Chapter: "The Fields of Tirion"

Italic – Quenya

Bold - Japanese

~Y.T 1418 in Year of the Two Trees~

It's been almost 15 years since I first opened my eyes to this new, strange world. But "strange" seems like too mild a word to describe it. Everything I once knew, or thought I knew, has been turned completely upside down. Who would have ever believed that elves truly existed? Not the ugly, misshapen kind, or the perpetually sick-looking goblin-like elves from that one movie I watched in my previous life... what was it called again? I think it was named something like the hairy porter maybe. The hazy memories of my past life seem to grow vaguer with each passing day. While I can recall certain details like language, sights, and concepts from my previous life quite clearly, aspects of my own identity and the faces and names of people I once knew always seem to elude me, especially those memories from my first life.

The elves here were unlike anything I had ever imagined. Their ethereal beauty seemed to defy description, as if they had stepped out of a painting or a dream. Tall and graceful, with features so delicate they bordered on the otherworldly, they moved with an effortless elegance that spoke of centuries of wisdom and grace. Even now, as one of them, there were moments when I still couldn't quite believe it was true. But the truth was undeniable. Everything felt different now, from the way I perceived the world around me to the very essence of my being.

My senses, once bound by the limitations of my human form, now felt expanded and heightened, as if I had been granted access to a new realm of perception. Colours seemed more vivid, sounds more melodic, and scents more fragrant, enveloping me in a symphony of sensations that I had never before experienced.

I could feel the gentle caress of the wind against my skin, its whispered secrets carrying the scent of distant forests and ancient magic. The earth beneath my feet thrummed with life and energy, its pulse echoing in harmony with the heartbeat of the world itself.

But perhaps most striking of all was the way I could sense the presence of others around me, not just through sight or sound, but through an innate awareness that seemed to transcend the physical realm. It was as if I could feel the very essence of their being, like threads of light weaving together to form the intricate tapestry of existence.

Even now, my eyes could discern details from unfathomable distances. Standing amidst the fields of vibrant flowers named Lótealinë in Quenya, the language of the Elves, which translates to "Field of Blossoms", I gazed across the expanse, beholding the majestic city of Tirion rising against the backdrop of Mount Túna. Its spires gleamed in the sunlight, a beacon of beauty and grace amidst the verdant landscape. Its streets paved with polished stone and adorned with intricate carvings. At the heart of the city stood the towering palace of King Finwë, its marble halls resounding with the echoes of Elven song and laughter—a testament to the grandeur of the Noldor.

In the distance, the Two Trees stood tall and majestic, their branches reaching skyward in an eternal dance of light and shadow. Laurelin, with its golden leaves and fiery blossoms, cast a warm glow over the land, while Telperion bathed the world in a silvery luminescence that soothed the soul. It was a sight both wondrous and surreal to behold, these enchanted trees emitting such brilliant light. Their radiance was so potent that combined, they served as the sole source of illumination and vitality in Valinor. Here, there seemed to be no sun or moon to speak of, a reality that felt utterly foreign to me.

Navigating the customs and traditions of this new world proved to be a daunting task, one that demanded a relentless pursuit of knowledge. Determined to gain a deeper understanding of my surroundings, I dedicated myself to learning as much as I could about the ways of the Elves and the intricacies of their society. Understanding the customs and traditions of this new world was paramount to my survival and success. By familiarising myself with the do's and don'ts of Elven society from an early age, I hoped to avoid making any grave mistakes that could jeopardise my safety or alienate me from those around me. Knowledge, after all, was my greatest weapon in this unfamiliar world, and I was determined to wield it with skill and precision.

Yet, my efforts were often hindered by the well-meaning but overbearing nature of those around me. It seemed that everyone felt the need to coddle and protect me, treating me like a fragile porcelain doll in need of constant supervision. While their intentions were undoubtedly noble, their actions only served to frustrate and impede my quest for information.

Gathering knowledge in this new world has been an arduous task, one that demanded persistence and patience beyond measure. It took years of relentless effort, countless hours spent poring over ancient tomes, and seeking guidance from my family members—albeit at the cost of enduring pecks on the cheek and pinches of affection. A high price to pay, indeed, just to unravel the mysteries of elven civilisation. Yet, with each page turned and each conversation had, the tapestry of history slowly began to take shape in my mind.

