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Chapter Text

She didn’t understand at first. Everything was hazy. Like she was looking at things from underwater. The only thing she knew for certain was that before her new parents had named her Ecthelien, she’d been somebody else. The name was fuzzy, but over time other memories resurfaced from the depths of her mind, and she knew her new life was different to that of her old one. For one, she aged far more slowly. By her count, she was ten years-old, and yet she looked as old as she had at five in her last life. Nobody else seemed to find it strange though, so she figured reincarnation wasn’t all that common – if it was indeed an actual thing and not something she’d made up. But she couldn’t have made it up. The world from her old memories was far too detailed for that, even if some of the details were a little hazy at times.

Yawning, she flopped back on her bed, mindlessly picking up the nearest book. Her love of reading had seemingly travelled through death and back with her, and Ecthelien couldn’t have been more grateful for that. It would’ve been a lot more boring if she hadn’t had the patience to read. The only probably was that there wasn’t that great a variety of books, most of them being factual and long in nature. Her new world was really lacking in fantasy books, though from the looks of things, she mused, staring at herself in the mirror, she seemed to have ended up in a rather fantastical land. She had pointed ears, hair of the blackest night, clear grey eyes. When coupled with her chubby childish cheeks and button nose, she thought herself rather adorable, dare she think so herself. She hadn’t been a particularly ugly baby the first time around, but her first body really didn’t have anything on her second.

“Tell me a story, mother,” she begged, staring at her mother as she was tucked in for the weird-not-quite sleep her new kind fell into. Her bed was wonderfully soft, and her childish body was having trouble not succumbing to rest. She wanted a story first. “Tell me something interesting at least, else I shan’t be able to sleep.”

“Hmm,” Incië tapped her chin thoughtfully, a smile on her face as she stared fondly down at her. “Let me think… I could always tell you how me and your father met…”

Ecthelien made a face. “Ewww. None of that yucky drama,” she grumbled, folding her arms with a huff. She wanted a good honest to god fantasy story. Something about dragons and elves or something of the like. She didn’t need any tales of romance or the like. She was scared of falling in love with another, especially after all the drama in her last life. There was a reason she’d preferred burying her head in books and reading the occasional fanfiction too. Ah, she missed Lord of the Rings… Sadly there was no Tolkien in her world. She only hoped one would appear eventually so she could read interesting books yet again to escape the dreary slog of life.

“Well,” Incië began, and Ecthelien perked up. “Were you aware you were meant to be born a boy?” she asked, tilting her head as though expecting an answer. Ecthelien shook her head in response. “Everyone thought you would be, and we had thought out the perfect name for you – a unique name…” She pinched her cheek gently. “You would have been Ecthelion, so rather than search for a different name, we decided we must simply change it to the female version. You surprised us, little one,” she said, kissing her forehead, looking down at her with loving eyes. “But it was a nice surprise… though I think your father sorely wished for a boy to train up… but he received a daughter to spoil instead… Now, my little quendi, I think it time you got some much needed sleep.”

She puffed out her cheeks, pulling her covers up to her chin. “Fine. Night,” she mumbled curtly, eyes glazing over as she went to her happy place. Her little library of book knowledge from her last life. All those tales of fire, blood, and ash. Silently, she wondered what she’d do when she grew up. Neither her mother or her father seemed to have full-time jobs, though her father did occasionally go out hunting, and her mother could sometimes be found making dresses. She was confused as to what her role would be this time around. There didn’t seem to be any office jobs, nor had her parents done much in the way of her education aside from teaching her to read and write. And what a beautiful flowing script it was…

Other adults seemed to think she was some precocious child in regards to her advanced intellect and kept mentioning something about taking her to some library with scholars of some description, but her parents were content to keep her close at home. “Let children be children,” her father had said, ruffling her hair soothingly. She wasn’t to begin anything that much more advanced until she’d come of age. Still, it wasn’t about to stop her mother from taking her out and showing her the city. Tirion, it was called, and faintly the name rang a bell in her memory. Not her new memories though – her old ones, which confused her greatly whenever she had the chance to mull things over.

It didn’t matter though. It was probably nothing to worry about, anyway. So rather than driving herself up the wall with worry and confusion, she relaxed. Her mother would be taking her out for a proper tour of the city – her new city, and she had no doubts it’d be interesting. Everything was completely different to what she’d seen before in her old life, and a part of her was possessed by a strange childlike curiosity. She wanted to explore, so she would. The thought made her grin as she sunk into oblivion.

The pale walls of her bedroom greeted her as she opened her eyes, the breeze gently drifting through the window, white curtains rustling in the summery breeze. Ecthelien sighed, feeling the sheer vibrancy and life of the air around her. It made a strange part of her happy. She was far more in tune with nature this time around, though it seemed it had something to do with being an elf. It hadn’t taken much for her to put two and two together, especially with her pointed ears, not to mention her parents had mentioned it themselves. She was a creature of fantasy… what was next, magic? She needed to know more about her new world, and she’d finally be getting the chance to do so.

She hoped out of bed, pearls of laughter echoing around her room as she pulled open the intricately carved door, running down the circular staircase and into the sole room on the ground floor. Open plan, as it had been called before, was apparently the standard design when it came to the downstairs rooms in her new settlement. She didn’t care if it was different. She loved it. She loved every second of her new life. It was an adventure, and she loved adventures – especially those into the unknown.

“You are looking forward to seeing Tirion I take it, ai?” Incië glanced over at her from the small rounded breakfast table, the excitement all but radiating off her answering her question for her. “Come.” She waved her over. “Your father came back from hunting late last night. There are berries to be had.”

“The purple ones?” Ecthelien asked, licking her lips. Her father always picked some whenever he ventured into the forest where they grew. The food in her last life had nothing on what was available in her new one. Either that or her taste buds had improved dramatically. Personally, she thought it likely a combination of the two.

“Those are the ones.” Incië nodded, placing the plate down in front of her. “Eat up, sweetling. You will need your strength for all the exploring.”

Smiling somewhat impishly, she ate, uncaring of the sweet purple stain growing around her lips. “Hmm…”

“Ah… look at you,” Incië whispered, shaking her head fondly. “You certainly are a messy one,” she said, wiping at her stained lips with the serviette. “Ready to explore Tirion, little one?”

Ecthelien nodded.

“Then we had best be off so we can bask in the light of Laurelin,” she spoke, her flowing dress swirling around as she moved towards the doors leading outside with a grace and ease Ecthelien wasn’t quite capable. “The city looks most welcoming in the golden light, but that is just my opinion.”

She tilted her head, staring up at her mother with wide eyes as the door to the fantastical new world opened.

“What are you waiting for, Ecthelien?” Incië grinned, holding the heavy wooden door open. “You wanted to explore, did you not? Or shall we spend the day inside again?”

“No!” She hurried out of the door. “I want to see it! I want to see everything! Please mother…”

Her mother laughed, a sweet tinkling sound. “Relax, sweetling. I was only teasing.” Ecthelien pouted, staring mulishly up at her. “Forgive me?” she asked, tapping her on her small button nose.

“Hmph.” She wandered out of the door, arms folded, refusing to look at her mother for a few moments before her jaw fell at all the pretty buildings. “Pretty…” she mumbled, staring at the intricate architecture dappled in golden light. “This is Tirion?” She peered up, scowling at how short she was. She could hardly see anything besides the walls and the intricate stone paving.

“This is only the outskirts,” her mother said, leading her deeper into the paradise. “You have yet to see anything, sweetling.”

“We really live in a place like this?” she murmured, closing her eyes as the breeze ruffled her hair. She could taste the salt on it. “Beautiful.” Nothing from her old memories could compare to the sight, especially not when they were met with the slope leading down to the centre. Rooftiles seemed to shine in the golden light, but a look at the sky confused her. There was no sun. She bit her lip. But it was a fantasy world… She shrugged. A peaceful fantasy world… There couldn’t have been a better place for her to be born. It didn’t stink of pollution, nor the honking of machines called cars. Everything was quiet and oddly in tune with nature.

Still, beautiful or not, the people living in it, elves, were wonderful – despite the number of looks cast her way. Elves, it seemed, were rather curious of children, though Ecthelien later had to revise that thought when she bumped into a couple of other children. Really, it was surprising how few children she’d seen on the way there, but elves were unaging. Rich in life, poor in children. She tilted her head curiously. The phrase sounded familiar, but where had she heard it before?

She was on her mother’s shoulders by the time they reached the square in the centremost part of the city. Her legs had eventually grown tired, and her mother had let her up on her shoulders. She wasn’t complaining. The added height meant she could see even more. She could see the heads of dark hair as the rest of her kin moved about with their daily life.

Gold flickered in the corner of her vision, and Ecthelien didn’t know what possessed her to grab at the silky golden hair, but she did. Her small fingers closed around the golden strands that looked so very pretty in the golden light of day. “Pretty,” she mumbled. There’d only been dark haired elves throughout the street, with which her silky black locks blended right in.

Grey eyes met her matching ones, an eerily beautiful face splitting into a grin, pearly white teeth on display. “Why thank you, little one. Who might you be?” a musical voice asked, tone indulgent as he stared at all her adorableness.

“Ecthelien,” she murmured, oddly shy under those warm eyes.

His smile simply widened. “Well met, Ecthelien,” he said. “I am Laurefindel.”

Ecthelien shrunk slightly, letting go of the elf’s hair, her cheeks tinted pink. Why on earth had she just grabbed someone’s hair…?

