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Chapter Text

Book One

- The Rules of the Multiverse -

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Uncle Wong told her a few things when it came to crashlanding into a new world.

Well. Not really.

He wrote it down in a piece of parchment paper – neat in Sanskrit ^[1] – with some BIC pen^[2] he had lying about. (He hated BIC pens; preferred a proper fountain pen or quill. But he hadn’t had time to pick up some ink pots downtown, so he was stuck using one of her own favourite stationery pieces.)

After pestering the sorcerer to answer her questions, he finally had enough and wrote some suggestions. (It was only several years later that she realised he wasn’t being serious.)

The top of the list was put simply:

• Remember your name and where you are from.

Illyria wasn’t sure as to why Uncle Wong put it there at first, but the moment she woke up with her face up and her back flat on the ground as well as the worse headache since her first hangover: she now understood why he put it there.

She first tried to open her eyes, but all she could see was tiny speckles of light. Trying to twitch her fingers, she gently practised her muscles before retracting her hand. Next was her arms: and moving those was a bad idea. The moment she tried to lift her right hand, a fire somehow erupted up her side until it burnt her head. Illyria’s eyes rolled back before the speckles of light disappeared.

The next time she woke up, she could sense something wet against her cheek. Her face scrunched, moaning in her sleep as she tried to shake her head to the side against the weird touch. As soon as a warm breath hit her face, Illyria quickly grew to her senses and opened her eyes. A gasp came out of her mouth but quickly grew to a noise of disgust as it licked her cheeks.

Leaning down to her face was a pony.

So, Illyria did the first thing when it came to seeing one: she squealed.

First things first, Illyria never met a horse in her entire life. Kamar-Taj was situated at an altitude that hardly needed any ridden animal. Yes, there were some down in the city and the villages nearby had some mules and donkeys. But a fully grown pony right beside her was not her agenda. (Even then, Illyria has seen what horses and ponies were like. Mostly scouring the internet when the Masters of Kamar-Taj wasn’t checking her search history as a child).

Somehow this was what she woke up to.

‘At least this world has something familiar to mine. Wherever this was.’ Illyria muttered a curse, trying to brush away the head of the animal before rolling to her side with all the power she had. She huffed and took a deep breath, gradually pushing her arms up against the grassy ground before she sharply inhaled.

Another surge of pain went up to her legs, but she managed enough to get on her knees. At that moment, the small grey pony snorted – making Illyria glare at the animal.

She asked the pony, “What are you so amused about?” She received another sniff before she continued, “You’re not the one in great pain after creating a damn portal.”

The pony grunted, before nudging its nose against something.

Her pack, or what seemed to be what is left of it.

"Yes, you're talking to an animal," She grumbled. "Honestly, I really don't need this right now."

Illyria finally got the chance to study her surroundings, discovering that she found herself in some clearing.

Around her, there were large oak trees, with some bushes and flowers. The grass below her was green and fresh, moist by morning dew. When she peered up to the sky, she found a beautiful canopy of leaves and branches – speckles of white clouds beyond. To say it was like Central Park would be insulting this place, wherever this place was called.

The pony was smaller than she thought once she wobbled to her feet, her boots clearly battered by where she previously was. When she dusted her gloved hands, Illyria frowned at the soot and ripped parts of her clothes. Her belt with her pouch and holster left intact. Her hooded cloak was nothing by a strip of fabric, torn beside the bag as well with all of her belongings. Illyria rushed over as fast as she could, shooing the pony away to grab her bag and see its contents.

When she sighed in relief to see her staff and daggers there, though disappointed that they were shattered. The staff itself needed some repairs whilst the daggers could hardly be fixed. Alongside this, she found her phone at the bottom of the bag, tucked with her purse, makeup bag and an extra bag of Doritos Darcy decided to shove in. (Darcy tended to dot her with too many snacks and not enough band-aids and painkillers, resulting to her to get more open cuts from missions than any paper cut). ^[3]

Everything else seemed to have been lost during her journey here, Illyria guessed. With the only things she had seen she shoved them all in her bag, flexing the stiff ring on her finger. Once she stood up, she closed her eyes and shuddered out a deep breath.

“Okay, what’s the first thing Uncle Wong told me to do,” Illyria muttered to herself. “I am Illyria, and I am from New York, Earth.”

She repeated the same sentence repeatedly, her memories coming back at the last time. Illyria could remember the last voice she once heard before entering the void and probably falling for ages.

Her entire body could shatter any moment, but Illyria knew she had to move to somewhere safer. She had no idea which dimension, planet, or reality she landed, and sling-ringing back with the energy of a dead battery was practically committing suicide. She had to find some shelter first.

Her stomach rumbled, causing the pony to neigh back.

“I don’t really talk to animals that much,” She said, approaching the wondering animal with caution.

To her surprise, the pony wasn’t bothered by her touch, almost purring (do pony’s purr?) at her hand. “But one thing we both know is that you can’t carry me.”

And the pony could agree if it could connect with her mind. But animals were the hardest to connect to in Illyria’s opinion. She could connect her thoughts to humans – she even once mind-read to a talking tree which was weird as hell – quite easily, but animals were harder. Maybe it was to do with the type of species? She wasn’t sure. Even Uncle Wong or The Ancient One understood how a young girl could possess natural telepathic abilities.

Instead, she slung the bag over the pony’s back and carefully wrapped her stronger arm around its neck. As she decided to herself which way to go, she nudged the pony down the forest to try and find some sort of civilisation.

Illyria could not believe her eyes.

Right in front of her could be anything - New Zealand for all she cared.

But to actually see a real life-sized hobbit skipping down a path with those big hairy feet could probably sweep Black Widow off her feet (not that the Black Widow would allow anyone to do that, and she would probably never have seen one at all after…after Thanos-).

Her first instinct was to assume she was in Hobbiton: Hobbiton in New Zealand in specific.

Dad took her there a month ago for some mission. Something to do with some rogue sorcerers scaring the tourists and pretending to be Gandalf the Grey.

Apparently, anyone with the training of the Mystic Arts wasn’t supposed to use their magic to achieve their LARPing dream, and that left both a sad Illyria and an annoyed Darcy after Dad found them rein-acting the scene when Gandalf faced the Balrog. (He was not happy that she was using her magic to create illusions in the front of the Sanctum and trying to fit a giant creature of darkness in the tiny brownstone building.) ^[4]

It took her about a few seconds to adjust before her equestrian friend got impatient and tugged her, forcing her to stumble and get dragged towards the small town.

Hobbiton in her world was fairly small, with some homes decorating the hillside along with the Hotel where visitors would reside to see where Peter Jackson made a small part of a world come to life. However: to see it really her in flesh and blood could bring anyone to shock.

Illyria had discovered a real world, with a real Hobbiton.

‘If I am in Hobbiton, that means I’m in the Shire…’ Illyria thought, watching a small hobbit child giggle away whilst getting chased by her friend. ‘So that means I’m…I’m in Middle Earth.’

Her body jerked back, annoying the pony leaned against her. A sudden cold feeling was felt in the tips of her toes, coming up until she stared at the landscape.

She froze.

Out of all the realms she learnt since a child, listening into The Ancient One’s lessons, sitting with Masters of the Mystic Arts and learning alongside her Dad: Illyria didn’t expect to land in a land that she first discovered in a book.

Uncle Wong always told her that the Multiverse itself was continuously growing, creating timelines and world and realities. So, she could justify how Middle Earth could be possible to enter from their point of view.

'But why here?' She asked herself as she continued down the dusty road, idling about until she didn’t notice herself tripping over her feet.

Her knees scraped the ground, and she hissed – gritting her teeth before grasping the ground with her hands. Her eyes fell over her right hand; the sling ring still on her two fingers.

Before she got up, she found a shadow overlook her. Illyria’s instinct was to jab at their knees and scramble up to her feet.

However, that familiar voice almost caused her to falter.

“Are you alright, Miss?” They asked, looking down at her.

Illyria’s eyes slowly panned upwards, removing her gaze away from their large hairy feet to green eyes on a kind small face.

She let out a gasp, getting up to her feet. Her sudden jump of action caused the pony to shriek in shock, shaking its head before bolting away. Her bag thumped on the ground and Illyria quickly grabbed it before the person before she did. Once she returned her eyes to them, she had to snap her thoughts back.

The hobbit widened his eyes but didn’t hesitate to reach out his arm the moment she wobbled on her feet. As she was about to speak, her hand reach to grab her head and felt dizzy. Illyria shouldn’t have gotten up so quickly and having the poor shorter hobbit grasp (and almost get squished) her arm to steady her.

Illyria thought she was fine – tended to find herself in circumstances that got her head physically or mentally jumbled up. But not this, and especially embarrassing herself in front of Bilbo Baggins.

Maybe it was the right time to faint.

“Oh, Yavanna! Why do you not sit down?”

The hobbit kindly began guiding her down the path, slower due to her own wobbling legs and Bilbo’s own short ones. “My home is at the end of the road. I…If that is alright with you.”

She glanced back to her side and heartedly replied, “That would be great, thank you.”

They continued down the path, with the right side overlooking the rest of the town as it was. It was any other ordinary day for these people, and Illyria could sense a tranquil feeling wash over her to the chirping of birds and the playing laughter of children. Further up the hill, she could then recognise the familiar set (now entirely real as it is) enter her view. The famous wooden door awed her even then.

Whereas she was feeling giddy on the inside, Illyria knew it would not be polite to make some small talk. And their first meeting was her almost collapsing on the hobbit.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know who you are,” She spoke, slowing down her steps.

The hobbit’s curls almost bounced every step he took, those green eyes staring up to her with such natural curiosity she expected to see. He proudly introduced himself: “Bilbo Baggins, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Miss…?”

“Illyria,” She said with a staggered breath, smiling down at the famous hobbit (who seems to have yet become famous since she saw how young he was). “My name is Illyria Strange,” She added, still feeling unfamiliar with the name as she clicked her tongue.

Bilbo seemed confused by her name, furrowing his eyebrows as he turned to the gate to open the latch. (Okay, perhaps she should have stuck with the one name but oh well).

He clasped his hands, before bowing to her with a polite nod. “Well then, well met Illyria Strange.”

Bag End was exactly what she expected. Clearly, it out-shone what ‘fake Hobbiton’ had back in her world.

Illyria just really wished it could have been at least four inches taller, not that she minded. But perhaps those extra four inches could have stopped her from whacking her head at the top of the door. Or maybe she should blame her usual tall stature; she was taller than the average American woman and whenever she was with her dad and Darcy, poor Darcy looked like she was the child instead.

(If Darcy heard her thinking about this, Illyria knew she was going to spend the next weekend sorting through her data.)

Illyria didn’t complain as much apart from making herself more concussed, which then led to Bilbo guiding her down to the sitting room to sit down whilst he went to get some tea. Everything still seemed pretty small, with little windows and chandeliers and a cute fireplace and all. Everything was a mixture of warm tone colours, with perhaps some silverware lying about that Illyria assumed not to touch.

Well, twelve years living in Kamar-Taj and eight years in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum pretty much told Illyria Strange not to touch anything that screams ‘could possibly teleport, curse or trap you in an endless pit of doom’.

Anyways, lunch was a lovely affair.

The tea Bilbo had (she still can’t believe she’s having tea with a hobbit) was similar to the ones Kamar-Taj had – or something like that. It smelled herbal, maybe mint, she wasn’t too sure, but she could feel the warmth almost ooze into her body. If she wasn’t running in adrenaline, she could perhaps take a nap. But Illyria wasn’t to fall asleep to the kind hobbit that took her in.

God, she realised what she was wearing.

Her tattered clothes and bag, with her unruly blonde hair that she couldn’t remember when she last washed, probably made her look like some tramp walking through the woods with a pony that bolted. (Speaking of the pony, she should probably find them and thank them. She wondered if they liked apples or carrots…)

Even she could tell from Bilbo’s tight smile that he didn’t want her sitting on his furniture with dirt and grime going everywhere. Illyria politely asked where the bathroom was after some food, and he gladly took her down the corridor where she was able to sort through herself.

The moment she faced the mirror, Illyria was almost scared by her reflection.

She looked like she went to hell and back (not that she’s visited Hell, and she didn’t think neither her dad nor Uncle Wong would even like to).

Her forehead was swollen slightly, with a couple of cuts on her cheeks. When she went to pry off her cloak, robes, and armour, she winced at her aching muscles before seeing the physical results. More bruising and cuts. Where her armour and cloak were burnt was probably the most of her damage, and she was surprised she got out unscathed.

“I’m going to have some serious words to Mordo for teaching them the burning spell,” She grumbled and hissed as she prodded at the red-hot wound. Illyria took a small breath, and carefully produce a dim white light at the tip of her fingers.

The white glow hovered over the wound, engulfing her upper arm. When the light dimmed away, her eyes hovered to a clear stretch of skin – no wound visible.

‘God, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired seeing this…’ Illyria thought.

Just in time as there was a gently knock at the door. Bilbo had spoken at the other side of the door that there were some spare clothes she could use, and Illyria smiled at the thoughtful gesture. She was not going to pass the chance for having clean clothes again, even if they were a bit tight around her.

