Chapter 7: Might all we create be pierced with words

Summary:

Elrond discusses Minastauriel's arrival and potential identity with his sons and Erestor. His chief counsellor has a great deal to say on the matter. Meanwhile the Captain of the Guard is in a not-so-good headspace when he begins to see parallels between the arrival of this strange woman, and that of Maeglin.

Notes:

Elrond: I have reasons to believe this woman is my long-lost, time travelling niece.
Erestor: No.
Elrond: I have prepared a powerpoint to show you my reasonings.
Erestor: No. She's a stinky liar.
Elrond: T^T I hope some proof appears to convince my friend.
Eä: I gotchu boo~
*Suddenly, in the healing wards*
Tatharon, shook: Uh-oh. I should probably get Elrond. *runs*

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(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

9th March 2931

In the velvet-darkness that sat upon the valley hours later, Elrond remained awake, and worse, despite his intentions, his thoughts were still firmly trapped in a tempest. Could this woman truly have a tie to Númenor? Could she even be Elros's daughter, spirited away from her homeland, through time and space, to the present, then delivered almost directly to her uncle? It seemed absurd, yet her brief knowledge of Quenya, her recollection of an island as her homeland, and her unexpected Foresight so strongly hinted towards a deeper connection.

There was no sense in lying in bed any longer, watching the arched ceilings as thoughts ran circles around his head like Tillin following Arien, occasionally interrupted by the calling of nightingales. Entering his private study, Elrond swiftly set out his writing materials. He would write the missive to Mithrandir now. His inked quill danced across parchment as he carefully composed the message, summarising the woman's peculiar arrival, her current and prior linguistic abilities, and her apparent yet inexplicable familiarity towards Númenor.

Even then, the invitation to Imladris remained sparse of many details about the woman currently asleep in his Healing wards. That ambiguity would certainly pique his old friend's interest, and hopefully secure his prompt appearance in the valley.

After closing the letter with his personal seal, Elrond dispatched it by the fastest of his home's messenger birds. Not a pigeon, as he would usually use, but one of the hawks from his personal possession. Stars shimmered overhead, including his father, as Elrond watched the bird disappeared into the darkness. If only the bird could have carried away the lingering cacophony of the elven lord's thoughts.

It was with his harp that Elrond finally found peace. Plucking the strings, he played an ever-slowing melody, letting his breathing slacken in time with the music until eventually he fell asleep.

Later, as dawn gilded the sky with hues of pink-gold, he left his chambers amid the songs of larks, the restlessness of his night turned to resolve for the day. He had a counsel to call upon and Elrond tasked his attendant with its immediate organisation.

9th March 2931

In the gardens close to both the courtyard and Healing Wards, Elrond found Lurlosel. Her blonde hair poured down her back in pale-yellow sheaths before ending in a sharp line beneath her shoulder blades. A gentle bow accompanied her greeting. "My Lord."

"Good morning, Lurlosel," Elrond returned. "How fares our guest this morning?"

"She rests peacefully, my lord. The night brought a deep slumber – no doubt from her long lessons and soothing bath. Some matters surfaced during her trip to the bathing rooms, but nothing that cannot wait: Ambalan told me you will be meeting with Erestor and your sons shortly. Other than that, her vitality seems improved, though I suggest the benefit of another day's rest."

Pleased, Elrond entrusted Minastauriel into Lurlosel's care. "Please, continue tending to her recovery, and keep me informed of any changes. I have sent word to Gandalf. I am hopeful he will pay us a visit soon to aid us in unravelling the mysteries surrounding her."

Lurlosel's expression remained composed, but a flicker of interest sparked in her deep green eyes. "If there are secrets even my Lord cannot unveil, then there are few who can. But if anyone can fathom the riddles entwined in her presence, it is Gandalf."

Elrond nodded in agreement. "Indeed. I would like to hear what you discovered last night at a later point, but for now I must attend to other matters. Should you need to update me on anything pressing, I will be holding private counsel in my morning room until noon."

The day unfolded with a semblance of normalcy and after the morning meal, he met his chief counsellor and sons in his personal morning room, where all servants knew not to disturb him when within.

The morning sun gently illuminated Elrond's private morning room, casting a bright warm glow upon the pale furniture, creating an atmosphere of enchanting tranquility.

