeth! Twice! No - I have to say... what is the word? Oh!' Watching her vexation at her language troubles, Elrond lay a comforting hand on her wrist.

"You wish to apologise and say 'sorry'. My sons, Elladan and Elrohir that is, will accept."

Thankfully, 'accept' did not seem to need immediate translation; Elrond's tone explanatory enough.

"Yes. I see Elrohir Elladan, I apogo-lise and say word 'Sorry'." Nodding to herself, she crossed her arms satisfied, as if to close the matter. Elrond decided the conversation needed changing before she had time to feel any worse over weak bites that hadn't left a mark on either of his sons' skin. Fetching the teapot, he refilled her cup and then repeated some words from earlier, letting her point at the corresponding pictures to test her knowledge. Where had they gotten up to in the conversation before they both got distracted?

"Now, Minastauriel. You said you are not Dúnadaneth. You saw Aragorn, Aragorn is now a baby -" Elrond mimicked rocking a baby for this new word "- but you saw Aragorn will be King when he is eighty-eight years. How many years ago did you see this?"

This sent the woman into momentary deep thought, but soon enough she gave a response. "I see Aragorn King when I am Pitya" More Quenya, he noted in the back of this mind, but he was too invested in her answer to correct the word to Sindarin. "When I am... five? No seven years. I am no remember how many years ago when I am seven. I am seven, I see, I see and I am happy. Aragorn is, will be good King."

Elrond nodded in encouragement and added, "You saw something that will be. Not is or was. This is Foresight – you foresaw it. This is an ability that I also have, as does the Lady Galadriel. It is rare – that is, not often – seen in the Edain"

"I understand. And Lady Galadriel, I have Seen." Minastauriel smiled beatifically with laughter in her eyes, "Things that am before, things that am now and things that will be." Now her laughter broke free of her lips and rang out joyfully, and she refused to explain why.

Endless riddles indeed

They parted to let the mortal rest for an hour, and Elrond caught up with the goings-on of his home that he had missed from Erestor, and then received a report of their findings from Glorfindel and Elladan. Unfortunately, their search in the Rhudaur had yielded little to enlighten them.

Thoroughly enjoying how this mystery was resisting being unravelled, Elrond himself went to get her a new pot of tea and a small biscuit once he was informed that she had awoken.

"Adar... could I perhaps accompany you?"

Of course, he was not the only one fascinated by the mysterious guest still hidden in the private room within the Healing Wards. He considered his eldest son. Elladan looked earnestly at his father – certainly wanting to see for himself that woman had at least healed somewhat since he had last seen her prone form, but also quite hoping for a chance to speak to her again, now that she had the words to do so. Likely to ask why had she been so afraid in the woods? What had she seen when she looked at him and his twin? Did she remember? Did she know what age she was in?

On the one hand, it was a great relief to see his son express an interest in anything other than hunting orcs...

Lord Elrond smiled at his son. On the other hand...

"Not yet. I have more questions to ask first."

"Adar!" His eldest exclaimed, sounding centuries and centuries younger than he was.

Minastauriel and Tatharon looked up as Elrond entered the side room, their conversation flowing seamlessly aside for nodding respectfully at the Lord. Tatharon, considerately, had wisely piled on several blankets to prevent the chill from encroaching upon the mortal's frame. The window, fully opened, ushered in the crisp air, carrying the scent of blossoming trees and the radiant aura of the Bruinen. Tatharon's robes – warm grey and grass green – swayed in the breeze that danced around the room, despite the sturdiness of the fabric. Elven cloth were made to last centuries, if not millennia, despite giving the 'floaty' appearance of some style of robes.

As Tatharon shared more about his origins, Minastauriel's curiosity sparked. "You are born in Second Age? You were, I mean."

Tatharon nodded, "Yes, the eldest of three brothers." With a gentle gesture, he motioned to the two braids adorning his temple, a symbolic homage to his kin. Minastauriel, either versed in the braid etiquette of Eldar or hailing from a similar culture, leaned closer to admire the pale blond strands, entwined with bleached leather, and adorned with tiny beads painted green. Her hands remaining respectfully in her lap.

"Tatharon is Sindar?" She inquired.

"I am. My mother was Nandor, she journeyed through Moria to Eriador and met my father, who is Mithrim."

