Might I Judge a Book by its Hroa?

Chapter Summary: Are you soft skinned and lacking in muscle mass? Do you clearly not work long hours in the sun or outside in general? Do you take diligent care of your teeth, and frequently moisture your skin, particularly your face?
Consider how your body might have been perceived before the modern era.
AKA despite knowing not to judge a book by its cover, Elrond totally judges. But it's fine because it's a plot device.

1st March 2931 – POV Elrond Peredhel

The small group followed Elrond along what side routes and shortcuts they could to avoid the main courtyards and passageways, entering the wards by a side door. When Elrond had first arrived on the scene, he had quickly assessed the situation in front of him, keeping in mind what Elladan had told him so far on their way. Including all their questions still unanswered.

Was she ill? Poisoned? Suffering some mental affliction? There were other less likely options – a woman from a land where Westron was not common; an Easterling though she certainly didn't look like it, who had somehow managed to wander and get lost in the Trollshaws. Miles and miles in land, leagues from any shore – she would have had to wander unharmed and unheeded through vast distances of unprotected lands to get here.

Was she cursed? Was this the work of some fell magic?

Or was she simply very lost and scared, and from some distant village at the edge of these lands, with a speech impediment?

There was not enough evidence to say either way. And this woman needed help regardless – he could clearly see what he could solve; she needed to rest in a soft bed, good food and drink, tonic for pain and balm for her ankle and many scratches and bruises, a change of clothes – and what odd clothes she wore - and a soothing warm bath. And hopefully once the more survival-based needs were met, any mental issue would be easier to diagnosis.

Hopefully she would heal enough for a conversation to be had – both so he knew how to help her travel back to wherever she called her home, and because any mortal who so readily listed off the names of kinslayers and high kings and his own brother, would certainly have a tale to tell. One might think of a very well-educated noblewoman of Gondor who had received a tutor with a curious interest in the First age, but she would most certainly speak both Westron and Sindarin (the Gondorian dialect of Sindarin at any rate) if that were the case. Esgaroth was an obvious no, as was Rohan – Rohirric was distinctive, and the history of elves not taught even to nobles. If they taught any of that topic at all – given the Rohirrim were still predominately pre-literate, even at the highest ranks. If any were taught of elves, it would not be as far back as this adaneth clearly had been educated.

Had the Lady Galadriel taken to fostering mortals? One who had then left and made their way to his home? One the Lady Galadriel actually spoke of her Fëanorian cousins by name to? Few others in her realm would dare speak of them by name.

He couldn't picture it.

Despite the priority of this woman's health and recovery – Elrond couldn't deny he would not be fascinated to hear what this woman would have to say when she was well.

"Elrohir, bring the woman to the Healing ward; there is a bed already prepared for her. Elladan, show Glorfindel exactly where you found her and retrace her steps. It was reported she was walking in circles but if it can be revealed from whence she entered the Rhudaur; it may help us determine her origin." He had said, his sons quick to respond.

"Of course, Adar." The twins immediately agreed, eyes solemn and keen. The corners of their mouths were pinched and Elladan's brow was furrowed.

Elrohir had quickly taken the woman up in his arms, whilst his brother immediately about turned to find Glorfindel. Tatharon came forward to check on her as they started the way to the wards, Elrond leading the way, listening as the two healers questioned his son of the woman's scratches and bruising, how much Elrohir had or had not managed to heal her ankle, any sign of prior, other injury, or that she had eaten anything.

Once in the wards, Lurlosel quickly direct Elrohir to lay the woman down on the bed prepared for her. Once she was placed, the healers quickly took charge of her physical injuries whilst Elrohir stepped back and his father went to the head of her bed.

She was small – enough so she looked more inclined to be descendant of the Middle Men than of Gondor or Dúnedain. But petite and delicately featured in a way the Men of Bree and other Enedwaith rarely were.

Lurlosel started carefully removing the outer layer garments from the woman and immediately put her in a ward shift, to make any potential injuries more accessible. There was a brief comment on the odd nature of the woman's undergarments. However, as the woman began to whimper in pain while still unconscious, the conversation swiftly shifted to finding a way to alleviate her suffering.