“My apologies, Lord Laurefindel,” her mother spoke mutedly, and she tightened her grip on her mother. Her hands had just seemingly moved of their own accord… and his hair was ridiculously pretty. It just seemed to shine, unlike her own hair.

“There is nothing to apologise for – she is but a curious little one, and I doubt she has seen those of my colouring before, being around so many Noldor who do not have lineages such as mine.”

Ecthelien blinked. Noldor? The word sounded familiar, tickling at something stored deep with her mind – like an itch she couldn’t quite scratch. It probably wasn’t that important though, if she’d forgotten about it. “Sweetling,” her mother spoke, setting her feet on the ground, pointing her in the direction of the other elflings. “Why not go and introduce yourself? It is nice to have companions around your own age.”

The other child, a boy as she soon worked out, was just as dark-haired as she, but his eyes were the lightest grey she’d ever seen. It was like starlight had been set in them, for all they seemed to glow. He was playing at the edge of the fountain, and Ecthelien soon joined him.

“I am Pendelot,” he murmured, his voice quiet and soft. “Well met, Lady Ecthelien.”

She found herself quite enjoying his company, at least until the red-haired elf named Rōka came over and teased them. It was harmless teasing, and Ecthelien found herself smiling and pouting furiously at the cheery elf. She could feel the gazes of both her mother and the pretty-haired Laurefindel on her. In fact, she could feel every single elf looking at them at least in passing. Childish laughter evidently wasn’t heard much and judging by the looks on everyone’s faces they treasured it as such.

It wasn’t until Rōka gave them little joking titles that her entire perspective shifted. Pendelot’s was innocuous enough, just like her own should’ve been.

“Pendelot the Scholar.”

He was apparently well known to Rōka, him being a fair few years older than her, not that she could really tell. Elves didn’t put that much stock on appearances and age between them all. Well, in general. There were a few outliers. She was less known to the red-haired elf, but the sweet little name he gave her soon turned sour as she remembered. As everything fell into place with those four innocent little words that made terror and fear radiate through her very soul.

“Ecthelien of the Fountain.”

“Ecthelien… of the Fountain?” she mumbled, her mouth suddenly feeling bone dry, as if she’d gone from an oasis and back out into the desert. Words rang in her ears, pieces of the puzzle that’d been building ever since she woke in the strange paradise slotting into place. Tirion. Laurefindel. Noldor. Laurelin. Valar.

“—a unique name—”

“—meant to be a boy—”

Ecthelien.

Ecthelion.

Ecthelien of the Fountain.

Ecthelion of the Fountain.

Lord of the House of the Fountain.

Balrog Slayer.

Warcry of the Eldar.

Bane of Gothmog.

Her face turned a sickly shade of grey, the names and titles ringing in her ears as she stood there, dumbfounded and terrified. Because Ecthelion died. He died at the hands of Gothmog, drowning together with the balrog in the fountain. The most valiant and noble stand of one of the strongest elves of the Gondolindrim. And she was Ecthelion. That Ecthelion was her.

She was in the world Tolkien had written. There was no mistaking it. She was in the Years of the Trees. They even bore the same names as in the books. And terrible things had happened in those books. She’d been happy just reading of their adventures in Middle-Earth, or Arda as they called it. Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit. The Silmarillion.

“Little one?” Grey eyes bore into her own matching ones with something akin to concern as panic bubbled up inside her. “Are you well?”

No. No she was not.

Ecthelien stumbled back, her chest tight, fear making her heart pound furiously. She didn’t know what to do with what she’d just learnt. All she knew was that she needed to do something. So rather than standing there stupidly, she moved. Her feet slapped against the stone paving, lungs burning as she sprinted away from everything. She needed to get away. They couldn’t see her. She was no hero who could slay a balrog or four. So she blindly ran on, ignoring the outcries behind her.

Her feet pounded against the earth, and she wasn’t exactly sure when smooth tile became sodden mud and twigs. Vibrant colours of the city became earthly tones, only offset by the bright green of the leaves and grass under her feet and above her head. Nature sung around her, but she didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty of it. She needed to get away, and quickly. Onwards she ran, her lungs clenching painfully, a stitch at her side as she panted for breath. She couldn’t breathe.

She was Ecthelion. She was going to die… and she was going to die painfully in a world she’d thought had only belonged to fiction.

It was no fiction now.

She was living in it.

Blindly, she stumbled forwards, unsure of how long she’d run on for – only that any pursuit had long since been lost. But speaking of lost… Ecthelien looked around frantically at the depths of the forest she found herself in, rubbing at her aching chest with one hand as her terror fizzled away ever so slightly. Where in the blue blithering blazes was she?

Chapter Text

All she could see were trees and more trees, her tiny feet having taken her deep into the forest. She swallowed back her nervousness as best she could. Nothing in the forest should’ve hurt her, but the mannerisms of wild beasts weren’t something easily overruled. She stepped forwards, her footsteps barely audible thanks to the grace of the Eldar with which she’d been blessed. She was one of the Eldar now, no matter how badly the thought cut her. She was in Aman, in the land where the Valar lived… where Maia were said to reside. Ecthelien swallowed the sudden lump she could feel in her throat. She was basically living among gods. Did they know about her unnatural existence? Nobody else was supposed to know their fate.

Ecthelien gulped, ploughing on through the forest, silently hoping she was walking somewhere towards civilisation. She didn’t want to spend the night in the admittedly beautiful forest, even if she was acting as her own nightlight. She glowed. It wasn’t strong, but at the same time it was ridiculously noticeable in the shadows of the trees. It matched the silvery light that shone out on the world too – the light of the gold tree having faded away as the evening wore on. “Hello?” she called out, clutching onto the bark of a nearby tree as branches cracked nearby. “Is anybody there?

Another crack was all that answered her, and Ecthelien stumbled away, her heart pounding in her chest as she ran away yet again. Why couldn’t she stop running for once? She bit her lip, tears pooling in her large grey eyes. She’d thought she loved adventures. She thought she’d love the unknown. But the unknown was scary, especially when she didn’t have the skills to defend herself. Why had she run away from the safety of her kin? She sniffled, wrapping her arms around herself as she walked on, her pace slowing back down to that of a brisk walk. But the world she was in wasn’t unknown to her. Not completely. It was just the supposed ending of hers that terrified her.

Music sounded in her ears, her eyes widening in surprise when she heard the sounds that all but hummed through her in an ancient language she couldn’t quite understand. They radiated light though, they radiated a song, and it made the childish part of her feel safe. The trees were speaking to each other, talking, and try as the adult side of her might, Ecthelien couldn’t bring herself to feel the slightest bit afraid of the trees. They were friendly, especially towards elves that treated them well. She knew that in her heart, no matter what she’d read about them in the Lord of the Rings. Gingerly, she stroked at the bark of a nearby one, a yawn overcoming her, her legs suddenly aching that much more… and there was a conveniently positioned hollow in the midst of the roots of a particularly large tree.

It was all manner of suspicious, but Ecthelien couldn’t bring herself to care as she stumbled inside the little den. She felt safer there compared to being out in the open, and she needed to sleep. She couldn’t exactly do that in the middle of nowhere where any number of creatures could be lurking. Her father went hunting for a reason, and the animals they hunted were not necessarily an easy prey. Sure, they thanked the forest for their bounty and only hunted what they needed, but elves were by no means vegetarians. Ecthelien yawned, eyes glazing over slowly as she snuggled into the surprisingly comfy vegetation in the little hollow. It was spongy, and comfortable to lie on, not that it was preferable to her bed. If only she hadn’t run she might be in that bed of hers that very moment. But she couldn’t stay there. Not after learning she was meant to be Ecthelion of the Fountain, Balrog Slayer extraordinaire.

Sleep was surprisingly easy to come, as well as exceptionally easy to wake from as the birds started singing and the trees started conversing with one another in that language of theirs. Golden light was the only thing that radiated through the air, the mixed silvery gold of both dusk and dawn having vanished long ago. Ecthelien crouched in the little grove, stomach rumbling ever so slightly. A curse of being an elfling – they required slightly more food and sleep than a fully-grown elf. She rubbed at her growly stomach, shoulders sinking as she wondered how best to find food. There weren’t any poisonous berries as far as she was aware, but then she didn’t really know all that much. Still, she wouldn’t have thought the Valar would’ve created any deadly plants on Aman. Then again, she was just a Child of Eru Ilúvatar. Who was she to comprehend the whims of the Valar?

Cautiously, she peered out from her hiding spot, hesitantly taking the first few steps back out into the open. There was nobody near her. Well, aside from small insects and the like. Childish laughter burst from her lips as she spotted the fireflies fluttering about even in the broad golden light. They buzzed around her, flying away in the same breath, and Ecthelien blinked, staring at the curious trail they formed. The adult part of her screamed for caution, but she ignored it. Just because it was the more mature part of her didn’t mean it was always correct.

She walked forwards, holding her breath as she followed the odd little trail the fireflies were forming. Would they lead her back to civilisation? Had they been asked to? she wondered, dutifully following them through the day, even as the rumbles in her stomach grew that much louder, and a silvery light mixed in with the golden light of day. It was dusk already. She bit her lip yet again, following the childish urges that told her to keep following the damned fireflies. On and on she walked, ears twitching as a beautiful melody came into her hearing range and eventually her destination came into sight along with the source of the melody she’d been listening to for the past half hour or so.

