Little Ariel grows up. It's a new life and yet, she still has daddy-issues (and sister-issues).
I took some liberties with the timeline, please don't come at me! Additionally, this is a huge lore-dump, bless my linguistic heart.
To answer a question that was posted: From the information I have found, the age of majority is around 18 for elves - the only thing is that an Elvish year is about 144 human years. I am running with these numbers anyway.
So, when she is 4, she is actually about 630.
Disclaimer: I only own the plot idea.
Runinig nín
Glorfindel keeps her confidence and never mentions her former life to anyone, as far as she is aware. She isn't quite sure what she is to him, probably someone he considers both a duty to protect, but maybe even somewhat of a joy to be around, in the same way the Eldar love music and song and nature. He mostly takes over her training and he is a lot pushier than her trainer before, lets her run more, move more. He knocks her down and builds her up and she finally feels like she is doing something with all that energy she has cursing in her body.
It's a lot for someone as tiny as her, so much they have to pin up her hair, so it doesn't get in her way, but still not as much energy as her fast-running thoughts. They say she is wise beyond her years, but well, she is supposes to be 4, so that's not that hard! From the way most others are moving, she would have thought being Elvish makes you calm and composed, but apparently there are differences, even here. She seems to belong to the more... antsy kind. Or the furious kind. She wonders whether it is a leftover of her life as Cersei, something she never got rid of.
Her father still looks at her exercises with some kind of disdain, she thinks, and it irks her, because she truly tries to do well, and she thinks she isn't half bad either, not anymore, at least for the fact that she has stubby legs. Some days she trains together with her brothers, who seem to be around 5, and while they mostly knock her onto her butt, at least they have a harder time catching her now.
One evening, when she is around 600 or 700 years old or so, she is sitting on a little bridge, far more casual than usual, with her head on her knees. It's quiet, but she can hear faint singing, and there are light shadows down in the valley, the silhouettes of the Rivendell Elves. She knows some of them, just from the way they are moving and their gait, because she comes here often, to observe and to learn. Knowledge is power.
The girl smirks when she spots Lindir hurrying along, probably on the way to join the soft singing.
Then there is Erestor, a grave, serious ellon who doesn't seem to like her very much but is utterly truthful towards her father - a bit like her Uncle Kevan to Tywin. She pretends not to know, but him and Glorfindel are ... something. She doesn't know what the Elvish stand on love of this kind is, she hasn't heard anything against it, but neither is she aware of any such bonding. Elvish love is strange anyway, very familiar and platonic. With these two, it is a matter of connected fëas, she supposes, though it seems to be a bit more complicated than that. They dance around each other but never seem to get closer. Still, since Glorfindel won't talk about her, she won't talk about him. She also won't ask about other things, like that Balrog, because she is aware reliving through the fight would probably pain him, and there is nothing to gain through that. For the first time, in fact, she feels she has no reason to hurt anyone (aside from pinching Arwen, but even that gets less frequent). For a moment, she wonders about her sister's whereabouts because in fact, she has no idea what Arwen does all day long. Probably what she used to do, singing, playing the harp, embroidery. All the lady stuff she is so tired of. Of course, she still practices needlework (nobody should tell her she is sloppy in anything), but swordplay is more fun. She doesn't really have friends herself, she thinks, but no enemies either. It is an odd feeling she cannot place.
Ariel isn't too proud to admit she worships the ground her mother walks on, maybe a little to make up for what she never had with Lady Joanna, but mostly just because Celebrían is the most lovable being she has ever met - which does not mean she is a pushover, absolutely the opposite. She is what holds the family together like a silvery Elven rope. Everyone say Elrond's house is the calmest on this side of the sea, but Ariel thinks it's actually Celebrían who makes it so.
But it's not only the people she notices, sometimes she feels as if the whole world is talking to her, the trees and the air and the water. Right now, it's soft and calm.
Suddenly, there is movement behind her, and when she looks up, her father is standing on the bridge.
"What is it, Ada?"