With Lurlosel focusing on the swollen ankle, brightly coloured bruises standing out against the woman's pale skin and the cream cloth of the ward shift and bedsheets, Tatharon went to place his hands on her head which Elrohir quickly cautioned against. "I tried that earlier – just as a diagnostic method. It pained and alarmed her. Do we have any solution of willow bark extract – I could fetch that now?"

Tatharon frowned in puzzlement. "Elvish magic should not – could not – hurt; not if it were healing or even diagnostic. Are you sure it pained her?"

"I am sure."

Elrond furrowed his brow at that but swiftly made his decision. "Check that cabinet for dried willow bark, top shelf near the front. You remember how to prepare it?"

Elrohir nodded in confirmation and quickly busied himself with his task. He had been useless it seemed all day and the sight of a maiden in pain and himself helpless to assist was making his hands shake. He'd have rather been out with his brother and Captain Glorfindel – least then there would be a chance they could happen upon some orcish scum, and he wouldn't have to think for a while.

Elrond watched as the healers carefully looked over the woman, searching for any other signs of injuries. Usually, they would try and awaken a person as quickly as possible, but given the circumstance, her reaction to Elves thus far and the woman's apparent pain; her lack of awareness may be an unfortunate blessing.

The half elven considered the woman. She had appeared small in her own clothes, but now – her various layers of garments removed, her jewellery placed on the side in a small box next to her now carefully folded garments, hair taken down from where it had been bound in a bun using a fine hair pin, in nothing but a shapeless shift created with the heights of elves in mind – she looked tiny in both size and strength.

Whilst there were obvious pitfalls in judging by appearance, Elrond supposed in this case with an unconscious mystery who may or may not speak any known language, considering the woman's appearance may provide some useful information. The clear lack of muscle suggested this woman did not work for a living, at least not in the ways common to most people, like farming; certainly not with such fair skin – unused to long days in harsh sun. Even if she wore long sleeved and high-necked garments, her hands and face would still show signs of working long hours in the light of Anor.

Though what muscle she had was toned gently – a specific midway point; more likely the result of a hobby like riding or dancing than any type of physical work.

A look at her hands revealed slender fingers and soft skin – clearly unused to labour with tool or hot water. Slight differences between the left and right hand suggested she wrote a lot. That was significant – reading and writing were not common among all but Man's nobility or landed gentry, certainly not here in Eriador. Where the closest to that they had was the Dúnedain...

Which surely this maiden was not... not without speaking Westron at ease and at least a rudimentary understanding of Sindarin... but she had known something of Quenya... And there was every chance she had suffered some head injury recent or otherwise, that may have lost her language skills.

"Healer Lurlosel – from what you can see, how accustomed is this woman to walking?"

Lurlosel looked up at her lord from where she was quietly singing the adaneth's ankle to health, then considered. "There is little muscle, but what is there is toned... her ankles are slender and the base of her feet – or at least this one I can see – is soft and blistered, not callused. Perhaps short walks or strolls, but not for long; and however much she walked today was clearly beyond her limits."

Had Bree had a mayor or similar, Elrond would be certain this would be their daughter or wife. As it was, despite her lack in typical Caladedain stature, he would have to consider Gondor or Dúnedain as her possible kin. This was no peasant.

He would place her at early twenties but as someone who had clearly spent much of her life indoors and out of the light of Anor, she could have been even five years older than that. And if she were Gondorian, perhaps a decade or more above that. If she was a Dúnadan then she may even by closer to 50. Hopefully all would be revealed when she awoke. Perhaps she was in fact younger than she initially appeared, and not finished growing.

"Here." Elrohir returned to the bed, extract at the ready. Lurlosel gently lifted the woman's head and upper torso up so Tatharon could delicately drop the extract into the woman's mouth whilst Elrond stroked her throat to encourage her to swallow. Elrohir watched carefully – it would take time for the tonic to have any effect; but witnessing even a slight improvement in her condition would provide him with a sense of relief. He also could remain vigilant in case of any deterioration.