"Mithrim?" Minastauriel puzzled. Tatharon, as he cleared the side table for Elrond, slowly explained, "The Sindar of Beleriand who journeyed back East at the end of the First Age."

He paused, allowing Minastauriel to comprehend the information whilst assisting Elrond place the laden crockery. "Sindar who stayed on the coast, ah, by the sea? Yes, you understand? Sindar by the sea are Falathrium. Sindar who live further inland are Mithrim."

Whilst Minastauriel absorbed these distinctions, Tatharon closed the window, happy with the room's refreshing ambiance.

"Tatharon has seen Moria?" She asked, curious to hear about the famous halls before it was overrun by orcs. If his mother had passed through there, perhaps Tatharon's parents had met close by, and he had been born near the mountain range. A glimpse of Tatharon's downturned mouth prompted a quick retraction. "Oh, I – I sorry. I am sorry, apogogise. Tatharon, please no remember; forget my question."

Elrond contemplated intervening, but Tatharon prompted calmed the embarrassed maiden. "Peace little one. Your question caused no harm. My final memories of that region are not pleasant, not happy."

As Tatharon shared these sentiments, an unusual look crossed Minastauriel's face. "Then I am sorry you remember sad times." Placing her hand on her heart and tilting her head was exactly according to elvish custom for conveying sincerity.

Smiling, Tatharon patted Minastauriel's shoulder. "Then you are forgiven. Now, I must go and do the chores I have been avoiding, and you must have your tea before it is too cold." He picked up the now empty tray.

After nodding in respect to his Lord, who had patiently waited for the apprentice to finish his conversation, Tatharon turned back to Minastauriel. "I cannot say about Moria, but I can talk to you about my visits to Lindon, where my brothers now dwell. I look forward to our next conversation," he warmly added, reassuring her that he was leaving only to attend to his duties.

Minastauriel had smiled warmly at Tatharon's words and responded in kind as best she could, but as soon as the door was shut her face turned sombre. She met Elrond's eyes then sent a knowing look to the door she could hear Tatharon's footsteps growing fainter behind. "Eregion?" she nearly whispered.

Of course she had known.

In equal solemnity, he nodded and let the mortal take a moment to feel the weight of Tatharon's losses.

Elrond did not let the sad mood last for too long. He distracted her, after a respectful length of time, with her food, which then turned into another vocabulary lesson. This happened quickly enough when Elrond deliberately conveyed the food had come from the kitchen, where it was cooked. Once the meaning of 'where' had been established, Elrond could finally ask, "Where are you from?"

Here she hesitated, eyes to the side as always when she tried to remember that which should be readily known. "I do not remember the name. An island. I am from an island." She had spoken with uncertainty at the start but ended confidently. Elrond allowed himself to pause for a moment, letting himself feel the shock of the situation, remembering the woman's shell bracelet, before uttering one unelvishly garbled word. "Númenor?"

The young lady lit up, and Elrond was no longer sure he wasn't dreaming. Though, if this was a dream then it was the most realistic dream he had had since before he had chosen the path of the Eldar. "Númenor! Tar Minartaur! Dúnedain... Adaro Adaro Ada? Tauradar?"

Ignoring her attempts to imply ancestors, Elrond followed up; "You are... from Númenor?"

She had basically said as much earlier. Adaneth of the Dún. Woman of the west. And an adan couldn't be from a place more west than Númenor had been.

She said she was from an island. There are no large islands on this side of the world, only a handful of small ones; none with settlements big enough for any inhabitants to have gained her level of education. There was Tolfolas, all the way to the south of Gondor; but that was baren and almost completely uninhabited. And only two large, well populated islands had ever previously existed, and between the Isle of Balar and Númenor, the latter was hilariously 'more likely'. Even if Númenor had sank thousands of years ago, the Isle of Balar had sunk thousands before that.

"Hmmm... no. I am not from Númenor. I do not remember well but Númenor is... in big water – the sea - now." She recalled from her conversation with Tatharon. "Aragorn is baby now – Númenor in sea many years and long time now. I not be, I cannot be from Númenor." She ended, matter-of-factly. However... that wasn't actually a negative. That was an acknowledgement of the situation, an 'Impossible, I couldn't be', which means very little to a Peredhel whose birth parents became a bird and a star, and who can claim a minor god as an ancestor a mere four generations prior.