Her voice is still so high, so childish.
"May I join you?"
She nods and he sits down next to her with his legs hanging over the ledge, an odd look on the majestic elf. His small circlet is gleaming in the starlight, even more pronounced on the long, glossy hair. Ariel is struck once again how beautiful he is, in a strange, almost haughty and yet warm way. He is imperious, but he seems gracious. Not to her, explicitly, but just in general. Now though, he looks at her with a small smile.
"What are you doing here?"
"Watching," she responds, "the people, and the world."
He hums.
"That's good. To be watchful."
"But I thought our foes have been destroyed?" she challenges him.
"I did tell you about the wars, didn't I?"
He did. Now that he considers her old enough, he teaches her, and her siblings, of course, though the boys are more interested in running wild. Arwen listens, but she is a romantic at heart. Ariel thinks only she has a true mind for politics. She can also see Elrond is somewhat cautious with her, especially when they talk about power and darkness. Oh yes, Ariel knows her fair share about darkness, but she can see her father does, too. She can see it, the haunted look, especially when he speaks about Morgoth and Sauron, the fight of the last alliance, the death of his friends. The stories make Ariel shudder because they sound too much like what she has just experienced (even though she wasn't even there, a coward, a voice tells her). Sometimes she wonders whether all worlds are the same somehow, Fall of Númenor, Doom of Valyria - orva, cordof.
"Yes," she answers.
He looks at her sternly.
"I don't think I have to tell you darkness can be found almost everywhere, corruption can be found even among the best of us. It only needs a spark to start a war, it only needs one person."
One mad king. One stupid prince. One usurper. One ruthless schemer. One jealous queen. No, in the end there were so many more than just one. But it feels like it all started with Eddard Stark, when Joffrey demanded his head.
"I don't know about the one person, but I think you are right about the corruption," she answers.
Elrond frowns a little.
"Humans are weaker than us, more easily turned, more easily enticed by power."
There is always a certain bitterness when he talks about humans. Ariel has never met them, not even the ones from the Northern kingdom, but they somewhat sound like a mixture between wildlings and Northmen, so she really doesn't think she wants to. But then, on the other hand, it would be fun to go out and actually do something with her new abilities. Training is good enough, but it somehow seems a bit pointless if you have no one to use it on. Since Eldar are basically immortal, there is no chance she will get power about Rivendell at any point in her life - she would have to usurp her father, and two brothers, and then would probably have her grandmother at her throat if all reports are right.
So, in general Ariel finds she can relate to these humans, to the ones who took the rings and got a little crazy, because truly, take a ring and get power - a no-brainer, great! But losing one's soul in the process and turn to an ugly black ghost? Nope, thank you. Ariel is pragmatic, she has learnt that much, this time she wants to survive. Survive longer. There is still that thought in her mind, that she was sent back with a purpose, but most days she likes to push that away. She could ask her ada, but -
Don't even go there.
Suddenly, his voice fills her mind, a subtle show of power that makes her flinch. Ariel doesn't know what he has seen, if anything at all, but it's uncomfortable. He doesn't mention it, but she is certain he knows.
"They might be weak, but that doesn't mean we are immune to it either. So, keep watch, gwinig nín," he only tells her, "my heart tells me we shall need it."
"I am not little," she complains, trying to deflect.
"Well, for me you are, in any way," he argues, "you are a child, my dear."
"Why do you only want me to watch? Why don't you want me to fight?" she finally asks.
"I want you to know peace. I want a life without bloodshed and war for you."
"Without glory?"
"Without pain. There is nothing glorious in taking a life, nothing at all."
"And yet men are praised for their battles."
Suddenly, he grins a little wryly.
"I never said we are perfect, ruinig nín, though I admit there is some leniency when it comes to dark forces. And there is certainly merit in defending your people."
They keep sitting in silence, until he finally pulls her into his side. It's so unexpected that she stiffens at first, but then leans against him, because somewhere in her there is still a scared little girl who just wants to be held in the face of the big wide world.
