Chapter 3: "Ethereal Reverie"

Italic – Quenya

Bold - Japanese

~Y.T 1420 in Year of the Two Trees~

I awoke from my slumber, drawn back to consciousness by the soft yet commanding voice of Mother. Elves call her—the gentle Vanyafindë, a princess of the Vanyar, granddaughter of Ingwë. Pfft… They clearly haven't experienced her tongue-lashing first hand. She's undoubtedly the disciplinarian in the family, and her trait is clearly one I could respect.

Mother was furious about our last unauthorized excursion to the fields of Lótealinë, and even more so when she discovered the state of the dresses we'd ruined in our attempt to escape our twin uncles. Trying to prove myself as an obedient daughter, I apologized and attempted to explain that it was Ráncó's fault, along with the mischief of my two rambunctious uncles who tripped us just before we reached the city gates.

But Mother seemed beyond reason at that point. The scolding that followed was particularly hard to bear, marking the first instance in all my lives combined that I had faced such a reprimand from my own mother. We were sentenced to being grounded for a year, with Ráncó's pleas for mercy only earning us an additional year of punishment. Funny how immortality screws with your perception of time. Being grounded for two years would have been considered an imprisonment sentence for criminals among humans who live below a hundred years. For an elf, it might as well be just two days or even two hours.

As I stirred in my bed, I turned to glance at Ráncó, still sleeping peacefully beside me. I sighed inwardly, knowing that waking her would be a challenge. In my past life, I struggled with low sugar levels, making mornings difficult. But in this elvish body, immune to disease, mornings were easier. Yet Ráncó seemed to defy even the most basic of elven traits with her ability to sleep like the dead.

I reached out to gently shake her shoulder, whispering her name softly in an attempt to rouse her. "Caranyáralinë, tulya (Caranyáralinë, wake up)," I murmured, hoping to awaken her from her slumber. But she only grumbled in response, burying her face deeper into her pillow. It seemed I would need to try a different approach to rouse her.

The room around us was bathed in the soft silver glow of first light from Telperion, casting delicate shadows across the ornate tapestries adorning the walls. The furniture, crafted from rich mahogany and adorned with intricate carvings, stood as a testament to elven craftsmanship. The air carried the faint scent of flowers through the open window, adding to the ethereal ambiance of the room.

I refocused my attention on the challenging task of waking Ráncó. Resorting to physical force was out of the question, not because of any hesitation on my part. After all the trouble she had put me through over the years, I wouldn't have minded giving her a good beating. Unfortunately, her body seemed to possess an unexplainable instinctual defence mechanism inherited from her previous life. Even in slumber, she could deflect any physical attack with uncanny reflexes.

According to Ráncó, she had faced constant sneak attacks day and night in her past life, honing her reflexes to a near-godlike level through martial arts training. It was as if her body had developed an automatic response system, ready to fend off any perceived threat, whether real or imagined. It was mildly frustrating to admit that I, someone who had lived and then died through a war, had lower reflexes than she did. Yet, I couldn't deny the practicality of her skills, even if they were a constant source of annoyance to me.

As I contemplated my next move to awaken Ráncó, a mischievous idea began to form in my mind. If brute force wouldn't work, perhaps a more subtle approach was needed. With a sly grin, I reached for the small bowl of water on the nightstand, remnants of the previous night's bedtime ritual. Carefully, I dipped my fingers into the cool liquid, ensuring they were sufficiently wet but not dripping.

With a newfound determination, I leaned over Ráncó's slumbering form, my fingers hovering just above her face. With precise aim, I flicked my damp fingertips against her cheek, delivering a gentle yet insistent tap. "Caranyáralinë, tulya (Caranyáralinë, wake up)," I whispered, a hint of mischief in my voice.

At first, there was no reaction, and I feared my efforts would be in vain. But then, ever so slowly, Ráncó's eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of sleepy yet alert eyes. A bemused expression crossed her features as she registered my presence beside her.

"Manen... manen ryó i nénya, Náranisë? (What... what are you doing, Náranisë?)" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Melme ná lehta sina (Trying to wake you up)," I replied with a smirk, unable to hide my amusement at her drowsy state.