A clearing sat in the middle of the great forest, a considerably sized lake taking up at least half of the space, a thick slab of rock forming a little seat overlooking the still silvery waters. It was on that rock that she sat – a female elf or so she assumed for lack of anything else for her to be. She was inhumanly beautiful, though it didn’t say much considering the standards of their race. They weren’t humans. They weren’t of the Edain. She didn’t even know whether the Edain had woken just yet. But the Edain would never know the beauty of Aman, and they would likely never see the female in front of her. She had dark hair, much like Ecthelien’s own, and in the fine black locks, a crown of flowers had been woven.

Ecthelien swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as the lady turned to her, white flute pulled away from her lips as those bright green eyes looked her up and down before a breath-taking smile spread across her face. “Why hello there, little one,” she spoke, her voice soft and yet somehow infinitely powerful. “And what brings you to my forest?”

She stumbled back, nervous all of a sudden under that intense gaze. “I—I am sorry for trespassing… I am just a little lost and in need of guidance.” Her teeth chewed down on her lip, and the taste of blood filled her mouth.

“And what kind of guidance would that be?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

Ecthelien blinked at that. “I am not sure what you mean, my lady.”

She merely smiled, ushering her closer. “Come sit with me, little one, and I shall explain,” she said, encouraging her over.

It didn’t take much for the child inside her to force her towards the lady who radiated warmth and light. She felt like the earth and trees, and all Ecthelien could smell were roses as she found her way into the nice lady’s lap. She felt small all of a sudden, like the child she appeared to be. Rather than looking at her timeless face though, Ecthelien found herself staring at the reed pipe flute in the lady’s hand. It was beautiful – a white colour, embossed with pale silvery swirls in places, and a white tassel attached to the end.

“Ah, perhaps explanations can wait, little one,” she murmured, her voice unbearably soft all of a sudden. “You like my flute?”

Ecthelien nodded. She’d also liked the music which had come with it.

“Then do you perhaps wish to learn to play?” she asked, and Ecthelien nodded once more. The music had sounded wonderful, and it had soothed that wounded, terrified part of her. Maybe the lady knew that. Maybe that was why she offered.

Chapter Text

Playing the flute was far harder than it looked, and Ecthelien was oddly glad to be in the middle of a forest with only the nice lady for company. Anybody else would have probably covered their ears at the sounds escaping the musical instrument loaned to her. It was a beautiful flute – likely wasted on her and all her seeming lack of talent. But even those horrible screeching sounds took her mind off the thoughts about her future. Learning to play the flute was a relief. It sent all her worries to the back of her mind, and it made her forget about everything aside from the beauty of the forest around them. She wasn’t concerned with running back to her mother and father. In fact, she didn’t want to. She was scared to return to the rest of her kin. How was she supposed to face them without an answer as to how she’d face the future for them?

How was she supposed to pawn off the responsibility of killing Gothmog onto another random elf? The Lord of the Balrogs was a mighty opponent – a fallen Maia – and one of the key figures in Morgoth’s army. How would the War of Wrath fare if he didn’t fall in the Great City of Gondolin? Would the Valar lose if Sauron’s equal was still alive to turn the tide of battle?

She swallowed thickly. Her part was by no means small. Her hands shook, flute falling back to her side as she took a break from however many days of practice she’d done in the seclusion of the forest. Her music sounded slightly better than it had at the very beginning, so she’d spent her time at least somewhat wisely. Time meant little to the Eldar, so she only hoped her parents weren’t worrying too much already. She hadn’t been gone too long. A few months at most. Who was she kidding? They totally were. She was just being selfish. Being cowardly. Ecthelion wasn’t supposed to be like that. He was said to be one of the greatest elves in both valour and strength.

But she wasn’t Ecthelion exactly. She was Ecthelien.

“It is not a cowardly thing to be scared.” A warm hand ruffled through her locks, and her bright grey eyes looked up to meet the dazzling green ones. “Courage is not the absence of fear. It is simply the strength and will to push past that which frightens you so,” she spoke, as if reading her very mind. “As long as you keep moving forward you are no coward, Ecthelien.”

“But… what if I cannot do that which I am meant to…”

The nice lady tilted her head, a bemused smile on her lips. “What you are meant to do is not preordained, little one,” she said, gently prying the flute from her small fingers. “That which you are capable of can only be decided by you, and you alone.”

Ecthelien bit her lip as she sat on the little rock ledge overlooking the silvery lake, her short legs dangling over the edge, toes only inches away from getting wet. “I do not understand.”

“Do you truly not?”

She stared up into those narrowed green eyes that flickered with knowledge and power. “No.”

“Ah, you are still just a fledgling, so that is to be expected… and yet your fëa radiates so much sorrow for one so young.” A soft sigh escaped her lips, almost lost on the gentle breeze that flooded through the clearing. And yet the silvery waters were unaffected, seeming as still and unmoving as ever. “The song it sings is unlike any I have heard before, and it whispers to me that Eru himself had a hand in your creation. Why do you think I had the fireflies guide you here, little lamb?”

Ecthelien swallowed.

“You are but a little lost lamb stumbling around trying to find your legs beneath you, and unlike the rest of your kin you need but a little guidance… and guidance is what me and my kin are here for,” she said, and Ecthelien shivered as she came to an abrupt realisation. The lady in front of her was no human, nor was she of elf-kind. “Do not look so scared. I mean you no harm, little one. None of our number would dare to raise a hand against such a small little elfling.”

Her throat felt as dry as the desert. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice nary above a whisper as she stared at one of the beings that passed for gods or spirits in her new life.

“My name is not important, little lost lamb,” she said, a ghost of a smile appearing on her face. “Nor are my words to you, I believe. Your heart is still wavering, despite my uttered reassurances, so…” she trailed off, tapping a single toe against the still silvery waters. “Look, little one. Look and see the many branches of your fate, because you are not constrained to just a single one.”

Ecthelien blinked, glancing between the retreating lady and the ripples spreading out in the water. “Will you not look with me?”

“’Tis your fate, little lost lamb. Not mine.”

And with that the forest wrapped back around the lady, as it had many a times before, and she vanished from her sight, leaving her alone as had been done previously. Her grey eyes locked on the waters, remembering from somehow that she shouldn’t disturb the waters. The lake rippled, its clear surface distorting into images that weren’t the reflection of the leaves and sky above. She stared down into it, transfixed by the many sights she saw. There were many different scenes. Some of what she assumed to be the same timeline, others completely different.

She wore silver armour in some, brandishing a gem-studded silvery shield in one hand, a great longsword in the other. In others she wore a flowing white dress, with little diamonds spun in her silky black locks that trailed behind her. Ecthelien held her breath, staring at all the moving scenes, her attention darting between them. She was staring at her futures, and there were lots of them. She might wind up sitting on a throne, three glowing jewels embedded in the silvery crown she wore, a tall red-haired elf at her side. Or she might end up walking down the slivery sands of the shores of Aman, forever gazing longingly at the sea as if she were one of the Teleri.

Ecthelien bit down on her lip, an awful habit of hers that was becoming apparent, and an old memory of her life before arose.

“OK, so you gotta answer this, kay?” the bright cheerful voice that didn’t have the distinct musical lilt of the elves sounded. “If you could be a creature of fantasy, what would you be?”

“Ugh, what’s the point of this?” another person sounded.

“It’s just a bit of fun – don’t be a stick in the mud, Jonah!” the first grumbled. “Now come on. Answer.”

“You go first then,” a new voice rang out. “Seeing as it was your idea.”

“Hmm. Well, I’d totally be an elf,” the girl spoke, nudging at her side, a wry grin on her face. “Immortality and beauty. What more could a girl want?”

“Like the ones from Lord of the Rings?”

“Yup. Exactly those.”

The boy sitting opposite them tilted his head. “But wouldn’t it be a bit boring… to live forever…”

“Silly! That’s why I’d go on lotsa adventures!” She grinned brightly. “It’d be super fun.”

“But might you… y’know,” the boy continued, heedless of the pout thrown his way by the first girl. “You could die on those adventures. Then your unaging beauty wouldn’t really matter.”

“Better to live a life full of excitement than one full of regrets.” Brown eyes gazed warmly into her own. “You’d wanna live a life with no regrets too, wouldn’t you—?”

Ecthelien broke from her stupor, eyeing one of the silver-armoured versions of herself in the still waters, watching as the silvery arrows of her house members flew past her, black hair whipping out in front of her face, lips parted, shouting commands she couldn’t hear. She could only see parts of her future. Her heart pounded in her chest, the sound of flutes ringing in her ears as she watched herself draw her longsword, brandishing it in front of her chest as she called out more orders, her face a picture of rage before she moved.

A life with no regrets, eh? she mused, watching as forces of silver and black clashed, the sounds of flutes in her ears like the beats of a war drum, calling her to arms. Her gaze flickered over to the peaceful scene of her sitting on the shores of a beautiful costal residence.

Her hands curled into fists, and she knew. She knew in that instant adventure would always call to her. Middle Earth would always beckon to her. She knew if she stayed in Aman she’d forever wonder if she could’ve and should’ve changed anything. She was meant to be a warrior of some description, whether it be using words and diplomacy, or swords and shields. Peace was overrated anyway, and she’d probably get plenty of that later. Elves couldn’t truly die as it were.

She was going to Arda when the time came. Her eyes flickered over to where she thought the sources of the golden and silver light were. They’d be destroyed soon enough, and then the Noldor would set out. And she would be among them. She swallowed the lump in her throat, noting how she really ought to find a sword and start training with it once she decided to venture back to Tirion where her parents dwelt.