"My Lord Elrond... time relocation? Truly you must-" began Erestor, his voice a woven tapestry of curiosity intertwined with deep scepticism, and a hint of bafflement as he grappled with the fantastical notion proposed by his venerable liege.

Elrond's mouth quirked in a blend of contemplation and mild amusement as he replied, "Truly I must understand how ridiculous such a notion is? I do. But there are too many questions around her that can only be explained by such a solution. There is something strange about her, but I do not detect any malevolence. Perhaps it is that she is from a different time; and that is what I cannot otherwise put a name to? It is a possibility I cannot dismiss."

The conversation flowed as Lord Elrond had anticipated. He, along with his sons and Erestor, convened around the room's broad central table, while a teapot and accompaniments sat on a side table near one of his many bookcases. The ashen-wood furniture, adorned with intricate carvings, stood in quiet elegance beneath the soft glow of Elven lamps that were beginning to dim in the rising presence of natural light. The springtime sunshine filtered through sheer curtains, casting gentle shadows on the plush rugs that adorned the polished wooden floors, and the many motifs and artworks that Elrond had chosen to decorate the walls of his private room.

Nodding in support of his father, Elladan added, "And when she first arrived, with Elro' and me, and if we assume at that point, she was in possession of all her memories if not sense; even then she asked what Age it was. Who, beyond children learning at their parent's knee, has ever needed to ask such a question?"

"We have already acknowledged – and you, in your own words, repeated – the woman had lost all sense at that point. We cannot take anything she said then too seriously." Erestor interjected, firm but calm despite his harsh words, grounding their discussion in rationality. Clouds momentarily travelled over the sun, darkening the room, and casting the pale ash furniture a deeper tone as Lord Elrond frowned in thought.

"...First age. You said she thought she was in the First age, originally?" He inquired, his gaze drifting thoughtfully around the room before returning to his son.

Elladan gestured to his twin, "Mm – so Elro' tells me."

Nodding in agreement, the younger twin seamlessly continued, "It was near the end, before you arrived Adar. First, she asked if it was the First age, and then the Second and finally the Third age. It was the last she considered."

Elrond put his hand to his chin as he thought through the many details again. He had a theory. "Erestor, entertain my thoughts for a moment. Fear, extreme fear; the appearance of such emotion to others – could look remarkably similar to some sort of mental affliction? Now, consider a woman with powerful foresight who believes she has transversed time to the First age. She is terrified; even of elves. Why?"

Before Erestor could respond, Elladan interjected, "What do the race of Man have to fear from the Eldar, Adar? Though, it makes sense for her to be frightened if she believed it was the First age; Morgoth would have hunted her if knowledge of her foresight had reached him. Of course she would be frightened-"

"-And not just of Morgoth. Sauron and all other dark servants of Morgoth would give any adaneth reason to fear." Elrohir finished. The twin's unsaid question – we can understand her fear of those; but why was she afraid of us? – sat on the pale table between the four Imladhrim.

It was an important question though. The Master of Imladris looked at his two sons. Handsome, fair, brave, and true. How could a woman fear them? He looked closer, peering for a clue. His eyes settled on the embroidery adorning the collars resting on both his sons' napes. 'Oh – what reason did a child of Man have to fear from most Eldar?'

Elladan noticed his father's look of realisation and prompted. "Adar?"

With a node, Elrond addressed his son and gestured his son's collars, "What were you wearing when you found her? You said she was wary but not afraid of you until you got close."

The twins exchanged puzzled glances before confirming the details of their attire. "I am sure I wore this outer layer and a similar undershirt in green."

"Same as Elladan said for me, Adar, but mine was blue grey."

Nodding in understanding, Elrond continued, "Same embroidery? Her eyesight is poor – she holds books less than a hands width from her face, not that she can read Tengwar anyway." He trailed off for a moment before his sons confirmed their undershirts worn when they found her had the same embroidery that currently their shirts.

"There are Fëanorian stars on your collars, and I wore a brooch with a Fëanorian star the day she entered the valley. I don't know how poor or fair her vision was at the time compared to the state it is in now but-"

"Pardon, my Lord, her vision. You've mentioned this twice now?" Erestor politely interjected.

"Ah, when she awoke, her eyes flashed - they were temporarily covered in a white sheen, glowing. Since then, she has exhibited poor vision; often holding objects close to her face to look at them, and squints at things even a moderate distance away. Her vision now is certainly poor, but I cannot say how it was beforehand. My sons?"