Once she was done, she wandered to where she heard Bilbo speaking to someone else. She wrapped her tattered robe over Bilbo’s borrowed clothes, clasping it with a belt before she turned around the corner (or curve? This smial doesn’t seem to have corners.) and found him speaking in front of the door. They were speaking in a language she couldn’t understand at all, and even she hadn’t been able to learn any translation spells yet in her tutelage. ^[5]

Uncle Wong and Dad should teach her that next.

It was frustrating because she knew by Bilbo’s awkward voice and the other hobbit’s curious and awkward one that they were talking about her. That and because Bilbo glanced at his back to check she wasn’t there. Bless the hobbit, Illyria had the lightest feet ever – and that said for her height.

When the door shut and Bilbo found her drinking the rest of her tea in the living room, she looked up to him and nodded.

Bilbo decided to take his afternoon tea. When she asked in curiosity why they were already having food after lunch, the hobbit explained their meal plan. Illyria widened her eyes and she grinned inwardly, remembering the key information. (She giggled in her head, as well memorising the funny scene in the movies when Pippin told Aragorn that they had two breakfasts.) 

So, more food for Bilbo and more tea for her, Illyria decided to break the silence and asked him a question.

“When you went to talk to that person, um: how can I not understand. I thought we were speaking Westron or whatnot?” She asked.

Bilbo paused, carefully answering: “No?”

“Oh…sorry, I. You see I am not from here.” Illyria answered, muttering an addition. “Well, not even strictly speaking land wise but-“ She trailed off once she realised how clueless Bilbo was.

“Miss Strange,” He began, but she shortly cut him off with a tightened smile. As much as she liked her name, hearing her name like that reminded her too much of the last six years.

Instead, she paused him and spoke, “You can call me Illyria, Mister Baggins.”

The hobbit pulled a small smile, encouraging himself to add on. “Then you should call me Bilbo then.” He placed his hands down to his lap, answering back, “Well, to answer your question. You are not speaking Westron at all.”

Illyria quirked her head to the side and blinked. “So, what am I speaking in?” 

Bilbo answered, “Elvish. Specifically, Sindarin.” 

She might as well have choked on leaf juice if she heard that again.

Did he just say Sindarin?

What did that hobbit put in her tea? Was it even tea to begin with? ^[6]

Illyria should stop being so openly willing to drinking things people give her – especially after drinking the concoction her dad made that was an apparent 'good' smoothie.

‘Well at least I didn’t spit it out,’ She thought, the back of her hand wiping some of her salivae off her chin.

She then found Bilbo looking at her with deep concern. “Are you alright, Illyria?”

Coughing back to clear her throat, she flashed a smile to assure him, “Yes. I’m fine. Don’t worry Bilbo.” Once she was done having her little mental freeze, Illyria carefully inquired. “Do you know the year then? Uh...Age?”

That was what she remembered from the books. Though the first part of The Lord of the Rings did specify something about how the hobbits recalled the date from The Shire Reckoning…? She wasn’t entirely sure. ^[7]

“2941 of the Third Age.”

Illyria almost dropped the teacup when she recognised that date.

“Why do you ask?” Bilbo questioned, a sudden worry filling his head once Illyria set the tea down.

She took a deep breath, before forcing herself not to flee with a tight smile. “Might need a spare pipe if you have one."

She wasn’t sure if it was the pipeweed or just her own self-desperation for understanding that she practically revealed to Bilbo who she was and where she had come from. From how she got here and why she even was in the Alps in the first place.

Not that the hobbit would understand anything to do with magic or the Mystic Arts, she was surprised he hadn’t suggested for her to leave or kicked her out for possibly endangering him with her enigmatic presence.

Clearly, this was too obvious to not be a coincidence since Illyria knew to always be cautious for such details. Not since after what happened with Darcy’s freelancing job in New Jersey last year. That was some nasty business to hear about after she discovered it through Dad after he had to go and wonder what the hell was going on.

Neither her dad nor Darcy mentioned to her what happened. Even Uncle Wong thought it wasn’t her burden to deal with at the time. Though by her quick deductions, it was serious and clearly ‘Sorcerer Supreme level’ enough to catch her dad’s eye.

So perhaps she might in this situation too. But Illyria’s theory of this all being in her head was definitely out of the picture. She knew it was a different world despite not knowing how or why.

What truly struck her was the when.

She landed the year the hobbit, sitting before her, would pack his own bag to leave for an adventure with thirteen dwarves and a wizard – all to fight a dragon to get their mountain back.

The Hobbit was a straightforward book to read after the original trilogy, and definitely longer to watch in the movies. And Illyria did not like the sound of having to actually relive it after meeting the sweet gentle hobbit.

And it even got worse when she began telling Bilbo everything. How she was a sorceress who just happened to fight some other bad sorcerers and accidentally tripped herself up through a portal she made from haste. She rambled on about worrying if anyone would come and get her and how her dad would definitely remove her sling-ring for the next decade. (Not that he already missed five years of her life, but that might just fuel his own overprotectiveness).

The evening arrived unexpectedly, and Illyria had just finished talking and trying to inhale the smoke coming from the wooden object between her lips. After one large inhale, she coughed all the smoke out and made the worse disgusted noise she had made.

“I can tell you have never smoked pipeweed before.”

Bilbo stepped out of the door, holding a small plate of bread, cheese, smoked ham and biscuits. Illyria eagerly switched the pipe for the plate of food and thanked the hobbit. As Bilbo sat down next to her on the bench, she was surprised that he had come out after what she told him. Instead, he was here: after listening silently and attentively.

She eyed him as he puffed a perfectly round ring into the air from his pipe and shook her head, looking out into the landscape ahead.

Illyria said, “Just wanted to try it out."

The hobbit quirked a brow.

"But yeah, hell no. We have these sort of things back in my world, but my fa- Stephen hates it. Destroys your lungs and you get a higher risk of lung cancer. Not that you guys know about cancer.” Her mouth slammed shut before she mumbled, “Sorry, I ramble when I’m…”

“Upset?” He butted in, causing her to sheepishly nod. As she nibbled with her dinner, Bilbo put his pipe away and straightened his back with a stretch. “I understand what you are going through…I cannot exactly translate it well to Sindarin. But something along the lines of distress.”

A small smile crept on her lips, hidden by the bit of bread in front of her face.

She’s never really had to be the damsel in distress. Illyria had only dived into battle once, and that already cost herself enough memories to possibly cram six hours of therapy in one sitting. This wasn’t a distressing moment for her; only minor if she thought about it. But she assured herself and hoped for something good – even if she knew she’ll have to return with more danger on her than anything.

“Yeah, we have a word for that back in my world.” Illyria swallowed some ham (seriously, they cured ham here pretty well) before raising an eyebrow before him. “Honestly, I’m impressed that you’re perfectly fine with all of this. After what you’ve heard out of my mouth, I must completely mad.”

Bilbo let out a chuckle, raising his eyebrows high quickly as he remembered something. “You are not the only one that has stumbled in my way the past week.” He laughed, “Some wizard thought to sweep me off into an adventure. Pah! Me? Never.”

She lowered her cheese back down, hearing the piece of information enter her.

If he meant the wizard as in…the wizard: did Gandalf already come to him and asked about the quest? And in this timeline (thankfully) Bilbo declined the offer and even decided to ignore it.

Oh, how naïve you are, Bilbo Baggins.

However, staring down at the hobbit almost caused her to see something more of the hobbit. Illyria didn’t have to be a mind-reader to tell that the person in front of her was not happy. Yes: Bilbo Baggins was comfortable with his lifestyle and life, but she knew he was not truly happy here.

Only after spending the afternoon with the hobbit told her much that Bilbo wanted action and change, not a cycle of domestic life in a large house on his own (well he won’t be once Frodo comes to live with him, but that’s another sixty/seventy years). She saw how intrigued he was of her, of her clothes and what she carried. Illyria wasn’t oblivious when he spotted her with bruises over her arms during tea, hiding his gasp with a handkerchief.

Plus, out of all the hobbits that lived down this road: only Bilbo Baggins would be the one that acknowledged her and took her in. Not only he was a curious hobbit, but one that didn’t shy away from the unknown.

That was when Illyria realised what Gandalf truly saw in Bilbo Baggins.

“You never know, perhaps it would be nice to see what’s beyond where you live.” She winked, gesturing out into the world beyond the gentle-rolling hills of the Shire. Even for herself, she was curious to see what was beyond and how similar it looked in the movies.

If she wasn’t so limited in time to return, she would probably come back and explore.

Luckily, it was the right time that Bilbo changed the subject. “So you are from another world. How?” Finally, he asked the question. “That seems so far-fetched. Pardon me, Illyria.”

And there was the denial.

Illyria was patient, but she wasn’t that patient to have to repeat everything she just rambled. Also, she probably would get told off by Uncle Wong if someone knew about her and her powers.

Instead, she brushed it off, plainly putting it: “Bilbo, I arrived at your house wearing armour that is thin as linen and strong as metal. I carry a bag with daggers and this device.” Illyria’s mind quickly referred again back to the subject during lunch. “And now I speak this elvish tongue.”

“Sindarin.” He noted again, and then quickly questioned back in alarm. “Did you just say armour and weapons?”

Illyria finished the plate of food (if she stayed, she would not complain about the meals). “Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me.” She then stood up from the bench, dusting crumbs off her lap before placing the plate. “I should be going. I think I’ll be able to make it now.”

“What do you mean?” The hobbit scrambled up beside her, looking up with wide eyes. “Are you a wizard as well?”

She quirked a smile, remembering another person that once called her that before.

“In a way.” Illyria nodded her head curtly, speaking. “But thank you, Bilbo Baggins. And you never know, you might actually go on an adventure.”

Bilbo realised the tone and his shoulders slackened, saddened by her quick departure. But he brushed it off quickly, chuckling back: “Believe me, I would not imagine myself leave the Shire any time soon.”

She just gave a mysterious look to him, knowing well enough that won’t be the case when the day arrives.

After grabbing her clothes in her bag with her staff, she put on her cloak and boots and stepped into the garden where Bilbo was still waiting for her.

God, Illyria would not want to see Bilbo’s face once she created the portal.

“Alright then. Thank you, Master Hobbit.” She then muttered to herself, raising her arms out. “Let’s try this out.”

Lifting her hand, she let her palm out with the sling ring on whilst the other began to draw circles. Illyria closed her eyes and concentrated, imagining the New York Sanctum before her like entering the front doors. She imagined the wooden old smell that lingered due to the dust and relics there.

As her mind began to do this, her other hand drew circles in front of her, hoping to see a golden spark forming.

But maybe it’s been two minutes already, and nothing appeared.

Huh.

That was not supposed to happen.

Where the hell was the portal?

“…Is there something supposed to happen?” Bilbo asked behind her.

After one last concentration, Illyria let out an exasperated sigh.

Her arms flopping down in defeat. “I can’t…I can’t portal,” She said, not sure if it was to herself or the hobbit.

Why didn’t it work? It should work. The sling ring didn’t seem damaged, and she could tune with her Eldritch magic, casting a small shield in the bathroom before she left to get her clothes.

The sorceress noticed she was sitting on the ground, staring at her hands until a hand gently went to her shoulder.

“Illyria?” The hobbit called to her.

She continued to stare down at her hands. The sling ring shining before the moon above the sky.

“No, that can’t be.” She looked up, asking herself. “It said I can portal back. Why…why can’t it work?”

Of all times she learnt to use the sling ring she never had any trouble creating portals. She was a natural at it, annoying her dad when she first teleported from her bedroom to the kitchen because she was late for school.

And she can’t simply teleport back home. Perhaps it was due to where she was? Did crossing a world meant she needed more energy to get back?

“Perhaps you need more rest, Illyria.” Bilbo softly suggested, “I have plenty of room. You can stay. Not that I am forcing you.”

She took a sharp intake of breath, trying to calm herself despite her shaking hands.

Illyria would not break. She couldn't. She was an adult for God’s sake, and she needed to be brave. For herself and her family.

Illyria shook her head, answering: “No, it’s alright Bilbo. I can’t impose-”

“I am insisting.” Bilbo chided, letting her stand back to her feet with her bag still on the floor. “You do not know how to get home. The best course is to give you my home instead for the night.”

She gazed down at Bilbo Baggins and wondered to herself how she managed to land with the best person she could ever ask for.

Kindly, she replied. “Thank you, Bilbo. I’ll try to repay you with something.”

Illyria didn’t sleep that night.

Instead, her body did, though with her knowledge of the Astral Dimension ^[8] she was able to pace about the large smial and plan out why she couldn’t portal her way back. It was pointless to use her phone, knowing that there wasn’t any reception to pick up.

So she sat in silence fiddling with the hem of her clothes she borrowed before huffing up to her feet. If she was to stay here until she could find a way, she might as well be productive.

The entire night, she fixed most of her armour and clothes back to their original state – slightly poorly due to her depleted strength, but it made do. Her daggers on the other hand were gone, not worthwhile to fix using some runes and spells. Instead, she placed it into her pocket dimension along with her wallet.

She stopped when she held her Stark phone. The battery was almost gone, so she took a quick look at her photos to remember herself. There was a picture of her graduating, the youngest in her year to get a bachelor’s degree in Astrophysics and Astronomy. Next was a photo of her, Darcy and Uncle Wong at Tony Stark’s wedding, with her uncle wearing a black tux, Darcy with her beautiful red fitted dress whilst she was fitted with a dark navy dress.