Ráncó groaned and rubbed her eyes, sitting up slowly and casting a glance around the room. "Manen sí nóré? (Why so early?)" she grumbled, clearly not thrilled about being roused from her slumber.

I suppressed a sigh, my patience wearing thin as I reminded Ráncó of our plans for the day. "Today's the day that we're finally no longer grounded, and we're going with everyone to Grandfather's and Grandmother's place, remember?" I reiterated in Japanese, hoping to stir some semblance of recollection in her.

Ráncó's eyes widened in realization, her excitement palpable as she sat up abruptly. "Oh!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. The prospect of being allowed out of the house after two long years was undoubtedly a welcome relief for her. I couldn't blame her for her excitement; after all, while our "house" was more akin to a sprawling mansion than a modest dwelling, being confined to its boundaries without the freedom to leave had a distinctly stifling effect.

Quickly, we dressed in matching elvish attire: flowing dress of deep forest green, adorned with delicate silver embroidery that traced intricate patterns across the fabric. The sleeves draped elegantly down to our wrists, while the skirts billowed out gracefully around our legs. Having spent the last seventeen years of my life as a female, I had somehow grown accustomed to wearing dresses in this new life, though Ráncó still seemed to harbour a dislike for them.

I saw no logical reason to make an issue out of it. Trying to be too different here would only invite more problems, particularly the wrath of Mother. So, I accepted the attire with resigned compliance, focusing instead on the more pressing matter at hand: the acquisition of knowledge and the improvement of living standards.

I couldn't help but marvel at the stark differences between life here in Valinor and the modern world I had known. In Valinor, everything seemed to exude an aura of timeless elegance and tranquillity. The architecture was grand and majestic, with towering spires and intricately carved facades that spoke of ancient craftsmanship and enduring beauty.

The modern world was a whirlwind of noise and chaos, with towering skyscrapers piercing the sky and bustling streets packed with people rushing about their daily lives. Pollution tainted the air, and the constant hustle and bustle created an atmosphere of stress and tension. There, time seemed to move at an accelerated pace, leaving little room for quiet reflection amidst the clamour of urban life.

In stark contrast, the air here was filled with the sweet fragrance of flowers and the sound of birdsong, carrying with it a sense of serenity and peace. The streets were immaculately clean, lined with lush greenery and vibrant blooms that seemed to thrive in the eternal spring of this blessed land. Life here, was like stepping into a painting, frozen in time. Its ethereal beauty and ancient charm offered a respite from the frenetic pace of the modern world. Here, moments of tranquillity were cherished, and the simple pleasures of nature were celebrated.

But dispensing with the romanticism for a moment; even paradise has its limitations. Sure, Valinor may boast serene vistas and architectural wonders, but mere aesthetics are not enough to satisfy my ambitions. I refuse to succumb to a life of leisure and idleness, content to while away the centuries basking in the beauty of nature like a bunch of hippies.

Especially considering my family's esteemed status within elven society. With my great-grandfather Finwë, the legendary High King of the Noldor Elves, as our patriarch, and my grandfather Fëanor as his firstborn son and natural heir, our lineage is among the most prestigious. My father, Maedhros, better known as Nelyafinwë, was my grandfather's firstborn son. With none of my many uncles currently having children of their own, Ráncó and I find ourselves perched quite high up the family tree.

It's a remarkable turn of fate for me, considering my previous lives as an orphan struggling to climb the corporate ladder or fighting wars to earn military accolades. Now, born with a proverbial silver spoon in my mouth, I refuse to be just another elf lounging around in the lap of luxury. History, at least from my past experiences, is rife with tales of decadent rulers meeting brutal ends at the hands of their subjects. I have no intention of becoming another cautionary tale in the annals of history.

Had I been born among the Vanyar or Teleri elves, perhaps such precautions would be unnecessary. The Vanyar while away their days in pursuits of poetry and the arts, while the Teleri are infatuated with the sea. They may find solace in being ruled by the indolent. However, as a Noldor elf, I have no doubt that our industrious people demand more from their leaders. I believe they would want their rulers to embody qualities such as foresight, innovation, and a relentless drive for progress. They should be visionary leaders who inspire and guide our society towards greatness, rather than languishing in the comforts of luxury and privilege.

