Might you speak in tongues of yore
Chapter Summary: Elladan and Elrohir, sent by their father, find the frightened mortal woman in the forest near Imladris. To their utter surprise, she displays an uncanny knowledge of elven lore and languages, almost to the point of humour. However, as they try to communicate and assist her, her distress only deepens.
Aka: Knowing a few words in Sindarin will *not* let you suddenly hold any sort of meaningful conversation in said language, and reading a thousand self-insert fanfics will *not* mentally prepare you for your own Isekai adventure.
They weren't human.
She could barely see them – her eyesight was awful without her glasses but though at the start she could only see a formless blur, she still knew they weren't human. She had never much needed to rely on instincts before, but the very first feeling she had when she looked at their blurred forms was an intense 'Uncanny Valley' uneasiness. Given the sense of Uncanny Valley came from minute oddities in a face's details, it was all the more concerning she had such a powerful feeling when she couldn't yet see any details at all.
As if the hind part of her brain, full of the most ancient instincts, could detect something her eyesight could not.
She couldn't utter a sound as they walked closer. Only watch as they did so and see them more clearly with each step.
Not human.
Not human and far more powerful than their size – which was still greater than her own petite frame – implied.
Oh, they looked human-ish certainly – as they approached, that only became more and more clear. They had human-ish features. Walked on two human-looking legs, wore clothes... odd clothes but definitely clothes, were walking alongside two clearly tamed, obedient horses. But these were not human. They glowed. Despite walking through a more shadowed parting in the treeline, it was as if they had a spotlight shining upon them... or had swallowed a lightbulb because she was certain they were glowing and not merely reflecting light.
They strode directly towards her, slowly getting easier to see, though they would need to be within two metres for her to be able to make out any facial features with her useless eyesight. There was no hesitance in their stride - as if she wasn't nearly entirely hidden by the bark of the tree and had only been peeping out from side of the opening. As if they had always known where she had been hiding.
A ridiculous stab of a betrayal struck her when she realised she could very well have been snitched on by that tree from earlier.
They approached her slowly, speaking words she knew weren't from any real language, in a calm soothing tone that seemed to sink into her skin without warning. One gestured to her ankle and repeated a word a few times before miming something with their own ankle. The other smiled at her (or she thought he did – at his current distance, his face was still a blur) and offered her a... leather sack? He shook it lightly and she realised it was a water bottle. Water sack? Pouch?
She really didn't want to leave her spot in the tree. But by God she was thirsty.
Her head throbbed suddenly as a reminder of how long it had been since she had drunk anything.
One of them spoke out again. So gently, so calmly. Whatever he was saying, it was intended to reassure, and she could not help but trust she was safe with these total strangers.
She crept out. Without fully even making the choice to do so. Closer and closer, hobbled step by hobbled step. Then she could see them clearly.
And she realised how tall they were.
Far over six feet tall – likely closer to seven - and deceptively slender. But their bodies still seemed almost too small for their beings. 'Whatever that means. What am I even saying?'
And now she could see their faces.
Their faces were...
Perfect if such a thing could be assigned, symmetrical and angular but also sweetly dimpled, with mouths offering small kind smiles. Perfect in a way that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge again as her stomach swooped in both awe and fear.
'I really, really don't like this... I am about to get eaten I just know it, or made to dance for a century whilst my memory is slowly erased, or beamed up to a Mothership for a vivisection. Come on come on. Turn around! Turn around and run!'
She kept shuffling forward.
She looked into their eyes and though their eyes weren't alight, they seemed to swallow her whole. Those eyes weren't human. She didn't even think they were the eyes of the fae. She looked in those eyes and it was like looking into music and that didn't make any sense, did it? Those eyes were old and young and how could eyes even manage to convey so much? And angry. Not at her – if that anger was directed at her, she'd probably drop dead – but beneath their reassuring smiles, the calm demeanour, the manners, underneath it all... even though it made no sense for her to be able to feel this... These individuals were enraged storm clouds and howling winds and retribution and howdarethosemonstershurtmother
Like a deer in headlights, she froze where she stood, suddenly unable to make another move towards such unnatural beings.