As he assisted his healers, Elrond's mind meticulously catalogued all the details the woman's hroa could reveal, contemplating them with profound consideration. Her colourings were not indicative of any specific ethnic group, least of all to the Rohirrim and the Enedwaith of Eriador. Dark hair – brown overall though with tints of copper and lighter brown at the ends – were more common in the Gondorian or Dúnedain. The length of the hair certainly was more typical of nobility – long enough that the ends that brushed below her hipbones were much lighter than the hair on her crown. He had only seen her eyes for a moment before she fainted, but they had definitely been grey. Not a clear grey, but with a darker grey outer rim and flecks of blue, hazel and green around the pupil – but still grey enough to incline Elrond towards Gondor or Dúnedain over the Uialedain.

Elrond and Elrohir began cleaning the scrapes on the woman's face as Elrond shared his thoughts with the small group.

"Fair skin, lighter than the southern Caladedain of Gondor – that would suggest Dúnedain." Elrond remarked, dabbing a thin blooded scratch.

"True, but her fear of elves must surely suggest any Man other than Dúnedain. Rohirrim?" countered his son.

"Ah, but we are not yet sure of how ill her mind is, or what else is about play. Her fear is not reliable evidence. And the settlements of Dúnedain are closer to where she was been found than to Bree and such other places... but to have wandered to the North West of Rivendell from the Angle was odd."

"Or had she been on her way here?" Lurlosel suggested whilst she careful felt along the woman's ribcage for any breaks or fractures.

"Surely this was not the latest ranger? As a matter of fact, surely if this was a noble of the Dúnedain, therefore of the line of faithful Númenóreans then surely, my Lord Elrond would know her? My Lord has fostered generations of his noble brother's line, and has known and met many other descendants of his brother's lost... of the Dúnedain." Tatharon replied, voice trailing off as many become when mentioning his mortal brother and the fate of his descendants.

"Again true... but I cannot claim to know all the current rangers, and I confess I have met far less of the ladies of the Dúnedain than men. What other evidence can we see? Ah – how about..."

Holding his long green sleeve from trailing onto the bed, he carefully pulled her lower lip down. He and the others quickly glanced at her teeth. Straight and unworn, suggesting a diet with more highly-ground flour – a diet expected of nobility, but the whiteness implied either a lack of sugar in her diet – more likely a peasant's diet – or access to high quality teeth cleaning paste that definitely implied nobility. This woman's Hroa was as much as contradiction and mystery as her actions, reactions and words had been when conscious.

"My lords, whilst the woman rests, and the tonic takes effect, might we discuss the next steps? My experience with injuries affecting the mind so strongly is limited, particularly with respect to treating edain. Can we consult on treatments?" asked Lurlosel.

"Yes, that would be best, if only because the case is so delicate. I think we both should carefully consider how we approach treating this woman long-term, if her senses remain so... fractured." Elrond agreed and whilst the woman slumbered, brow slowly frowning less and less as the powerful elven-made willow tonic took effect, Elrond, Elrohir and the two healers discussed what to do next.

Discussion completed as best they could conclude without the woman being awake to fully diagnose, Elrond crossed over to where the woman's belonging had been placed – wondering if he would find any answers, or only more questions. He tuned out the sounds of Lurlosel and Tatharon singing her bruises to heal.

Her clothes were just as odd – in terms of the cloth Man could make, these were of the highest quality; soft and supple on the skin, the weave and stitches were so small and precise he felt bad for those who had made them. Though not in elven custom, the skilful precision evident in the cloth was of the same quality as those that made the fabric of Elrond's own robes. The colours were expensive though mostly unpatterned. The rich wine-red fabric that made her top, the black needlework on the sleeves, and the deep blue colouring of her breeches – the same colours he favoured himself and his household.

Their designs were very odd though, especially for a woman of potential noble birth. Despite covering her skin from wrist to ankle, the very short tunic ended at her hip bones allowing complete view of her breeches - a style of dress uncommon even among men in Gondor and Arnor. Perhaps more similar to the Men of Bree... looking at it practically, perhaps it was for riding in? Walking in?

