Might I speak words of lore?

Chapter Summary: Elrond faces the unintended consequences as the woman loses her mental dictionary due to his healing magic. Language lessons reveal a surprising ability, and the mystery only deepens from there.
Eä: I have people speaking countless languages! This world was built for languages. Hurrah!
My character, a native English speaker, exists.
Eä: Absolutely not.
My character, exists.
Eä: Much better.

~Minastauriel is the translation of my name. If you get it right and comment it on this chapter before I post the next chapter, I'll translate any name you give me (like your own) into elvish and use it in a later chapter~
See end for Glossary
Please DO NOT add to any private collections.

Nothing happened or so it seemed.

After his quiet words, Elrond sat back in his chair in contemplation. The sun shone, a spot of rain graced the earth, and the world continued to move its long journey towards the Final Battle.

At the same time, so too the spell kept moving; stealthily advancing and gaining momentum. Eventually the spell was rushing through the woman's already fragile mind – one scarcely on the path to recovering following from a severe mental breakdown. Like a fever, it burnt through brain matter and blood, white-hot and electric with the unheard hum of stars, causing her jolt in shock and pain. Sharp pain radiated as much, so much, of this woman's memories – the core of the 'curse' – were then deformed or entirely dissipated. The spell continued. As unintended as it had been, Elrond's wording and the nature of her final binding nonetheless continued, down through her entire body, through every somatic and gamete cell from her head to her toes. Even her hair and nails were not spared. Deep into herself it went, nothing was left untouched.

It was agonizing.

Excruciating.

And then it stopped.

The unfortunate woman suddenly awoke midway through a vertical convulsion, gasping as she abruptly sat up, eyes opening for the first time in days, momentarily filmed with a faint lilac-grey glow, unseeing.

For that single moment, the world seemed to pause. The sound of the waterfalls, of birdsong, of wind through leaves – all seemed to quieten for that one single moment. Elrond, startled, sat up straight in shock with a breath that caught in this throat, gaining the attention of the adaneth, who immediately swivelled around to face him with a hitched gasp.

Her face was open, revealing a mixture of emotions; each one unfiltered and unscripted. Dark grey eyes with hints of colours fixed upon his own. The woman looked warily at him then squinted. Despite her cautious gaze, fear seemed absent. Elrond felt a surge of relief. And what joy; she was awake! Even more cause for thanks. And, hopefully, some of the endless questions this woman posed could now be answered. Now including the faint glow of her eyes when she had first awoken, that Elrond had only just caught sight of.

'In all due time.' Elrond reminded himself as he stood. That had been a shocking manner for the woman to wake up in. Approaching cautiously, Elrond moved slowly, ensuring not to invade her personal space. His left hand rested behind his back, while the right was open—a universal gesture of peace.

"Mae l'ovannen, my lady," Elrond spoke in formal Sindarin, a small nod and smile accompanying his greeting. The woman squinted harsher for a short moment, then atmosphere of room went from tense to amiable in a flash when she immediately and a little unexpectedly smiled.

Not in a manner one smiles to be polite, but in a genuine expression of happiness. The whites of her teeth stood out brightly compared her cream shift and the bedsheets. Her right eye crinkling slightly more in the corner than her left did, from her beaming. The woman nodded in return, quickly responding with a 'Mae g'ovannen', if slightly off in pronunciation before reconsidering and correcting with the formal form as he had used.

She opened her mouth and took a breath ready to speak, likely to ask where she was, who he was or when it was. Elrond was interested to see if this seemingly more lucid version of the woman knew what age she was in, but then she suddenly frowned. Dark eyes flickered around the small simple room for a moment before looking back at the Elven lord. She opened her mouth again but said nothing. Her frown deepened, and eventually she uttered two more words and no others. "Lord Elrond?"

Elrond's eyes narrowed slightly, a furrow appearing on his forehead as he observed the woman's panicked gestures. Despite his worry, he kept his countenance calm. The woman did not. Succumbing to panic, the woman flapped her hands and touching her head, puzzled why she could think of a single other word to say.