Elladan thought for a moment, Elrohir too – they hadn't outright noticed much in that aspect, there was a lot going on in that initial meeting. Eventually the younger answered, "I don't know Adar, perhaps she was able to see us? I don't remember her squinting exactly..."

"...but she was so afraid and in pain, her expressions were already of these; difficult to see beyond." Elladan finished.

"So – perhaps. It makes sense if it were true. Nor does it change anything if her vision was good or not. If once you were close enough, she was able to see or just happened to notice what was on your collars..."

"Then the first she saw of any... fealty was Fëanorian stars; if she thought us to be Fëanorian..." Elrohir trailed off whilst Elrond peeked at his Chief Counsellor, who merely drank his tea serenely.

"... And may only have known of such Eldar from rumour; might that not make her fear understandable?" Elladan quickly added before his twin's word could hang in the air between them for too long.

Erestor rolled his eyes and huffed at their pandering, placing his teacup down on its saucer with a gentle ding. "The Fëanorians were flawed people who made many mistakes – if she indeed though you were of those kin, she would be sensible to exercise caution at sight of you. But the fear you described is peculiar…"

"As was her reaction when she heard our names. They aren't Fëanorian, and yet I am certain she knew of our names before we said them. She recognised the names and knew yours."

Elrond thought for a moment more. "Having spoken to her, she certainly knew of this valley before she arrived here. She highly likely will have known our names. Wouldn't that be another shock; if she is, say, from the Second age, and suddenly met strangers bearing the symbol of a people who were said to have left these shores either to the Halls of Mandos, or by other means, by the end of the First age. Only for the strangers to introduce themselves by names of those she had foreseen being born in the Third." Elrond said, speaking the entire time with a straight face.

As if his Chief Counsellor, a fifth of his Imladhrim, and even he himself to an extent did not claim Fëanorian as their culture and heritage.

Elrond continued to muse. "Her fear may not have arisen solely from encountering assumed Fëanorians but rather from the belief she was in the First Age. She calmed significantly when she was told she was in the Third; and that was when you still wore the stars. It would be quite a jolt to the mind to suddenly be so unsure of the Age you are in. Based on the evidence we have, and what she has told us so far – it would make sense."

His Chief counsellor suddenly gave a great, deliberately dramatic sigh. "My Lord," Erestor said, exasperated at the discussion he had been listening to in increasingly disbelief, "Forgive me for what I will next say, but there is a prevailing issue with all of this. You are believing every word this woman has said so far. As unfortunate and unpleasant as it is to hear; could it not be that she is lying? Perhaps she knows some lesser-known Elvish lore and old names. Maybe she somehow got wind of the name of the new heir born to the Dúnedain – somehow, I know it would have been difficult for that to be achieved; but based on this, we would declare her a seer? Rather convenient, is it not, for someone to arrive at a place with nought but the clothes on her back and be immediately discovered to be so useful? And thus, be welcomed and fed. I have heard how Lurlosel is behaving; our best healer bar yourself, my Lord; acting like a lady's maid to a woman we don't even know the true name of."

Erestor took a breath, though it was unnecessary. Despite how sharpness of his words, his tone had been calm throughout; pointed but not accusative. "You acknowledged yourself, 'Minastauriel' sounds fictitious. Perhaps she is a great deal smarter than even you have praised her to be. A few words and she has you convinced you may have found a member of your kin. You – don't pull that face, my Lord, this is exactly why you wanted me here. You realised you were already considering that she may be your niece; and you know how that sounds. As unpleasant as it is, things may be worse than they appear."

As Erestor did his best to riddle Elrond's theory with holes, Lord Elrond shut his eyes and pressed a couple fingers to the bridge of his nose. It had indeed been unpleasant to hear. For as long as he had known Erestor, the counsellor had wielded a sharp tongue, even on a good day, but usually used it less viscously, and rarely directed at Lord Elrond. 'In fact, my friend is being surprisingly irate about this, more than I expected him to be.'

"This is indeed why I invited you, my friend. I will need you to speak to her as well, I think. Whether or not she is truthful matters far less to you than perhaps it does to me; and thus, you will likely perceive her more clearly. I only ask that you approach the conversation with an open mind. Just as things can be worse than they seem, still so does hope remain, and things can in turn reveal themselves to be better than first impressions gave cause to believe." He sighed, feeling the weight of twins forever sundered. "I cannot detect any magic or enchantment upon her, bar that which we have bestowed upon her in healing. I also have invited Mithrandir to meet and speak to he as well."