The material too was interesting, not wool or linen as most edain in Eriador wore, nor the ethereal silks, satins and hísëlannë preferred by the Imladhrim, but near entirely of cotton; a fibre only grown in the more southern lands and expensive to find here in Eriador. On the inside each item of her clothing, there were a couple of square pieces satin ribbon. These appeared to have originally been longer but had been cut short leaving only a few faded letters visible. They were similar enough for Elrond to suppose they might have been Tengwar, but so faded and different that it wasn't discernible even the mode of writing used, let alone what was actually written.

Her shoes were short boots of dark brown leather, high quality though not quite fitted correctly for the woman. No doubt the reason she had such awful blistering. In fact, the clothes themselves, though rather form fitting, were not quite tailored to the woman who had worn them. Odd that this woman would be wearing hand-me-downs... though then again perhaps not. Such peculiar clothing – could it be a uniform, or official dress? So many questions. Small questions. Individually they were inconsequential, ultimately, but cumulatively? What a mystery! Whilst the details of a person should provide clarity about them, instead every new detail discovered only gave more questions, and answered few others.

When he took note of her jewellery it became more and more certain that whoever this woman was and wherever she had come from, she had to have been high-born. There were two delicate hoops of gold alloyed with a little copper in each earlobe. There were additional studs and hoops delicately placed at different points of her ears, all made of similarly high-quality gold, some embedded with a diamond-like crystal. Two sat comfortably near the upper, outermost corner of her right ear. Such decorations were less common decoration among Man, but frequently seen among Eldar, particularly farmers who worked with pollen heavy crops, and those with troubled sleep. This woman was clearly no farmer, so perhaps she frequently struggled with sleeping?

One of the studs decorating her left ear, pierced through the cartilage of the inner shell near the face-ward connection to the cranium, reminded Elrond of the traditional Sindarin piercings earnt from great deeds. He had the fuzziest idea that his birth father had possessed the same piercing, though he couldn't recall even which ear it may have decorated.

A chain of incredibly thin gold links with a tiny pendant had been carefully taken off from around her neck where it had tangled with her hair. Elrond couldn't recognise the symbol the pendant made: two thin metal rods of different lengths welded perpendicular across each other, embedded with a delicately sized diamond that a peasant could work for a decade before being able to afford. A ring on her thumb made of brass – a cheaper metal but a high-quality sample of it – was engraved skilfully with flowers. Her hair pin too was bronze, curling into a fox with skilled etching of its face and fuzzy ears. This was her hair's only adornment, unlike the beads and braids that decorated all the other members of the room. Lurlosel and Tatharon were both Sindar, who favoured natural styles and loose hair, still adorned their hair with beads and grips of wood and amber, keeping their strands of pale wheat locks away from their face whilst they worked. Elrond and his younger son, like many in the Valley, kept a similar Sindar style of hair regardless of whether they were Sindar or not. However, they nonetheless favoured more intricate braiding, weaving their dark hair around circlets or other ornamentation.

Simple hairstyle aside, she was otherwise well-accessorised.

Her wrists had both been adorned; on her right a woven bracelet in luxurious colours, with numerous tiny seashells threaded and attached at regular intervals. A fine piece rendered humorously humble in comparison to her metal pieces – consequently likely a sentimental piece; and a clue if perhaps she came from by the sea.

It was the miniature clock taken from her left wrist that really stood out – pocket watches were a rare thing; though he had heard of the skills of hobbits of all people in their making – but truly this was a masterful piece. The tiniest screws alone spoke of the skill of the item's craft smith.

Where had she been headed that she would wear such fair pieces? Perhaps she really was in some sort of official dress? Or were these even her finer pieces, if she wore them whilst out walking, or riding; or did their presence indicate she had been taken unwillingly. Escaped then gotten lost?

So many questions that could not be answered until she awoke. It could be made into a children's story, Elrond supposed: The discovery of this mystery woman. Hopefully one with a full explanation at the end.