Just imagine the possibilities, the endless potential just waiting to be unlocked. With a little elbow grease and a whole lot of determination, we could turn Valinor into a powerhouse of productivity. Picture this: solar panels gleaming under the endless Valinor sun, channelling its boundless energy to power our little utopia. And why stop there? Advanced irrigation systems could transform Valinor's agriculture into a veritable cornucopia, no longer at the mercy of changing seasons. Medical breakthroughs straight out of a sci-fi novel could revolutionize healthcare in Valinor, banishing ailments and infirmities to the annals of history. The elves would be strutting around like immortal superbeings, their health and vitality preserved for eons to come.

However, there was a slight snag to my visions of grandeur. I only have rudimentary knowledge of the mechanics behind such inventions. Even if I knew how to create modern appliances or medicine, such things seem moot here. For one, the sun DOESN'T EXIST! Light comes from trees, for crying out loud! The seasons in Valinor seem perpetually stuck in spring, and the elves literally just sing fruits and trees magically to life. And finally, as I've already said, elves are already immortal and immune to disease. No modern medicine could top that. I had to suppress a frustrated scream just thinking about it.

Hence why I'm practically itching with anticipation for this little excursion to visit Grandfather. He's not your run-of-the-mill elf; oh no, he's someone I actually look up to. A real standout among leaders, with a silver tongue that could charm the leaves off the trees. They say he's traversed nearly every inch of Aman, that sprawling continent that houses Valinor. A true leader and pioneer. And let's not forget his knack for craftsmanship – he's practically the elf equivalent of a master inventor, always tinkering away at something new and wondrous.

What better way to delve into new inventions than collaborating with a master craftsman like Grandfather? He's always had an open ear whenever we've met, and perhaps he'll find some of the innovations I recall from my past lives intriguing. Since there's no one holding copyright on those inventions, technically, I would be the inventor. It's an idea that could certainly earn me favour with the Noldor, securing their support and loyalty should there ever be a challenge to my family's authority. The thought brought a grin to my face, filled with anticipation for the boundless possibilities that lay ahead.

"What's with that silly grin? Don't tell me you like that dress that much," Ráncó remarked in a deadpan tone, snapping me out of my thoughts. Caught off guard, I quickly composed myself, realizing my distraction. "Oops! Looks like my mind wandered a bit too much," I thought to myself. "Let's go. Father and Mother must already be waiting for us," I said aloud, attempting to hide my embarrassment.

It seemed like everyone was already waiting when we entered the dining hall. The hall, adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of valour and splendour, echoed with the murmur of conversation. At the head of the long table sat our uncles, each exuding an aura of authority and command.

Maglor, also known to some as Makalaurë, the eldest after our father, sat with an air of quiet contemplation, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the hearth. Clad in robes of deep crimson adorned with intricate golden embroidery, he seemed every inch the noble prince, his posture regal and serene.

Beside him, Celegorm, also known as Tyelkormo, lounged with casual ease, his tall frame relaxed yet exuding an unmistakable sense of power. His attire—a hunter's green tunic and leather breeches—spoke of his affinity for the wilds, while the gleam of a finely-crafted dagger at his belt hinted at his martial prowess. Leaning back in his chair, he exchanged jests and laughter with his brothers, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Caranthir, or Morifinwë, ever the fiery spirit, sat with a restless energy, his dark hair falling in unruly waves around his face. Clad in formal attire of fine silk and velvet, he appeared refined yet approachable, his hands idly tapping against the table's surface. His eyes, a deep shade of amber, darted about the room, taking in every detail with keen interest.

Curufin, or Kurufinwë, the master craftsman, sat with a quiet intensity, his gaze fixed upon the intricate carvings adorning the table before him. Dressed in robes of rich earth tones, adorned with jewels of rare beauty, he seemed lost in thought, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns with a skilled touch. Despite his reserved demeanour, there was a keen intelligence in his eyes, a spark of creativity that hinted at his mastery of the arts. Of all the sons of Fëanor, he was said to be the one most closely resembling Grandfather's skill in crafting.

Amrod and Amras, or Pityafinwë and Telufinwë, the mischievous twins, lounged nearby in matching attire of forest green tunics and brown trousers. Their fiery red hair framed identical grins as they whispered and giggled amongst themselves, a playful energy radiating from their youthful faces.