He paused, looking at his trusted advisor in sudden consideration, "I must say, your regard to this woman's situation is rather more passionate than I expected it to be. My friend – why are you afraid of her?"

Erestor pursed his lips, "There have been rumours, to the east and south. Nothing certain but... there are shadows darkening. This would not be the first time Þauron has come to an Elvish dwelling, gaining trust and welcome with a few sweet words, only to bring complete ruin in return."

Lord Elrond winced at his words, and Erestor did too, despite being the one uttering them. Celebrimbor's torturous death at the hands of 'Annatar' would forever be a point of pain, and Erestor hated having to bring him up and thus that pain to his Lord's face. A solemnity filled the chamber for a grief-stricken moment before Elladan suddenly interrupted, aghast. "Erestor – surely you jest. You cannot think this woman is Sauron? In disguise? Adar?"

At the sight of this eldest son's increasing concern that he may have escorted a fallen Maia enemy directly into his own home, Elrond remembered how young his son was. Despite his son's position as his eldest, despite his many centuries, his beloved son had been borne in the years of peace after Sauron's defeat. He had not lived through Sauron's repeated attempts and constant failures to invade the valley. None of his children had, thankfully. Furthermore, Sauron had failed then, at full strength, to breech his home's defences. Any form Sauron could take now – as weak as it would be – had no chance of overcoming his barrier, not whilst Elrond still wore Narya.

Saying as much, his son calmed down whilst Erestor groaned. "At no point did I think the woman was Þauron in disguise. And the barriers... I will have to accept that the woman cannot hold evil intentions in her heart if she went through them without my Lord detecting any disturbance in his shield. But her seer ability remains to be proven, as does any relation." Erestor remarked, his gaze sharpening.

Narrowing his eyes, Erestor continued "Ask her why she is here, if she can recall. Inquire about her beliefs regarding time relocation and how she would utilise such an ability. Or I could ask her?"

It had been a long time since he had been this... well if he were a Man, one would say frazzled. Naturally, this was not the case, and so Elrond Peredhel was merely but sincerely disconcerted. Rising to his feet with swift, graceful movements, Lord Elrond took a deep breath to centre himself. It didn't make any sense, it couldn't possibly to be true. But the more the idea rested in his head, the more Elrond – great, great grandson of Melian the Maia; one of the beings who assisted in the Creation song itself – found what small pieces of evidence available to be undeniable. More than that, and despite all common sense, Elrond was certain more evidence would turn up as time continued.

Setting aside his fervent hope for who the woman's identity might be revealed to be, his guilt over her state at present compelled him to extend hospitality regardless. If her memory issues persisted, he could hardly send her out, at least not until she could communicate effectively. And though she was learning Sindarin quickly enough already, he couldn't try and teach her any Mannish languages yet as well. Her random pieces of Quenya were already causing minor issues. And even then, even if her Sindarin improved enough for Gondor to be considered a potential place for her to go; what was he meant to do? Send her off with a good word?

Taking a turn around the room, frowning in thought as his sons and trusted advisor watched, Lord Elrond tried to puzzle the situation out with less than half the pieces.

Without her memories, and without any family coming forward – and somehow Elrond knew, even if he sent a hundred messenger birds out, no one would come forward – her prospects were bleak unless someone intervened and vouched for her. Without someone to accept her into their household, and decide to treat her kindly; how else would she survive? Her soft pale hands flashed in his mind – hands that were clearly unexperienced with any common trades – could she get a job? He could hardly imagine her washing clothes or plucking chicken feathers. She seemed intelligent; she could be educated and trained here and then apply to be taken on as a governess. Would she accept that? Being employed like a common person?

Truthfully, couldn't she simply stay here? If she had nowhere else to go? If she chose to?

But for that; she would need to be welcomed and want to stay, and having such an important figure as his own Seneschal be so suspicious of her would not allow that. Erestor would need proof. A vision, heard by Elrond and Erestor, that then came about in reality. Anything. He wanted it to happen. Too much; too many names of those he hadn't heard uttered for decades, even centuries, aloud; were running through his mind, for him not to now want things to be as they could be. That he could just see be true. He willed it to become true.

Was that foolish? Was his hope misplaced, or was it a beacon in the darkness, guiding them toward an unexpected truth?