"Is there a problem with your voice or throat, my lady?" Elrond asked, moving closer in concern. At Elrond's words however, the woman turned wide eyed. She blinked thoughtfully, eyes darting around in ponder. She then shook her head before pausing in thought again then gesturing with her hand she prompted Elrond to repeat the question. Intently focused on his words; her brow furrowed in concentration. As she thought his words over, the furrow disappeared, and one brow arched.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He already knew there would be no unravelling the mystery this woman posed today, nor indeed any day soon. That was of little import. No, this sinking feeling was borne of something else. 'Surely not...'

The woman looked steadily into his eyes. "Sindarin." She stated matter-of-factly. He nodded.

She harrumphed and thought for a moment, eyes darting around the room unfocused – unseeing of the tasteful but generic décor the room possessed – as she instead looked deep within her mind for answers. She tilted her head allowing long dark hair to fall in front of her, pooling in her lap. Absent-mindedly, she flicked it back over her shoulder in a well-practised move before tugging lightly on a couple shorter locks that framed her face.

Sighing, she then turned back to the increasing worried Peredhel. She pointed at herself - her head, then made a clear 'no' sign with her arms crossed in front of her whilst shaking her head, then with one hand pointed at her ear and the other repeatedly touched her thumb to her fingers in a way that obviously mimicked speaking, she concluded the charade with a single word. "Sindarin."

'Now she neither speaks nor understand Sindarin? Or is this the same level of knowledge as when she first arrived? in that case, why isnt she speaking the language she first spoke? Why instead would she try and speak a language she doesn't... know... Unless it was the only one she-''

Elrond had a terrible feeling growing ever stronger in the pit of his stomach. Years of being a healer and developing an elvish level of bedside manner for even the most hopeless medical disasters had trained him well, so despite his growing trepidation, Elrond offered a reassuring smile then greeting her in Westron.

There was not even a flicker of recognition in the woman's puzzled expression. Through a series of hand gestures, it became apparent that she had no knowledge of Westron. Elrond tried several other languages and dialects of Man, including Rohirric, but to their shared dismay, none proved familiar to her. This seemed to support Elrond's earlier suspicion. If the woman had lost all language, it made sense the language she tried to speak, the only one she had recognised, would be the language she spoke the most. This language appeared to be Sindarin, instead of the unknown tongue she had spoken when she had first arrived.

But how in Arda marred had language been removed from her mind? Such a curse!? One she did not have previously – she had arrived in his valley not knowing much Sindarin but certainly able to speak a Tongue, even if it was one not recognised.

'Did I do this?' Elrond thought in a wave of horror. But how? Neither spell nor any prior should have led to this. Or was it not so much the spell but the power behind it? This was not the first time he had drawn Melian's power from his blood to heal a desperate case; including in the healing of other Edain. They had all fully recovered with no negative effects whatsoever.

But there was always a first time.

And she had no idea what had happened to her. The woman looked frustrated, but not at him. She was upset and trying hard not to let it show. Her arms were already held around herself in an attempt to self-soothe. The beginning signs of damp eyelashes suggested the attempt was failing.

She had no reason to think he might be the cause of any of this, and with her unable to communicate, there was no immediate way to let her know: For Elrond to determine if this language loss had occurred before she arrived in Imladris or if it was as he feared, and that he had caused it. How could he apologise and make amends?

Elrond's thought turned to lament as he watched the woman stare towards the end of her bed, repeatedly opening her own mouth, evidently trying to force a word from her lips. So far, all she had managed was a few vowel sounds. Even toddlers could do more than that.

He needed to speak to Lurlosel. He should have spoken to Lurlosel beforehand, who would have immediately put to be rest any thoughts of using that potency of power on a mind so recently damaged. A mind likely to have been damaged for years prior. Truly – how rash he had been. How Mannish.

He paused for a moment at that thought, before Elrond shook such things away. Now was not the time for reminiscing.