The waters shifted again, and Ecthelien shivered at the sight of the hulking black figure wreathed in flames, wings flaring behind it menacingly as a mane of fire whipped out behind it. Him. Gothmog, she realised, staring at the silver-clad figure standing in front of the Lord of the Balrogs. Her future self. Gothmog was at least twice her height, if not more.

She gulped, eyes narrowing. Well if she was headed to Arda, she’d probably end up seeing the balrog. “And I’ll become your bane,” she whispered, tears leaking down her face, a single one dripping down into the lake, and the waters rippled once more – images vanishing – and then the waters were as silvery and still as they had been before. She didn’t know if she was afraid or enraged, hands shaking as she sat back from the lakeside. She’d seen Gothmog slaughter elves in droves in the little flashes of her many futures, and it made something stir inside her.

Gothmog was going to be her responsibility. Her eyes narrowed, expression hardening as she made her decision. The choice with the least regrets. She’d slay the beast if she could. But she didn’t know much information pertaining to the events between departing Aman and the destruction of Gondolin. She tapped a finger against her chin. She supposed she’d have to stick around with Laurefindel to ensure she actually made it to the city and didn’t wind up in some other elvish settlement. She wanted to lay eyes on the fabled beauty of the hidden city which had yet to be built. A small snigger escaped her lips, mind finally catching onto the fact she’d tugged on the mighty Glorfindel’s locks as a child. Her laughter faded soon after, eyebrows knotting together as she thought of the sorrow that would befall her kin. Should she try to lessen it? She chewed at her lip, exhaling loudly. It wasn’t like she needed to decide on everything just yet. She just had to choose the path that would have the least regrets. Because if there was one thing she didn’t want with her new long life – it was regrets.

“So you have decided.”

Ecthelien squeaked in surprise at the sound of the voice coming from right behind her, spinning around to face the nice lady who’d helped her so much. She felt a touch less scared about her future. It wasn’t something set in stone. She might not die. She might not end up facing Gothmog, though the possibility was high. She felt like she had purpose, and it was a good one. She’d protect her kin, and her house should she obtain one. “Yes.”

“Good… Your fëa seems a little less saddened now,” she murmured, brushing her hand against Ecthelien’s forehead.

A weight settled there all of a sudden, and she blinked, hands going up to touch at the crown of flowers that had been placed on her head. “Pretty…” she mumbled, feeling at the delicate petals of the flowers, careful not to crumple them with her clumsy childish fingers.

“That you are, little one,” she spoke, tapping her on the nose. “Now, come. I think it time I returned you to civilisation.”

“Are we headed back to Tirion?”

She shook her head. “Nay, little one. We are closer to the flanks of Taniquetil, and I have some business I must attend to there. Though I think your Vanya kin will be able to spare a few of their number to return you safely home.”

Ecthelien blinked. Vanya? Those were the golden-haired elves. The first settlers in Aman. The ones who had hair like Laurefindel. Her fingers curled in the fabric of her guide’s dress, if only to keep them occupied so she wouldn’t make any grabby hands at any more golden hair. Not that she’d be able to reach it from her height.

“It is not a long walk, but you will manage, will you not?”

Ecthelien beamed in response.

Chapter Text

She didn’t make it to the flanks of Taniquetil on her own two feet, much to her own disappointment. It seemed her fitness wasn’t quite there yet, and Ecthelien blamed it on being cooped up in the house more often than not. Not that there’d been much cooping up in the last few months. Still, she hadn’t quite been in the mood to run around with merry abandon. But that pent up energy that had been building was just waiting to burst out. Which was probably why she’d exhausted her little legs by running about the place as the elegant lady guided her back to civilisation. Said elegant lady had laughed at her sorry state gently before sweeping her up off her feet and carrying her with one arm. Ecthelien peered out from her new vantage point, eyes scanning the horizon as the treeline slowly began to thin, grass and hill giving way to a flat white stone walkway.

One hand rumpled the fabric of the lady’s green dress as she clung for support of some kind as she faced outwards, entranced by the sight she could see even from the distance they were at. It was a city. A sprawling city, though it seemed far more orderly than Tirion had been. It also seemed to have a lot more pretty arches here and there. Ecthelien was fairly sure she could see the golden light glinting off the water of a fountain too. If that didn’t give her throwbacks to however many months ago it had been, she didn’t know what would. She was going to be Ecthelien of the Fountain. A giggle escaped her lips, and she felt oddly light. She didn’t feel any heavy pressure bearing down on her. Her future was not set in stone, and there were many paths she could take. But the Noldor weren’t due to leave for a while yet, so there wasn’t anything pressing she needed to do – aside from getting in shape for the arduous journey that awaited her.

“Beautiful,” she mumbled, blinking numerous times as they finally arrived on the city’s threshold.

“That it is, little lamb.”

“So you have finally returned to us…” the voice that sounded startled Ecthelien, and her head snapped around to stare at the speaker, only for her mouth to drop open.

“Really beautiful…” Ecthelien mumbled, somewhat transfixed by grey eyes that seemed to glow with starlight and the inky straight hair the colour of the darkest midnight sky that seemed to twinkle in places: as though hundreds of small stars had been woven into the fine locks. Beautiful didn’t even begin to cover the description of the even prettier lady standing by their sides. She wore white, with some shimmering blue fabric peeking out here and there in swirling patterns on the dress she wore. Laurefindel and his shiny golden locks couldn’t compare.

That beautiful face was soon peering down at her from where she sat in the forest lady’s arms. “You are a sweet one to say such a thing,” she spoke, that wonderful melodic voice ringing in her ears, and Ecthelien realised a little too late her hands were already clutching at the lady’s star dusted hair. Oops. Luckily the nice city lady didn’t seem to take any offence, so Ecthelien didn’t feel like she was about to get smited by some unnatural power. Her less luminous grey eyes took in the pretty lady’s delicate features, hands moving yet again before she could stop them, her Noldor heritage seemingly attracting her grubby paws to the crown lined with diamonds that jutted outwards almost haphazardly. Diamonds were very pretty, she decided right then and there. They were her new favourite jewel, not that she’d seen many other types. Well, not in her current life – and her current life was the only one where she could see jewels like that up close and personal thanks to her smith of an uncle.

The crown was a work of art, just like the lady in front of her, so Ecthelien couldn’t really be any more horrified or apologetic when one of those diamonds broke off under her touch. It landed in her hands, glowing ever so slightly, and Ecthelien blanched, eyes filling with tears almost instantly. Her brain silently complained it had to be shoddy workmanship on the crafters side, but she couldn’t associate the word shoddy with the lady in front of her.

“Do not look so upset, little one,” the city lady spoke to her, brushing her thumb across her cheek as if to wipe away the tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “Clearly that little diamond prefers you over me, hence why it fell.”

Ecthelien ignored the more rational part of her that said, ‘diamonds didn’t have preferences for people’ and let her sniffles taper off. “But why would it prefer me so?” she murmured, staring down at the little gem which seemed to glow with starlight.

“Who knows?” the city lady murmured, tucking a stray strand of Ecthelien’s inky black hair back behind her ear. “I only hope it will serve you better than it did me,” she said, wrapping Ecthelien’s hand around the beautiful gem. “May it be a light to you in your times of need, Ecthelien of the Fountain, for I fear those times may be upon you sooner than they should.”

Ecthelien blinked, watching as the lady smiled at her once more before turning back to the forest lady. But soon to the Valar and the Eldar were completely different to the meaning that which it’d had when she’d been one of the Edain in the other world. Soon could mean anything from twenty years to two hundred. The timescales of elves were utterly mindboggling compared to those old memories of hers. Still, it just meant she’d have to enjoy herself in Valinor that much more if her adventure was to be upon her sooner rather than later. A grin stole across her face, and she hummed one of the tunes she’d been learning to play on the flute, tucking her precious new gem into the safest pocket on her person.

“Yavanna, you return to us at last,” the city lady spoke, and Ecthelien blinked again, stiffening in Yavanna’s arms as she realised exactly who was carrying her. It probably should’ve been obvious, and she was kicking herself internally for not having realised. Yavanna was called Queen of the Earth for a reason and finding her in the forest should’ve been the biggest clue. “Aulë was beginning to worry for what may have befallen you since he could not find you in your pastures nor the usual parts of the woods you frequent. You hid yourself—” starlit eyes flickered down to her open-mouthed form “—though it seems for a good reason.”

“She is a strange little one, and she was rather lost when she came to me, both in body and mind,” Yavanna said, placing her back down on the ground. “But I daresay she has found herself and has even decided on which path her feet will tread, so I thought it time I returned. Do you know of any of the little one’s Vanya kin who would be willing to aid her back to Tirion? She is but a small little one, and I do not wish for her to travel these paths, no matter how safe, on her own.”

“Nay, but you are in luck,” she spoke, a warm smile on her lips. “There is a meeting taking place within this very city, and it involves the Kings of all three races. Finwë resides in Tirion. He will be able to take her home, though I fear they shall not depart for yet another week.”

Ecthelien blinked in shock for what must’ve been the thousandth time. Somehow she doubted the original Ecthelion had gotten this treatment… but apparently the creator himself had interfered with her creation, and that was a sure-fire way to get noticed by anybody important. Yavanna and the nice city lady counted among that number.

“Well, then we ought to get this found little lamb back to her kin, Varda.”