Glorfindel's desk in his main living chamber provided him with a commanding view of almost the entire valley. His chambers were nestled further up and away from the bustling main rooms at the heart of his Lord's domain than had been first offered him. Glorfindel had specifically and strategically positioned his dwelling as a solitary sentinel, poised at a mid-level that balanced height and proximity to key locations, ensuring his readiness to defend the hidden refuge of Imladris.

Entering his chambers was akin to stepping into a realm of Ñoldorin elegance. Every detail spoke of his host's meticulous efforts to extend warm hospitality to Glorfindel. In his rooms, intricate patterns of sage green adorned deep blue walls, which appeared ethereal when illuminated by the starlight held captive in carefully placed gemstones. Gracing one wall was a resplendent motif of his house; a gilded emblem polished by housekeepers to a radiant sheen, despite Glorfindel being the sole resident this side of the Sundering Sea. The fireplace in each of Glorfindel's rooms sat unused, and always either surrounded by hunting gear (his living quarter) or his more formal armour (sleeping quarters) and never held flames. It was an unspoken aversion, a silent truce between Glorfindel and the hearth, to keep the fire dormant, lest it awaken memories best left undisturbed.

As the morning light flooded his chambers, Glorfindel found himself sat amidst his scattered training gear, pieces strewn about here and there from where he had haphazardly removed them whilst lost in his musings. His drill that morn had been abruptly halted by a written notice, a briefing updating Glorfindel of the adaneth, one he had previously dismissed as a lost farmer. Glorfindel's fingers had begun to dance nervously over the parchment the more he read, betraying the unease tightening his chest. Each word seemed to weigh heavier than the last, his brow knitting with deepening worry.

The arrival of the woman about a week prior had seemed inconsequential. Retracing her steps with Lord Elladan earlier had piqued his interest but not concern: their investigation having led them to the centre of a flowering circle deep within the Rhudaur, where her tracks abruptly began as if she had stepped into existence from thin air. But now as Glorfindel read of this woman's plight, her skill in Foresight, and of a possible connection between her and Númenor, a sense of foreboding took root.

Something about her arrival lit up a memory and Glorfindel was transported back to a time when Gondolin stood as a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. It was during those peaceful days that a similar arrival had occurred – the fateful arrival of Turgon's sister, Aredhel, and her son, Maeglin. The memory was bittersweet. How delighted had they all rejoiced when Aredhel, the wandering sister of the king, had returned to the hidden city. Their arrival had heralded celebration; but as quickly as the joy came, so had Eöl and his rage followed. Aredhel's restless spirit was abruptly released from her Hroa, and Maeglin had watched as his murderous father was thrown to his demise.

Maeglin, nephew of the King of the hidden city, had grown to be a prince of Gondolin. Glorfindel had spent years in Mandos, and years further in Imladris, wondering if Maeglin, who had been so trusted and praised, had always secretly harboured a lingering rage born from the witnessing such horrors. Had it been that rage which had led him to aid Morgoth?

As these memories swirled within him, the sense of unease grew stronger, and he faced the present with a heavy heart. Now a strange woman, with apparent connection to his liege lord, had been brought to the hidden valley, having lost everything.

'Is this the preclude to the repeat of history, or am I wilfully seeking despair?' Glorfindel wondered. Did her arrival herald a similar fate for Imladris as Maeglin's had for Gondolin?

With his chambers bathed in golden light, the motif of his house sent glimmers of gold speckled sunlight around the room, reminiscent of the Garden of Lorien he had once admired. Yet amidst the beauty, Glorfindel closed his eyes and hung his head. "I cannot fail again," he whispered to himself. History would not be allowed repeat itself within the sanctuary of Imladris.

"Adar – do you really think she could be our cousin, Tindómiel?" Elladan's question halted his father's meandering.

Accepting the cup of tea offered by his son, Elrond pondered the question before answering; suppressing the immediate 'Yes. I wholeheartedly do' that sprang to mind. "I cannot be sure whether she is or is not, nor can I claim with confidence that the evidence unequivocally supports such a notion. My desire for her to be our kin undoubtedly clouds my judgement, a fact of which I am keenly aware."