It was the next photo that drew her into her mind. It was her last photo with her, her dad and Darcy. They went to London to visit some museums (and also for her dad to check how the sanctum was fairing) and had a day filled with Darcy’s brash and snippy quips and her dad’s dry humour.

Illyria found tears falling on the screen, and she turned off her phone as she shut her eyes. She missed them so much. Their weird and small family. Even then, she also missed Tony Stark too. The man that possibly helped her cope through the entirety of her teenage years, helping them to bring up Morgan for that matter.

The phone entered her pocket dimension and she pulled herself out of her astral projection – letting physical tears fall onto the soft pillows.

Several days followed on.

Illyria had pulled herself up from her sorrows and made sure to repay Bilbo for his hospitality. And what way to do was to help the poor hobbit prepare for the dwarves that would come on Wednesday evening.

Bilbo must have been confused as to why she asked what specific date it was and if she could come down with him to the market. But the hobbit brushed it off as Illyria being kind. Not that she wasn’t kind.

No: she was probably being a lifesaver. At least then, this version of Bilbo of this reality would be prepared for the unruly presence of thirteen dwarves and a Maia.

Not that she was planning to tag along...

But as the thought began to embed itself in her brain, the more and more Illyria was willing to join Bilbo. It was a crazy thing to think about. Go on a quest and probably get killed before her family finds out crazy. (If they find out she went off to slay a dragon she would be so grounded despite being a legal adult).

Only tonight will be the ultimate time Illyria would choose to join Bilbo.

Nevertheless, being tall and human was probably a rare occurrence in Hobbiton. A lot of hobbits whispered and gawked at her and Bilbo as they entered the market and went around grabbing their shopping. She was able to persuade the dear hobbit to grab more than needed, and Bilbo asked why.

“Just call it a sorceress’ instinct,” Illyria winked and placed more smoked meat into her satchel.

Bilbo shook his head and muttered, “I am starting to believe you are more like an elf than a wizard, Illyria.”

I think she’s heard that joke plenty of times from Morgan, always trying to persuade her to wear some medieval dresses and carry a bow around. First things first: Illyria was a poor markswoman, never having the best accuracy at a long shot after almost decapitating Mordo during training a decade back (now she was pretty sad she didn’t cut a finger off him). Bows and arrows anyways were rare for a sorcerer or sorceress, preferring magical spells and melee weapons, making her rely on her staff and daggers.

Remembering the small Stark kid almost sent her heart lurching into a tightened knot. She realised she had promised Morgan to come back to spend Christmas; would she return at the same similar time she arrived here? If not, it could be weeks and or even months.

‘Or even years,’ Illyria gulped and bit back her tongue. She didn’t want to think about that any longer and returned her answer to Bilbo.

She pouted and joked, “Well, according to my ears: I’m pretty certain I’m human.”

After the market, Illyria was kind enough to carry all of the shopping back – using her much larger bag and her dimension pockets to store most of the things in. She did it whilst on the way up the hill because as much as Illyria was fit, she was not giving her energy to carry groceries. Carrying it was a hassle, but her next obstacle was much harder.

The kitchen.

Illyria was a woman of the 21^st Century. And the saying that ‘women belong in the kitchen’ was something she and Darcy would joke about and for them to also rant about whenever a sexist comment was thrown at them. She was never taught to cook and she never needed to until the snap happened and left her with Darcy having to feed her through takeout. Uncle Wong was not having it and took matters to teach them both to cook.

Who knew the librarian of Kamar-Taj was a chef all along?

Illyria placed all the food down on the kitchen table, meeting her eyes with an even more confused Bilbo.

“May I ask as to why we bought more than we needed?” He questioned, the clanking of pots coming out of the cupboard whilst they work around the place.

Whilst she was trying (and failing) to not hit the ceiling again, Illyria shouted to him from the pantry. “That wizard. He said he was coming back, right?”

There was another clang of pots.

“Yes. But he does not appear to have gone back to inform me.” His head then popped in, narrowing his eyes back at her. “Unless you know about that?”

Illyria waved her hand and snorted. “Oh God no. I can’t predict the future.” Illyria then added, “But I did skim through your head and read that he was going to bring company.”

Suddenly, there was a crash and she winced at the noise.

He squeaked, “How many do you think he will bring?!”

Illyria raised her eyebrows at this. ‘He’s shocked about the number of people coming and not that you just prodded into his head?’ She asked herself. Illyria could not understand this hobbit sometimes.

She entered the kitchen, ready to clear up the mess but found the hobbit already sorting out a bunch of pots and pans at the fire.

How that hobbit could quickly do that was going to make her ask if he was the sorcerer and not her.

Illyria replied his precious question, “Not sure. But better to prepare than starve ourselves.” She then grinned and thanked him. “Oh and thank you for your gardener’s stuff. You didn’t have to!”

The clothes she wore was all-new from this world, a simple green tunic, and the trousers she had along with her sports bra and boots. Her other robes and special armour were already packed in her bag once she leaves. If she leaves early that is.

Bilbo waved his hand and shooed, “Nonsense! You need new clothes. You cannot always wear your armour all the time! Is it uncomfortable?”

“Spells and runes keep it clean and comfy. But I do like my clothes. I’ve repaired most of my robes and cloak.” She responded, earning the hobbit to hum in agreement. At least they agreed to something that they had their own fashion taste.

The first knock – or rather a bang – at the door almost sent Bilbo jumping out of his seat in terror before scrambling towards the door.

Illyria had decided to stay hidden after they cooked, preferring to do her daily meditation in the spare bedroom. It wasn’t much of meditation, not because of how she was fighting between two parts of her brain on whether or not she would join Bilbo.

She needed to persuade him first, and not make a bad impression of him to the dwarf king that’s arriving late tonight.

To make things a little easier, she gave Bilbo some hints about the people who were coming – most specifically what they were like. She just hoped she did enough to not let Bilbo faint (and if he does, she’s going to make sure the dwarf that made him faint would not see his hat any time soon).

Half an hour in, already two dwarves arrived. Illyria could tell they were the brothers, Dwalin and Balin, when she sneakily Astral projected the entire time and watched them begin eating the dinner. She was giggling how they were awestruck at the food, but also sympathetic as they thanked Bilbo for it. These dwarves have been wandering Middle Earth for god knows how long, and life seemed to be hard for them to appreciate good food and drink.

Next came the youngest dwarves of the Company: Kili and Fili. And they exactly looked like the ones she expected: with Kili and his smaller beard and the blonde Fili with his braided ones. (Illyria was pleased she remembered about the glory box incident and removed that from where it was (Bilbo could ask about it later)). She made sure to let Bilbo find a place to store weapons and their boots too.

Sometime later, chatter and laughter filled the dining room and she returned to her body the moment the door knocked once more. She knew it was the right time to reveal herself to the guests since they’re too happy with the dinner.

Then somehow it all came crashing down.

Illyria’s mind almost faded somewhere to the back of her head, remembering a faint murmur floating about.

And seeing the grey wizard almost triggered it.

“Mithrandir.”

Wait did she say that? Or did someone else.

She was staring at the wizard before her at the front door, her hands by her side and her face almost blank. Illyria knew him as Gandalf from the books, but someone felt a more…closer familiarity. Like she already knew him in person.

What the hell was happening?

Luckily the gasps and roars interrupted her mental blankness session.

“An elf! Why is there an elf here?”

Her head snapped to the red-haired dwarf and stared at him with concern. The only way she could understand what on earth they were talking about was to hear their thoughts. Even if it felt a little bit illegal for her to do so.

Hey! She can’t exactly help when she’s only been here for several days. Give the sorceress a break, people.

“No no! Illyria is not an elf. She is of man.” Bilbo shuffled between the dwarves who were now curious about what was happening at the front entrance.

“She doesn’t understand any of us!” The one with the three-pointed star braids thought aloud, “How can she be of man?”

“She must have been raised by those pointy-prick tree-shaggers.” Dwalin thought, and Illyria almost choked out in laughter.

But she was still focused on the wizard before her. They’ve been pretty much staring at each other for five minutes, trying to wonder what the wizard was truly thinking.

“…I have seen that face in many ages.” That was the first thing he spoke.

Thank the lord he spoke Sindarin.

Wait, what did he mean seen her face?

Illyria looked more alarmed and blurted, “Wait what?” She asked, “How…”

However, she was rudely interrupted by more chatter from the dwarves. She looked over to Bilbo who looked like he was going to faint then.

“You sent this elf, didn’t you Tharkun?” The oldest looking one – Balin – inquired.

Bilbo place himself in front of Illyria, his arms out and spoke, “I think you have a misunderstanding, master dwarf-“

Everyone was just talking over each other both in mind and physically that her head could explode. She was trying to pick up what everybody was saying and didn’t expect it to bombard her like a truck. She would need to learn Westron eventually if she can’t stand hearing people’s thoughts around her.

In the end: she had enough.

“Shut up!”

All eyes went up to her.

Oh boy.

“Now, you probably don’t know what the hell I’m saying. But look. I’m not an elf.” She tucked her hair back, pointing her finger towards her ears. “Round ears, see?”

Many grumbled in agreement whilst others scoffed.

“Bah! Still wears elf clothes.” The red-haired one thought.

“Oi, these are made by a very kind friend thank you very much.” Illyria defended, touching her tunic subconsciously as they eyed her. “The tailors at Kamar-Taj and Halfast Gamgee are going to have words with you.”

Whilst more of the dwarves began to disperse back into the dining room, the grey wizard took the opportunity to intervene.

“Bilbo, my friend. May your friend and I have some space to talk?” Mithrandir wondered.

“Of course, Gandalf.” Her hobbit friend led them to the sitting room.

Illyria was left there still in awe at what just occurred.

They settled down at the sitting room, hearing the other side of Bilbo’s home rage on like it was more of pillage than dinner. Illyria shouldn’t have really left the poor hobbit alone, but the grey wizard wanted to speak to her privately and vice versa.

She still wasn’t sure what really happened. The moment she found his face it was like seeing a memory play out. But she rarely saw the grey wizard, only on a TV screen or on YouTube. This wasn’t the case of her mind, who was playing scenes that weren’t even part of the Extended Edition. ^[9]

“You have questions.” Mithrandir began, causing her to snap out of her contemplations.

She leaned back against the chair, eyeing him straightforwardly. “So do you.” Illyria then quickly realised what she said and added, “I mean. I’m sorry. I’m just- I don’t understand that’s all, what that was.”

And no, she didn’t. She didn’t know what happened at the door and why she felt like she knew him.

“You have heard of me?” Mithrandir’s voice was of pure curiosity, almost leaning forward hadn’t he already hunched over.

How was she supposed to put it without blatantly telling the truth? Illyria fiddled with her hands on her lap, slowly answering back: “Well, not in a sense you seem to be having.”

Nodding, he hummed. “Yes. I can tell.”

She immediately turned her head to him with raised eyebrows. “You can read my mind?”

He was amused by this and answered back. “Yes. And you are incredibly young in this body and heart.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand?” Illyria questioned, even more nervous and worried. What was he not telling her about?

However, it would seem the grey wizard was in his own train of thought, muttering something back to himself as he stared back at the wall. “This is terribly ill news. How did I not predict this?” He muttered.

Finally, Illyria rubbed her forehead and spoke out loud, “Look, I only know you because I know you...Well, in another reality but you were…”

“Were what?” He turned his face towards her.

She whispered, “Fictional back in my world.”

His eyes slightly widened by that, but then he relaxed once more with a hum.

“Interesting.” Mithrandir then changed his demeanour, inquisitive as always depicted. “However, if you must know why I was shocked as well. You are not the only one that exists here…”

Her heart skipped a beat. More questions were beginning to form in her mind as the more Mithrandir spoke. What did he mean about existing here? And why wasn’t she the only one?

All these questions she wanted answering almost tested Mithrandir’s patience to tell. But the wizard was not stupid: he knew when to tell the truth and when to hide it. Much like the Ancient One and the Master of Kamar-Taj. Even Uncle Wong and her dad and hell even Darcy learnt to keep their secrets.

She only assumed he would too.

“Hey wait!” She stood up, desperation lingering over her voice. “Look. I know I can’t pry any further, knowing how you’re a powerful Ainur and I’ve always wanted to see you as a little kid. But why? Why can I not understand them?”

The grey wizard almost eyed her with sympathy, answering back: “I do not know. But in a way, it may help you in the journey to come.” He continued, “I can already tell you will follow your profound friend to fulfil his task. For that, I am curious to know how, but there is already a matter of your appearance.”

More cryptic messages don’t seem to end for Illyria.

“Okay, from a magical user to another: we both know we shouldn’t speak of anything regardless of the future or present or past.” Illyria established, “Then you know that he won’t be welcomed. And I won’t let them. Not when I’m here.”

An amused look plastered on Mithrandir’s face. “No, you won’t my lady E-“ He gestured her towards the corridor and said, “Come, my lady. Let us return to your guests.”

She then nodded her head like a bow, unsure how to greet a wizard in Middle Earth.

“Oh I forgot my manners, I’m Illyria Strange.” She introduced before she asked, “And what do I call you? Is Mithrandir alright? Or Gandalf?”

He then answered back, “For elves: I have been Mithrandir. But for many others, I am known as Gandalf.”