He came closer to her bedside, careful not to crowd her. He hoped his expression conveyed his sorrow on her behalf. He offered her a handkerchief for her eyes that she had stubbornly been wiping at. She gave a watery smile and dabbed at her eyes, little hitched sobs escaping from her every so often. Elrond spoke and knew of so many languages – and yet not a word could he offer in comfort now. All he could do was sit and place his hand on her shoulder as she slowly calmed down. For a while, the room was filled with naught but her quieting sobs, and distant sounds nearby birds' songs and the rush of the Bruinen.

Her tears eventually dried up. She blotted her face once more with the soft silk of the handkerchief then cleared her throat before looking up at him expectantly.

His stomach twisted at the hopeful manner the woman gazed up at him. He needed to confer with Lurlosel.

Smiling placidly in a way he hoped did not convey the panic that lay behind his eyes, he gestured to the woman to stay and wait a moment, and then quickly grabbed a book off a nearby shelf.

'Lore and Application of Lichen in the Medicinal treatment of uncommon ailments' was not a book of particular interest to anyone, but it was close at hand and in Sindarin. Passing it to her, Elrond did his best to assure her he would shortly return. The words themselves he knew were unnecessary, but he kept his tone measured and confident, gesturing again for the woman to stay where she was and look at the book. Perhaps, he hoped, she may remember how to read if not speak Sindarin…

Deliberately not rushing, Elrond then turned on his heel and left the room to look for Lurlosel, or her apprentice, in the main ward. As he shut the door, he could see the look of disappointment on the woman's face when she realised; she couldn't read the Tengwar either – alas, but the book had been a fool's hope anyway.

He swept down the centre of the healing ward, passing the empty beds and tall cabinets, hanging herbs swinging in the sweet, crisp breeze that crept in through the slight opening the large window in the northern wall. He arrived shortly to his chief healer as they appeared to finish up diluting a pearlescent blue tonic for stock. He felt as green and young as he had when he first joined the Golodhrim under Gil-Galad, despite in fact being older than Lurlosel.

The elleth in question turned sensing his sombre mood, and Lurlosel quickly read his expression. "My lord, the woman-"

"She is awake" Elrond uncharacteristically interrupted, his expression dower. Before Lurlosel could make any comment, Elrond confessed. "And yet I believe I may have made a grave error, perhaps… Regardless there has been an unexpected event."

Lurlosel's eyebrows rose high, and higher still when Elrond explained what has happened, including the potential for this to have been due to a lapse in his judgement.

The elleth stood immeasurably still for a moment, before gently reminding her liege. "Perhaps not. Elrohir suggested it himself when she arrived. The loss of language may have already been the occurring and nearly completed by the time she was brought to the valley and may have finished its effect in total before our spells bound it."

Elrond let her words settle him for a moment, then recalled how abruptly she had woken mere minutes after he had applied the new enchantment and grew guilty once again. "It would comfort me if I knew that for certain; and yet I fear her mind still suffered from my charm. Never before have my healing abilities caused harm in this fashion; but never before did diagnostic magic cause pain either – and yet I had been warned of such a thing affecting her in such manner not a matter of days prior."

Elrond sighed, and worrying his brow between finger and thumb, he made in a half turn to face the direction of the private ward, his robes sweeping the stone tiles of the ward as he did. "She is upset, though less so than one might expect. From my sons' descriptions – I almost expected a great uproar. Actually…" Elrond turned his head to met Lurlosel's gaze. "She smiled and was happy until she realised she couldn't speak."

"This from the woman who had to be forced here under duress?" Lurlosel thought aloud, gaze passing through Elrond and focusing on the door behind him.

Then, Lurlosel's eyes snapped back to Elrond's. "Is it just language she has forgotten?" She hastily asked, tone nonetheless conveying a slightly hesitance of the answer. Elrond felt the blood drain from his face.

The woman's reaction to waking up in a completely new place, to a stranger beside her, had been ridiculously calm. Hard to say whether or not amnesia would make someone more or less panicked upon waking up in that situation.

Surely that would have been obvious.

But without language – how could that be conveyed? Certainly, she would have panicked. She had made such behaviour clearly within her capability less than a week ago.