Lord Elrond had seen many things great, beautiful, and terrible, in his long years in Arda marred; but this was surely impossible. But it made everything else about the woman make so much more sense. Even the unknown tongue she had been discovered speaking; Númenor had taken Edain from all over Beleriand – it would have had tens and tens of different languages spoken on its shores.

"Hmm. Please try and draw a picture of your island. I may recognise, that is, remember it." Númenor had been a distinctive star shape after all – if she was from Númenor, it would be easy to identify.

"Draw...? I try make picture. Yes?" Minastauriel added.

Elrond nodded, "Please."

Minastauriel's attempt to draw her homeland unfolded with great hesitancy. She sat upright in her bed, propped up by cushy lemon-scented pillows, a drawing mat balanced on her thighs. Clutching a charcoal stick, her eyes darted around the blank canvas, searching her mind for a memory she only half recalled.

Each time she thought she remembered; the vision dissipated like smoke in the wind. Undeterred or stubborn, she pressed on. The charcoal moved gingerly, creating lines that wavered somewhat intentionally as she sketched a rugged coastline made of multiple inlets, starting from the top centre of the page and moving south-west. Her concentration furrowed her brow as she questioned if the coastline was jagged or instead had a multitude of tiny islands along the western side. Despite her sighs, Minastauriel persisted. Her attempted to recall more details led to a line dipping east before crumpling back west then curving south.

Elrond watched with both curiosity and caution, uncertain about the island slowly taking shape. The contours vaguely resembled a stretched-out image of the west coast of Númenor. He wondered whether it was her drawing skills, or her loss of memories contributed to such an ambiguous representation.

Charcoal smudged her hands as she sought the image in her mind's eye once again. In a moment of confidence, she drew a sharp dip east, then she returned to drawing west. However, this time, there was an absence of much southern direction. Finally, she drew a line sharp and long to the east and – nothing more. Try as she might, she could remember no more, could not picture the full image of her home beyond the western coast.

"I- I remember no more." Minastauriel mumbled, not meeting Elrond's gaze. She hadn't drawn an island, just this misshapen mess of a line.

Elrond, treating the work like an heirloom for the respect he gave it, gestured along the line that trailed down the left of the page. "This is the west of the island?" Still not meeting his eye, Minastauriel nodded. "You do not remember the East?" He pointed to the blank right of the page.

Minastauriel was able to get a weak affirmative out from her lips. Elrond couldn't be sure if she was embarrassed or still trying to remember the eastern coastline. He tilted his head, studying the lines and suddenly picked up a stick himself.

"May I?"

As soon as he was granted permission, he sketched the mirror image of the coast from the northern point along the right of the page and connected the southern lines together. Elrond's gaze returned to Minastauriel, smiling in reassurance at the adaneth with a small amount of wonder.

"A star," he mused aloud, more to himself than to her.

Minastauriel gazed in astonishment at the sketch, as if it hadn't been half-drawn by her own hand.

Elrond scrutinised the sketch before him, tracing the lines of the crumpled, stretched star, feeling the smooth weaves of the parchment as he did. Minastauriel glanced up occasionally from where she was enjoying her evening meal. Candlelight played with the shadows of her hair and on the parchment. The woman dropped her cutlery on the tray to cover her mouth for a quiet yawn. Despite the late hour, Elrond found he was reluctant to leave – caught in the pull of unanswered questions like a leaf in a stream.

Númenor! A woman from Númenor, who possessed powerful Foresight, as he did, as Lady Galadriel did... as Elros had.

A noble woman... with Foresight at a strength that Elrond could compare with his own... A woman who seemed to be from his brother's lost kingdom. The weight of this revelation hung in the air just as readily as the cracking on the fire in the small hearth. The star-shaped sketch, imperfect and crumpled - didn't it have to be Númenor? The logical argument presented itself before him, echoing in the quiet chamber, but for the occasional scrap of cutlery on a dining plate.

What was more likely?

That this mortal woman, who knew Quenya and Sindarin, who had Foresight matching his own, who could recite Elvish Kings effortlessly, and who came from an island with a sophisticated education system – hailed from Númenor, or from an isle of similar shape; never seen or heard of before? She had to be from somewhere.

Minastauriel hid another yawn, now visibly fatigued in the fluttering of her eyelids as she fought against sleep whilst she rested against the pillows.