Caladaneth or one of the enedwaith - an Uialdaneth?

Noble woman or peasant?

Ill injured or ailed?

Eriador, Gondor or elsewhere?

Here by chance or deliberate actions of another?

Cursed? Blessed? Sent? Delivered?

Elrond returned to the side of the woman's bed just as the Lurlosel and her apprentice finished applying what healing they could to her physical injuries. Noting the woman's pained expression, despite the extract she had ingested and the healing of her ankle and other scrapes and bruises, Elrond brought the question to his Chief Healer.

"Pain still troubles her. Are we certain there are no other physical injuries she is suffering from – perhaps internal?"

Lurlosel shook her head and gave her report, "We have checked. Her organs are all functioning perfectly. She has no fever nor other sign of sickness. Not a bone is broken or in anyway damaged, and what minor damage there was to tendon or ligament in her ankle we have healed and is not present elsewhere. Her knees were bruised though we have healed the worst of it, and the rest will fade in time. Without use of our magic, we looked over her head and felt for any bumps; nothing." The elven healer, second only to Elrond in skill, gazed down at the woman. "If she is in pain, it is in her head and not caused by any external factor... Given she has not once came close to regaining consciousness since she collapsed at the Western entrance, even when having bitter willow tonic coaxed down her throat, I suspect she will not awake until whatever mental ailment that afflicts her is resolved. But I know Lord Elrohir mentioned..."

She turned and gestured to his son to re-join the conversation from where he had been unrolling and rerolling bandages in the corner. He looked up coming out of deep thought and took a moment to answer.

"In the Rhudaur, I tried – just with a simple diagnostic touch – but she started... convulsing. We feared she might even stop breathing though thankfully she did not get to that stage. I'm not sure how... disturbed she may or may not be. Before Ello' fetched you, with the way she was talking - I mentioned earlier to you Adar how she commented and listed ancient names – but truly, the way she was speaking... It was as if she did not know what age she was in. Like that was uncertain. Could she... is she... Adar, could we not consider she may be from a different age all together?" Elrohir struggled to get his query out. He knew it was a ridiculous question. He knew it was the wrong time to ask. But...

"It's just- "He hurried to continue, feeling as green now as he was at merely a century in age, watching his father's face turn bemused. "Perhaps I acted at the same time as something else took its toll on this woman; making it only seem like our magic caused this? Like magical exhaustion, or a spell or a curse – something from the woman's own power; that sent her to a time she is unsure of..." He trailed off, and his hesitantly hopeful tone told Elrond more that his son had intended to reveal.

Elrond laid a hand on his son's tensed shoulder, clenching his hand slightly to relax the muscles beneath dark steel blue fabric. The movement made his son's embroidered collar catch the light, flickering stars in a midnight sky.

"The mind is delicate and defensive when stressed, and the woman was deeply afraid from hours lost in the Trollshaws. I suspect the woman would have reacted to anyone who used elvish magic, or any magic, upon her. Through no fault of your brother, nor yourself, her mind may have taken the diagnostic magic as a threat and caused an internal cascade within itself. This would have led to the behaviour you told me occurred as your returned from those woods and when she arrived.

That said, the manner in which the woman ended up wandering in the Rhudaur is entirely up to speculation. Though it is not one I would place as probably, one could say your idea is as good as any at this point, considering what little detail we have managed to glean from the woman's hroa." Elven-grey eyes flitted towards the woman. "With that in mind, it is possible she will react negatively should I use any charm to diagnose or heal her mind myself. But... there is the definite danger that if she is left unconscious in such circumstances any longer, she may not ever wake again..." Elrond looked back at the woman, noting her brows furrowed in pain even now.

He looked closer. She was trembling. So, so subtly – but even in her unconscious state, she was suffering. "It appears to be a necessary risk, one that I hope she will forgive me if it causes pain or any other unwanted mishaps."

Elrohir considered his father's words. "Is that likely?"