"I think I can't be so perfectly peaceful as Arwen is," she finally murmurs almost petulantly.
She feels him chuckle.
"I know ruinig nín."
Ariel has to smile at the nickname, because it's somewhat suitable. Red blaze, like the clothing she keeps wearing, both in her dresses and the training clothing. After literally putting up with it for years, the pretty dresses have started to annoy her after all, and she has switched to more practical clothing. It's more like a riding habit, a long tunic with a high collar over breeches paired with high boots. While dressy and still lady-like and true, it's much more comfortable. The colour is unusual for an elleth, she knows, rather provocative with just a bit of silver and golden embroidery at the edges. It doesn't matter, she is used to being noticed. It's mostly due to her Vanyar looks, very High Elven, while most of the other elves carry the rather typical Noldor appearance. In a way, while she might be just as beautiful as Arwen, but Arwen is the more lovable one for the others in Imaldris, while everything about Ariel screams 'unattainable'. So, she intends to make herself rather incomparable to Arwen who sticks to more muted, soft, and dusky colours.
"Why do you love her so much more than me?"
He blinks and for a moment the mighty elf seems surprised. Then he looks down at her in thought.
"I don't love her more, ruinig nín. I love her differently. She is like twilight, and starlight. Stars were the first thing the Eldar saw at Cuívenen. You are like the dawn, strange but just as beautiful, crueller and sharper. Both are necessary. Both are hope" He huffs a bit ruefully. "I am simply more practiced in showing love to one than the other."
"You just called me cruel. And strange."
"Are you not? There is something dark in your heart and I am certain you are well aware of that, my daughter. You can hate with a might that can bring down kingdoms -" he looks at her knowingly, "but that means you can love in a way that can make them."
Even when she stiffens further, he doesn't let go of her.
"Your past is written, but the new path is not yet drawn and there are choices, not just for you, for all of us."
She supposes he is right, even though she also doesn't want to hear it.
The years pass, rather happily, with lessons and finally some light armour on the shoulders and chest - a far cry from proper armour, but enough to get used to the weight and to have her teacher hit her harder. There is also literal growing, if slowly, like the most ancient tree, or a mountain that is slowly built up by sand brought by the wind. Her thoughts of Westeros never go away, but maybe it hurts a little bit less, for each decade that passes.
The four siblings learn Quenya in addition to Sindarin, and Adûnaic, the language of the humans of the West.
There are more Elvish languages, Telerin and Noldorin, but Ariel only has patience (read: is only hassled into learning) two. Her father prefers Quenya, she learns, because it's the one that reminds him of Valinor, but Sindarin has become the vernacular and is much wider spoken anyway. Most of the humans speak it, too, so Adûnaic feels super redundant, and Ariel doesn't meet any of them for the longest time anyway. She knows they exist, of course, but seem quite separate in their Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor. If an envoy ever comes to Rivendell, she doesn't know about it.
In the meantime, something suddenly happens: When a King of Arnor dies, his three sons start to fight about the kingdom, so much it is separated into three parts. While the elves seem surprised (apparently, they had more faith in humans than they had admitted), Ariel can only shrug. Of course they do. Of course they fight, what's the deal? Arwen is aghast about her dry comments, but Arwen is still a pretty dreamer with air in her head.
Ariel on the other hand starts to scheme, because now, there is an opening. That weakness, it screams for being exploited. Maybe she could marry one of them and become queen? That would have been the idea in Westeros. But there, a betrothal would have already been arranged long ago, and here, her parents do not care one bit. Besides, she still looks like a child (not as if that disturbed Targaryen before. Well, or herself, duh, but truthfully, she is still almost a toddler and that takes it quite a bit too far, even for her taste).
Something else in her also rebels at that thought, she thinks that maybe it has to do with how Eldar are made. They say their fëa has to call out to a mate, that they will know once they find their other piece. That usually there is only one. It is not hard to believe, that there are puzzle pieces like that, after what she felt for her brother. What surprises her is the lack of sexuality without emotional connection, and even more so, the lack of desire for it. Maybe that's why there are so little Elvish children, she ponders. She hopes she won't get any more siblings though, just so nothing can happen to her nana.