1st March 2931 – POV Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion
The twins exchanged a look then slowly took a few steps closer to where the woman stood like a statue, staring openly at them. She was visibly exhausted, trembling slightly, but also... scared. Eyes locked on the twins, wide open and unblinking, breath coming in increasing frequency, muscles tensed. A more intense reaction than the twins were expecting, truth be told. A few wary looks or distrustful glances would have been accepted without comment. This level of fear was peculiar, even from a lone mortal woman coming across two ellons.
"She is afraid – we should be cautious," whispered Elladan, lips barely moving. His brother hummed low in agreement.
Elladan reached out to put his water skin closer to her hand whilst Elrohir knelt – very slowly – near her injured ankle to assess the damage. Elladan had then – so slowly, so very gently – nudged her to gain her attention, to tell her or convey in some fashion if she truly did not understand the languages he spoke, to sit down so his brother could look at her foot. The woman glanced at Elrohir's pointed ears as he looked, her breath catching. She minutely flinched – shock breaking her frozen stance. Rather unfair – neither Elrond nor his children possessed the long points found in full-blooded Eldar; neither pointing slightly up towards the cap of the skull as found in the Noldor and Sindar, nor slightly down towards the base of the skull as with many Silvan. Or was she looking at something else?
Elladan had started speaking in a tone intended to be soothing and musical, not knowing the woman could feel the power, however gentle, behind it. The children of Elrond had more Edain in their blood than Maia, but Maia present nonetheless, and of a kind not easily diluted.
1st March 2931 – POV Unknown Woman
Part of her – a small, quiet, logical part of her brain – removed itself from the realism of her circumstances. Distantly, this part of her considered the situation as it appeared to an outsider. A mortal woman who had grown up in arda a land of magic, who knew magic and Maia and Valar existed, far out of sight and out of the daily passage of her life, but present nonetheless somewhere in the world, would probably have responded with more awe than fear. The woman would walk away with a story to take home and share with friends and family and descendants. The day she was saved by two chivalrous Eldar Fae Elves who used the ancient magic of song to heal her ankle, gave her food and drink and sent her on a clear path home.
Still approaching her situation as if it was not in fact happening to her at that very moment, the increasingly lightheaded woman continued to postulate: this woman however was not used to the very real existence of magic, nor of the implication of Maia or Valar if indeed she was where she was starting to believe she was, and had rather been very confident in magic's non-existence. As true as the sky was up and grass was green, magic was fictional and so were Maia and Valar and all other such things. Things the mortal woman was silently remembering, recognising, connecting to the two stood in the front of her, whilst still reeling from the knowledge that she was truly meeting sentient, non-humans.
As it was, from this woman's perspective, one Elf nonhuman put his hand on her shoulder, speaking gently and pressing lightly to get her to sit and in her responding flinch as she suddenly was bought back into herself... she ended up on the floor. Both non-humans - Elves Elves Elves! – spent a moment fretting but ceased when their every attempt made her flinch away. Eventually, the one still standing took a step back, whilst the other slowly put his hands back to her swollen ankle.
She couldn't speak, could barely breathe, eyes darting from the one who was now lightly holding her ankle, up to the other who seemed even taller now from where she was sprawled on the forest floor, roots digging into her buttocks and palms. The kneeling nonhuman started to sing. And at once the pain in her ankle began to ease.
'Magic. That's magic. Magic's not real. He's doing magic. That's impossible. No no no! But it's right there in front of you! An angel? No! No? That doesn't make sense. Oh? Magic's not real but you can believe in God and angels? No, these are not angels. That sight would have driven me insane, right? Or am I insane now? How do you know the state of your mind? Oh. Oh no, no. I can feel it. The magic, the music. It's in my head. They're in my head!'
"No!" She finally managed to blurt out and awkwardly tried to back away whilst also standing up. Arms flung out as a clear sign to back off.