A very abridged version of elven history is that the elves originated from a place called Cuiviénen, located somewhere on the shores of a large gulf in the inland Sea of Helcar, in the distant east of Middle-earth. As for why it's called Middle-earth, well, that's a mystery I have yet to uncover. From Cuiviénen, the elves migrated to the blessed undying lands of Valinor. There, they were divided into three groups, each led by a different leader. The first group were known as the Vanyar elves, led by their High King, Ingwë. The name "Vanyar" means "Fair-ones" in Quenya, reflecting their golden hair and fair appearance. Most of them resided in the central area of Valinor, around the city of Taniquetil, and were renowned for their skill in poetry.

The second group was the Noldor elves, led by their High King, Finwë. The name "Noldor" meant "Deep Ones," signifying their profound knowledge and wisdom. While they were typically characterised by their dark hair, there was a variety of hair colours among them, such as my father's and sister's bright red hair. The Ñoldor were esteemed as the greatest of the Elves in both lore and craftsmanship, their ironworks unmatched by any other. The city of Tirion upon Túna stood as a testament to their industrious and capable abilities.

The third and final group were the Teleri elves, under the leadership of their High King Olwë. Known as the "Those who come last," the Teleri were the last to embark on the Great Journey to Valinor. Renowned for their love of the sea and maritime skills, many Teleri elves resided near the coast of Valinor, particularly within their capital city of Alqualondë. The city was celebrated for its breath taking beauty, featuring walls adorned with pearls and gems, and a natural stone arch sculpted by the sea marking the entrance to the expansive harbour. Constructed with the assistance of the Ñoldor, Alqualondë stood as a testament to the craftsmanship and ingenuity of the Noldor elves, a fact that filled me with pride.

Why, you might ask? Well, it's simple: I am a Noldor Elf. I couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that I was born into such an industrious and hardworking group of Elves. Imagining myself as a Vanyar Elf, spending my days writing poetry and singing songs, didn't quite sit right with me. I absentmindedly stroked my golden hair, a trait inherited from my Vanyar mother. Perhaps being half-Vanyar was acceptable, but being fully Vanyar? I shuddered at the thought. And as for being Teleri, well, the idea of spending my days playing mermaid didn't appeal to me in the slightest.

"Náranisë, túlië manna? Tulya sina lúmenë, ná man suya rávë! (What are you staring at, Náranisë? Come here quickly before someone sees you!)". The high-pitched voice of my twin sister jolted me from my reverie. Startled, I turned to face her, finding her standing a short distance away, her expression a mix of concern and impatience. Oh right... I almost forgot that we snuck out of the house and the city without permission. I had promised Ráncó that I would train with her today. With a sudden rush of realization, I dashed as quickly as I could to where she stood, near a large tree in the middle of the field.

At 15 years old, if you thought I would be able to run quite quickly, you were sorely mistaken. It seemed that most of the fairy tales about elves were right about one thing: their immortality. Elves, at least the elves in this world, were immortal, never to die of old age. But because of that, we tended to grow slower. After 15 years, my physical body was still like that of a 7-year-old human child, hence my short legs made it a challenge to cross the distance quickly.

Once I got close to her, Ráncó immediately snatched my hands and dragged me behind the tree, facing away from the city. "Uch! Ná sára, Caranyáralinë! (Ouch! That hurt, Caranyáralinë!)" I yelped, feeling her tight grip on my hand. Ráncó quickly softened her grip, her face morphing into one of apology. "Anmáro, Náranisë. Man tulë? Eitya hya melmë. (I'm so sorry, Náranisë. Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you.)" I could only reply with a sigh, but I couldn't stop myself from giving Ráncó a small smile to indicate that I was fine and wasn't angry at her.

It may seem perplexing to those unfamiliar with elven culture, but the reason I refer to my sister, Ráncó, as Caranyáralinë lies in the peculiar elvish custom of bestowing multiple names upon individuals. It's as if each elf has an official name, a childhood name, a name from their father, their mother, a moniker, and the list goes on endlessly. Some elves even bear up to seven known names! It's maddening, to say the least. In my case, my name is Tánie, but my closest friends and family affectionately call me Náranisë. My mother once told me it meant "dear spirited child." As for Ráncó, her name Caranyáralinë means something akin to "beloved red".