It's all very tricky and all very inconvenient and all so sad that she can't just put up with a human guy and rule until his death. Or that she can't love Glorfindel and become Lady of the House of the Golden Flower - even if only nominally. But truly, she can't. It is strange, because she would have thought she'd love or at least desire him for all he resembles Jaime, but she doesn't. But there are still other Elven folks outside of Rivendell, she knows, and the King of Greenwood has a son, so that might be a possibility...
Though, eternity is quite long stuck with the wrong person, she guesses. And there is still that pesky fëa-issue she apparently can't get around...
"You are scheming," her father comments, one other dusky evening.
"It doesn't matter," she answers defensively.
"But what have you seen? What is it that you have found?"
She looks up, surprised he asks for her opinion.
"The humans have weakened herself. They still do. They split power and waste resources fighting pretty wars for places like the Weathertop. It creates open space for other players."
"Players?"
She huffs.
"It's all a game. And they don't know they stepped in it."
Over the next years, more and more players evolve, until in 1000, finally the wizards step in. It is a change, she understands, though only much later when she will meet them for the first time. Then, only a few years later, the Great Greenwood becomes Mirkwood - for obvious reasons. Messengers are sent and they bring bad news, of dark shadows and danger. Ariel longs to go there, see the great woods for herself and find out what is happening. Her brothers agree, but her parents still keep them close. They are all too young, they say, even though they are at least allowed to join (rather safe) patrols in and around their valley and area now. Never overnight, of course, and never in winter when the snows get deep.
The missions make her grow a little bit closer with her brothers, there is still a huge gulf towards Arwen, who rather sticks to her friend Gildor than to her anyway. Fine, it doesn't matter. She supposes her parents have given up trying to change it, since they let them mainly lead separate lives.
They hear about orcs that infest the mountains, danger to men and elves alike. There are more hunts, groups sent out to the wort regions in a try to curb the danger before it spreads. It works, at first, until it doesn't anymore.
Each time he rides out, Ariel is afraid Glorfindel might not return, but he always does. In her opinion, given the situation, him and Erestor truly should do something about their situationship - but the idiots don't.
Not even when the shadow lengthens from the North, from Angmar, in a strange and horrible echo of the long night and the pressure on the already split humans increases and increases. Leaders are killed, others succeed, and for once Ariel is glad about the Númenorean's long lives since it reduces the danger of fights of succession.
Or so she thought.
She literally spits out her drink as she hears the news from Gondor, about trouble brewing and a man they call Castamir. Then she laughs until she cries, and Arwen looks at her as if she was mad. Maybe she is.
"Do you know anything about it?" Elrond asks her.
Under normal circumstances, she would find the question odd, because how should a child, but he has the gift of foresight, so it is reasonable to suspect she might as well.
She doesn't, but still, she knows things.
"And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know. In a coat of plates or a coat of rags, a lion still has his claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, sharper even than yours. And so, he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord called Castamir. But now the rains weep o'er his grave, with no one there to hear."
Her father gives her a long hard look - and she's right. He becomes Castamir the Usurper, a cruel ruler, and is ultimately slayed.
Ariel has never been South, so she only notices in passing that Gondor gets a new capital, Minas Arnor - what she does notice though is when suddenly, there is war, right there in front of her doorstep. An alliance against Angmar: Rivendell, Lindon and humans.
It happens when she appears about eight years old and has seemed so unthinkable, despite the skirmishes, that it comes somewhat as a shock. Ariel had gotten use to - peace. Yes, that feeling had been peace, she realizes, and now it's gone.
gwinig nín - my little one / child
ruinig nín- my little red blaze [ruin (blazing, fiery red); - eg (suffix with morphological change)]
"orva, cordof" means "apple, apple", once in Sindarin and then in Quenya, it's my try to translate "potaito, potahto".