1st March 2931 – POV Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion
Elladan spoke out to her again, putting more soothing power into his words whilst he explained, using his voice even more to put the meaning in her head despite the lack of common tongue; that they were not going to harm or hurt her and only wished to help. Noticing before she did that she was about to stumble backwards over a root, Elladan grabbed her shoulder before she could fall and potentially snap a ligament in her already injured ankle. He moved very fast.
The adaneth of course did not know she had been about to fall, and responded as only she could; too afraid and unnerved and unsettled and hungry and thirsty and very, very lost to do anything else. She shrieked. The twins immediately stepped back from the woman; hands raised in a sign of peace; Elladan removing his hand and Elrohir letting her pull her ankle from his healing hold.
Elladan did not know Edain could sound like that. He didn't think he had ever heard a sound like that before. From the glance he spared to his twin, Elrohir agreed. In their orc-hunts they had come upon families and caravans being attacked. They had heard horrifying cries and yells and screams of women and children and men before. Perhaps it was the fact the scream was clearly directed at them – as if they were the monsters - that made the sound so piercing. The terror of a mortal before the descendants of a minor god.
The adaneth stumbled back and nearly fell over the root Elladan had tried to save her from, all the while moving her hands in front of her, half-sobbing, half-wailing words neither brother understood.
"Please, please stop moving – I am sorry for grabbing you and for scaring you." Elladan desperately tried to placate. The mortal looked terrified and if she ran, she might hurt herself even more. "I am Elladan Elrondion, and this is my brother Elrohir- "
He was cut off by the woman shaking her head and yelling words he didn't recognise but could just almost hear similarities to some Westron or Rohirric dialect, and even an accented repeat of 'Elladan-Elrohir-Elrond' when apparently the last strand that had been holding this unfortunate woman's sanity together abruptly snapped.
And Elladan meant that literally because to their horror, the woman suddenly slapped herself right across the face, hard enough that both brothers flinched at the sound. She looked around and at them as if she was expecting something and when whatever it was did not occur, she did it again. And again. All the while muttering in an unknown tongue; which sounded more and more like nonsensical almost-Weston almost-Rohirric, that Elladan began to wonder if it was even a true language at all. When slapping didn't seem to achieve whatever it was that she was hoping to gain, she began thumping her head. Elladan and Elrohir at that point had to step it - which proved foolish as the woman shrieked again as if they were attacking her. Kicking out and scratching, even biting them, and when Elladan spoke again – begging her to stop before she harmed herself (not the sons of Elrond though; despite her inexplicable terror, this small mortal's wild attacks were scarcely going to leave even a bruise, her scratches only once drew blood, her bite... well; edain teeth were so very blunt and they were wearing light leather armour) – she covered her ears with the palms of her hands and shouted what must have meant stop or alike. Elrohir certainly thought as much.
"Brother, brother – your voice, you are making her worse. It's like your words are hurting her."
"Why would they hurt her? An ear injury?" He looked at the woman, who looked so small and afraid, still muttering in a tongue that they couldn't comprehend. Her hands she had clamped over her ears were now moving, scratching at her forehead and cheeks as she appeared to be trying to grab a hold of something without realising. "A head injury, that might be why she is behaving so... oddly? We need to take her to Adar."
Making a slow shushing sound, and approaching her very slowly, slightly bowed to tower over her less, and with his hands raised in submission, he tried hard to appear unthreatening. The adaneth took notice, and watched him warily, still muttering under her breath. Broadcasting his intent clearly, he pulled her hands away from the sides of her head. She had managed to draw blood in a couple places.
She had frozen again, looking up at him with eyes wide in horror, darting from the points of his ears down to look at his hands on hers then back up to look into his eyes. Like she was absolutely terrified of... those of elvish-blood? Elladan had met other mortal women before. He knew he didn't look like the monster this woman was acting like she was looking upon. Not quite mortal – definitely. Monstrous – surely not.