Illyria made it to Bilbo’s side just in time, right when a plate flew past her chest and was caught by Fili. She quirked a smile and gently glanced over to her hobbit friend – who almost looked like he was seeing a ghost.

“Bilbo. Are you alright?” She asked; her hand on his shoulder to steady himself.

He was still keeping an eye on the dwarves singing in Westron as he answered with a tired voice. “I…I am very glad you predicted this, Illyria.”

“No problem, Bilbo.” She asked him, “Did you try and eat any?”

Bilbo didn’t say anything, and she sighed. Some things can’t change entirely.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got plenty still with me.” She assured him. “Pocket dimensions are pretty nifty.”

He returned her with a wry smile, thankful for the biscuits and cheese that appeared in her hand when none of the dwarves was looking.

Thorin Oakenshield was exactly what Illyria Strange hoped to be.

And that was extremely attractive and extremely an asshole.

She now understood why most of the time she was annoyed whenever his actor counterpart would argue at Gandalf or the elves. Despite Darcy thinking he was ‘hot’ and ‘totally because of the beard’ vibe got her, Illyria was not swayed by just looks.

He had the audacity to insult Bilbo in front of his company, who then in turn even agreed. Illyria had to admit, yes: her friend didn’t look to have fought in wars and battles. But it didn’t mean they could insult him after he invited them to his home and ate his food.

At this point, she was beginning to dislike this a lot and wondered how in hell Bilbo Baggins decided to follow this guy to his own death.

But then she saw something change in Bilbo.

In the movies, he was too polite and meekly to respond – too innocent. Now, possibly due to her own presence; it made Bilbo somehow more confident to defend himself. He did it in a way that a Baggins could: and that was to give more guilt than an insult.

Thorin’s hardened façade cracked the moment Bilbo squared him up, apologising to the hobbit and kindly thanked the rest for the hospitality. They then led him to the dining room, where he was then met by her.

And Thorin did not like her one bit.

“No.”

Gandalf sighed, “Thorin-“

“I will not have an elf come with us!” The dwarf king growled back and glared up at the wizard before turning to her.

Illyria pointed a finger to the side of her head. “Excuse me, round ears,” She wryly said.

“Even then, what is a woman worth in the dangers of the wild?”

That comment sent her pretty much rolling into her own anger.

“That’s pretty damn sexist of you, Thorin Oakenshield.” She frowned, her hands curling into a fist under the table. She leaned forward towards him, feeling a sense of darkening wash over her. “And I don’t fucking care if you don’t understand what I’m saying but I can totally portal ourselves straight into Erebor and let that dragon burn you!”

Thorin understood despite the language barrier that she insulted him, earning him to grow redder in anger. Illyria could hear his thoughts run wild, swearing and insulting her in her head and caused her to get more irritated.

What is this guys problem, seriously?

“Damn the stubbornness of dwarves! Thorin, Illyria Strange is a vital asset to your cause. She knows the lands and knows very well the danger ahead.” Gandalf defended, chiding the dwarf king.

‘Geeze, someone should take the stick out of his a-‘ She halted as she was earned a warning look from Gandalf.

She thought, ‘Note to self, don’t think when the wizard is beside you.’

“And if she reveals our cause, what then?” Thorin questioned.

Illyria groaned, exasperating out loud, “I don’t want the gold! Tell him that.”

Gandalf translated back to him, making Thorin stared back at her.

Thorin was even more concerned, narrowing his eyes at her as he questioned: “Why? Why do you not want it? You are being welcomed a fair share.”

She inhaled sharply, preparing to answer with seething annoyance. “Because for me, I’m trying to get back home too! Not everyone's a minor character to your goddamn ego." Illyria exasperated. "So, let me come and help you. I protect Bilbo and I get to go home.”

Thankfully, Gandalf translated it without the insult and accentuated it more on her desire to help them return their home.

Thorin still wasn’t convinced by how his thoughts still were against her, but she didn’t have any choice. She shot her chance in persuading the stubborn dwarf kind and Illyria just had to hope he would accept it.

The moment Balin held out the contract in front of her, she was seriously giving him the ‘are you serious’ face Uncle Wong made whenever her dad made his crappy jokes at him. And yes: Balin was very serious and had to ask Bilbo to translate everything considering she couldn’t read Westron. (Honestly, she really needed to ask about the translation spell).

Once Bilbo said everything to her in Sindarin, she then thought carefully about what was included for her and what wasn’t. She clearly said before Thorin that she didn’t want any of the shares of the gold (how is she going to carry tons of gold back to her own world, if so she’s going to get some questions from Agent Woo from the FBI where she got it from). So no gold was listed; the only thing there was her role and the conditions.

She liked the role they gave her:

Apprentice to Tharkun.

‘Darcy’s going to be so jealous when she hears I’m Gandalf’s student,’ Illyria said to herself in amusement before writing her signature out in ink.

Illyria Strange.

Balin gave her a spare copy of the contract before Thorin came along and gave her a stern look.

“…Very well, you may follow us. But we do not care for you. You will do your own hunting and cooking.” Thorin thought as he spoke.

“Fine by me,” Illyria responded and expected the nod from Thorin before he trudged back to where the rest of the dwarves were.

Whilst she rolled her copy of the contract, she found herself not alone again.

The grey wizard appeared, thinking deeply as he stared at the fire. Though after a moment, he noticed her presence and nodded back at her.

“Well, that turned out better than I predicted,” Gandalf looked over to her by the mantlepiece and continued, “I will keep you company, Lady Illyria.”

“Thank you, Gandalf.” She apologised truthfully, “I am sorry for that. But I don’t tolerate those who judge people quickly.”

And it was true. There was a time she once met someone that clearly saw her through her appearance and not of her person. Many have done so, but it hurt the most when Illyria was trying to do her best to do the right thing.

“I know.” He said, giving her a peculiar twinkle in his eyes that sent Illyria wondering what on earth he was thinking about.

Bilbo entered the room, shutting the door quietly. “So, we’re going then?” He asked, making her turn around as quick as a jet.

Illyria placed the spare binder down on the bed and her eyebrows rose in astonishment. “You accepted, didn’t you?” She asked.

Held out before her: was a copy of the contract. His signature was written below at the end.

For once Illyria doubted something. She didn’t hope for this to occur; for this to all change because of her presence. But somehow it did and the evidence was right in front of her. Bilbo agreed quicker than the original she hoped, even shocking the dwarves and Gandalf.

You would never expect Gandalf out of all people to be shocked.

Illyria gulped back the worry in the back of her mind. She didn’t want to think any further about the future she must have changed already. Instead, Bilbo let out a sigh in defeat: explaining his reasons for agreeing to the quest.

“I…I think you and Gandalf are right. I think I need to get out of this smial, out of the Shire just for myself.” He shrugged, and a small smile appeared on his face. “I guess you appearing just beforehand gave me a little nudge in the right direction.”

Feeling her heart warmed, she went over to Bilbo and knelt to his eye level. “Bilbo Baggins. You deserve to see the world. Go on an adventure and meet elves and dwarves and humans,” She spoke softly, “I promise you; I’ll be with you at all times.”

She meant it. Only several days and she had grown to cherish the friendship she had with the hobbit before her. Illyria wasn’t going to let Bilbo get hurt by anything, even what would come after the dragon dead.

Illyria wondered if that would change too.

The Durins and their fate.

Could she do that? Change this reality?

“And if I do not want to go any further?” Bilbo questioned.

Illyria quirked an eyebrow, her sling-ring flashing in the warm light of the smial. “I can portal us back here.” She said with a mix of amusement and her own assurance. “I think I can picture Bag End well enough.”

That earned a well mysterious smile.

“Thank you, Illyria.” ^[10]

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: The Great East Road, Middle Earth

Time: April 2941 T.A

When Illyria first arrived in the United States, only just the age of eleven: she never rode a vehicle at all.

There were some people with their motorbikes and Tuk-tuks driving about in Kathmandu as well as some cars and buses often bringing workers or tourists around the mountains. [1] However, the Ancient One hardly allowed her to venture out into the city too often; often repeating again and again how dangerous it was to be a child in such a city. It was not until as she got older that she began to see what these modern contraptions were.

By the time she arrived to stay in the Americas, she was forced to use the school bus. And out of everything else that littered the New York City streets, she would pick a sling-ring any day than to use that horror of a thing.

One of the reasons was that Illyria hated to have to sit somewhere, especially being the new kid in the school: with a strange name (ha, see that pun? No? Yeah, it’s not funny anymore) and even a stranger father who lost his job because his hands didn’t work well anymore. Sitting amongst a bunch of kids of her age that jabbed and bullied her almost allowed her to snap back and send them hurtling out of the bus if they couldn’t stop laughing at her.

And that was how that memory led her to this moment.

The dwarves were pretty much the school kids on the bus, apart from the fact that there wasn’t a big metal box driving them to Erebor. (If there was, this journey would probably take them ten times less the amount it was intended to be. Which means that she wouldn’t have to suffer through the cold shoulders and constant bickering all the dwarven men gave her.)

What made her even more irritated was the fact that she could understand them perfectly well but couldn’t exactly converse to them in return. Well: she could, but that’s an entire whole B section whereby the time she could explain to them how she could read their minds: Thorin would have stabbed her to death or sent her away.

‘God, if I can just portal them to the mountain: they’ll probably call it witchcraft and insult me before realising they’re in Erebor.’ Illyria thought with a sigh. She felt Gandalf assure her through their mind reading that she should be patient with the Company and that it will take time for them to trust her.

She responded, ‘I know, Gandalf.’ Illyria then sighed audibly. ‘But they assume so quickly that I will go and run off to the elves and tell them their secret. I don’t know any elves that close enough!’

The wizard who rode behind her never replied to her comment.

They’ve been riding for about an hour, since leaving Hobbiton from the Green Dragon: [2] where Gandalf acquired her a proper steed. She was a beautiful horse, chestnut with a blonde mane and probably has an affinity for apples. When the dwarves were collecting their ponies and supplies, Illyria took some time to focus on her telepathic skills, trying to search for the horse’s mind and connect. But again, it didn’t seem to work as better as the pony that she found. Maybe she just wasn’t cut for animals (which sadly shuts that potential door for becoming a real-life Disney Princess.)

Speaking of Disney, Illyria had somehow begun to call the horse Nala.

Yep: she called the horse after the lioness from the Lion King.

She hadn’t told Bilbo yet, though Gandalf already knew when he asked her if she named the horse already – curiously asking what the name meant. Illyria explained the basic concepts of the name of a queen from a story back from her world (she wasn’t going to explain how she was practically a feline) and that it also meant 'stem' in Sanskrit. (That she knew from too much reading of the language).

Whilst Gandalf lightened the mood of her presence in the Company, Thorin Oakenshield had to dampen it with his glares and moody thoughts of her. Bilbo’s own whining and protest of being on a pony did not help it either.

Firstly, Illyria has never ridden a horse: but she sat in more uncomfortable chairs in her lifetime to bear the ache of her back and legs.

Poor Bilbo has never ridden a pony his entire life and has probably never felt the pain of travel before.

Just after her silent conversation with the grey wizard happened, there was a sneeze beside her. Glancing to her side, she found her hobbit friend having a bad case of the Sniffles. Probably due to the horsehair and maybe the pollen around them – it was spring after all.

At a second, she unfolded a small sheet of cloth from her robes and held it out to him. “Handkerchief?” She asked.

Bilbo’s eye widened, and he gushed nasally, “Oh thank you, Illyria.” After blowing his nose, he tucked it into his own pockets and brought his hands back onto Myrtle’s reigns. Illyria turned back to the road ahead but felt Bilbo’s eye almost eye her with suspicion.

She wasn’t going to kiss and tell.

But to put it in detail, Illyria had prepared herself and Bilbo the amount that possibly accounted for all her knowledge from the books and the movies (well, mainly more of the movies since she focused less on the Hobbit). She thanked herself for remembering last minute, just as Bilbo was about to lock his smial – to tuck a bunch of handkerchiefs in her pack before they left to the Green Dragon.

She may have also packed both their belongings which were suitable for him, asking him once the dwarves were gone if he wanted his clothes to be enchanted to keep him warm and dry. That earned a very eager nod from the hobbit as well as a question of if she could even enchant him newer travelling clothes. Unfortunately, Illyria told him that it wasn’t an option for her to do. She could, but that included transferring a lot of energy from the other dimensions to simply create the fabric.

This wasn’t a fashion show anyway, so they have to make do with what they have. Which meant wearing what she wore during her trek in the Alps plus a spare set of clothes from Bilbo’s gardener’s wife. Bless Halfast Gamgee, Illyria could see where Samwise got his personality from.

And speaking of people they met before they went off with the Company, Illyria did hint to Bilbo to protect his home. She hadn’t met the Sackville-Bagginses at all during her stay in Hobbiton but remembering from the books was easy enough to warn Bilbo to probably write to his relatives about him leaving The Shire and all.

She didn’t want him to come back home homeless with his things auctioned off.

Illyria now wondered if a lot of dirty relatives did that to each other after the first time Thanos snapped. (Darcy pretty much remembered the last scene of the Hobbit films to be able to protect all of Jane Foster and Erik Selvig’s things and keep them together.)