"The pain, perhaps. Anything else is merely possible, and harder to predict. I will limit direct influence and intend to have her use her own mind as her healer and keep myself removed as much as possible. Whatever ails her at this stage is mental. I will give a song for her mind, to remove that which is paining her and then support her mind's ability to do such a thing as she rests. We'll support with other more generic healing songs as well but those we shall not direct immediately into her mind."

Elrond now sat on the edge of the woman's bed and brushed some of the shorter strands of hair from her face. He thought for a moment then instructed, "Lurlosel, Nod glein a daurmeth i thondo feanaego."

Elrond, Lurlosel and Tatharon sang the bespoke song of healing to a tune reminiscent of the Ode of Niënna, as they called upon the grace of Eldar and Maia, that whatsoever was causing the mortal such pain and anguish would be hence bound and ended. An unfortunate word choice wherein the cause of the mortal's distress was firstly, the knowledge that she was in a book and the sheer impossibility of that reality was breaking her mind. And secondly, the Eä was trying to make sense of an Eruhini adaneth who had been baptised in the name of persons of Eru not yet revealed to Man. That currently was impossible – she couldn't be there, existing, but yet she was. Something needed to give.

If you force a cube through a circular hole, one or both will break.

But then came Elrond's intention. Elrond was unaware as he was to just how impossible the girl laying in his ward was. His intention was to heal. To fix. To save.

To fit a cube into a circular hole, you could shave a tiny bit off around the edges of both cube and hole, again and again until they fit. The majority of the shapes are left untouched, unchanged – only the outward details have been altered.

The future hadn't happened yet, and with the introduction of Elrond's Maian power – not just of healing but also the power he inherited from a Maia who helped form the world; power of creation… the girl was going to be made fit. And in doing so, be saved before Eä blotted her out like the misplaced ink spot she was in the divine manuscript of history.

The woman remained unconscious, but not peacefully, eyebrows furrowed in pain and lips in a grimace that only increased as the song's chorus peaked and reverbed again and again. This response suggested to the healers that the issue was deep-set and had been a longstanding impairment. This of course was nearly true – the woman had known of the fictional world of the Tolkienverse for nearly two decades, having been first introduced to the works when her parents bought the Fellowship of the Ring film in the early 2000s, and the family watched it together.

To the Eldar and Peredhel present however, this only brought to mind pity for this mortal to have borne such a curse or ailment for so long. They could just picture it. A nobleman's eldest daughter, tormented by delirium and incapable of intelligible speech. From birth or later, a product of nature or born of curse, unknown. Such afflicted people were not unheard of, not in the race of Man nor in the other races... but families of noble means tended to hide any such relations away from public sight. And was there not evidence for this? The slender wrists and ankles, thin arms and legs clearly unused to physical exertion, soft pale skin unused to labour. They were quite convinced, caught up swiftly in sympathising for the poor child of man's fate. And then in turn they doubled down in their efforts to save this woman from her plight.

Never of course realising that the only thing they were binding was – not her knowledge of Tolkien-lore, nor her knowledge from her own reality – but merely and entirely that the Tolkienverse; Eä, Arda and Aman; was all fictional, as far as the woman's reality went. Putting that level of enchantment, for that was what it was, as unknowingly as it was placed, took time and power. And, doubly so, when Elrond's magic was also binding her to the present, to presence, to the very world of Eä as it was – making whatever connections needed to make her make sense; aiming to limiting damaging her as much as possible. Healing as the nature of his intention was.

Consequently, days passed with Elrond, the healers and his sons taking turns monitoring her, singing songs both of generic healing and the specified one Elrond had worded, and looking over her for any sign of an answer to any of their questions.

In the meantime, the fair Master of Imladris received joyful news. Arathorn's wife Gilraen had given birth to a son, who they had named Aragorn, after Arathorn's great (by 8 generations) grandfather, Aragorn the first. Elrond sent his congratulations and well wishes in return, directly to their home in the largest of the Dúnedain settlements in the Angle, accompanied by a gift of soft cloth of elvish-make, perfect for fashioning blankets or clothes for a new-born. He also included a brief query about the presence – or notable absence – of any woman matching the embodied mystery currently asleep in his Healing wards.