"Elladan" Elrohir whispered in warning, and at that final sound, the woman went limp and instinctively Elladan caught her and lifted her into his arms before she could fall to the forest floor. He was ready for her to panic and lash out again, and would perhaps have preferred it as the woman instead now seemed quite suddenly catatonic. Her eyes hazily staring out without reacting, body slumped in his arms. She had gone very pale and seemed to be minutely shaking.
More concerned than ever, and mentally going over any possible causes –
Had she eaten a poisonous berry or mushroom without someone noticing earlier? Was she ill? Did she have a fever? Was this going to get worse?
– the brothers shared a look and Elrohir nodded. Very carefully, he reached out and lightly touched her forehead.
"No fever... let me..." Elrohir lightly reached out with a touch of healing magic, hoping to determine a cause for her ailment.
The moment his touch reached her mind, Elladan and Elrohir were horrified to watch her body went first rigid and then began to convulse.
"What did you do?" Cried Elladan in alarm.
"Nothing, nothing that would hurt her. That even could hurt her." Elrohir hastened to defend. "We need to get her to Adar; she's having a fit and we need to get her back to Imladris or she could stop breathing."
The twins quickly turned around in the direction of Imladris, neither of them pleased with how useless they had been rendered. The woman had ceased convulsing shortly after they began running to the horses, but the return of the smaller tremors did not comfort them. The quiet high pitch, monotone whining sound the woman then started to produce had the same effect as a scream, and the twins quickened their pace; Elladan doing all he could to hold the woman in a comfortable position and Elrohir almost leaping ahead to bring over their horses from where they were grazing.
The journey back to the hidden valley was quick, though travelling with someone who wasn't quite conscious meant Elladan and Elrohir had to ere on the side of caution as it was immediately clear the woman would not be able to hold on in any intentional manner. Meaning Elladan had to sit behind her, with one hand holding the reins and the other arm wrapped around the woman's waist whilst Elrohir rode as close as he safely could beside them when possible, in case the woman toppled to the side. Frequently Elrohir noticed – and informed Elladan who could not see from his position – the woman seemed to gain sense and look around with clear eyes, before swiftly returning to muttering and shaking her head and then clutching (or scratching or thumping) at her temples whilst making a high-pitched whine. Each time, Elladan did his best to grab her hands before she could hurt herself further, but given he was already holding on to her with one arm and the reins with the other, Elrohir often had to reach over and desperately try and stop her.
It was awful to see anyone so obviously in need of aid and be so entirely incompetent in helping them; and the woman certainly needed that. Pale, muttering and trembling with the occasional full body convulsion and the sides of her forehead and cheeks marred with harsh scratches and the early signs of bruising. The twins feared this manner may become permanent if left untreated much longer. It also sent their thoughts to the last time they had brought back a woman, too late to truly save her.
In unison, the twins' hearts wept at the thought of their beautiful, gentle mother and how pale she had been when they had delivered her home. She had muttered and trembled too.
This would not be like then. Injured and ailed though this mortal was – she was many times more well than their dear mother had been. They just didn't know how to fix her...They needed their father – he would know how to help her. Then they could leave home and tears behind, and focus on killing as many orc-scum as were unlucky enough to cross their paths.
Elladan and Elrohir passed the last ridge that hid the valley's northern entrance, with great relief, just as day began to move into the early afternoon. Ñoldor styled arched gates greeted them, with Sindarin decor, as they had a thousand times before.
As they came into the inner boundaries and through another stone archway entrance, Elrohir called to a nearby ellon he spotted coming out of the stables – "Please! Please inform our father – we need assistance taking this woman to the Healing Wards. She is greatly troubled and- "
Elrohir's unsaid '- getting worse' was instead perfectly exemplified by the woman at that very moment. She seemed to have gained some margin of wakefulness just as they arrived in Imladris. And then... the woman had taken one long look at the beautiful valley, home of Elrond Peredhel, and started almost humorously slowly toppling of Elladan's horse. Which Elladan of course tried to prevent, but the woman was surprisingly determined to fall off the horse, all the while muttering increasingly loudly in her mysterious tongue.