So yes, it would seem to solve Bilbo’s future problems. It’s now having to trot off with a group of dwarves will be the hard part.

This was why she preferred sling rings again.

And also, the fact that she can’t freaking understand anyone! Yes, their thoughts reflected what they said but sometimes they didn’t completely come out.

“You need to start learning Westron.” Bilbo Baggins shook his head after she had commented on something about the weather in Sindarin and caused the older dwarves to cautiously listen in and ask Bilbo to translate for them.

Honestly: this wasn’t James Bond or some shite. [3] She would be a poor spy! Illyria couldn’t even lie to herself if she had to.

Sighing in defeat, Illyria answered back: “Okay. But don’t have high hopes.” She continued, “I hated learning Spanish in high school let alone Sanskrit reading.”

By nightfall, they began setting up camp whilst Kili and Fili went off to hunt for dinner. Illyria stretched her legs, wincing in pain before ridding off the pack from Nala’s back as well as aiding with Bilbo’s.

Whilst everybody seemed to be occupied by what Thorin dictated each dwarf to do, she was able to converse with her friend about the little problem that she had yet to encounter until now.

Somehow, Bilbo already predicted what she was going to mention.

“Have you ever hunted?” He glanced towards the fire which was being lit and found Thorin’s hardened gaze to him before he looked away.

Honestly, that dwarf might have 99 problems, but a hobbit shouldn’t be one.

“You did say that you agreed to hunt for your own food.” Bilbo quietly added, twitching his nose – still a little sniffly from the journey.

Oh yes, she did.

Illyria pursed her lips and wanted to hit her head with a rock. Maybe if she bashed heads with someone – like what Balin and Dwalin did – she could probably get another concussion and sleep her hunger away.

However, the other issue was feeding Bilbo. Which was the other precaution she took; hoping that Gandalf did not spot her do.

“Nope, but here."

With her hand hidden behind her where nobody could see, she opened her pocket dimension. When she took her arm around, out appeared some scones which she kept last night.

The hobbit’s eye bulged as he hissed, “Illyria! You cannot just take things out of thin air!” His eye warily darted back to the campsite before whispering to her, “What if they see you? You cannot always do this.”

Ever the morally good character he was, Illyria couldn’t help but whine to herself. Damn the hobbit for considering all the factors.

“I know.” She smiled and passed the food to him, which he thanked her anyway. “But you can eat this whilst I try and hunt.”

As he nodded, Illyria took her staff strapped on her pack as well as some rope. Not the most useful weapons to go hunting for food but here she was anyways, ready to go into the forest and possibly become dinner instead.

Even back on Earth (not Middle), Illyria never had to go and kill some innocent animal on her own. She’s seen the butchers and seen how foods are prepared and processed. Darcy and her binge-watched a ton of Bear Grill’s at one summer holiday, hoping to gain some knowledge that could instantly turn them into pro-survivalists. [4]

Oh, how wrong they were.

Illyria was half an hour into searching for any sign of a wild boar (do they have boars in Middle Earth, fuck knows) or even a hare or a pheasant. Hell, even a little bird, like a quail, could work her up.

Then she froze from her trek. Her ears prickled as her eyes turned to the sound.

Right in the distance, drinking happily away from a stream was a deer. Illyria wanted to gasp in surprise, but carefully dodged that idea and decided to creep along with the shadows. Thankfully, it was dark enough to blend into the brambles and trees.

People could say it’s luck, but Illyria would smugly say it was a hundred per cent skill.

Perhaps three thousand per cent horrible to have to kill the deer with her broken dagger.

The poor deer didn’t know what came for them after Illyria discovered herself to be alone – allowing her to use some Eldritch magic to send a golden whip towards the animal before killing it. She removed the whip away immediately, taking a shuddered breath to compose herself. [5]

Oh gods, how many times would she have to do this?

Forget Darcy and the American diet: she might become vegetarian after this.

“Gods, I’m sorry deer.” She tightened the rope around the deer’s legs and crinkled her nose from the scent of blood. “Ugh. Would I kill to have a New York hotdog. Or maybe some pizza…”

Whilst she stood up and inspected her work, she immediately heard a pair of steps and Illyria spun around with staff ready in her hand.

Out came both the younger Durins, and they were both staring at the catch beside her.

“How did you do that?” Kili asked in awe, “You do not even have a bow?”

Illyria carefully chose her answer, tilting her head to the side and shaking her head. Fili had commented on his brother, saying that she couldn’t exactly understand them and pointed his finger over to the dear.

That was when she lifted her staff and dagger, “All you need is a staff and this shitty dagger.” Illyria asked, “Can you help me take this?”

They might not have understood what she said, but they could deduce by her struggling grasp of the large animal that she needed some help.

“Kili.” He pointed to himself as he spoke.

The other brother pointed to himself as well and said, “Fili.”

“At your service.” They chorused, bowing down to her.

She couldn’t help but smile back, nodding her head before pointing to herself. “Illyria Strange.”

“Et...te...lë...a” Kili echoed, poorly pronouncing the words. [6]

Illyria finally realised how her name wasn’t clearly translated well in Westron to Sindarin. Or perhaps it was not Sindarin.

“Illyria…Ettelëa?” Fili’s own take of her name was better, though still butchering it enough that caused her to laugh along. She wished she could tell them that it meant something odd in English. Though with all these weird language barriers, she wasn’t sure what was English anymore.

Magic was a weird thing.

And she definitely was going to ask her dad and Uncle Wong about how language is carried through into different worlds and dimensions.

Illyria had doubts about how her dad even got to talk Dormammu out from destroying Earth. (Did the ancient dark being just easily knew English or was it some spell of some sort?)

Because that ‘Dormammu, I’ve come to bargain’ story must have some way for them to translate it all.

“Uhuh. I know. It’s my adopted father’s surname. You’ll like his. Stephen Strange.” Illyria grinned, to which they just smiled along as they aided her to pick the deer up and carried it towards the campsite.

“Ah Kili, good catch,” Balin said, with all eyes of the dwarves widening in hunger and glee to see a good catch for dinner.

As Illyria went over to unbind the ropes, the plump dwarf – Bombur – was already ahead of beginning to skin the animal’s fur off. Yep, that was her time to leave. Though, before she did the boys had stopped her, having Fili’s eye glance towards her with a smirk that reminded her too much like the boys in high school.

Yep: no. She wasn’t going to go there anytime soon.

“Actually, it is not mine.” Kili admitted and said, “It is Illyria’s.”

Total silence filled the campsite.

Before she could drown in it, she patted her hands down to her thighs, gracefully sitting down on a log beside Bilbo and said, “I don’t need it all, so you can have it.” She hoped that her friend would translate back but he looked at her in encouragement.

Ugh, she was not in the mood to butcher Westron after the entire day doing it.

“Um…share,” Illyria answered back, gesturing to the deer before plucking an apple from her pack and started to bite into it. Everyone seems to be pleased by the response – except for Thorin, Dwalin and Gloin as a trend – and returned to their occupancies.

To her shock, it was Balin who approached her. “Thank you, Miss Illyria,” He then bowed to her and said, “Balin, at your service.”

A feeling of warmth went up to her chest as she looked at the older dwarf and smiled kindly back with a nod. “Illyria Ettelea, at yours.”

By the time Balin went back to where he sat discussing some things with Thorin, she had let the pressure come off her shoulders and slumped down.

Though for a moment, Illyria did find Gandalf sitting far out beside a tree – smoking his pipe as always. Their eyes met, and the grey wizard gave a small encouraging smile and congratulating her through her head.

The journey through the Old Forest via the East Road came to an end, luckily not abrupted by Tom Bombadil (which Illyria did seem a little saddened about because she had always wanted to meet Goldberry, she sounded so nice from the stories) or else they would have been stuck there for a few days. [7] 

Then they arrived at Bree, finally coming to a place where there were humans like her.

When the mention of the famous inn went into her ears, Illyria was internally in glee by the time she saw the sign and almost made Gandalf laugh in amusement by her internal thoughts. This place was where so many scenes occurred throughout the movies, like Thorin meeting Gandalf here to Frodo, Sam, Pippin and Merry meeting Aragorn here when the Nazgul were after them. [8]

Illyria needed to stop fangirling or else the Maia next to her was going to have to explain to Mr Grumpypants why she was grinning at a human lodging.

Yeah well, forget Thorin’s opinion. Every Tolkien fan would kill to actually be here.

Hopefully not kill, of course. That would be horrible.

Illyria had a fine taste in alcohol (which Dad blamed Darcy and Uncle Wong for this outcome) and drinking ale wasn’t the most pleasant thing in the world. Even back in Bag End, she kept herself to drink tea and wine and hardly touched anything else. (Having a dad with a medical degree and a PhD who also cared too much about your health despite being gone for five years was the worst, and almost rid of her stash of energy drinks and Coca Cola in the kitchen). [9]

But with the men in the pub being men: maybe she needed to get a drink after almost being groped would help her insanity.

Those three days with a bed, a bath and warmth helped her adjust more to the world around her. At this point, she kept most of her hair braided back and never wore it out as well as her clothes being cleaned on their own with its spells (how the dwarves didn’t know this baffles her).

When the next part of the journey came, she managed to converse with the Durin brothers to some extent, with the help of Bilbo and Gandalf. And to her sweet surprise, even Ori came up to her side with his pony and asked some questions about her and if she travelled and such. When it came to this, she told him what he deserved: the truth.

Not in detail, obviously. Though telling the young dwarf that she was not from here and that she was taken in by Bilbo was enough to satisfy him and the nosy dwarves around her. Kili asked her why she carried a staff as a weapon, and she explained briefly how she was taught to use this.

The dwarves looked at her as if she was chopped liver.

Illyria thanked Ori for changing the subject, asking about her attire and robes and her culture. By the third day since they left Bree, she was both:

1. Speaking basic Westron.
2. Losing the will to live after frustratingly using Westron.

She didn’t mean to lash out at Ori during the evening, but she was fed up (Bilbo included) with the language barrier that she might as well talk to a tree.

Come to think of it, Illyria did see a talking tree last year.

However, while she was frustrated at this: Ori somehow gave some light to this dark tunnel and offered to help her teach Westron along with Bilbo. Illyria was taken back at this and didn’t know how to react, or even know how to gift him.

What better way from one scholar to another was to tell Ori later on about technology on Earth.

So that started some weird daily lessons. With Kili and Fili tagging along as they laughed and discussed during the events of the journey. Sometimes there was silence if they weren’t up for it, but it gave Illyria some time to do her own practising of magic whilst they sparred and did their own work.

Life on the road did seem alright for this 21^st Century Sorceress.

Illyria Strange didn’t need to ask twice if a certain grey wizard was staring at the back of her head.

They’ve been travelling since lunch, with herself in the middle with Gandalf behind her. Though, she could tell this was different as his eyes almost glossed over; it was as if he was thinking of a memory. That led to Illyria’s usual curiosity and pondering.

“Gandalf.” She slowed down Nala, letting her trot beside Gandalf’s own horse.

He turned to her and spoke, “Yes, Miss Illyria.”

Illyria commented, “You looked at me as if you saw a dead person.” She turned to him and asked warily, “I’m not dead, am I?”

The grey wizard hummed for a few seconds. “…There are some things that cannot be said so simply, my dear. Like your presence and your odd dialect of the elvish tongue. In fact, your tongue is quite lilted to Quenya.” 

“Really? Weird.” Illyria creased her brows and wondered, “Isn’t Quenya an old elven language, or am I wrong?”

The grey wizard shook his head, “Not peculiar at all, my dear. Though rare.” Gandalf pointed, “And yes. Not many elves are left in Middle Earth that speak in that dialect let alone the language.”

Illyria was a little bit intrigued, and a little bit offended. Was her accent not up to the standard for elves? She couldn’t blame herself, it’s only been several weeks that she was speaking in this weird tongue. “Why not?”

“I heard in the First Age, that the Quenya language was forbidden.” Gandalf explained grimly, “Due to the War of the Jewels.”

That was when her entire vision turned dark.

Flashes of light.

The silhouettes of trees looked to emit light from its branches to its very leaves.

Golden in one and Silver in the other.

Then there was darkness; an over looming shadow that engulfed her.

Next was a group of soldiers, slaying children, women, and men. With their red robes and silver swords.

There was then a woman: who leapt into the crashing waves into the sea. Though despite believing to have drowned, she erupted from the surface. With white feather wings and flew towards the horizon.

Along with a jewel…

“Jewel…” Illyria trailed off; her voice so quiet that she was impressed that even the wizard could have heard her from where she was.

Gandalf’s voice was filled with regret, apologising, “I am sorry, my dear. I should have held my tongue.”

She blinked up, feeling something dig behind her back.

Wait, why was something behind her back?

Illyria realised that both Bilbo and Ori were gazing down at her. Down at her-

“I’m fine.” She sat up and furrowed her eyebrows, “Why am I not on my horse?”

Why the hell was she on the floor?

“Are you alright? You just fell!” Bilbo exclaimed, the hobbit mothering her and asking if she was alright.

She brushed the dirt off her cloak and hands, rubbing the back of her head with an unpleasant bump forming. Though, that didn’t stop her from still remembering what she had just seen.

The woman was surrounded by several men with red tunics and metal armour. An eight-pointed star sewn on the front as they held their blades towards her.