I glance at my sister, and it's like looking into a mirror. We share almost identical features, both blessed with delicate, elven beauty. Our high cheekbones give our faces an elegant structure, while our eyes, large and almond-shaped, hold the same sky-blue hue, like twin sapphires sparkling under the sun. Gracefully arched eyebrows frame our faces with a subtle curve, adding to the allure of our countenances. Our noses are small and slightly upturned, lending a charming elfin quality to our appearance. And our lips, full and soft, complete the picture of our resemblance. It's as if we were carved from the same ethereal mould, two halves of a whole, inseparable and indistinguishable. The only difference between us lies in the colour of our hair. Mine is a radiant golden blonde, a trait inherited from our mother, while Ráncó locks blaze with fiery red, reminiscent of our father's own hair.

Our features weren't the only thing we shared in common. Since the day I woke up in this world, I suspected that Ráncó was just like me—reincarnated. Since then, I've been keeping a close watch on her. There was something about her behaviour that didn't quite add up. She didn't act like any baby I'd ever encountered. Having grown up in an orphanage in my previous life, surrounded by rowdy children, I was familiar with the typical behaviour of babies—they cry and fuss a lot. But Ráncó was different. She was too intelligent, always curious and active, constantly trying to wriggle free and get into mischief. I have to admit, I wasn't exactly an ordinary baby either, not with memories of my previous lives. It takes one to know one, I suppose.

It was six years ago when I finally felt confident enough to ask her... in a language that I grew up with in my first life, Japanese. Her wide-eyed reaction to me speaking in a language that had never existed in this world gave me the answers that I sought. From there, she told me of her previous life.

It's intriguing to learn about Ráncó's past life as Saotome Ranma. Much like me in my first life, she was originally born as a boy. Ranma embarked on a training journey to China with his father, Genma Saotome. There, they stumbled upon the cursed springs of Jusenkyo, where Ranma fell into the Spring of Drowned Girl, cursed to take on a female form whenever splashed with cold water. Adding to the complexity, his father also fell into a cursed spring, transforming into a panda. To complicate matters further, Ranma found himself engaged to Akane Tendo, the daughter of his father's friend, through an arrangement made by their fathers.

Throughout his adventures, Ranma and his father accrued numerous enemies, one of whom was Prince Herb of the Musk. Prince Herb became infatuated with Ranma's female form and succeeded in trapping him in that form using an enchanted kettle. Their rivalry culminated in a fierce battle atop Mount Horaizan, resulting in the mountain's collapse and Ranma's demise.

Perhaps Ráncó's past life unfolded in a different reality or timeline, one distinct from the world I once knew. Although I have no recollection of a mountain called Mount Horaizon in Japan, it's conceivable that such a place existed in her reality. Despite the fantastical nature of her story, I see no reason to doubt its authenticity. After all, my own experiences of reincarnation and past lives, combined with memories of a world where flight was possible, are equally extraordinary.

Turning to Ráncó, I asked in Japanese, "Are you sure it was a good idea to come here without telling anyone?"

Upon hearing me speak Japanese, Ráncó immediately perked up. "Oh! Don't worry about it, Náranisë. We'll be back even before anyone finds out we're gone."

Hmm... I seriously doubt that. Being 15, equivalent to a baby or very young child in the eyes of an elf, meant that our parents tend to be very overprotective and vigilant when it comes to our safety. Besides, this isn't the first time we've tried to run off on our own. Well, most of it was Ráncó running off and me following along to make sure she didn't get herself killed.

And I meant that in the most literal sense. Whenever she took off, it was to delve into the obscure depths of the "Saotome School of Anything Goes Martial Arts," or as she called it, "Musabetsu Kakutō Ryū." It seemed this was her family's martial arts style in her previous life. The training regimens bordered on the absurd. Even for me, someone who had experienced multiple lives, her methods seemed a bit too extreme. From body-hardening exercises involving hurling rocks at oneself to bizarre techniques like snatching food from over a roaring fire—she was determined to try them all.

But her grand schemes were often thwarted by our parents and other elders in the family. They were quick to intervene, wisely recognizing the potential danger in her endeavours. I, too, did my part in keeping her from harm's way, trailing after her to ensure she didn't get herself into too much trouble. After all, as her sister and confidante, it was my duty to keep her grounded, even if it meant reining in her adventurous spirit.

And, as always, no good deed goes unpunished. In my futile attempt to keep her—and, by extension, myself—safe, I made the mistake of promising her that I'd join her in training if she refrained from practicing those perilous techniques until she turned 50. And just like that, I found myself enduring endless training sessions alongside her.