Elrohir stepped in before the woman could allow herself to fall and break her neck, placing her on her feet and steading her when she swayed. Given her skittish behaviour... and proclivity to find everything he and his brother did to be terrifying, Elrohir made to move away from her and give her space to finish her... episode – but she instead grabbed both his forearms and looked directly into his eyes. Elladan watched warily as the woman – abruptly looking more lucid than she had since she had first looked Elladan in the eye back in the forest – rapidly glanced between his brother and the sight of his home behind him.
She mumbled a few unknown words as she momentarily squeezed her eyes shut and forced her body, for brief moment, to stop shaking. Some colour even returned to her cheeks. Suddenly opening them, she looked directly into Elrohir's eyes and asked in a hushed voice, "Imladris – Eriador?"
Actually 'asked' was a bit generous, one could say, but she had spoken a known language – surprisingly Sindarin – and the tone at the end clearly implied it was a question.
Elrohir nodded, "Yes, this is Imladris, in Eriador."
The woman tightened her grip of his forearms. She had already returned to shaking, but kept her gaze – now piercing in its intensity – entirely focused on him.
"Imladris – Elrond? Hih... Hîr Elrond?"
Again, a surprising response. Elladan thought this seemed less and less likely to be a simple lost farmer's daughter. Or even a farmer's wife, noting she appeared to be in her early twenties now he could have a proper look at her face.
Elrohir nodded in answer and received the same response in turn. Her hands tightened minutely further on his arms, and she swayed a little. She was trembling. He chanced a half-step closer in case she collapsed. His eyes darted quickly to his brother, now off his horse – who led itself and Elrohir's horse away and into the stable, clever beasts that they were – and was watching cautiously as the scene unfolded.
Why would a mortal woman react in fear to their home? That was in itself odd. Eldar and Edain had coexisted in Arda peacefully for thousands of years – even after long stretches of time where the two races did not mix readily, the bonds between the two races dwelling in Eriador were kept alive with Elrond's quiet watching over the Dúnedain descendants of his own twin brother.
She was looking increasingly pale again, and tilting her head like something again was paining her. He tried to gesture for her to rest against a nearby fence that stood protecting visitors from walking off the deceptively steep cliff that had helped make the valley such a defendable stronghold in ages past.
The woman shook her head, muttering and mumbling. Imladris, Eriador, Elrond, even his and his brother's names were mentioned aside a sea of indistinguishable sounds that still sounded so similar to Westron and Rohirric, without being any true words of either. The word 'Rih-ven-del' came up a lot, usually with the term Imladris before or after. The name of the valley in her own language?
"Aij?" She suddenly asked, frantic in a way she hadn't quite reached before – she had been terrified yes, but this was a controlled response now, which was almost more concerting even if 'Aij' meant nothing to him. Whatever it was, it was definitely not Sindarin -
"That sounds closer to Westron," - his brother finished his thought aloud. The woman looked between the two of them.
"Aij? Aig... Ai-juh? Westron, Sindarin... Sindarin... An-, Ang? Angran?" The woman glanced somewhat hopefully between the two twins.
"Anga?" Offered Elladan. When she only blinked in confusion, he pointed at a few examples of iron to be immediately found in the area. A spare horseshoe Elladan had in his satchel – granted that was actually steel but as needs must – then an arrowhead and his belt buckle.
She shook her head, mumbling again. "Anda? Andan?" She held up 1 finger. "Andan... Andan Beleriand? Gondolin, Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon... Maedhros Maglor?"
The woman had done nothing but surprise them at every turn by this point, and yet it would be a lie to say they were not still startled by this – somewhat deranged – supposed farmer or woman of Bree suddenly listing of names of places and people long lost to song and legend, even among the elves. And yet, this random woman just listed them off as if she had learnt the names by rote.
She waved her single finger before them, "Andann... mina andann? Fingolfin? Ereb andann?"
"Is she trying to say 'First age'?" Elrohir asked his brother. His brother, as bewildered as Elrohir himself felt, turned to look the woman directly.