Though her origin was still unclear, and there were other people the woman could be revealed to have come from, after days of consideration Elrond himself was already quite convinced.

In Elrond's mind, her knowledge of Quenya – any Quenya – meant she was nearly certainly of Númenórean descent, and of those; the Dúnedain. No other of the race of Man, even in Gondor, spoke Quenya. Few elves did. One did not just happen upon words of ancient languages, particularly not in the Lonelands. Perhaps in the age of Elendil, Gil-Galad and Celebrimbor. But not now.

She may also have an ability to detect those of Maia descent, or somehow recognised he and his sons from somewhere.

The question of how the Dúnedain had raised such a sheltered house flower as his now ward was another matter entirely. Long gone were the days where these faithful remnants of his brother's descendants had lived in great halls, now almost completely nomadic with a few settlements here and there in the nearby Angle to call a base. No place where this woman to have been raised.

Sharing his thoughts with his sons and the invested healers as the first of those three helped feed the woman some watered-down broth in the same manner she had been made to drink the tonic, whilst the latter two maintained a healing reverb, they again considered Gondor. There were likely some ancient texts in Gondor that included Quenya… but how on Arda had she ended up here? With no evidence of a search party or guards, and her behaviour upon seeing the Eldar – not disbelieving as some might expect from Gondor or Rohan, but instead well aware of the Valley and it's liege; how could she be from Gondor?

By process of elimination, the Dúnedain was the most likely. And yet – Elrond still wondered.

Her appearance in the wood could not be explained. His eldest son and Glorfindel had successfully traced back her steps, all the way to the centre of the Rhudaur, into a fae ring. There were no steps entering it, nor any evidence of her actually having been inside the ring. Only that she had taken her first step out of it.

Dúnedain she may well be; but from the Angle, in clothes that oddly fashioned and skilfully made, she was likely not. Not this ill-travelled, gentle-bred woman. Even if she had been kept inside due to a mental affliction, the Dúnedain would have sought his help. Dúnedain but not Dúnedain. Perhaps his son was correct – the quandary was not where the woman was from; but when.

Aragorn's birth had stirred a sense of nostalgia in Elrond, a sentiment he was accustomed to after millennia of births of his twin's descendants and centuries of fostering later generations. Yet, one evening, he couldn't help but notice a subtle resemblance between the woman and the distant memory of his brother's youthful face. It was easy to imagine, considering he still saw his brother's visage every time he glanced in a looking glass.

The straightness of her nose and the specific positioning of her cheekbones carried a certain familiarity for Elrond. There was a subtle echo of his brother, and so traces of himself, and even glimpses of his own children in her features. Though softened by her Mannish heritage, these facial traits evoked a faint resemblance to the time-blurred memory of his mother Elwing's face. While Elrond acknowledged the possibility that these impressions might exist solely in his mind, (they were) the unsettling thought of any descendant of his brother being cursed, confused, afraid and lost would not leave Elrond's mind in peace...

The Master of Imladris stood from where he was sat by the window humming a more generic healing song, and moved over to where the mortal lay, in much less pain and more ease than she had done a few days prior. She had been moved to a private room connected to the main ward the day before, when it became apparent that she would not be waking at time soon. This decision to transfer her had proven beneficial; offering her a more serene environment for recovery. In her new – hopefully temporary – quarters, she looked less fragile, though evidently still healing from the small scabs and fading bruises still remained around her eyes and temple. The woman continued to appear tiny in oversized cream sleeping robes, almost child-like; diminished in a way she hadn't when he had first beheld her. She would need clothes when she awoke. He glanced at the pile of clothes folded on the side of the room. Deep reds and shades of blue..

Elrond gracefully pulled back his long, burnt orange sleeves from his wrists, and gently placing his hands on her head. Elrond focused on that spark inside his fëa, power borne not of elvish blood, but stronger and older, as he had done when he first sang to heal her. He sang the enchantment again – ready to stop should the woman show any sign of pain. Unbeknownst to him, the channelling of his Maian heritage's wild and mighty power into this displaced mortal unwittingly forged a permanent enchantment, tethered to her existence for as long as she drew breath in her current body.