It's not that I objected to conditioning my body. In my previous life, I took great pride in my physical fitness, honed during my time in the army where survival was paramount. But here, in this world of luxury and comfort, we were essentially pampered princesses. It seemed far wiser to prioritize acquiring knowledge while we were young, reserving physical training for later.

However, Ráncó clearly didn't share my perspective. For her, the allure of martial arts training held an irresistible appeal, one that I found myself reluctantly swept along with.

"Urgh! I hate wearing these dresses. I can't move in them," Ráncó complained, tugging at the fabric. I sighed, observing her frustrated expression. The dresses we wore, while undeniably beautiful, proved wholly unsuitable for any physical activity. Crafted from delicate white fabric, they were adorned with intricate silver embroidery that shimmered in the sunlight. The bodice boasted tiny seed pearls, and the skirts flowed elegantly to the ground in layers of chiffon and silk. Yet, beneath their ethereal beauty lay a stifling impracticality.

"If you had waited just a bit longer before running off, we could have changed into something more suitable," I responded, feeling the weight of Ráncó's impulsive actions. "But now, it seems we're stuck in these dresses. Training in them would be out of the question; any dirt or tear would incur Mother's wrath."

Ráncó's shoulders slumped slightly, a rueful expression crossing her face. She knew, as well as I did, that Mother's patience had its limits, especially concerning the preservation of our elegant attire. With a resigned sigh, she nodded in reluctant agreement, acknowledging the folly of our hasty departure.

Just as I was about to offer some words of comfort to Ráncó, a voice I knew all too well sounded from almost right beside me. "Ta.. Sin vanya laica ná lië tirinyar nára, melda? (Aha... So it seems we have found our dear lost troublemakers, right brother?)" The tone was playful, teasing, and instantly recognizable as that of our twin uncles, Amrod and Amras.

"Oh lelyë, auta tulya ya ná maranë, Amrod. (Oh indeed, it appears you are correct, Amrod),"came the response, equally jovial. My heart sank as I realised who had found us. Oh no! It was indeed our mischievous twin uncles. Amrod and Amras were the youngest of our father's siblings. Like us, they were twins, and their sudden appearance filled me with a sense of trepidation, knowing all too well the antics they were capable of.

Amrod and Amras approached us with their characteristic mischievous grins, their fiery red hair catching the sunlight and casting a warm glow around them. Tall and slender, they moved with the grace of seasoned warriors, their eyes bright with curiosity and a hint of amusement. Despite their youthful appearance, there was an air of wisdom about them, as if they had seen more than their fair share of adventures. Dressed in finely crafted robes of deep crimson, adorned with intricate patterns of gold thread, they exuded an aura of nobility and elegance. As they drew nearer, I couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension, knowing all too well that their presence meant only one thing - we were caught, and most likely our parents already knew about our little escape.

"Raita Náranisë! (Run, Náranisë!)" yelled Ráncó, her voice filled with urgency. Turning my head, I saw that she was already sprinting her way towards the city. That traitorous brat! "Ohta ná marya, Caranyáralinë! (Wait for me, Caranyáralinë!)" I yelled back, while moving as fast as I could to catch up with her, all the while hearing the twinkling sounds of my uncles' laughter at my back.

Author's Notes:

Hello everyone. Thank you for supporting my second fan-fiction. It's quite an ambitious project I know. I won't be to detailed with the backstories of Tanya and Ranko/Ranma from Saga of Tanya the Evil and Ranma ½ but will mostly focus on their lives in the Silmarillion and slowly proceeding to the Lord of the Rings (which will appear very much later down the road). It's going to take a while since the time line from this chapter to the events of Lord of the Rings will have thousands of years in between them. ~sobbing in pain~

It's a real pain trying to translate everything they say in Quenya. So maybe starting from next chapter, the majority of speech would just be normal English but in italics to show that its Quenya and Bold for Japanese. I'll think about it.

Now, what I really want to know is whether you all enjoy the current writing style i.e from Tanya's POV or would you rather I write in a third person perspective? Or first person which is the same as now but from different characters as well?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'll be amending Chapter 1 a bit since there's some mistakes on the characters information. Also thank you Pyrow for pointing out that I spelt Visha wrongly. So embarrassing. ^^