"Andrann." Elladan pronounced clearly. Mimicking what he thought she had been trying to convey – or fact check? – he continued, "Minui Andrann – Ñoldor in Beleriand. Fingolfin. Fingon. Turgon. Maedhros. Maglor. C- "
Elladan thought he had reached peak surprise when the woman had first listed off the names of his ancestors as if they hadn't died six thousand years and more before the woman before him had even been born. And yet -
"Celegorm. Caranthir. Curufin. Amras. Amrod" – without hesitation the woman finished off a list of naming the most infamous Eldar in history. She looked between he and his brother. "Minui Andrann?" First age?
Unsure of what she was now asking, they tentatively nodded. She gulped at that then took a look at Imladris behind him and nodded in response, though looking both more and less frightened by the second, then pointed to the ground "First age?"
Which wasn't a question, was it? At no response, she gestured around them and asked again "First age?" and then shook her head answering her own question.
"Úminui Andrann" Elladan replied, "Úminui."
She nodded absently and minutely relaxed – apparently happy to have confirmed that it wasn't the First age, which only raised more questions than they already had.
Of course, because this woman was determined that their first meeting would be an event they would remember for a thousand years for how odd it was, the next words came out her mouth were, as she held up two fingers this time: "Tatyar Andrann?"
Elladan and Elrohir shared a look in disbelief. "Was that Quenya?" They asked each other in unison. A language few this side of the Sundering Sea spoke.
Well, it was only one word – granted she seemed to know exactly what it meant. (And one couldn't forget that she had this time asked if it was the Second age, making her question about the First age make more sense. If sense could be applied in this; everyone alive knew what age they were in, everyone... apart from this woman).
"Quenya! Quenya – Tatyar Quenya? Sindarin?"
"Tatyar Quenya. Edwen Sindarin." Elrohir replied, in quiet acceptance that this was what his day had turned into.
She pointed at the ground again. "Edwen Andrann? Gil-Galad? Númenor? Elros Tar-Minartaur?"
His day had turned into him and his brother trying to communicate to a mortal woman who couldn't speak Westron or Sindarin but who knew the name of the Last High king of the Ñoldor, the name of the Ancient Island Kingdom of Man that had long since sank beneath the waves and both names of that island's first king who was also their uncle whom they had never met. And maybe all of that was slightly more acceptable than her speaking about the First age, as the new topic was technically more 'recent'... But no; this was all still evidence that whoever this woman was, this was not someone raised on a farm in the wastes of the Lone lands, nor in cottage or townhouse in Bree.
His day had become him telling a mortal woman who was probably a percent of his age, that no; this was not the first or second age, and having no easy way to ask her why she didn't know she was nearly 3000 years into the third age. "Uedwen Andrann." Elrohir shook his head as he spoke, before showing three fingers. "Nail. Nail Andrann."
That seemed to both relieve and disappoint her. She looked around in thought, seeming to be actively trying to suppress her tremors which, despite her sudden... lucidity, had been getting more and more vigorous as they conversed; wracking her body in large twitches every few seconds. And of course, it would be that they heard her mumbling "Nail... Nail Sindarin... Nelya Quenya? Ah! Nelyafinwë!" Her voice was tinged with a hysteric pitch on the last syllable.
She started pointing at her feet, the floor, around herself and behind. "Nail Andrann... In? În? Îndrann?"
"The year is two thousand, nine hundred and thirty one. Two Nine Three One."
The woman visibly considered his swift response, peering closely as he used his fingers to give each number. The twins could clearly see her figuring out something based on the year. Her mutterings started soon, completely unintelligible but perhaps calmer.
"Þats gud, o Þats yeerz behfore thuh plot. Aragorn prob-bab-lee izn't eve'n born yet. Þeez ar saif timez, rel-la-tiv-lee. O thank gud-ness, thank ewe God."
Elladan spotted another ellon, Nantuil, who had come to greet them/check on the commotion, then glanced back at the woman. She had spotted the newcomer and was staring frozen at Nantuil. He couldn't place the expression on her face, and quickly decided not to aggravate the situation, especially now that the woman was just about managing to communicate in some fashion.