Ecthelien narrowly avoided tripping over her own ankle as the pair of the Valar took a hand each and led her into the city. The ridiculously pretty lady was Varda, Queen of the Valar, wife to Manwë who was the brother of Melkor – the big baddy of the Years of the Trees and pretty much all of the First Age. She swallowed, hurrying her footsteps so as not to slow down two ridiculously powerful beings. And if meeting Varda wasn’t enough, then apparently she was going to meet the King of the Noldor too, if her wonderfully pointed ears had heard everything correctly.

Silently, she wondered if her life would ever be normal or at least somewhat resemblant to what she’d had before those four words had sparked her memory. Ecthelien of the Fountain. Even then the name still echoed in her mind. It made shivers run down her spine, and a tingle of anticipation build in her gut – a promise of adventure yet to come.

Still, she supposed a life without adventure would be horribly boring, no matter the bliss of the lands within which she dwelt. Currently, anyway.

Sighing quietly, she continued on her walk, swinging her hands back and forth slightly as she was led towards a tall white stone palace. Some small part of her wanted to run back and hide in the forest, because the size of the place was nothing compared to the small building she was used to. It was ridiculously large, especially to her small self. The other part of her wanted to hide because the stares directed her way were horribly embarrassing. Though she could hardly blame them. Even without the two Valar walking with her, she’d still stick out like a sore thumb. Vanya elves were the blonde ones. The ones with bright golden hair, and an aura about them that burnt just as powerfully. But rather than the licking flames and heat most Noldor elves seemed to carry in their spirit, the Vanya felt lighter. Like what she’d used to call sunlight, or perhaps starlight, which bore down on her as she walked through their city and into the palace in front of her.

Thankfully the curious looks trailed off once she was safely within the doors of the palace. Doors she probably would’ve had trouble opening should she have been by herself. Voices reached her ears which twitched slightly in response, whispers about things far to the east, but before she could catch any real details she was led elsewhere.

“You have not had much of a chance to play with elflings your age, have you?” Yavanna spoke, pushing open a door, leading her inside, heedless of the guards stationed nearby. “So I think now is a good a time as any to rectify that, especially since the meeting taking place in the Great Hall will go on for a while longer.”

Ecthelien stared into the room, knowing in an instant it was somebody’s bedroom. The bed tucked in the corner and the mess of clothes on the floor left little doubt of that fact. What got her though, was the small sizing of all the clothes sprawled about, and eventually she laid eyes on the owner. Well, who she presumed to be the owner, since there was only one golden-haired elfling in the room with them. Her gaze flickered between the blonde and the silver-haired one, noting they were around the same age as her.

She had the sudden urge to hide behind Yavanna’s dress. An urge she quickly quashed. She was going to be an excellent warrior, and those weren’t supposed to hide behind other people’s dresses. “Hello?” she spoke, swallowing as her throat suddenly turned bone dry. She was scared of their reactions, no matter how childish and irrational that fear was to the logical side of her brain. What was she supposed to do if they didn’t like her?

Fortunately she didn’t have to figure that out.

A smile split the blonde’s face, and she hurried over to where she stood awkwardly, leaving the silver-haired one behind. “That hair… You are Noldor? I did not think Uncle Finwë had any daughters of our age.”

“That is because she is not related to Finwë, little one,” Varda said, smoothing down those golden locks. Ecthelien squashed the tinsy bit of jealously that spiked as she remembered that the Vanya were the favourites of Varda and her husband. Knowing silvery eyes stared down at her, and she felt a blush rise in her cheeks. But it wasn’t like she could help it. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling things, no matter how many different things she told her brain. A soft hand found its way into her own pitch black locks. “Do not look so sad, Child of the Fountain,” Varda murmured. “I can safely say you are most definitely my favourite amongst the Noldor.”

“I thought that was Uncle Finwë?” The little blonde tilted her head inquiringly, and Varda laughed – a light tinkling sound.

“It looks like he has just been replaced then,” Varda said, a smile on her face as she tapped the small Vanya on the nose. “But let us keep that between us, ai?”

The tiny Vanya giggled, turning to her all of a sudden as Varda stepped back. “I am Ingiel. Who might you be?”

“Ecthelien,” she said, nodding her head. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Ingiel grabbed her by the hand, laughing merrily all the while, and Ecthelien found herself swept along on the force of nature that was the small Vanya elfling. “Come. I shall introduce you to Alquamë.”

Silently, Ecthelien wondered what the hell her life was becoming as she was swept away by a girl the same size as her. Varda and Yavanna had already left, and she was left to the mercy of the two elflings her age. She wondered if she’d finally make her first friends. A smile crept onto her lips at the thought. Well, anything involving a group with one of each race of elves was definitely going to be somewhat interesting, especially in the coming week she was bound to have to wait before she could be escorted home.

Chapter Text

“Do you think anyone will really fall for it again?” Alquamë asked, staring at the barely visible elven thread making up the tripwire and release mechanisms. “We have not changed all that much… even if there are two buckets now.”

“The syrup and feathers were Ecthelien’s ideas, and her ideas are incredible!” Ingiel said, peering through the bushes they were hiding behind. Bored elflings, Ecthelien had learnt, were not to be trifled with. Apparently pulling pranks was an excellent way of killing time, and the three of them were bored of sitting in Ingiel’s room and reading as the adults had told them to. Well, they’d told Ingiel and Alquamë. Nobody seemed to be all that well-informed about her own presence, so she stuck to the background whenever possible. “The next fool who walks through that door—”

The lock clicked, the sound of liquid splattering on the ground reaching their ears, and Ecthelien felt a shiver run down her spine – her sixth sense for danger blaring the warning signs as she stared at the sticky, feather-covered golden-haired elf in front of them.

“Oh,” Ingiel squeaked, the laughter she’d been preparing vanishing in the face of the enraged golden-haired elf… and the important-looking paperwork he’d been carrying.

“That is Hirro, your father’s advisor, is it not?” Alquamë questioned, heedless of the hand Ingiel slapped over her lips and the narrowed grey eyes that snapped onto the bushes they were hiding amidst.

“He is coming over this way,” Ecthelien mumbled, careful to keep her voice as quiet as possible. Elven hearing was ridiculously sharp – so she was fairly sure they’d already been discovered.

“Ingiel…” the golden-haired elf’s voice held a hint of warning in its tone.

“Of everybody who could have walked through those doors, why did it have to be him?” Alquamë grumbled. “Those documents were probably somewhat important… We are going to be in so much trouble. I dislike his lectures… they are awfully long and tedious—”

“So why listen to them, then?” she asked, tilting her head as she stared at the empty walkway on either side and the garden behind them.

“But Hirro always catches us…”

Ecthelien pointed to the narrow gap between some of the hedges. “Sure, his legs are longer than our own, but that just means we need to take advantage of our smaller size,” she said, blinking as the little silver-haired elfling grabbed her and Ingiel by the arm.

Ingiel was back to silently sniggering at the sight in front of them, too focused on the sticky feather-covered elf to think about their escape. Ecthelien just blinked placidly. Spending a few hours around elflings her own age had made her very accustomed to being grabbed and dragged someplace by her new friends. Her gaze darted down to her wrist, and the colourful little bracelet there. They’d made friendship bracelets already. Apparently they’d had to add in another colour for her to ensure they were all matching and all included. She had friends now… even though she probably wouldn’t be able to see them all that often, given they all lived in different cities. Still, that just meant they had to make the most of the time they had together.

After all, eventually she’d be going to Arda, while the other two remained on Aman. There’d be a good amount of time spent apart there. But it wasn’t her fate to sit peacefully in the fair lands of Aman. Not yet at least.

Her shoulders sunk. Though apparently her many decisions would alter which path her fate took her down. Whether she slayed Gothmog or not… Ecthelien froze, eyebrows drawing together, feet running on autopilot as Alquamë pulled her along. She remembered the lake in the forest and all the possible futures, though she hadn’t thought on all of them. But now that she mulled over everything she’d seen in the forest… Something was odd. And there was always one thing in common in any of the possible futures where she left Aman. He was there in all of them in some way, shape, or form. Shivers ran down her spine. What did that mean?

“Ingiel…” She turned to her friend as they tucked themselves away behind another bush. “Do you know how to find Yavanna? I find there is one more query I need to raise with her.”

Ingiel shook her head. “You do not find the Valar. The Valar find you,” she said, smiling widely. “If you need to meet her, then you shall.”

“Huh…” Ecthelien blinked. “I guess that is reasonable,” she murmured. “So… In the meantime, what else should we do aside from run away?”

“Hide?” Alquamë offered, nodding her head towards the sound of footsteps hurrying closer.

“Where?”

Ingiel grabbed them both that time, dragging them inside, navigating the corridors with ease before ushering them inside an unfamiliar room. “This should buy us some time,” she said, grinning as she plopped herself down on the rug with a loud sigh. “These are the guest rooms, and they rarely are used—”

“Are there not people here for the meeting?” Ecthelien asked, raising an eyebrow at the belongings tucked away inside the room.

“Oh.”

Alquamë sighed. “You never think these things through, do you?”

Ingiel smiled sheepishly, scratching at the back of her neck. “Oops?”

The door creaked open almost immediately after, a bemused red-haired ellon standing in the doorway. “Hirro, they are in here!”

The sticky-haired, feather-covered elf appeared. “Well, I believe both of your fathers wish to see you now, so please come with me. I will be lecturing you two—wait, where did the third one come from?”