Of her Seer abilities, Elrond expressed more certainty. "I am most convinced that she is a Seer, a powerful one. She poses endless questions but that she has Sight; into both past and future; is something of which I am quite sure." He took a sip of tea, a tad too hot to be comfortably drinking, before continuing. "Moreover, all Edain possessing such gifts today can trace their lineage back to Númenor. Your brother tells me she repeatedly exclaimed shock at her being in Arda at all – as if she belonged elsewhere."

His elder son nodded, and then his younger joined the conversation from where he had stayed seated. "And the unknown language she arrived speaking? You think it may be an unknown Númenórean tongue?"

Elrond smiled lightly at Elrohir's suggestion, "I have been informed by multiple sources, including from your accounts, of the woman's use of an unfamiliar tongue, one that sounded like it has common roots with Westron and Rohirric. Númenor's population was diverse; men joined from all over Beleriand; those populations will have had their own dialects and languages that in turn they brought to Númenor. I know extraordinarily little of Elros' wife... it is a logical step to consider she knew more than one language and taught it to her children."

Elrond returned now to sit at the table, Elladan joining him. His twins sat in mirrored positions, as naturally as breathing. A fleeting moment passed, then Elrond admitted he in fact expected further proof to arise that connected the woman to his brother. "By one route or another, however distantly or closely related to Elros she is, her Foresight proves she is of his line. From the strength of her abilities; it is logical to assume she is closely related. When I consider that added with her knowledge of some Quenya, I would even swear she could be Ti-"

Before Elrond could finish his thought, Erestor interrupted, "Do not swear it," a pointed and surprised look on his face, eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly. Elrond winced.

"A turn of phrase, my friend – my apologies. I would never do such a thing." Lord Elrond offered sincerely.

Erestor sighed again. What a mess, he thought, having heard Elrond's words to his son. If this mortal woman turned out to be false and was somehow – despite her easy passage through the Valley's Wards – planning on preying on his Lord, then she would have to answer to him. Erestor was the previous Spymaster to Lord Kanofinwe Fëanorian, and current Chief Counsellor to Lord Elrond Maglorian. His young Master – don't argue, what were 6500 years of Anor compared to those plus the long centuries in the Years of the Trees? – was known as kind as summer. Erestor was not.

"What a dark face, Erestor! Dare we know your thoughts?" asked Elladan.

"Are you still considering her as some work of Sauron?" joined Elrohir.

Elrond looked at his sons. They looked worried; grins too sharp to be warm. They hadn't had much practice of genuine smiles in recent centuries.

Before Elrond could speak, Erestor sighed. Had that been the third sigh or fourth? Almost as frequently as in any meeting involving him and Glorfindel. "No creation or form of Þauron could breach our barriers. They couldn't three thousand years ago, and they certainly couldn't now. Nor could she have come through if she held evil intentions or plans in her heart. My concerns lie elsewhere." Erestor explained cryptically. Nodding to his Lord and his sons, he busied himself walking over and pouring himself a new cup of tea, train of his dark robes following his footsteps.

The barrier protected Imladris and the surrounding area from many threats strong and weak; but how fickle and changeable were the hearts and minds of Edain? Of course, discussing such thoughts with Lord Elrond Half-elf Half-man or his family was out of the question; there had been enough of those such pointed remarks thrown and jabbed at his young Lord back in the court of Gil-Galad. He could feel their eyes on him as he concentrated on pouring the perfect amount of honey into his tea.

The court of Gil-Galad Erenion was full of fools fixated on Lord Elrond and Elros' perceived 'diluted' blood. If not that, then it was their mixed Ñoldor-Sindar heritage, or their Fëanorian upbringing; there was always one more thing they could bring up. Less 'elvish' his lord may be in blood, the blood of a Maia was not so easily diluted, not in the Eldar. And over 50 generations later, Elros' descendants still showed gifts of such heritage. Elrond may have, even after his Choice, a few Mannish traits but Erestor had lived in Valinor among both Valar and Maia for centuries in the Light of the Trees. Lord Elrond and his children reminded Erestor of Maia more than of any other race or culture they could claim. He recalled accompanying Lord Elrond on a hunting trip once, back when he was still considered little more than a lost Sindarin Prince. At the end, Erestor remembered deciding that Oromë, Huntsman of the Valar, would have liked the young prince. Once Elrond had gotten into it, he left behind what training in hunting he had received up until that point, and instead awoke instincts buried in his blood.

At the end, Elrond had been slightly abashed to realise there was more blood in his teeth than on his spear or any of his arrows...