As we approached, our uncles rose to greet us, their smiles warm and welcoming. "Ai! Cenin ve alwaninya teldëan ná tultil híni súrinyan (Ah! I see our lazy nieces have finally awoken from their beauty slumber)," Uncle Celegorm teased, his tone light and playful, eliciting chuckles from his brothers.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Our sleeping habits had always been a source of amusement for our uncles. Unlike humans, elves didn't require as much sleep, and when they did rest, it was often with their eyes open. However, Ránco and I seemed to possess a peculiar trait retained from our past lives: we tended to sleep longer and with our eyes closed.

This idiosyncrasy initially caused concern among our family, as they worried that something might be amiss. However, over time, they grew accustomed to it, attributing it to some quirk of our nature, since nothing untoward ever seemed to result from our prolonged slumber. Now, it has become a running joke within the family, amusing to some and tolerated by both of us with good humour.

That didn't hinder Ránco from retorting, however. "Haryalya ninya taure marna omentaina ve i neuvórë esseldië (Had I foreseen such unsightly countenances, I might have remained in the embrace of slumber)," she retorted mischievously, punctuating her words with a playful raspberry directed at our uncles. Her impish gesture elicited even more laughter from the gathered company.

I could only internally sigh at her childish actions, knowing that they would only serve to reinforce the perception of us as mere children in the eyes of others. Granted, we were physically children, but Ránco's total mental age should have been that of a 31-year-old, considering her past life as Saotome Ranma. It was a puzzling situation—either she remained inherently childish despite her advanced mental age, or the process of being reborn as an elven child had somehow affected her mental state. It was a concerning development indeed, and one that warranted further observation.

As for myself, I believed I had retained all my maturity from my second reincarnation. Nonetheless, it would be prudent for me to remain vigilant and take note of any childish tendencies that I may knowingly or unknowingly display.

"Uch! Lá metel tye, meldis quilda Caranyáralinë. Ananya nanwi, síra anta yávëa ómaryala Morifinwë, nahtana essë coacalma! Nanye esselya! (Ouch! You wound us, my dear niece Caranyáralinë. Day by day, it seems you're adopting Morifinwë's grumpiness. Before long, you might transform into a wild beast! Woe is our family!)" Amras exclaimed dramatically, his words met with mock outrage from both Caranthir and Ránco, while the rest of the brothers again erupted into loud laughter.

"Manen sí nóré, Náranisë? (Why are you so quiet, Náranisë?)" Uncle Maglor's voice bore a playful lilt as he directed his query at me, his eyes glimmering with warmth and mischief. Uh-oh... I had to quell the urge to furrow my brow. It appeared that their attention had now shifted towards me, and I could already anticipate the jests that were poised to ensue.

Uncle Amras, ever the mischief-maker, couldn't resist injecting his own brand of humour into the conversation. With a sly smirk adorning his features, he interjected, "Ayaneldëno ninqui carina sámen, ar mesta uume seldi nómë miara haryamin! (Our bookish princess must feel overwhelmed by our company, thus choosing silence!)"

"Ná, meldo! Lye lambedië nórimë síren ilyë, cariquet uuma coa nórimë sina! (No, brother! She must have read so many books that she now forgets how to speak!)" exclaimed Uncle Amrod, his tone laced with exaggerated concern, provoking another round of laughter from the rest of the family. I couldn't suppress the roll of my eyes at their jests, opting instead for a raised eyebrow—a subtle gesture conveying both my amusement and mild exasperation.

I refrained from engaging further, realizing it would only intensify the teasing. Besides, what retort could I possibly offer? My uncles, being princes and centuries older, undoubtedly possessed greater knowledge than I, not to mention Ráncó. Admittedly, I had earned the reputation of a bookworm, diligently seeking knowledge about our world.

As the banter persisted, I found comfort in the familiar camaraderie. Despite the teasing and laughter, their words carried a warmth that transcended mere family ties. Such moments evoked memories of the camaraderie I once shared in the 203rd Mage Battalion. Ah, reminiscing about the past. But dwelling on it served little purpose in the present.