And then inadvertently and quite literally, Elrond descendant of Melian, sealed her fate.

It wasn't meant as a spell, little more than a prayer and a wish. But the lore of Eä and the Tolkienverse placed power in words and Elrond was mighty amongst Men and Elves. And this enchantment added the final binding to reality that would define the rest of her life, and what would now be her past.

In the ancient tongue of Quenya, that Elrond had been taught by Maedhros and Maglor as a child all those thousands of years ago, Elrond murmured the final words to give this woman a place in Eä, "Lírinen ómo Eru, nai manná hecilë olsina," and then again in Sindarin, "Lîrnan conathen Eru, ná manna renianner, radbâr".

By the song of the voice of Eru, may what be lost become known.

By the song of the voice(s) of Eru, let what is stray, find (a way) home.

Notes: You don't need to know her true age, but it is definitely older than early /
I enjoyed writing some parts in elvish but it will not become a habit. (So don't worry if it made reading a little difficult xx)
*Glossary* (including some words and phrases I have made using .com)br /
Adar: Sindarin for /
Aman: The Undying /
Arda: Middle /
Dúnedain: Men of the West, typically the people of Númenor and their /
Eä: The universe or world, includes Arda and /
Easterling: Refers to the people of Rhûn, east of /
Eruhini: Children of Eru (God), refers to Elves and /
Esgaroth: Laketownbr /
Fëanorian: Pertaining to the family of Fëanor, infamous in the First /
Hísëlannë : Quenya for chiffon I made this term up because chiffon is a French term and I like translating ? Literally mist tissue/clothbr /
Hroa: Quenya for the physical aspect of an individual, separate from the spirit or soul, (which is called "fëa.) The hröa is the tangible, mortal form of a /
"Lírinen ómo Eru, nai manná hecilë olsina," Quenya. Literally: Lírinen = Song ómo = of voice of (Eru), nai can mean be it that, manná can be blessed or, in this case, whither, hecilë = lost, ol = become, sina = knownbr /
"Lîrnan conathen Eru, ná (manna) renianner, radbâr" Sindarin. Literally: Lîr = song, nan = of, conathen = many voices, ná manna = be it that whither, (Quenya whither), renianner from renia = stray, rad = path bâr = homebr /
Lurlosel: Chief Healer in Rivendell (under Elrond, naturally).br /
Maian: Relating to the Maiar, the lesser Ainur (gods) in Middle /
Niënna: A Vala related with grief, pity, and mourning. I deliberately chose her because someone needs to mourn my character's lost life. Elrond chose the ode of Niënna because I heard the song by Oonagh ( track/2SAZCPO5ezuB6AyyxkfAHX?si=11866b078340415d) and thought the chorus sounded perfect for this /
Nod glein a daurmeth i thondo feanaego: my attempt at an elvish spell… Nod can mean to bind or tie, Glein can mean enclose, A = 'and', Daur + meth = stop + end, i = the, Thond = root, o = of, Fea = spirit, Naeg = pain. So… it should mean 'bind, enclose and stop the root of spirit's pain' … I do not get elven grammar (though it doesn't affect the plot) so I will delight in any corrections!br /
Rhudaur: A region in the northern part of /
Tatharon: Apprentice healer in Rivendell, works under /
Trollshaws: A forested region in Eriador, known for its /
Caladaneth: Woman of light. Little sketchy – refers to people of the West, see belowbr /
Uialdaneth: Woman of twilight. See belowbr /
Enedwaith: Middle folk. See belowbr /
""Middle Men" was a term used by the Númenóreans to describe Men of Middle-earth related to the Edain, the ancestors of the Númenóreans themselves. The proper term is "Men of Twilight" (as opposed to the Dúnedain, "Men of Light", and the Haradrim and Easterlings, "Men of Darkness" etc.)." - wiki/Middle_Menbr /