“Ecthelien…?” the red-haired ellon whispered, staring at her oddly intently, and Ecthelien suddenly realised why he seemed so familiar. He was the elf who’d teased her and Pendelot. The one who’d helped her remember about Gothmog and how they might drown together in a fountain, after which she was so aptly named.

Ecthelien blinked, and then she was bundled in the older elf’s arms, eyes scanning over her for any sort of injuries. “Eh?”

“You are unharmed,” he breathed, relief written all across his face, even as he carried her out of the room. Ecthelien barely heard Ingiel’s cry of complaint, Rōka running through the maze of corridors that made her head spin. “Lord Finwë,” he spoke, and Ecthelien blinked at the unfamiliar room she now found herself in. What was it with everybody dragging her about? She sighed softly, glancing at the fancy white drapes and finely crafted furniture. She totally should’ve just stayed in the forest. “We can call off all the search parties now. Ecthelien has been found,” he said, still holding her close to his chest even as she peered shyly out.

Some small part of her wanted to crawl into the corner and die at the three pairs of eyes that suddenly locked on her small form. Because if that was Finwë sitting directly in front of her, then those could only be the other two kings sitting around the table with him.

“You have my apologies for the trouble caused,” Yavanna’s voice made her jump as the Vala appeared beside them. “She dwelled with me for a short while, and I did not see it prudent to inform you as such. No doubt you have been worried about your little lost elfling.”

Finwë and Rōka spoke after that, but Ecthelien wasn’t listening. Instead, her hand came out to tug on the sleeves of Yavanna’s dress, pulling her attention onto her, and she finally voiced what had been bothering her in all those futures she’d seen. “Why does he always find me?”

“Ah.” Yavanna smiled softly, knowing what she was referring to in an instant. “So you figured that out, did you?” she murmured, and Ecthelien nodded. “Well… Should you leave the protection of Aman then there is no doubt you will encounter one another in some way, shape, or form. There are some things which are destined to happen, and your meeting is one of them. The pair of you are linked by your very fëar… which means the likelihood is, either you will become his bane, or he shall become yours.”

Ecthelien blinked. Well, she’d sort of already known that hadn’t she? She’d accepted the possibility that she might end up facing the damned balrog. Only now it was less of a possibility and more of a certainty. “I suppose it is just a case of stabbing him before he stabs me then,” she murmured. Or doing whatever was necessary to kill a balrog. Somehow Ecthelien doubted there’d be a ‘Slaying Balrogs for Dummies’ guide in the local library. A wry smile twisted at her lips. She’d probably have to write that book.

“Stabbing?” Rōka whispered, and Ecthelien was abruptly reminded she had an audience… who were staring at her with varying expressions of concern and horror. “Bane?”

“Oops.”

“Lady Yavanna…” the Vanya spoke. “Should we be concerned about this matter?”

“Calm yourself. It is no elf she may yet face,” Yavanna said, seemingly assuaging his fears. “Though it would be wise not to speak of that which you have just heard. The future is a fickle thing, and it would not bode well should these sorts of utterances fall upon fell ears—”

The door slammed open in a similar fashion as to how she and Rōka had entered the room, and Ingiel hurried inside. “Father, have you seen—Rōka!” Ingiel cried, eyes fixing upon Ecthelien almost instantly, and a pout formed on her adorable face. “How could you steal her away?”

“Ingiel,” Ingwë spoke, and Ecthelien was grateful she was still being held – otherwise she’d have likely just tripped over thin air… because of course her new friend was royalty. Why she hadn't put two and two together and worked that out, she wasn’t sure. She’d been distracted with prank ideas, friendship bracelets and other childish things. That was enough of a reason to ignore the fact her new best friend was the daughter of the King of the Vanyar. Ingiel could’ve easily been a distant relation of some description. Her shoulders sunk. It looked like she wasn’t as sharp on the uptake as she would’ve hoped – something she’d no doubt have to work on over the coming years if she wanted to survive Arda.

Gothmog was not going to get in the way of her adventure. In fact, she might as well just view him as part of it.

“I believe we should conclude our meeting here for today. Dinner should be near enough ready, and Hirro has informed me you have quite the list of pranks to regale me with,” Ingwë said, smiling down at his daughter. “Rōka, please escort little Ecthelien to the dining halls. I do not believe she has been there before just yet.”

Rōka nodded, and then they were off out of the room, leaving Ingiel’s protests far behind. “So…” he began, and Ecthelien looked up at him curiously. “Your… bane… is not an elf… so what exactly is it?” he asked, curiosity buried in his guarded gaze, and Ecthelien saw no harm in telling him. He’d practically just been asked to keep him mouth shut on the matter, so his questions would be harmless.

“Oh. That…” She shrugged. “Just a balrog.”

Rōka tripped. “Just a balrog?” he echoed, voice barely above a whisper which soon turned strained. “Just a balrog?!”

Ecthelien pressed a finger to his lips. “Shhh,” she murmured, giggling slightly at the look on his face as she finally said the words to someone – and speaking them to another elf made them feel real. She was going to do it. She could do it. “Besides, you have it wrong. He is not going to be my bane. I am going to be his.”

Rōka stared straight ahead, unwilling to ask any more on the matter, his expression oddly blank. “Good luck with that, little one,” he mumbled. “I think you shall need it.”

Ecthelien beamed, giddy with excitement and anticipation for the adventures ahead of her. “I think so too!”

Chapter Text

Ecthelien hummed to herself, slumping back against Rōka’s chest as they sat atop the chestnut stallion. They were riding back to Tirion, and it was mind-numbingly boring for her. Alquamë had also set off that same morning, slightly ahead of her on the way back to their shoreside city. She’d promised to visit when she had the chance, and Ecthelien hoped she’d get the opportunity soon. “Tired, little one?” Rōka asked, peering down at her.

“Bored,” she corrected, tilting her head back until she was staring up at him. “This journey is long and there is little to do.” Ecthelien fiddled with her friendship bracelet, smiling as she remembered all the fun she’d had over the past week. She’d discovered the alarming habit she had of running away and hiding when it came to figures of authority. But she wasn’t supposed to run away. She was supposed to be Ecthelion of the Fountain. Her hands curled into fists. She was going to have to pester her father for archery and swordplay lessons. She pouted at the thought. No doubt she’d have to employ the puppy dog eyes. Her fingers ran over the lump in her pocket, reminding her about the pretty diamond she’d received. Though it had broken off into two yet again, leaving her with two smaller pieces. They were still decently sized, and Ecthelien knew she’d be asking her uncle what best to do with them. A smile pulled at her lips. She still had plenty of time before she was due to head off to Arda.

“Sadly, there are no clouds to watch, but do you perhaps know what that tree over there is?” Rōka questioned, his tone indulgent as he pointed to the pink blossomed tree.

“A cherry-blossom tree?” she answered, tilting her head in question as she stared at the dark wood contrasting with the pink buds. They arched over the path they were taking, littering the ground, dying the grass in a sea of fallen pink blossoms.

“So you know that one?” He blinked, smiling slightly at her nod. “You are certainly well informed, Ecthelien,” he murmured, patting her silky black locks in acknowledgement and she bristled with pride.

“Father goes out to hunt. He tells me all sorts of things about the forest!”

A grin formed on his face, his voice teasing as he spoke. “Yet you still managed to get lost inside the forest,” he said, poking at her ribs, and Ecthelien giggled. She was irritatingly ticklish for some reason, and Rōka knew it too. “Then how about that little bush over there? Know what those flowers are next to it, do you?”

Ecthelien pouted, staring at the unfamiliar plants. “No.”

Rōka chuckled at her expression, answering her in that joyful voice of his, slowly but surely taking her attention away from how boring the journey was. It wasn’t that boring anymore. Ecthelien liked learning new things about her strange and fantastical world – things she hadn’t known about it when it had only been written in paper and ink. She loved it, despite the looming threat of Gothmog. That wasn’t going to happen for ages, and she was hardly going to let the balrog ruin her childhood. Elflings were well loved by pretty much all of the elven community, and she wasn’t going to stay a cute little elfling that could get away with anything and everything for long. She was going to damn well enjoy her time, as she’d proven with her two newest friends. Hopefully she’d make some more in Tirion once she returned… and once she escaped the overbearing protectiveness of her parents that would no doubt befall her the second she returned. But she had no reason to run anymore. Sighing, she slumped backwards into Rōka’s chest, ignoring the glances it earnt her from the elf behind her and the others riding closest to them.

“That is a heavy sigh for one so little… what are you thinking of, little one?” he queried, staring up into the darkening sigh as the light of Laurelin faded, and the dimmer silvery glow took over – allowing her to see the many stars Varda had crafted that much more clearly. They twinkled high above, and Ecthelien swore her pocket flared brightly for a split second to match the stars in the night sky.

“The future,” she mumbled, and the elf fell silent behind her. No doubt remembering how she was meant to face up against a balrog of all things. He just didn’t know it was mean to be the mightiest of them all, and Ecthelien wasn’t going to discuss it again. The future was a fickle thing, according to Yavanna, and any words or actions she took could have an impact.

She was a ripple in the pond, and her actions would impact the future. There was no changing that.

“Then you can only prepare,” Rōka spoke, sounding every bit the wise elf he probably was. “But what it is you wish to prepare for is all down to you. These are your choices, since this is your life, and only you can do what you see fit… but, still, little one,” he said, smiling sheepishly down at her as his fingers attacked her sides yet again. “Do not forget to have fun. You are only young once.”