The jovial banter came to an abrupt halt as the voice of my father, resonant and firm yet filled with warmth, cut through the air. "Melmë quildi (My dear brothers)," he began, his tone carrying a gentle reprimand veiled in kindness, "Queni antalya, na lerta sina haryaruvan Tánie ar Ráncó (I truly hope that you are not teasing Tánie and Ráncó in my absence again)."

All eyes turned as one to the entrance of the hall, where our parents now stood. Father, tall and dignified, exuded an aura of authority tempered by compassion, while Mother, beside him, radiated both strength and solace in equal measure. Their presence commanded attention, their words carrying weight and wisdom born of countless ages.

The teasing siblings, momentarily silenced by Father's gentle admonition, regarded him with a mixture of respect and contrition. It was a testament to his influence and the reverence in which he was held that even the most mischievous among them fell silent in deference to his words. Mother's presence added a touch of grace to the scene, her quiet authority lending further weight to Father's gentle reprimand.

"Amil! Atar! (Mother! Father!)", Ráncó exclaimed, quick to react and take advantage of Father's and Mother's presence. Her exuberant cry reverberated through the hall, a playful melody summoning our parents. Swift as a darting swallow, she scampered toward them, her arms outstretched like the flitting wings of a bird, beseeching for their attention. With a gleeful grin, she beckoned to be lifted, her eyes dancing with anticipation. Our mother, her nurturing nature ever at the ready, welcomed her with open arms, enfolding her in a tender embrace that radiated warmth and security.

Meanwhile, I remained firmly planted in my spot, observing the scene with a blend of amusement, reluctance, and befuddlement. Ráncó's antics, no matter how many times I've witnessed them, still remained a mystery to me. Was she intentionally acting like a child, or was it simply her natural inclination? Ráncó could be exceedingly tight-lipped when she wanted to be, a trait that added to her enigmatic charm.

While I do admit that her actions possessed a certain childish charm, which had undoubtedly proven effective against our parents on numerous occasions, I couldn't bring myself to indulge in such displays, reminiscent of a baby monkey clinging to its parents. My dignity, as delicate as it may seem, was not something I was willing to relinquish, even in the name of familial affection.

Yet, as countless instances had proven, despite my reservations, my father had other designs. With a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a playful grin adorning his lips, he extended his arms toward me, his warmth and affection palpable even from a distance. "Tulya herna, Náranisë, melmë (Come here, Náranisë, my dear)," he beckoned, his voice gentle yet persuasive.

With a reluctant sigh, I begrudgingly relented, taking cautious steps toward him. As I reached his side, he enveloped me in a tender embrace, his chest offering solace and reassurance. Though embarrassment flooded my senses, I found solace in the familiarity of his embrace, reassured by the fact that my uncles, the only witnesses to this display, harboured no judgment.

"Manen cénenna nórimë ya amil ar atar (Let us now depart to father's and mother's palace)," Father proclaimed, his voice tinged with excitement. Panic gripped me momentarily as I contemplated the logistics of being carried to grandfather's palace. It felt as though I was being paraded through the streets for some public spectacle. The mere thought flooded me with mortification, causing me to instinctively bury my face in Father's chest, seeking refuge from the embarrassment.

From my vantage point, I could hear my uncles commenting on how shy and cute my actions were, further exacerbating my embarrassment. Ráncó's annoying snickering only added to my discomfort, making me wish I could disappear into thin air. The only thought keeping me going was the anticipation of seeing grandfather, perhaps even joining him in his workshop. I had already planned what I wanted to discuss with him on the way to the hall. It had to be something significant enough to capture grandfather's attention. Proposing something too mundane would risk him being disinterested in future collaborations. There was only one idea grand enough in my mind—the computation orb. Yes, that would surely do the trick. A grin involuntarily formed on my lips at the thought.

Author's Notes:-

Hello everyone. I've been extremely busy these last few weeks and will only get more busier at least until end of next month. I'm quite happy to know that there is interest in this fan fiction so I really wanted to post at least a new chapter for you all. I'll do a new chapter on Saga of Tanya the Bender next.

On the format of this story, I decided that I'll just maintain the current style since the majority of you all enjoy it, though there would be parts written in other characters perspective especially Ráncó's. Stay tune for more!