His mind felt like a storm cloud had been lodged in there. He mustn't draw any conclusions yet - he needed time to think. And the woman needed time to rest and recuperate. Her mind may yet heal, and her memories restore.

Ai! But the evidence was only increasing, and with that, hope. Elros had been dead for millennia and Elrond had thought he had long since come to terms with his passing, both from life and from the envelope of this world to places Elrond would never be able to venture.

But had he? Come to terms with the loss of his mirrored brother? He who had fostered generations of his brother's descendants, who saw Elros and himself in his own sons, who had called generations of the Dúnedain chieftains by the wrong name at some point or another. Was he still looking for signs of his brother now, over six thousand years later?

And was this woman a link to his brother? If so... how close?

'Did you know Elros Tar-Minartaur?' was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't decide if he dared risk it. Couldn't decide how sad he would be if the answer was negative. Couldn't predict how he would respond if the answer was positive.

Lurlosel saved him. She walked in silently barring the initial knock on the door and immediately noted how her patient was nodding off as she sat in her bed, charcoal stains on her fingers, wrists, cheeks, and forehead. Some even edging her healing scratches. Gentle as a dove, Lurlosel busied herself fluffing her pillows and removing the empty plates and cups, and the paper and charcoal sticks from the immediate vicinity of the bedside. "Ah, little dear, you are exhausted; and after only having woken up this morning," a pointed look at her Lord, to which Elrond gave an apologetic smile and quickly joined in helping the healer tidy the room, "I think it is time for bed now. Say your 'goodnights' and I will help you get changed for sleep."

Minastauriel visibly had not understood much more than half the words spoken to her but went along happily enough. When Lurlosel took out a clean shift for her to change into, Elrond decided to take his leave. Using overt body language, he said goodbye and goodnight – Minastauriel copied Lurlosel clumsily in response and then added, a pleased smile on her face, "I saw you now, I will see you?"

"Tomorrow, yes. I will see you tomorrow."

Elrond uttered one final goodbye as he shut the door, before walking through and out of the Healing wards a little too fast to hide his... agitation perhaps was the word. The mortal's little smile, proud as she was of her accomplishments, was not particularly similar to any of the Dúnedain he had spoken to in the last millennia. But ai! It reminded him of Elros. It was same smile – he remembered seeing it on several occasions.

In the distant past, when Elrond and his brother were just beginning to warm up to Maedhros and Maglor, Elrond vividly recalled a smile that marked the start of growing familial love between captives and captors.

During those times, they were not yet calling the elder two sons of Fëanor, Atya and Atta when no-one could hear, particularly not the two Fëanorians themselves. However, enough time had passed for the young Sindar heirs to yearn for recognition, praise, and the nascent stirrings of affection. How much or little that could be spared in those bittersweet years, at the end of the First Age.

Elros had worn the exact same smile after spending an entire afternoon with Elrond, secretly practising Quenya with a Fëanorian accent. Maedhros had stumbled up them, overhearing Elros advise his twin to 'Wash up you smell like orc-spawn', a phrase Maglor had used on Maedhros the day before. Maedhros had failed to suppress a snort in laughter, hastily retreating before Elros and Elrond could turn around and catch him. Still, Elros had assured Elrond that he had seen a rare, scarred smile of Maedhros' face as the eldest son of Fëanor had turned away. For Elros, who had already burned away his anger - bright and wrathful - in the initial years of their captivity, witnessing that smile was enough to bring joy that lasted the rest of the day.

Was it the same smile? Or had Elrond already decided it must be? Or was it the same smile by sheer coincidence.

'He had a daughter... Tindómiel, as Arwen is Undómiel. There is nothing known about her; at least nothing that made its way to the mainland...'

Elrond had never met any of his immediate nieces or nephews, the ever-approaching sundering of the brothers had led him to refraining from chancing a visit to Númenor. Fearful of the subtle lines that might have etched themselves in the corner of his brother's eyes, or any hint of grey that might have touched his hairline, Elrond had hesitated. The longer he postponed the visit, the more he feared any other changes, knowing the minds of mortal men falter with age. Near the end, he was too afraid his brother would not remember him, twin though he was, to make the journey. Even at the very end, he chose to stay away.

Elros and Elrond had communicated by letter when possible. To Elrond's recollection, after the first few years of life, Tindómiel was not mentioned. Similarly, she was scarcely mentioned in any history books from that time.