As for the woman herself, with long dark brown hair and grey eyes, what she held was what caused her to feel her entire body grow cold.

It could have been a lamp or a flame. But flames should glow white should they?

She hauled herself back onto Nala, assuring the Company to move forward down the road. Though five minutes in, she could sense Bilbo urging her to spill out what she wanted to say. What could she say? That she just saw a bunch of jumbled memories come to life, which included a bunch of glowing rocks?

She really hoped it wasn’t an infinity stone. However, Illyria brushed it aside from that thought. None of the stones could glow that brightly. [10]

“I…I saw them,” Illyria murmured, staring forward.

Bilbo answered with a question, “Saw what?”

Replying, she tried to remember the memory of the last one. “Something. A woman with something. Then she turned into a bird.” Illyria continued, frowning, “And the jewel…it was like seeing a star compressed into a small gem.”

“Illyria.”

She hadn’t noticed Nala stopped.

Shaking her head, she assured her friend with a smile and said, “Yeah, sorry. Let’s get going.”

Somehow, it was the same day Illyria went on a drugs trip in her mind in which they heard the wargs howl that night. Both Kili and Fili joked about orcs and wargs, which sent their uncle giving them a full smackdown on how they should not joke about such serious things. Illyria had to agree despite her and the king not being chums that it wasn’t right to joke about it.

She didn’t need to mind read or focus on the translations of Balin’s story how devastating the Battle of Azanulbizar was. [11] Losing hundreds of your own people could bring so much guilt to one man.

But losing his brother as well…

The story almost sent her swirling in a pit of memories of the past several years. Especially losing one of the most important people just last year. He had been there when her dad wasn’t, carefully picking up the baton to hold for Stephen Strange as he brought up not only her but also Morgan and Harley.

Harley, who lost his own family due to the snap, was amongst those that somehow created the ring of children Tony Stark semi-adopted. Yes, she was still under the care of Darcy and Uncle Wong, but some days were filled with meeting with Harley and Tony to tinker in the garage or spend time with the Starks.

She had not realised her own tears until Bilbo caught her awake leaning against the rockface. Wiping her tears, she thanked either the darkness of Bilbo’s curtesy to hide her tears.

“Illyria, you have been quiet all day.” Bilbo worriedly asked, “Are you alright?”

Coughing, Illyria swallowed the penned-up bile up her throat and answered: “Nah, I’m fine Bilbo. Just…exhausted.” She added, “I’ve been staying up, to be honest.”

He confusedly replied, “You were pretty much asleep after dinner.”

Illyria chuckled and crossed over her legs. “No. My body was asleep, but my mind was elsewhere.” She continued, “Where we call it, it is called Astral Projection. I can exit my body and stay technically awake for the entire night.”

Still confused, Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “Whatever for? We have the night watches for that.”

She did know this, after having to watch from time to time after scouting the outer perimeters of their location to make sure nobody was nearby. Luckily, only some animals were around and not orcs or wargs. Though, with the howling: she might have to scout again tonight.

“I can’t exactly protect you from the dark magics with just physical weapons. In a way, I’ve seen many different evils.” She explained, “My father tackles them. He’s just recently become Sorcerer Supreme and he’s been saving all different worlds.”

Her own surprise almost caught her off guard. Illyria hasn’t exactly spoken about her father to them, even Bilbo and Gandalf. She spoke about Darcy and Uncle Wong the most, and sometimes Tony, Pepper, Morgan, and Harley. But her father: rarely.

Why? She must ask herself. It wasn’t that she was nervous about the topic.

‘Five years without him and then he comes back and asks me to fight in a battle changes the way you prioritise your child to your job,’ Illyria wryly thought to herself.

“He must seem rather important back home.” Bilbo let out a small smile and then asked, “Why is he not looking for you now?”

Illyria opened her mouth though hummed in between. “He probably is. Or perhaps some other reality or timeline he is in.” Her usual mischievous grin returned, her eyes glancing away up to the stars as she laid back down. “When and where is pretty wibbly-wobbly nowadays.”

“I do not understand,” The hobbit spoke.

She shrugged and quietly replied, “To be fair, I’m not entirely sure to myself too.”

There was a second of silence before Bilbo shuffled into his cot and whispered, “Well, goodnight Illyria.” A tone of plea lingered in his voice. “Please try and get some proper sleep, rest your mind.”

She answered, “You too, Bilbo.”

Before long, everyone was back to sleep – apart from the wizard himself who continued to ponder in the night. Illyria wondered if he could sense her presence, or if he couldn’t.

A simple answer was that the morning after, Gandalf had given her some spare minutes to doze off during their daily journey – letting Nala follow whilst she saddled with the grey wizard on his horse.

The next question was: could the Maia astral project? Illyria should ask that once they get to Rivendell.

Speaking of Rivendell, it was possibly another couple of days ride to the hidden valley.

How Illyria knew of this, was not Gandalf, but from Bilbo. The hobbit spoke of his mother, Belladonna Baggins (once known as Took before marrying Bilbo’s father, Bungo) and her own adventures beyond The Shire. That perked up some interesting questions from the youngest dwarves and Bilbo was flustered by the attention brought to him.

Illyria calmed the boys down and let Bilbo explain his mother’s stories, how she visited Ered Luin and Rivendell as well, learning mostly Sindarin and a bit of Quenya from the elves. That was how Bilbo knew how to speak it (and thank the gods for Belladonna Baggins for teaching her son).

Though as the conversation took a turn of disgust because of the topic, Bilbo dropped the topic and returned to their daily lessons of Westron.

By sunset, Illyria’s eyes almost snapped ahead of her.

It was the farmer’s destroyed hut.

And Illyria knew what that meant.

Trolls.

She might as well as ripped her hair off because Thorin Oakenshield had to piss off Gandalf the Grey out of all the bloody days they needed a wizard. She might as well click her heels, wish to go home and then go and live off this world of Oz. (And her poor references of stories need to be updated because there is more in the 21^st Century than just avocado toast and weird TikTok trends). [12]

‘I wonder if I can take Gordon Ramsay here and make him shout at Thorin for an entire hour?’ Illyria wondered sarcastically, ‘Might make great content for his account.’ [13]

Gods, she must be going insane if she was thinking about this.

Whilst Gandalf stalked off after having enough of dwarves for almost a month, Thorin stomped off and barked out orders. He even had to audacity to make her move, and she silently followed despite her own growing irritation by the time she got some firewood and tended to Nala.

“Who the hell does he think he is?” Illyria spoke to herself, letting Nala munch on her food. Luckily, she was alone and kept her horse closer than the other ponies. She wasn’t going to let Nala loose.

The horse seemed to agree.

“I know right,” She said, “I definitely think he needs to get laid.”

Once she returned to the camp, she found Kili and Fili and Bilbo already gone, and she groaned internally about how stupid she had been. Her own anger at Thorin led her to forget the very reason how they almost became a Troll Buffet.

As much as the majority of the dwarves either hating her or ignoring her: she doesn’t want them dead.

Fili was the first one to appear from the trees, breathless and panicky whilst Kili followed behind.

She was already upon her feet as she demanded where Bilbo was. Why did they even leave him behind?

However, her own anger at them turned to worry as all of the dwarves grabbed their weapons and followed Fili through. She was about to follow on but Balin stopped her.

“Illyria, get Tharkun.” Balin told her.

No one told her what to do. Especially when her friend needed her! “No! I need to get Bilbo!” Illyria protested but was stopped by Thorin.

The king ordered, “Get Tharkun!”

With his glare, she stopped and rigidly nodded.

When they were gone, she growled and tightened her hold on her staff. Waving her hand, she began packing the camp up and went to place them in a pile. She couldn’t exactly assure the ponies to stay, knowing who else was about to join them.

But right now, Bilbo Baggins and the Dwarves needed help.

“Argh. Stupid dwarves.” She cursed before sighing to herself. “Alright, I’m going to get him.” Getting onto Nala, she told the horse to go as fast as she could to the direction Gandalf wandered off.

Nala had luckily caught up to Gandalf’s own horse, who was eating some grass whilst the wizard was smoking a pipe.

To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she was turning up to but seeing the old wizard just chilling almost made her choke out a laugh. Gandalf the Grey had to be the pure definition of a side character that takes the spotlight.

(Okay, she should tone down the remarks. Even in this situation.)

Her hasty entrance caught Gandalf off, standing up already as she stayed up on Nala’s back.

“Gandalf!” She took a breath, calling his name as he strode towards her.

Concern filled his eyes as he glanced up to her, “Illyria? What is wrong?”

“Trolls; we must hurry.” She told him, urging him to follow her back. “They got Bilbo and probably the dwarves too.” The grey wizard didn’t need to be told twice, already hopping onto his horse and galloped along with Nala and Illyria to where she last found the dwarves and Bilbo.

If the dwarves had not yet been eaten yet: Illyria was so going to kill each of them. They were the epitome of constant trouble and not the most quick-minded race she met. The talking raccoon from outer space would account for about a hundred times the amount of the Company’s own brain capacity.

So, for the first twenty minutes after arriving where the camp was, Gandalf suggested splitting up and scout the perimeter of the Troll’s camp, trying to discover where each dwarf was located and how they were going to get them out. Illyria nodded in silence, though not admitting the truth as to why she seemed calmer than he expected her to be.

He’ll find out soon enough. Perhaps might knock Thorin’s head a couple of times once he praises Bilbo for killing time for them.

She sighed in relief to see them not charred, limbless or eaten yet. Though, her nose immediately crinkled in disgust when the waft of stench hit her like a tsunami. The trolls themselves were larger than she expected - about twice her height and incredibly round and barely clothed.

Who else was barely clothed? That would have to be the dwarves.

Several of them were tied upon a makeshift rotisserie rod above a fire, barking insults in a mix of Westron and…maybe Khuzdul? Their harsh accents didn’t need a quick translation that it was far from a compliment to the trolls.

The trolls were arguing with each other still, suggesting what style of dwarf they wanted that night. It was when Bilbo finally hopped in his sack to catch their attention, trying to warn the trolls that they were making a mistake.

Well, the mention of worms set the entire camp raging.

‘Serves them right,’ Illyria smirked to herself but was quickly chortled by Gandalf. It would seem the wizard wasn’t as far as she perceived to be. ‘Alright, so Bilbo’s stalling. How long can he be able to do that?’

Gandalf answered back, ‘Not for too long. Dawn is arriving fairly soon.’

Sighing from her position, she shook her head in displeasure. Illyria couldn’t just sit and wait when Bilbo was practically risking his entire life there for the Company. One of the trolls somehow realised the trick already, silencing the dwarves and Bilbo.

Her blood froze.

One of the trolls already picked up Bilbo.

‘Oh, fuck it!’ She exasperated and eyed the ring on her gloved hand and concentrated on the spot above the trolls. Her entire mind was fixated on creating the portal, feeling the tingle up her arms as her entire body warmed.

At that moment, a spark emitted.

Her sling ring was working again. She guessed it had just been entirely on her energy.

She didn’t realise the growing murmurs just beyond the bushes she hid, as she spotted the top of the troll’s head from beyond the portal and readied her staff.

Illyria took the first troll down, blinding its eyes before slashing its arm off.

Bilbo fell with a thump onto the ground as she landed by the feet of the two and sent another flash of white light towards them. They suddenly roared in shock and pain, their arms quickly covering their eyes. With time given, she conjured a red glowing whip from her hand.

“What witchcraft is this?” One of the trolls questioned.

A growl left the other’s mouth, “A she-elf! Eat her!”

Illyria internally sighed; they needed to stop comparing her to an elf.

“Oh, hell you won’t!”

She gritted her teeth and waved the whip at them. The whip’s end wrapped against the troll’s legs, binding one. Illyria took that opportunity to tug the whip towards her, causing the next troll to fall over the other. Two down, one to go.

At this moment, Illyria was beginning to feel her energy depleting and yet she took her staff by both hands in the middle. Twisting the two parts of the staff, out came two golden blades attached at each end of the staff. She stepped above the fallen trolls with a deep breath and leapt and aimed her staff at the troll’s head.

What she hoped would decapitate them didn’t seem to have any effect. In fact, half of the blade only went through, causing her to retract her blades and yank them back.

Suddenly, the troll’s hand swiped her body off the ground, and Illyria struggled under its grasp.

“Let the dawn take you all!” Gandalf’s voice bellowed through the camp.

There was a large crack. And the troll’s body began to harden into stone. A second later, Illyria took a deep breath and formed a small blast of light in the palm of her hand. The troll’s hand crumbled around her and she fell onto the ground with a thud – with staff thudding by her side.

She didn’t need to look at the dwarves to already imagine the dropped jaws and horrified looks at her.

This was the very reason why she hid her magic.

The dwarves were barking questions, demanding who she was and what she was (hello, she was very human, thank you!). Illyria only got them to shut up when she snapped at them, telling them to put something decent on which led to all of them going red and rushing to put their clothes on.

She wasn’t embarrassed, no. Naked dwarves on a roasting rod were not in her list of things to see here in Middle Earth, but it was better than seeing them dead.

Speaking of being almost dead, she thanked Gandalf for saving her in time – telling him that she knew he would find the right moment to break the large outcrop of rock. He raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t speculate any further. She guessed this was the maia’s way to some sort of agreement of their show but not tell situation.