The two shared a wide-eyed look, a silent exchange passed between them—a fleeting mixture of concern, realization, and shared uncertainty. Without uttering a word, they both hurried back into the side room.

The woman was frowning at the book, holding it barely a thumb length from her face, eyes fixed on a labelled drawing of some lichen or other. Her eyes were as red as they had been before Elrond had left, but they were also dry. The silk handkerchief was curled into her hand as it held the book. As Lurlosel and Elrond entered however, she quickly closed the book and put it down on her bedside table.

Guilelessly she smiled, nodding in greeting overtly and stumbling over another 'Mae l'ovannen'. Lurlosel returned the smile and greeting, before sparing a glance at Elrond.

Elrond made a conscious effort to relax his brow. Loss of memory following an injury was one thing, but this situation was putting both Elrond and Lurlosel in unfamiliar territory and both feared for the worst-case scenario, but they must remain calm.

The calmness the woman was displaying made them uneasy.

His chief healer coughed conspicuously then pointed clearly at herself. "Lurlosel", before gesturing to Lord Elrond, who swiftly gave his own. Elrond recalled how she had already known his name when she had awoken.

The woman nodded enthusiastically, smiling again albeit slightly wobblily, chirping back their names with another accompanying 'Mae l'ovannen' to each of them, this time with improved pronunciation.

'She was listening intently when Lurlosel greeted her. She's quick. That, at least, speaks well for her recovery.' Thought Elrond as he briefly considered how to teach an adult edain at least one full language, who in turn had absolutely no basis for any language at all.

The woman's joy – given the particular circumstances – distracted him from his thoughts. Indeed, she looked absolutely delighted when greeting Elrond by his name, even adding an honorific Hîr and looking completely at odds with the horrified woman he had first glimpsed just a few days ago, and the tearful one he had seen not moments prior.

Looking closer at the woman's expression revealed the tightness in the corner of her eyes. Her shoulders were tensed, her breathing slightly faster than a person at ease would have. He could see the way the corners of her mouth kept turning down before being focused upwards and pleasant.

Her smile, however much of it was feigned or forced, was not to last. Just as when she had tried to speak earlier, she moved confidently pointing at herself and opening her mouth to give her name... and nothing. She frowned, then her eyes went wide, and she looked between Lurlosel and himself, clearly asking without words why she didn't know her own name.

Elrond could see Lurlosel doing the same as he, fighting to keep their shared dismayed thoughts echoed around their minds off their faces, as the woman tried to use a series of panicked hand gestures to ask Lurlosel and himself for her own name.

When it became clear no one present knew her name, she turned to face the foot of her bed in distress. A loud wordless exclamation escaped her lips as she slammed her hands down on her mattress in frustration.

She froze, visibly trying to regain the illusion of calm she had worn moments ago. Inhaling deeply, she tried and failed to release it calmly. Elrond and Lurlosel shared a pained glance, their hearts aching as they watched the woman's arms rise to hold herself. Tears began to well and her breath hitched.

Lurlosel, quick to respond perched on the ward bed, gently grabbing, and holding the mortal's hand. Murmuring words of comfort, she hoped her tone conveyed what the words were not able to. Yet again, the woman shook away the tears, biting back her sobs. Her eyes closed, a furrow forming on her brow as she hummed in concentration. Though the storm had seemed to now have abated, she continued gripping Lurlosel's hand, whimpering when Lurlosel attempted to let go.

The woman rubbed her head wearily then turned suddenly to face both healers at the same time, with an accompanying 'Ah-ha'.

With utter confidence she pointed herself, "Minastauriel."

Lurlosel's face spasmed as she tried not to let her concern break through. Lady of the High Tower? That wasn't a name. The woman couldn't recall even her own name.

The look of despair Lurlosel gave Elrond this time could have withered crops.

Conveying to the woman that 'Minastauriel' was not a name – at least no name he had ever heard – took time, paper, ink, some rather trite drawings and a lot of charades, but eventually they had established that no, Minastauriel was not her name, but it did mean her. Either her name translated to Minastauriel, or Minastauriel was a title or descriptor given to her. Lady of the High Tower certainly sounded much more a title than a name. And fit in with the earlier suspicion the adaneth had been hidden away – not that that theory would be able to be proven or corrected anytime soon: It wasn't clear how deep the memory loss ran, but the woman would not be able to even understand any questions for some time. Weeks, months… who could say?