Ecthelien giggled, and not just because of the tickling. Oh, Rōka had no idea… She’d lived another life before that one, and though her childhood had been alright it hadn’t been the greatest it could’ve been. Ecthelien planned to change that this time around. “I will have the greatest childhood ever,” she declared, folding her arms with a huff, just as they reached the highest point of the rolling hill they’d been venturing up. The silvery light of Telperion shone across Tirion, and Ecthelien blinked at her unhindered sight of the city. Her city. Silver light was slightly prettier than golden light, she had to admit. That was her opinion anyway, and she knew her mother’s to be the opposite. “So pretty,” she mumbled, knowing she really ought to expand her vocabulary with the amount of beautiful people and places there were. She could hardly keep using pretty all the time.

“Nearly home, little one,” Rōka said, tightening his grip on her ever so slightly – as though she might vanish yet again. “Are you looking forwards to seeing your parents?”

Ecthelien swallowed at the thought.

“Do not frown so,” he said, laughing at the worried pout she had on her face. “Your parents have been most worried and shall be glad to have you home… though I doubt they will be letting you out of their sight for a good while. You have had all of us worried with your little disappearing act, and we shall not be allowing you to do just that again.”

She slumped in her seat, silently wishing she could melt into the ground as her face burnt bright red. Everybody knew. Of course they did. And it seemed she’d have an entire army of babysitters to watch over her whenever she ventured outdoors. Ecthelien sighed quietly before a smile overtook her face. Elves really did love children, and it seemed she’d be well cared for in the coming years. Best childhood ever, here she came.

Rōka lifted her off the horse once they arrived, keeping her close to his chest as he left the care of his steed to the stable hand. Taking her to her home was far more important. And that was how she wound up on her parent’s doorstep, anxiously waiting for them to open the door. Ecthelien buried her face in Rōka’s chest, silently wishing for things to be over quickly. Like ripping off a plaster. She knew precisely when the door was opened – even if she barely heard things of the shriek her mother let out.

Ecthelien found herself crushed into a slightly softer chest, quietly struggling to breathe as her mother sobbed loud enough to wake the entire house, and the neighbours too. Feebly, she glanced back at the red-haired ellon who’d brought her there, silently pleading for him to aid her, but he just smiled at her. “Mother,” she gasped, scowling slightly as she was ignored whilst her mother frantically thanked the git who was allowing her to be smothered.

“Laicaner!” Incië called, and then her father emerged from further inside the house. “Look who has returned…”

“Ecthelien,” her father breathed, and suddenly she found herself freed from the clingy grip of her mother. She blinked, staring up into her father’s grey eyes so much like her own. “Never again,” he whispered, holding her close. “Never do this to us again…” he murmured, carrying her deeper inside their house as her mother invited Rōka in for late evening tea. It wasn’t like elves required that much sleep, so the hours in which they had company over were far different to what Ecthelien remembered from before her rebirth. Still, she’d gotten used to her uncle occasionally visiting at odd hours, so she wasn’t too surprised when she saw the other guests her parents had clearly invited over. Two older elves, and an elfling of her age she vaguely recognised.

“Father, can you put me down?” she grumbled, cheeks bright red at all the shocked stares thrown her way. She’d had far too many eyes on her in the past few weeks – all watching her like hawks… or overprotective mother hens.

Surprisingly enough, her father listened, keeping a close eye on her as he set her down. “Do not leave the room,” he instructed firmly, and Ecthelien felt her shoulders hunch. So it was going to be like that…

Pouting, she wandered over to the vaguely familiar elfling, peering at him closely as she tried to recall his name. She’d been playing with him in the fountain before she’d ran away into the forest – and consequently worried her family and almost the entirety of the Noldor, she was beginning to realise. “You are… Pendelot?”

“That is correct.” Pendelot smiled, his glossy black locks clean and braided neatly unlike her own. “Everyone has been most worried about you, Lady Ecthelien.”

“Ecthelien,” she corrected, biting her lip as she stared at the boy. She needed more friends for a memorable childhood. “Just call me Ecthelien if we are going to be friends,” she said, holding out her hand, fighting the nervousness brewing inside her at the statement she’d spoken. What if he didn’t want to be friends?

She still had Ingiel and Alquamë, but she probably wouldn’t be able to see them for quite some time. And Pendelot was the only other elfling close to her own age that she had spoken to.

“Ecthelien, then,” he said, smiling widely at her, and she grinned back, ignoring the cooing of all the adults in the background. Pendelot looked vaguely uncomfortable by it too, but thanks to her father’s instructions she could hardly take her newfound friend somewhere else. “I hope we get along well.” His grin widened, and Ecthelien had the vaguest sense of foreboding. “After all, a lot of interesting things have occurred around you thus far, and I hope in the future I shall bear witness to more of them.” His pale grey eyes narrowed, his smile turning into a smirk. “It promises to be most amusing.”

“So… I am entertainment?” Her eye twitched.

“Something tells me you shall be the best kind.”

Ecthelien folded her arms, something telling her Pendelot would make a decent, if slightly odd friend. “Hmph. I suppose I will take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.”

Her eye twitched again. Well, at least she now had a partner for any duelling practice she might partake in. Her smile widened into a grin, her teeth showing as she shook Pendelot’s hand. “To the start of a wonderful friendship,” she said, eyes gleaming with mischief – something Ingiel and Alquamë had no doubt rubbed off onto her.

His smile matched her own. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

“Why are you so eager to see your uncle?” her father asked, carrying her through the streets. Evidently the puppy dog eyes had worked like a charm. Ecthelien smirked. Her father stared at her, eyebrow raised. “That expression on your face does not fill me with confidence, Ecthelien,” he said, tightening his hold on her ever so slightly as they passed the fountain she’d played however many months ago. She’d been cooped up in the house for at least a month, and one of her parents were always in the room with her. Though she supposed it was a small price to pay for the peace of mind she’d found in the forest. Pendelot was also there to keep her company.

Ecthelien laughed, hands clutched tightly around the small cloth bag containing the diamond Varda had given to her. “I would like for him to make me something…”

“And what would that be?”

“Hmm…” She tilted her head. “I know not. I am hoping he will have a few ideas for me,” she said, glancing at one of the sole treasures she had – the other being the flower crown Yavanna had made for her. It hadn’t wilted as of yet, and it was showing no signs of doing just that.

“Well, your begetting day is coming up soon… perhaps he will make you something for that,” he murmured, and Ecthelien hummed happily.

“One can always hope,” she said, swinging her legs back and forth, both of them falling into a comfortable silence – at least until they arrived outside her uncle’s house. The door creaked open her father’s knock, and they shared a curious glance. Cautiously, they entered, her father announcing their presence, but her uncle was nowhere in sight. At least until they found him in the forge – sleeping at his workbench.

“Nixeno,” Laicaner spoke, shaking his brother by the shoulder. “Nixeno, wake up. You have guests.”

Grey eyes blinked, losing the glaze of sleep, and Nixeno sat bolt upright, wiping away at the drool on his face. “Brother… what are you doing here? I was not expecting any company today.”

“Ecthelien wishes to ask if you could make something for her,” he explained, setting her down on the ground. “I shall help myself to your kitchen and make us some lunch. You look like you sorely need some.” Laicaner poked his brother’s ribs, chuckling at how he squirmed. “Would you like some tea whilst I am at it?”

“That would be lovely,” Nixeno said, concealing a yawn behind his hand.

“And you, little mischief maker…” Her father turned on her. “Stay in the room with your uncle. You are not to leave his sight for a single second, understand?”

“Of course,” Ecthelien grumbled, already tired of that particular order. She’d heard it plenty over the last month.

“I will keep a close eye on her, worry not,” Nixeno said, shooing his brother out of the room before he turned to her, lowering himself to look her in the eye. “So, little troublemaker, what can I do for you this time?” he asked, and Ecthelien rocked back and forth on her heels, drawing out the little pouch containing the gem.

“Uncle, could you make me something pretty with this?” she questioned, offering out the little gem that seemed to glow with starlight.

He blinked, holding the diamond close to his face. “Where exactly did you find this, Ecthelien? I have not seen many jewels of this quality…”

“Oh.” Ecthelien smiled. “Varda gave it to me after it fell off her crown.”

Nixeno choked on his spit, free hand going to his temple. “Of course…” he mumbled. “Well,” he spoke, recovering from his shock quickly. “I suppose I will just have to make you something very lovely indeed… or perhaps two lovely somethings.”

Ecthelien tilted her head. “Two?”

“The size of this gem is slightly larger than the standard for pendants, so I would have to cut it to size – otherwise it would be rather clunky, and far less beautiful than it should be to suit you, my dear,” he said, glancing between the diamond and her.

“And what would you make with the rest?”

Her uncle simply smiled, ruffling her hair. “Let that be a surprise, little one. I shall make you something, but only once you’ve all grown up, lest it only fit you for a few years.”

“You would not accidentally use it for something else?” she queried, oddly reluctant to leave her precious treasure in her uncle’s hands. It was hers.

“Niece, do you truly think so little of me?” he asked, chuckling as he rose to his feet, handing her diamond back to her. “I see that jewel is precious to you… though if you wish to see more, I would recommend taking up the hammer and the anvil and joining me at the forge. But perhaps we will save that for when you are older, neh?” He went to the shelves behind him, searching through them for a short while before he found that which he was searching for. “Here it is,” he said, prying the little box from the shelf, taking his inkbrush and scrawling her name across its lid. “This will be your box, and everything inside this shall be used for you, and only you.” Nixeno offered out the open box, and Ecthelien beamed up at him, placing her precious treasure inside.