Whilst the wizard went off to investigate further down into the forest, she went over to Nala who was perfectly fine just at the perimeter of the camp and thanked the dear horse for staying put. All of the Company’s packs weren’t lost, the only one being Dori (surprisingly) who thanked her for keeping their belongings safe.

Well at least saving the dwarves changed some perspective.

Though the consequences of her own spectacle were even more suspicion and the bombarding of questions. Though not the ones she expected.

“That was incredible! Your staff is amazing!” Kili bounced towards her, eyeing her weapon that was now slung across her shoulder with its strap.

Ori was the other curious dwarf to approach her, politely asking her, “Are you a wizard? Like Gandalf?”

The youngest Durin brother’s eyes were wide and pleading, saying: “I promise I won’t call it a walking stick anymore, Illyria!”

She raised an eyebrow and smirked. Just a week ago when they were sparring (well she wasn’t sparring but mostly spectating the boys teaching Bilbo how to fight with a sword), the Durin brothers asked if she wanted to spar with them. At first, she was very tempted to do so, but watching them brutally break Bilbo’s muscled down into gloop kind of put her off from sparring with them. She wasn’t entirely a fighter, often using her magic for defence than attacking.

Also, she wasn’t going to reveal herself during a spar that she was a sorceress. That would just completely give her the one-way trip out of Thorin’s Company. No, she would be patient until something happened to them. This was the day, she assumed.

Illyria also knew why Kili was apologising to her – remembering the exact words from his mouth about her staff being ‘a walking stick for ladies’.

How the hell does this boy get a girl in this story?

Shaking her head, she assured the young dwarf that all was fine between the two of them. To be fair, she appreciated that Fili, Kili and Ori were fine about it. “It’s alright, Kili.”

However, her moment of relief was paused by the rumbling of the ground.

“Something is coming.”

Whilst the rest had stayed at the troll hoard to take what was left there (Illyria had immediately declined the offer; because she could already sense the horrid smell from yards away and didn’t want to know how bad it could get), she was with Gandalf who already discovered his own blade which she recognised by its elven writing carved across it.

Glamdring, one of the famous blades in the story along with Orcrist – now in the hands of Thorin. With them was Bilbo’s (and in the future, Frodo’s) small blade: Sting. Obviously, the kind and gentle hobbit denied the weapon from Gandalf’s hands but the wizard’s reassurance and Thorin’s shocking gesture had Bilbo tongue-tied and sheathed it into her belt. Illyria’s heart warmed at the brave face the hobbit wore after intake of breath.

She was seeing a new and good side of Bilbo Baggins already.

Kili and Fili had found her some spare daggers for her, and she thanked them profusely for them, exchanging the daggers for a promise to give them a little magic show. (Much to her dismay. But the two hadn’t stopped pestering her to show them what sort of tricks she could do.)

Apparently, she was now a circus on the road as well, but the only clown in this show could only be herself.

Anyways.

What she thought to have been an enemy discovering them, underprepared by some stone trolls, was the character she was not prepared to see.

“Radagast the Brown.” Gandalf’s confused tone as he walked over to the shorter man urged Illyria to hover over to them, keeping Nala to carry her pack on her back.

The brown wizard appeared to be the same as she imagined, with wide bulging eyes and lichens and moss growing in places there shouldn’t be. His brown and green robes dragged around him, the colour matching the sledge behind him.

If she hadn’t been ogling the creatures strapped onto the front of the sledge she would be staring awkwardly at the new wizard. A wizard that somehow felt familiar as well.

“Gandalf…oh my…” Radagast’s eyes almost lit up in happiness, nodding his head before speaking, “My lady, how are you…”

Well, this is awkward. Illyria smiled politely, internally pleading for the grey wizard to save her from embarrassment.

“This is Illyria Strange.” Gandalf introduced her quickly, and she nodded down.

There was a fraction where Radagast seemed a little deflated (and slightly confused) before clearing his throat and said, “Well met, my lady.”

Her tongue rolled back, snapping her mouth as she saw the insect crawl out of his mouth.

She really wished she wasn’t part of this scene at all.

“Hello.” Illyria greeted and bit her lip. “Um, you have something on your…”

Gandalf mentally sighed, sending her biting away her laughter.

Let’s refer back again to the dwarves’ hostility but make it ten times more of a threat.

So after almost getting attacked by two wargs, these large wolf-like creatures that were the size of Land Rovers but with sharp teeth: another sharp object was pointed at her. [14]

Specifically, at her throat.

Illyria was entirely surprised at this outcome, thought just mostly tired and fed up at Thorin’s act despite his nephews’ being close to her for the past month. Never has she encountered such stubbornness – hell she thought Tony was stubborn when an idea sticks to him such as creating suits for his entire family which apparently included her and Darcy.

However, this person in front of her wasn’t Tony Stark.

This was Thorin Oakenshield, king of Erebor.

“Wargs. You did this, sorceress?” He jabbed his sword at her, making her flinch her head away. She wasn’t expecting him to yank her wrist down, pulling her down to an uncomfortable bent position.

Bilbo rushed towards her, asking why he had her down. Giving the hobbit a warning look, he kept silent as Illyria waiting for the dwarf king to cool down. She wasn’t going agitate him any better, not when they really needed to get out of here!         

“Unhand her now, Thorin Oakenshield!” Gandalf ordered him, tapping his staff down harshly on the ground. His loud echoing voice caught the others with surprise, slightly afraid by the wizard’s voice and growing anger.

Yes, she could clearly tell the wizard was annoyed. It won’t be the last time for him to be.

But Thorin didn’t budge, still scowling at her. What was he intending this to make her do: stare at her with his blue eyes until she revealed her evil secrets to him.

Finally, Illyria nonchalantly spoke to the Thorin in his head, her eyes never leaving his. “I suggest you do, Oakenshield. Unless I cut your arm with my staff,” Her head nudged over to her hobbit friend, who was still standing between them. “Sadly, Bilbo’s rather fond of you.”

She heard a layer of gasps.

Perhaps she said the last bit aloud by how red Bilbo’s cheeks were.

Thorin jerked away with widened eyes, his hand falling at his head.

He barked back at her in Westron, “You twist my mind of your magic.” Thorin continued, glancing over at Bilbo. “I never should have brought you and the hobbit.”

Whilst he was still taken back by her mental conversation, Illyria stood back up and gazed down at him with a smile – hiding her own satisfaction. Though it didn’t last long when another howl drowned her thoughts.

She hurled a remark mentally back at Thorin, who shot her a glare though less intense as before. “Now the dwarf knows. Well done, dipstick.” Illyria narrowed her eyes at him before walking away to get to Nala. “Yeah, I know what you say behind my back! Now you either you listen to me and get everyone’s asses out of here!”

The dwarf king didn’t respond back at her, instead begrudgingly ordered the rest to get their packs. No one had much noticed apart from Illyria, that the king took a little more time to urge Bilbo to run ahead.

They were running over an open field, their packs bouncing off their backs as she tugged Nala along from the back of the Company. The ground was saturated with water, making her boots sink into the ground as mud splashed over her clothes. She was glad that she was wearing the right footwear for running, as the last time she had done some running was in heels when she was running late for her interview.

But with orcs and wargs chasing her, she would take heels and a late interview any day.

At the distance, she could spot the brown wizard racing through the open field with his wooden sledge. Radagast gave the diversion they could handle, allowing them to escape the confined forests towards what she hoped was the hidden elven city.

As she jogged on, she exclaimed breathlessly, “Those are rabbits!”

“It… appears…so,” Bilbo panted, out of breath and appearing to almost pass out. However, she brought Bilbo back up, tugging his hand along. The rest were up ahead, hiding behind an outcrop of rock.

“If they’re rabbits, how big are guinea pigs?” She wondered aloud, before sarcastically pointing out. “Well, this isn’t the most surprising thing I’ve done.”

Bilbo gave her a sharp look, snorting out. “I will say, what you did with your magic-“

“Less talking, more running Bilbo!” She ushered before she then heard a horn cry out. More orcs are coming. Illyria panned her eyes across the desolate late, before removing the reigns of her and told the equestrian animal. “Nala, I want you to go into the valley. Go!”

The horse didn’t follow all at once, bucking her head at her side – telling her that she should get on her now. Illyria wished she could, but the rest needed help and she would not abandon them now.

So with last urge, Nala followed in the end and took her pack and belongings and raced towards the mountains eastwards.

“She can understand you?” Bilbo questioned, eyeing the figure of Nala disappearing through the trees.

Illyria tightened her grip on her staff, preparing herself mentally as she heard more orcs and wargs grow closer around them. She could only hope that Gandalf would discover the hidden entrance to the valley soon.

“Somehow she can do it now.” She muttered and yanked Bilbo with her. “And I hope she outruns those douchebags.”

The orcs were beginning to appear around them, sending a cold run through her heart at the numbers.

Kili had shot the one above them, sending the warg tumbling down before Dwalin and Nori killed its rider with it. But with that, they had accidentally put a big red light on them causing the orcs to find them jumping over the rocky ground towards Gandalf’s guidance.

Once they made it towards what seemed to be a large outcrop of rock, she found herself with the company surrounded by orcs and wargs. Illyria tugged Bilbo behind her back, protecting the hobbit as an arrow flew across her at an inch.

“This way, you fools!” Gandalf shouted, and their heads turned to him where he stood.

Closer they got, Thorin ordered the rest to follow the grey wizard down the hole. All it took was one glance at Bilbo to make him rush down along with the others, with Kili following suit after shooting an orc. Thorin stayed close to the opening, slicing a warg down with his new shiny sword and clearly a little pleased by its performance.

Honestly: males and their swords.

As for one dwarf, Ori was somehow left in the open: with his little slingshot that poked an orc in the eye with far little damage. He was terrified, she could feel in his mind and she groaned internally and shouted back,

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Illyria held her ground, “Ori, go through now!”

Ori rushed past her. She conjured an Eldritch shield in front of her just as an arrow bounced off its surface and disintegrated. There was a shriek of surprise from the creatures, probably never seeing a sorceress with these type of powers in this world.

Thorin shouted behind her from the opening, “Get in here now!”

Illyria ignored his command, turning her head towards him and said to follow Gandalf through his mind.

To her own surprise, Thorin hesitated. But a final go from her Illyria let him disappear into the hole. She could only hope he could keep Bilbo safe.

From here, you would think Illyria Strange was outnumbered. That would be the orcs’ mistake.

She cracked her neck to the side and said, “Okay. You want to dance with me then? I’ll show you what’s dancing.”

In the palm of her hand, a familiar golden tint form in her hand.

Afterwards, two beautiful runic rings are in front of her, she then uttered a spell and sent a spiral of golden energy. The warg fell easily down, sending the rider onto the ground with a thud.

Illyria took her staff and twisted it, revealing its golden lit blades at each send. Sparks of magic flew around her as she twirled and danced – slicing every orc and warg around. She felt alive, swiping the end of her staff. The exhilarating and terrifying feeling as her heart pumped in a beat as she sent a beam of light towards another – blinding them.

As another orc drew their arrow, she slung her staff down and formed a large Eldritch shield, a large mandala drawing over her as arrows flew to her.

Once the shield faded away, it was her turn. She leapt towards the racing warg hurling at her, slicing its head with one swift movement. When she did so, it was only then she heard a horn echo around her before she heard the galloping of horses.

The elves were here.

Arrows flew across the air, shooting the orc right beside her and Illyria mentally grumbled to herself. (She hoped they weren’t aiming at her even if she perhaps looked like one of them after a lack of proper washing).

She had caught herself off guard that she gasped suddenly. An orc had almost got her neck but was stopped by a silver blade at its throat.

The orc slumped to the ground with a splatter of blood. All of them were dead.

The person who slew the orc before stood in front, making her face them with a clear view.

Illyria was then met with grey eyes.

Then the world spun around her, sending her eyes rolling back and her entire body crumbling against her own entire weight.

By the moment she thought she would hit her head again on the floor, the person had caught her in time. A voice began to linger over her, almost pleading in some way.

“……..! Stay with me, ……mír ë !”

Their voice was close though far at the same time.

"Meleth n î n…Please do not repeat the same thing again…”

As their voice got quieter, she finally felt herself succumb to her exhaustion. [15]

Chapter Text

Darcy Lewis | Doctor of Astrophysics

Location: New York City, USA, Earth

Time: August 2024

Darcy Lewis had her fair share of wacky and weird things happening to her.

She also lost a lot of people along with it, despite all of it all seeming to return in one way or another.

But hearing from Stephen (Doctor) Strange that your friend (a.k.a practically your daughter) was missing was not something she wanted to hear at the early hours of the day.

She hadn’t even gotten her coffee yet and Jane was already up - constantly doing calculations and data work throughout the early hours of the night. She decided that since she was now technically almost the same age as her boss lady friend was now (due to the blip and all), Darcy had the rights to have her own sleeping schedule and her own way to do her work.

She was five years ahead of Jane, with ground-breaking research after all the cosmic energy emitted by the snap that led to her own research to focus on cosmic background radiation. A doctorate later, she was now her own boss if she can put a title on it, and bringing in as much as she could to help.

However, this was not what she wanted to use it on.

How her research could even find Illyria Strange was like finding a needle in a haystack.

“You’re the Sorcerer Supreme and you don’t know where your daughter is?” Darcy raised an eyebrow.