And Elrond had thought her awakening would bring about answers to the many mysteries this woman was shrouded in.

During the discussion regarding the use of 'Minastauriel' for a name, something else came to light. At one point the woman had, without prompt, chirped out, 'Elrond Peredhel. Lúthien Tinúviel. Arwen Undómiel', whilst nodding in understanding to something.

This was particularly vexing as Elrond could not simply ask her how she knew those names. It was shortly apparent she knew much despite her memory loss; suggesting the comforting idea that only some memories had been lost.

But things she knew were things she didn't particularly have any reason to know. Not about herself – so far very little had come up. But of things of other natures. Things it was endlessly odd for random adaneth to know so readily, including the full name of his own daughter. None of his children were widely known in the circles of Man... aside amongst the Dúnedain of course.

At one point, Lurlosel left, needing to return to making tonics. Elrond and the maiden sat, considering each other. Elrond's gaze lingered sadly on the scraps still healing on the woman's delicate face, whilst the maiden's eyes admired his dark braids and their decorative beading. Their eyes met, piercing grey to a more mortal shade and an unsaid understanding seemed to pass between them. The Master of the Valley looked with gentle scrutiny, searching for clues whilst the mortal's eyes held a trusting ease and pure-intended curiosity. This itself was noted by the former. Of course, this was what was expected by edain; they had nothing to fear from the elves of Imladris, least of all its Lord. But she had been afraid, not that long ago – and now she had no fear. As if she had simply... forgotten the cause of her fear... but what could have planted such terror in the first place?

Endless questions! If Minastauriel was the woman's first title, perhaps Arnediad Idhrenist would be her second? Indeed, Idhrenistel was at least a better name than Minastauriel... Speaking of whom, she had appeared to have come to a decision about something. She mimicked a mouth speaking with her hand, then gestured between Lord Elrond and herself, then uttered in Quenya, "Mecin."

Lord Elrond challenged any elf, at least of Ñoldorin descent, to not delight in a chance to teach the art of Elvish language to a willing student. They quickly fell into a lesson, the woman clearly having an idea of what words had a current priority and enough knowledge remaining to 'ask' key questions about sentence structure and grammar, and then comprehend and implement this in turn.

By the end of her fourth hour of one to one tutoring with one of the wisest beings in Arda, and their third cup of tea (with a hearty broth for the woman as well), the woman could hold the briefest of conversations with near perfect dialogue, and if one was willing to forgive some syntax errors and a few truly adventurous interpretations of past participles – which certainly the Imladhrim would be – then the conversation could carry much farther into more interesting areas than the classic 'How are you today' she had mastered. She had a long way to go, but that did not deter her, and Lord Elrond had to acknowledge the maiden's intelligence. It would certainly make her recovery faster.

She was learning fast – it was more akin to teaching someone a second language, or them relearning a language they had once studied, rather than a toddler their first. Again, Elrond took comfort in another sign she hadn't lost all memories; she clearly retained a huge quantity of her language skills; perhaps all of them. Curiously… it appeared to be the words themselves that had been lost alone, with a few grammatical rules.

In between language lessons, fragments of her lost memories began to reveal themselves.

The woman's gazed fixed on the paper before her, a burning question on the tip of her tongue. She had precious few memories – but she remembered this valley.

She pointed at the paper, adorned with charcoal sketches and Tengwar. "Paper is clean."

A quizzical brow made her want to laugh. Her host was wonderful. The phrase 'kind as summer' rang in her head without knowing the words.

"No, the paper is not clean." Elrond clarified, curious as to where this line of questioning was going to lead him.

Nodding, she reiterated, "The paper is not clean and but the paper- ". Her finger moved from where Anor had shone to the window, tracing the path of the sun from a few hours earlier. "-is clean."