Previously, Elrond might have attributed this to Man's troubled custom of ignoring unmarried, childless women. However... however... could it be that his niece's disappearance from records both public and private indicated her literally disappearing from history itself? And following that, could she have reappeared now?

This explanation seemed too nice, like a trick present wrapped up in a bow. Surely, Elros would have reached out to Elrond had his daughter disappeared? He would have, of course he would have.

Unless, she was sent deliberately, secretly. If Elros had known about the Foresight and feared his people's response to his empowered daughter. Feared for her safety. Lesser men had funny thoughts when it came to their feminine counterparts possessing such powers, despite its common occurrence in male nobility, even to this day. Elros would have defended his daughter with all his might, but if there had been an indication that even a few of his people had evil intentions… What would his brother do to ensure her safety from an unknown number of foolish men baying for violence? Elrond grappled with the ethical implications of this theory whilst remember how the woman had fainted upon seeing him.

Alternatively, it could be a less sinister but no less dire possibility. When Tindómiel was a child, Sauron was already deep in hiding, but Elrond did not doubt Elros had foreseen his return. Elros may have hidden her, anticipating a Maian threat to his only daughter.

But Elros could not have sent anything or anyone to the future. Elrond himself had no idea how such a thing could be achieved. Melian had enchanted Elwë for a couple of centuries, but that was not time travel, nor on a scale comparable the current situation.

He was genuinely considering this, wasn't he? The peculiar woman, who had been all but dragged here, biting, scratching, raving; the one who Elrond had effectively cursed by his own word and nearly wiped her mind clean in the fever it caused. This woman drenched in riddle. Was she, in fact, his niece, sent six thousand years into the future?

And to what end? He needed counsel, he realised as he paced through the dimly lit corridors of his residence. Erestor, his chief counsellor, would see things clearly and provide an unbiased perspective. Could Mithrandir be sought? A wizard might see something even the eyes of elves could not, especially if there was a magic about her. A remnant of a curse possibly? Perhaps something that may also have caused her terror at the sight of he and his sons? He considered the threat Sauron would have readily posed to a mortal woman borne with great Foresight; perhaps…? He shook off his deep thoughts. He would ponder that line of thinking no more; he would seek counsel in the morn and cease thinking himself into endless riddles this night.

Lord Elrond informed his personal attendant that he was retiring for the night and requested he be woken early. Elrond would contact Gandalf in the morning, the wizard might discover something upon speaking to the woman that was hidden even from Eldar eyes.

As Elrond withdrew to his private chambers and Minastauriel ventured beyond wards for the first time since her arrival, twilight draped over Imladris with a cool fog. The lullaby of the Bruinen's waters soothed the elven haven as it nestled in the valley. However, Elrond, this night, found no solace in the familiar water song.

Context:
If I try to draw a quick ouline of the coast of the largest of the British Isles (England + Scotland + Wales) I tend to overextend Norfolk, Suffolk, and the northern parts of Wales. So, my drawing looks like a squashed star with a massive top point (Scotland).
Minastuairel can have my drawing skills, you know, as a plot device :3 Elrond is absolutely convincing himself about who Minastauriel might be - hence this chapter title is very clever, in my humble opinion ;)

Glossary
Adaneth: A female Adan (Man)
Dúnedain: Men of the West, descendants of the Númenóreans.
Elros Tar-Minartaur: Elrond's twin brother, the first King of Númenor.
Eldar: Elves
Foresight: The ability to see or know events before they happen.
Laeg: Fresh green or keen, sharp, acute
Melian: Elrond's great, great grandmother, an Ainu. Quote from wiki/Melian: "Melian was the fourth greatest and one of the most powerful of the Maiar."
Númenor: The island kingdom destroyed in a cataclysm in the second age after being corrupted by Sauron.
Tindómiel: Elros's daughter in canon, means Daughter of Twilight.
Undómiel: A name given to Arwen, means Evenstar. Literally Twilight Star. Both Tindómiel and Undómiel are direct linguistic nods to Tinuviel (Luthien), their ancestress.
Valinor: The Blessed Realm, an undying land in Aman, inhabited by the Valar and Maiar and most elves.
I think I explained it in context, but if you are struggling with different 'types' of elves, please see here: wikipedia/commons/thumb/3/38/Sundering_of_the_Elves_ /770px-Sundering_of_the_Elves_ .png