Speaking fast to his brother, he held out his hand to Nantuil to make it clear they were not to approach further. "Brother, I will go and inform Father and see if I can organise a clear pathway that we may take the woman along without interruption." Elladan walked swiftly to Nantuil, who – though puzzled – turned and followed his Lord's eldest son back into the valley without question. "Nantuil, please advise the Healing ward they will be getting a new patient. She is a mortal woman – "
Elladan continued to explain what he could to Nantuil whilst Elrohir turned back to look at the woman.
"Eldar... Eldar... ri-ite, riv-en-dell haz el-vz. Ri-lee shudn't feel Þis shok'd at Þis point. " She muttered under her breath, in sudden apparent shock.
She had reacted far worse when she had beheld Elladan and himself for the first time; odd given the twins at least had Mannish blood and did look slightly less elvish than Nantuil. He supposed Nantuil didn't have any trace of a Maia in him; but a mortal should not be able to detect that.
The woman raised questions at every turn.
"Eldar?" The woman said again, nodding deliberately at the direction his brother and Nantuil had taken, voice squeaking.
He nodded in agreement, curious to see where this line of communication would take them. Given recent events, probably to another astonishing revelation.
She nodded now towards him. "Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion?"
He nodded again.
"Peth... Peredhel?"
There it was. Elrohir internally sighed – he had been expecting something astonishing, and the woman had delivered. And yet. He nodded – and suddenly found himself supporting most of the woman's weight as her legs gave way in apparent shock. She still held his arms in an iron grip, staring up at him with eyes wide and – was she breathing?
"Breathe. Girl? Young woman? Please breathe!" He did his best to put the woman back on her feet with what grip he could manage on her elbows, with her hand still strong on his forearms.
She frantically glanced between him and the valley. "Soh-ree, soh-ree. Aye jus't carnt. Aye carnt. My hart. My hed. Riv-en-dell. Aye'm in Arda. Arda. Þis iz ri-lee happening. Aye'm in mid-dil urth, be-for Þe plot, Aye doun't nou Þe lan-gwij. Oh no, oh no ohno-ohno-ohno. Ayem neva go'in hoe'm. Aye'm stuhk heer. Aye'm rilee stuhk heer. Ay- "
Elrohir watched again in horror as the woman stumbled away from him and clutched her head in apparent agony and panic. Her legs gave way again, and he was too far to catch her, so her knees hit the stone floor with a smack that made him flinch. That would leave bruises.
The mortal paid the sudden change in her position no mind, instead just kneeling there. She started shaking and shaking her head, crying and muttering in despair. The only word now understandable was Arda. Arda arda arda.
Elrohir crouched down and approach her slowly, one hand extended with the palm facing her. "Young woman, it's okay, it's okay. We will help you. Whatever ails you, we can heal you." He spoke softly, trying to calm her before she started scratching her skin or hitting herself again. "I'm not sure what you have heard about the Imladhrim, but you have nothing to fear. You are safe. You are safe."
Inch by inch, he approached her. Repeating the gentle words – no power behind them; he recalled how the woman had reacted to Elladan's well-intended charms – over and again.
The woman slowly peeped at him, hiccupping in distress, tears dripping down her face in misery. She shook her head once in clear denial of something.
"It's okay, you are safe." He waggled his fingers in front of her. Elrohir could hear footsteps coming up the pathway towards them. He desperately hoped he could calm her completely before they arrived.
But alas, just as she tentatively reached out her hand to his offered one, his father, brother and two Healers – Lurlosel and her apprentice Tatharon, arrived in the little stone courtyard. The glint of sunlight on his father's broach immediately caught her attention.
And perhaps this woman really could detect Maia – and have inexplicably horrifying responses to those with Maia blood – for she took one squinted look at his father before she took a startled, choked gasp. Her eyes flinched in sudden pain before they rolled back and she fainted clean away. It was only his proximity to her and his already outstretched hand that allowed him to catch her before her head could hit the stone floor as her knees had done earlier.