Elrond smiled, acknowledging her intellengience. "The paper is not clean but the paper was clean. The paper was clean before."

Her eyes flickered back to his, curving in a pleased manner. "Before. The paper was clean before but the paper is not clean..."

Lord Elrond smiled, "Now. The paper is not clean now."

The two shared a smile in quiet victory and she allowed herself a moment to embrace the achievement, taking a sip of tea, before asking another question.

"I was in Imladris before?"

Lord Elrond, caught off guard, raised his eyebrows in surprise. "No. Minastauriel, you have not been in Imladris before."

That was what she was afraid he would say.

She frowned slightly and shook her head. "No. I have in Imladris before. I remembering... remember-" a word established early on in their tutoring, "-to see here."

Anticipating a gentle correction, she hastened to add, "I see important water move rock place. And a picture of Isildur and Sauron. Place to read moon words. Um... a picture rock of Gilraen. I have see this and this and this. I have been here before..."

Elrond sat back in disbelief, understanding fully how his sons had felt during their own interactions with the woman. When, not where, was this woman from? This mortal had never been seen in his valley before, and yet she clearly had seen it. Everything she had said, in her odd wording, was present in his home but one. A fountain; indeed, there were several, some more sacred than others. A large painting of Isildur cutting the ring off Sauron's hand, immortalising that fateful moment of victory. She even knew about the Moonstone cavern! That last item though...

"Gilraen?" he questioned. Did she mean the wife of Arathorn? There was no statue of her here, or to his knowledge however brief of Gilraen, no such statue anywhere. But... was this evidence of this Idhrenist's Dúnedain descent?

The woman enthusiastically nodded. "Gilraen. Mother of Aragorn."

Had Elrond been a Man, the revelation would have required him to sit down. She could not have known this.

The Dúnedain chieftain, having been fostered for so many generations by Lord Elrond, followed the naming traditions of the Ñoldorin nobility; traditions that Elrond and Elros had been taught by Maglor. This included the names themselves and when the names were given. Aragorn had been named by his mother only after his birth and it was considered unlucky to discuss potential names before the birth, with close family being the exception, and even then, typically only spouses. And that was if the parents even considered the names before the mother bore the child. She couldn't have known the babe; born the same day as, possibly mere hours before, her arrival in the Valley; would be called Aragorn.

Unbidden, he recalled how his twin had been so much better at foresight than he had been, both in the details and the bigger picture. Even after his twin had chosen the choice of Lúthien.

Deciding to press further and see what could be uncovered, he inquired with a single word.

"Aragorn?"

This immediately regained the woman's attention from where she had gotten lost in thought as she tried to piece together what memories she had. Now, she perked up and smiled.

"Aragorn. Aragorn two, um... Aragorn Second. King of Gondor. Is King? Hm – need word; Before and Now and... word?"

"Will be. Before and Now and Will be." Elrond clarified, biting back entire spiels of questions and exclamations.

"Aragorn will be King of Gondor. How many years is he?"

Elrond chose his next words carefully, still trying to see more this woman could reveal. "How many years will Aragorn be when he is king?" King of Gondor. Gondor!

Without a second of hesitation, "Eighty-eight."

Finally, he asked, "And how do you know?" His tone was calm and gently curious, not revealing how invested he immediately became in her awaited answer.

She frowned again. "Is known. It is known. I know it. I saw Mithrandir put... metal... hat on Aragorn head."

Foresight. If this was true, if she had truly seen this, then this woman had Foresight stronger than that had ever been found in Edain, not for centuries. Millennia. Had he been Man he would have gaped. As Elrond Peredhel however, his eyebrow rose up and up before being joined by the other. He dared to ask another question, though with her memory being as it was, he wasn't expecting a definitive answer. "Minastauriel, are you Dúnadaneth?"

A flicker across her brow as she broke the word into parts she understood. "Dún-adaneth. Dúnadan-adaneth... oh!"

Oh?

"No, I am not Dúnadaneth." She then thought for a second and seemed to remember something. "And but I am Adaneth of the Dún. I know this." She ended the last phrase already laughing, knowing the riddle she had placed upon Elrond's lap.