Lúthien, Dior, Elwing, Elrond, Elros. All less than and completely more than any 'Eldar' descriptor. Sometimes the eyes of Elrond and his children reminded him of the Vanyar, possessing a fire different to those found in the eyes of the Ñoldor; that seemed older, that spoke of Music. Other times... he remembered once passing by Tulkas and Morgoth, when he was still known as Melkor, in Tirion-upon-Tuna. Tulkas and Melkor were already very tall beings, but at that moment, for one singular moment, looking at them had been painful. All that being stuck, squashed, wound in such tiny, tiny forms, and Erestor had feared what would become of him if he saw them in full glory and terror.

... Perhaps there was something about this mortal that his Lord could see that he could not.

He was spared further thoughts by the door slamming open with a bang that broke the calm, pensive atmosphere that had previously been filling the room.

Tatharon looked harried, clearly having ran here in a hurry. As soon as he met Elrond's eyes, he quickly spoke. "My Lord – the woman – come quick, please. We're not sure, she is... we need assistance, my Lord."

Erestor had known Tatharon for the majority of three thousand years, since the fall of Eregion. They were not friends, nor particularly close, but dwelling for so many years in as tightknit a place as Imladris; you got to know an Ellon. Tatharon was a calm, steady sort of person, even in his enthusiasm. He had not realised his aptitude for healing until the opportunity to learn had been given to him, but his levelness of head in the face of all manner of injuries had been noted three times in the last four decades alone. He did not panic.

So why was he now?

Quickly their small group hastened through the corridors and walkways to the Healing Wards, sharp ears hearing panicked sobbing that built into wailing. Hearing all this far before they reached the Wards had their hearts filled with dread of what they would find upon entering. They quickened their steps.

As they neared the double doored entrance, they could make out the garbled words, no, pleas and the soft attempts Lurlosel was making to soothe.

He spared a look at Lord Elrond and Elladan, Elrohir close behind. "You said she was... disturbed, before? Before you healed her, my Lord?"

Elrond hurried faster, now approaching the doors. "Yes, I thought healing her mind had incurred a price; her memories. I did not think it was reversible... if that is what has happened."

They opened the doors.

Notes:

Context:
Elrond doesn't want to admit he is already 90% convinced – after a single day of speaking to her - that she is Tindómiel. In his mind, it is simple:
• Woman from an island.
• Highly educated.
• Didn't know what Age it was.
• Knows/Knew some Quenya and Sindarin.
• Dark hair and grey eyes.
• Clearly a noblewoman.
• He knows foresights weakens through Mannish generations so her relation to him must be very close.
• His niece is not mentioned in the history books, which could be because she disappeared from history.
Whilst Erestor is like… she could just be lying. To get free food? People lie to gets things they want. Maglor and I pretended to have a big falling out so you and your brother would let me follow you to the court of Gil-Galad.
Are elvish discussions meant to be this long winded and horribly wordy? Yes. Elves are immortal with plenty of time to fill. They are gonna turn a five-word phrase into a paragraph whenever they can. They aren't so bad when talking to mortals though – they know the mortals don't have time to waste on unnecessary monologues XD
I live for a low-key eldritch Elrond. He's as nice as pie, so gentle and kind and scholarly… and then you see him on a battlefield… O.o

Glossary:
Adaneth – Sindarin term for a mortal woman.
Ambalan: A name meaning Gift of God, in honour for Dorothy. Dorothy comes from the ancient Greek name Dorotheos meaning gift of a god. Ann is gift and Balan refers to 'a god,' then Annbalan becomes Ambalan. This elleth's parents thought *very* highly of their babe.
Arda - Middle-earth and other lands but not Aman.
Edain - A term used to describe Men, specifically those of the Three Houses of the Edain.
Eldar - Another word for the Elves, specifically referring to the Elves who undertook the Great Journey to Aman (so not the Moriquendi/Avari).
Ñoldor – The second group of elves to reach Aman during the Years of the Trees, known for their skills in crafts and lore. Tolkien also called them gnomes :D
Gondolin - A hidden Elven city founded by Turgon, known for its beauty and strength. Built and destroyed during the First Age.
Hroa - Physical body.
Imladris - Another name for Rivendell, located in the valley of the river Bruinen.
Sundering Sea - The ocean that separates Aman from Middle-earth.
Wards – Can refer to magical barriers but also to the Medical/Healing Wards.