He looked to his father as he knelt, awkwardly holding the woman off the ground as best he could.
"Adar, I don't... what should I do?"
Some context: The woman knows from the sight of Rivendell and the twins that it is not the first age; she is trying to establish the word *not*. She cannot in her panic remember that Elrohir and Elladan were born in the third age, and is trying to figure out which Age she is in. Partially so she knows exactly how scared she should be and how desperately she needs to claim sanctuary in Rivendell, and partially because she is panicking and her brain is hyper-focusing on everything it can as if there may be some magic question that gets her sent home.
Glossary: (I think these are correct~)br /
Adaneth: This seems to be a term used for mortal women (Edain).br /
Adar – Sindarin for father. Ada is then /
Andrann: refers to the Agebr /
Atya – From the Quenya Atar for father. Atya means dad and Ataryo is daddybr /
Dúnadan – Man of the west, Dúnedain is plural form. Dúnadaneth/Dúnedenith are the respective feminine versionsbr /
Fëanor - Fëanor is/was a Ñoldorin elf , the only child of Finwë, High King of the Ñoldor, and Finwë's first wife Míriel Therindë. Other names include Curufinwë and Fëanáro (the quenya version of Feanor). Dead – in Halls of Mandosbr /
Fingolfin, Fingon, Turgon, Maedhros, Maglor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amras, Amrod are names of Elves from the First Age of /
Gil-Galad: The last High King of the Ñoldor in Middle-earth. Killed by Sauron. Flammablebr /
Hîr – Lordbr /
Maedhros - Sindarin name, also called Maedhros the Tall, was one of the princes of the Ñoldor and the eldest of the seven Sons of Fëanor. Other names include Nelyafinwë, Maitimo, Russandol. Dead, in Halls of /
Maglor – Sindarin name, the second son of Fëanor. Other names include Macalaurë, Canafinwë. Missing, presumed dead but there are rumours...br /
Maia, Valar: Divine beings. The Maiar (plural of Maia) are primordial spirits created to help the Valar first shape the /
Referred to as gods in middle earth but both are more like how we view angels and archangels etc on /
Ñoldor, Sindar, Silvan are different groups of /
Ñoldor – Quenya. It means "those with knowledge". Becomes Ñoldorin as a descriptor. They were the second clan of the Elves to reach Valinor in the Years of the Trees. AKA Noldoli (heehee, sounds like a type of pasta), Deep Elves, Golodhrim, Aulendur (Servant of Aulë), and as Golug (used by orcs in the first age). The singular form of Ñoldor is Ñ /
Númenor, Elros Tar-Minartaur: Númenor was a great island gifted to Men, and Elros - Elrond's twin brother - was its first /
Quenya - one of the languages spoken by the Elves. It was the language that developed among the non-Telerin Elves who reached Valinor (aka the "High Elves"). By the third age, few speak it and it is a *very* old language, sort of like Latin is viewed and used in the 21st centurybr /
Sindar - Meaning 'Grey People' – singular is also Sindar. They are of Telerin descent, aka the Grey Elves, specifically those of the Teleri who chose to stay in Beleriand. The Noldorin exiles named them Sindar: they aren't Elves of the Light, because they didn't make it to Valinor, but they're also nor Avari/Elves of the Darkness, as they did set out on the journey (so are counted among the Eldar). They are also technically, I think, counted among the Moriquendi, along with the Avari and Nandor. Some of which became the Laiquendi (green elves) and I am a little fuzzy on the differences at this point. Also called Elves of (the) Twilight. They refer to themselves simply as Edhil (Elves, singular Edhel).br /
Sindarin – Fun fact, Tolkien initially named this language Gnomish or Goldogrin. It is the most commonly spoken Elvish language in Middle earth during in the Third /
Tatyar: Quenya for Second, but an older version of the term, and is used to refer to the Noldor. The woman does not know the other word for second in Quenya which would be Atya (also meaning father) or Attëabr /
Ú: This prefix sort of means 'not'... I think. Please correct me if any of my elvish is wrong T^T