Truly, Elrond thought, teach the most interesting mortal he had met in centuries the ability to speak Sindarin so she can answer the numerous questions she poses, and she offers him only riddles and more questions. As kind as summer, he joined in her laughter with a gentle "Adaneth Dúno not Dúnadaneth? What do you mean?"

It had been many years since Elrond had enjoyed the company of such a charming guest. It would not always be this easy. She was bound to grow frustrated with her lack of language, potentially soon. She would one day understand how likely it was that his magic had harmed her. But today, two scholars were celebrating small achievements.

Notes: Poor Elrond shouldn't feel guilty – if he hadn't bound her to the world, she would have ended up like her glasses, phone and any plastic derivatives present in her now less stretchy clothing: ~Dissolved into nothing~
(Elastic can be made from natural rubber, but in this case Minastauriel 'expensive' clothes were a polyblend of cotton with plastic derivatives and synthetic elastic. The universe 'filled in the blanks' after it erased the modern textile technology and made her clothes completely cotton etc.

Some further context: The more Elrond, Lurlosel and Tatharon tried to heal her, the more of her memory was lost and the more she became part of Ea. She now has no recollection that the Tolkienverse was a work of fiction. She still remembers the lore, /
When Elrond's charm was put in place, it completes her connection to Ea. As her soul and body are bound to Eä, two things happen. She becomes of Eä in a cellular level, as if she always has been. You could now trace her DNA to relatives in middle earth. This is useful, or else for realism's sake she would have to get super ill super regularly as her immune system would be completely unprepared for middle earth germs. The second thing is that whilst this was happening, as with the other times magic was 'put in her' – her body is all 'Nooooooo, magic how unnatural, it's like an infection' and fought against it, such as causing a fever. This will have the side effect of actually destroying some of her remaining memories; like damage caused by traumatic brain injury or fevers from meningitis infections. Hence some pieces of knowledge are forever /
Side note, Minastauriel is now no longer 'allergic' to /
Initially, when she wakes up, she doesn't remember much at all, but she recognises Elrond and knows he is a good person, so feels safe and is happy to see him. At that moment, she has no reason to feel anything /
Eä launched most words from her mental dictionary out, but not the skills behind them. 'Minastauriel' learnt languages casually as a hobby as an adult (mostly Duolingo but not solely) and studied them in school like most children when she was younger. So, she has a linguistic skillset already in place, and remembers the majority of the concepts she needs (i.e. a word for hot, cold, temperature, feel, warm, cool, heat). However, everyone else is going to assume she is relearning Sindarin, as that is only language, she knew any words of when she awoke, and though it is not outright mentioned; Minastauriel is a term the translates to Lady of the high tower in Sindarin. They assume that's her mother tongue. We'll get to their ideas for what on Arda she had been speaking when she was first found /
Basically, she's finally having some luck after losing absolutely everything including her name, her family, the memory of her parents' faces, access to modern health care, the career she worked hard to achieve in etc etc etc. She's allowed a little language learning technicality to make up for that.

GLOSSARY:
Adaneth Dúno: Refers a woman of the West (Adan)br /
Ëarendiad: Implies the idea of endless or without /
Edain: Men or /
Elleth: female /
Final Battle: the prophesied apocalyptic event in the Tolkienverse known as Dagor /
Gilraen: Mother of /
Golodhrim: A term used to describe the Noldor /
Hîr: An honorific title in Sindarin, "Lord" or "Master."br /
Idhrenistel: A name implying 'questioning woman'.br /
Mae l'ovannen: A Sindarin greeting, meaning "Well met." This format is formal, replacing the l with a g makes it /
Mecin: Quenya for /
Melian: A powerful Maia spirit, mother of Lúthien and wife of /
Mithrandir: Another name for /
Rohirric: The language of the Rohirrimbr /
Tengwar: Elvish script used to write various languages, especially Quenya and /
Westron: A common language in Middle earth, spoken by various races…. Apart from /
Valley: Refers to Rivendell or Imladris, Elrond's refuge