“I trust you, uncle,” she said, earning herself another head ruffle, and then her father’s voice sounded – declaring that lunch was ready to be served. Ecthelien shared another smile with her smith of an uncle, taking the proffered hand as he led the way to the small dining room her father had prepared for them to eat in.

The training sword her father lent to her was heavy in her small hands, and Pendelot simply looked on as she hefted the stick of wood around. He was there, as he usual was, book in hand for him to read when he grew bored of watching her epically fail.

“Lady Ecthelien, might I say just how graceful you are,” he remarked.

Ecthelien pulled her face out the dirt, cranking her head around to glare at the current object of her ire. Pendelot was a genius when it came to sarcasm and dry remarks. Sure, there were times when she could verily appreciate that aspect of his personality, but it wasn’t one of those times. Those times were usually when it was being used against other adults or other elflings. Pendelot was rather recluse and didn’t seem to have many friends aside from her. In fact, she’d never really seen him getting along with any elves aside from his parents and the red-haired elf called Rōka. “Once I get my hands on a real sword, I will make you regret these snide comments,” she promised, glaring daggers at him.

Pendelot only chuckled, reaching down to pick up a branch fallen from a nearby tree. It was about as long as her training sword, and thin enough for him to clasp his hand around. “Really now?” he asked, holding up his mockery of a training sword, swiftly smacking it against her hands.

Ecthelien winced, dropping her training sword, scowling viciously as the blunted end of the branch was held to her neck. “You…”

He smiled smugly. “I win.”

“I will wipe that smirk off your face, that is a promise,” Ecthelien vowed, eyebrow twitching all the while.

“I have no doubts that is,” Pendelot said, and Ecthelien blinked at the sheer honesty in his voice. “Of course, whether you will manage to keep that promise is another matter entirely…” And the mocking tone was back.

Ecthelien couldn’t help but smile. He was an annoyingly good training partner when he wished to be. “Watch me.”

“That I shall.”

She never made the fatal mistake of interrupting Pendelot whilst he poured over books and studied to his heart’s content. Ecthelien had seen what had become of fools who tried, so rather than complaining about her studies she went about them dutifully. Though she thought her sword training slightly more important. Pendelot was the opposite to her in that respect. He preferred the book to the sword. That being said, he was terrifying when it came to using quills.

“Pendelot,” Ecthelien spoke one day as they were nearing the end of their studies for the day. “Can you teach me how to use a quill like you do?” she asked, careful to keep her eyes fixed to her book, reminding herself silently not to push for answers should he be unwilling to give them to her. She didn’t particularly want to be on the end of his quill-stabbing technique. She’d seen the consequences of it, and sadly, Pendelot always seemed to manage to get away without reprimand. But that might just be how some scholars were.

“I presume you are after the stabbing technique and not the writing technique,” he remarked, continuing to write in precise strokes.

“That would be correct.”

Pendelot hummed to himself as they sat in the midst of the library. They were the only two around, and Ecthelien was fairly certain it had something to do with the elfling sitting next to her. He was already terrifying, and only Rōka and his obnoxious cheerfulness could seemingly ignore that fact. “I see,” he mumbled.

In hindsight, Ecthelien really should have seen it coming.

Pain erupted from her arm, and she yelped, pulling away as Pendelot used his quill. “I find experiencing a technique is the best way to teach it to someone.”

“OW!”

“Hush,” Pendelot ordered, smiling as he readied his quill again. “You wish to be a warrior, do you not? You must require some form of pain tolerance if you wish to be successful in that endeavour, so stay still and let me stab you.”

“Like the Halls,” she muttered, scrambling to get away from the quill wielding elfling.

Pendelot was fairly happy to chase her – a fact she hated.

There was something that bothered her as they grew over the years.

Pendelot’s hand appeared above her, pulling out the book she had been eyeing on the shelves too high for her to reach, grey eyes twinkling with mirth as she glared up at him. “You would like this book, would you?” He tilted his head, and Ecthelien pouted viciously.

“I would,” she grumbled, snatching it out of his hands as he offered it down to her, but she wasn’t quick enough to escape, finding her own head being used as his elbow rest a moment later. “Please remove your elbow from my head, lest you wish to be one elbow short of a pair.”

Pendelot sighed. “How many times have you threatened to remove my elbow now?” He grinned smugly. “And how many times have you succeeded in carrying through with that threat?”

Ecthelien scowled, silently cursing her lack of height. Ellith naturally had a lower average height than ellyn. Ecthelion had been said to be tall, and for male elves that tended to be the later part of the six-feet range. Female elves rarely reached the middle of the six-feet range, with Artanis standing the tallest of them. “Mark my words, I will gut you one day,” she said, but there was no bite to the words.

Pendelot was just teasing her, as per usual.

Still it didn’t mean she didn’t want to make him eat the dirt any less. He was a goal of hers, someone to surpass ready for the trials that would await her in the future. And he was also her friend. A friend she longed to beat up. The best kind of friend who pushed her forwards. No matter how often she considered how satisfying it would be to injure him.

Chapter Text

Thankfully for her, Ecthelien grew taller – surpassing Galadriel’s six-foot-four by a fair margin – and she was fairly sure she matched the average height of an ellon. Still, she never beat Pendelot in that aspect. He was unusually tall even amongst the Noldor. Ecthelien tried not to let that small fact get to her whenever he dangled it in front of her face.

He loved helping her acquire books off the higher shelves, often sporting a smug expression whilst doing so. It was a regular occurrence, though that did not mean she grew used to it. In fact, it was the exact opposite. Still, that did not mean she stopped heading to her favourite place with her infuriating friend. No matter how many years passed, they always enjoyed spending some time together in the company of books. Occasionally Pendelot decided to join her on a hunt, but those were few and far between. She preferred the exploration They had gone to the library, like so many times before then, and things went much the same. Ecthelien liked the safety of the repetition then and there – but on that day something broke it, and Ecthelien knew the time had come.

Darkness fell, the gold and silver light she so loved vanishing, and the light of the stars shone brightly from above – the only source of light left for the Eldar to enjoy. She bit her lip, ignoring Pendelot’s worry and confusion from beside her. “And so it begins…” she murmured, sliding her favourite book of lore from the shelves as the lamps were lit with a hurried uncertainty.

“Ecthelien?” Pendelot murmured, glancing at her.

Ecthelien only smiled, tugging on his sleeve, signalling for him to follow as she went and sat down at their usual spot, heart pounding in anticipation of what was to follow. The Flight of the Noldor would soon begin, though not before those dreadful Oaths were made. Not that it mattered much to her. She would never make an oath, especially not the Oath of Fëanor. That would only bring strife and sadness to those who took it. “There is naught we can do, Pendelot,” she said, flicking open the pages, losing herself in the written word and the flowing script she was so familiar with by that point in time. “So we may as well pass the time as we always have.”

“That is… very true,” he spoke, seating himself beside her, and Ecthelien enjoyed their last days of peace just like that – in the company of books and one of her few friends.

“Are you leaving as well?” Pendelot tilted his head, grey eyes staring into her own searchingly, and she nodded sharply in confirmation.

“That I am.”

“I see.” He offered out his arm. “Together?”

Ecthelien took the proffered wrist. “Together,” she whispered, heading to where Fingolfin and other various high-profile Noldor were gathering, blissfully unaware of the doom which was to come. Her steps felt heavy, the weight of her parents’ wishes to return safely weighing her down. She could not promise them such a thing. Not with whose fate was intwined with her own – that all but guaranteed the danger her family hoped she would steer away from.

Footsteps sounded behind her, hurried and frantic, but Ecthelien paid them no heed. At least not until a familiar voice shouted out her name. “Ecthelien!”

Blinking in surprise, she turned, nearly stumbling when she realised it was her uncle who had called her out.

“Your parents told me,” he said by way of explanation. “Which was why I finally decided to craft something to aid you in your ventures.”

Ecthelien blinked, only able to watch as her uncle slipped a light package wrapped in furs into the pack she carried – for she knew the journey to Arda would be long and fraught with peril.

“I have heard tales of what goes on beyond the seas,” her uncle continued, pressing sword and scabbard into her startled arms. There were two of them – elvish blades of the finest quality, with jewelled hilts and fine designs on their sheaths. The only thing they lacked were names. “Find a smith once you decide upon a name for each of them… for only then will they know their true purpose.”

Tears bit the corner of her eyes. “Thank you…”

“There is no thanks needed, little Ecthelien… though you are not quite so little anymore,” he said, pulling a very familiar jewel out of a small cloth pouch, though it was no longer simply a gem. “You once told me this came from Lady Varda’s crown…” He offered out the necklace, and Ecthelien let him place it around her neck. “May Elentári guide you, Ecthelien… and I hope she aids you in returning whole and hale to these shores once your adventures are over with.” Stepping back, he offered her one last smile. “Go with mine and your parents’ blessings.”

Nodding, Ecthelien turned away, a slight spring to her step as she and her old friend resumed their walk towards their new beginning. Arda awaited them, but so did the Helcaraxë. The Grinding Ice. She shivered. “Did you bring warm clothes?”

“Yes.” Pendelot arched an eyebrow.

“Good… that is good…” she mumbled. “I have a feeling we will need them.”

Pendelot simply shrugged – already far too used to her strange ways to question them. “Come, old friend,” he spoke, picking up the pace. “We need to put our names down, should we wish to accompany Lord Fingolfin’s host.”