They were standing in Darcy and Jane’s lounge, the soft murmur of the TV going (which still irks her to this day after what happened in New Jersey) behind them. Light was coming in from the windows whilst she could hear Jane scratching away on the whiteboard with a marker in their makeshift laboratory.

(Why her friend decided to do this, beats her. They already had their own lab located just downtown where Stark Industries was, courtesy of Tony and Pepper.)

In front of her, Stephen looked exhausted. With dark circles under his eyes, tight muscles and an agitated sentient cloak: Darcy didn’t need any mind-reading to know that the man was running around with only adrenaline and worry over his adopted daughter going missing.

“I literally watch over the multiverse and constantly have to protect the sanctum,” Stephen responded dryly, which he often did in times of stress. “I can’t exactly keep an eye on our twenty-year-old daughter who happens to be a sorceress herself.”

Darcy pointed a finger at him, and replied, “Hey! When I lose her, it’s somehow my fault. But when you do, it's our blame?” She then snorted, before turning away to head to the kitchen. “Way to be a good dad to the kid who’s got telepathic powers and can shoot light beams.”

“I somehow meet people who get tangled by these things,” Stephen followed her into the kitchen, letting the cloak float off his shoulders.

As she got the coffeemaker going, she leaned across the island, gesturing for the man to sit down. He didn’t deny the request, relieved to be finally resting despite the setting.

Darcy sighed and placed her hands on the counter. How was she going to approach this?

Ever since the Snap, and him coming back after five years, it had created an uncomfortable pause between their relationship – or what was somehow some form of one. Whilst their own dating began just a year after they met, Stephen left Earth to help Tony Stark, Bruce Banner and Spiderman to tackle some alien dude. They then left the same day in this flying doughnut in the sky, decimating a large part of Manhattan as a result.

And while everything was happening everywhere: she was stuck in London where Jane and Selvig just poofed into dust. After that, she had been co-parenting with various people over Illyria for the entirety of Illyria’s teenage years.

Which included Iron Man and a sorcerer who was actually a librarian.

Then he comes back and tries his best to be the father he should have been.

Not to be wrong, Darcy might have a thing for older men with father tendencies, but their relationship has solely been keeping Illyria safe. She didn't mind it. God, she had an emotional attachment to the girl and which was why Illyria had gone early to university to do a degree in Darcy's field. Next thing she knew: she was watching her climb the steps. The familiar scroll passed to Illyria's hands as she pretended to tear up (which she actually was no matter how she denied it to Wong) to see her kid grow up. It was only this year that she had been giving a place to begin her doctorate, informing not only her but now Stephen as well.

Now he wanted help?

Maybe he was guilt-tripping her after saving her from last year’s fiasco?

A cup of coffee for both him, her and Jane (who had yet left the office still) later, she was sitting in front of Stephen once more. “I’m guessing she didn’t tell you where she was going, didn’t she?”

There was a sigh from him, clearly proving her case.

Darcy was the next to point out, “I’m not saying she’s not yet over what happened, but yeah.”

“She should have told me,” Stephen murmured, shaking his head. “I thought she was off in Oxford to start her research. But I called her, and she wasn’t picking up. I’ve had Wong and the other Sanctums locate her, but she’s been off the grid.”

Her concern was growing, taking a sip much for fewer than a second. “Have you had her Stark phone located? Tony put a GPS on it.”

“No,” He responded. “Stark had her phone located?”

She was already on the move out of the kitchen, heading to their lab. Hopefully, he followed her through, meeting Jane who was filling in some stuff on the board. As she arrived at her desk, she logged onto her laptop and began going through several of the Stark databases to find the very thing she needed.

On the other hand, the cloak had rested over her shoulders – a warm feeling enclosing her. Though, there was the familiar scent of cologne that wafted into her nose.

Darcy repressed the growing heat on her cheeks and cleared her throat. “Okay, I’m locating her right now.” She continued typing before eyeing him, “Call me a paranoid mom and I’ll tase you.”

There was a small low chuckle. “I don’t wish to anger you any sooner, Darcy,” Stephen spoke.

Several minutes later, the screen showed a map where the phone was last recorded.

That surprised them both.

“The Alps,” She furrowed her eyebrows. “Why was she in the Alps in the first place?” Looking up to Stephen, she found him frown in thought.

What the hell was Illyria thinking of going to the European mountain ranges for? Was it for research or something?

He was about to vocalise his thoughts, but Jane had been faster. But on a different topic.

“Hey, have you seen this Darce?” Jane waved her hand over to her and Darcy quickly rushed over.

She leaned down, looking over the screen of Jane’s laptop. “What are we looking at?”

While at this time, Stephen had managed to loom over her shoulder – his beard almost scratching the side of her face.

This man really needed to know some space.

But the other part of Darcy said so otherwise.

“There’s been a large surge of energy coming from Europe.” Jane typed away, before jotting notes down on some napkin on her desk with a pen. “Look at the readings, it’s…

“Ultraviolet radiation along with some infrared. Almost about equivalent to the power outage of the sun.” She continued, "That's quite big, not as big as the stones, mind you. But big." Darcy finished, earning a proud look from Jane. 

Stephen slowly drawled out, “Care to clarify why this is important?”

“Well, you were discussing that you found Illyria’s last location in the Alps,” Jane explained, pointing at the large radius which covered the area.

The same area which Darcy found Illyria’s last signal.

Darcy and Stephen’s eyes went to each other – the colour draining off their faces.

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Imladris, Middle Earth

Time: May 2941 T.A

She did not like to be back in square one.

Most of the time, it was her dad being knocked out by some enemy or dark creature or object – not her: who was now waking up to find herself floating on the softest cloud ever. (If clouds were ever physically able to carry one’s weight, which she knew isn’t possible on Earth…yet. Even then, this cloud was amazing to Illyria’s view.)

However, thinking she was waking up from the most realistic dream and finding her dad by her side was then lost in hope when an unfamiliar face looked over her.

The person somehow glowed, an odd line of light that shone from their skin, framing their thin face and light brown hair. They wore a long flowing dress along with long sleeves that hugged her arms, cut to cover her wrists.

“I am pleased that you are awake, my lady.” They – the woman – spoke to her, a song-like voice in her head.

Illyria was surprised to hear someone other than Gandalf or Bilbo speak in the same tongue as her. However, their pronunciation was a little different from what the other two spoke. They were clear and concise, with most of her thoughts openly dancing at the tip of her tongue. The woman's mind was open like a book, giving her a sense of solitude that even Illyria wondered if she knew what she was doing. How her magical aura kept her in peace.

Realising how close the woman had been, her eyes wandered over to the side and paused. Tucked behind their glossy hair was in fact a pair of pointed-end ears.

She was an elf. Illyria was with the elves.

Wait, how the heck did she get here? The last thing she remembered was fighting those green-grey sickly monsters with the poorest leather clothing.

Shuffling to get up with her hands, she leaned back to the headboard of the bed and questioned, “Where…where am I?” She could feel her body shake off the nerves that were growing. “Who are you? Where’s Bilbo, Gandalf? Why am I in bed?”

Her breaths quicken, panic ceasing to make her concentrate.

What day was it? How long was she out for? And what happened that made her get her here? Who was this elf and why does she look like an angel that might as well tell her she was to birth the messiah? (She needed to stop staring at the elf, Illyria could sense her comfort dwindling). [1]

Instead, a hand pressed onto her own. She glanced back at the elf and clamped her mouth shut.

“You are in Imladris, my lady. Please do not panic.” The elf said gently, which made Illyria feel impressed at how calm and collected this elf was with her – whereas Illyria was absolutely running around in circles in her head.

The usual response of a normally functioning person would be a simple thank you. But Illyria Strange would say she was functioning normally to some extent, hence why the sarcasm began to seep through her voice.

She answered back, “I would. But I just…I need to go find my friend. Argh!” As she got up, she felt another pang ring, her hand quickly lifting to her head. She groaned, “My head. Did I get hit by a bus or something?”

Maybe she was exaggerating; it didn't feel like a bus hitting her – more like a Vespa. She can imagine that easily: an ugly ass orc riding a hot pink Moped down the fields of the wilderness. It might even have a cute horn if they wanted to, unlike those old-school cornucopia-shaped ones that Boromir carried around with him in the duration of the fellowship. [2]

Whilst she had no choice but to follow Miriel’s rather strict instruction to stay put, the lady elf wandered about the room to put away several trays of cups and bowls. She immediately felt rather worried by them, deducing that she had been out much longer than she anticipated.

She really hoped Bilbo was not stressing out because of her, the poor hobbit looked too dashing to get grey hairs already – and Thorin had enough in his beard for the both of them.

Just before the elf left, she placed a steaming cup of tea on the bedside table. “I suggest you lay your head to rest, my lady.” Miriel sternly spoke, “And drink; I will inform the lord you are awake.”

‘The Lord?’ Illyria thought. ‘Like our Lord and Savior sort or…ohhhh…’

She repressed the laughter of her own ideas, clearing her throat instead before Miriel could ask why. Illyria was not ready to discuss the various religions back in her world to elves who were ten times her age.

She thanked the elf once more and decided to lay back down on the bed. Though once her head hit the pillow, Illyria shuffled her body around. With the mix of aches in her muscles and some blisters in her feet, she noticed something again. These were not the clothes she wore and not the ones Halfast Gamgee gave her for their journey.

Not only that, but they were also thin. Really thin. Like ‘filo pastry’ thin that if she didn’t have the cream-coloured blanket over a body, Illyria might as well be wearing saran wrap. She’s seen her fair share of Met Gala outfits on the internet, and she wouldn’t be surprised if someone arrived in a dress made out of saran wrap in Anna Wintour’s approval. [3][4][5]

As her cheeks grew warm, she then butted in, “Um, could I be able to get my clothes?” She sheepishly mentioned, “Please. I feel rather exposed.”

Miriel’s mind quickly jumped, hurriedly heading to the far side of the large room, and brought out several items of clothing. Whilst she busied herself, Illyria wasn’t going to be lazy (as much as she wanted to be pampered right now with the elves) and began to stand up from her position.

Her legs wobbled slightly, trying to adjust with her feet. Though once she felt stable, Miriel passed her something that seemed to be a dress. Illyria refrained from making a face the moment she saw the style which was rather exposing to her chest.

Alright. It wasn’t that she was against these sorts of dresses: but long flowing dresses won’t exactly aid her in a fight when she’s firstly battling against her own garments.

However, Miriel had been too kind already: speaking about how the colours suited her complexion and that the length was reasonable for her height. Illyria thanked her anyways and began putting it on.

Honestly, this dress could probably match the difficulty of the Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. [6] It was one of her favourite stories to hear about since her dad returned from his mission with Uncle Wong against Kaecilius. That relic was extremely dangerous, and her dad had to find space in the basement of the sanctum to hide it from her when she was much younger.

Do not get her started on the basement: that was a death maze of its own.

Miriel noticed her struggling and offered, “Oh of course, here. I will help-“

She waved her hand as a gesture, “Don’t worry, go get your lord. I can do it.” She could sense some hesitation in the elf and Illyria assured her, “Don’t worry…Miriel.”

“You know my name?”

Crap.

Did she say her name aloud? Illyria could not exactly help it. Despite how kind this elf was; she still took some liberty to make sure if the elf was telling the truth. Sieving through Miriel’s mind wasn’t difficult, perhaps a little harder than Bilbo or the dwarves, but it hardly matched the fortress Gandalf had for his mind.

If Gandalf’s mind was Area 51, she wondered if a Vala’s mind was equivalent to Fort Knox. [7][8]

To remove the awkward tension, she gave the elf a kind grin, joking slightly. “You were bursting to ask.” It was her turn to introduce herself as she added, “I’m Illyria by the way.”

Finally, she got the dress on somehow – the deep curve of the neckline showing very well her pale skin.

Before she left the room, she answered, “Well met, my lady.”

Miriel looked at her with a glint of happiness…and honour? The elf enthusiastically bowed her head and said, “I’ll go inform him as well as your companions.”

Soon as the door shut behind Miriel, Illyria blew out the breath she held and sagged her shoulders – finally relaxing on her own. Once she sensed their footsteps grow further away, her eyes darted over to the wardrobe on the left-hand side of the room and walked over.

It was like a mother seeing her baby as Illyria discovered her clothes hanging on the rack as well as all her boots just below it. They all appeared to have been cleaned, seeing no more bloodstains or rips from the shimmering armour.

Illyria curled her fingers over the robes and leaned over, taking a little sniff of the scent. It smelt like lavender, or perhaps jasmine? She wasn’t sure. Darcy usually was the one that cleaned all her clothes back when she used to live with the astrophysicist. (And after discovering the cleaning spells from her classes, their washing machine was pretty lonely from then on. Rest in peace washing machine.)

Amongst her own belongings were other items of clothing, a little simpler than her modern/sorcerer robes. So, she grabbed the tunic and leggings tucked at the back of the wardrobe and did her version of a fashion show – in which she was the model and the designer and achingly having to put it over her body.

God, why was her body so drained? Oh yes, she had decided to fight a scout of orcs and used all her energy to get them down. Now her entire body was like jelly.

Once she had her belt and robes over her tunic, she rubbed her hands together and felt her hand bare. It took a double-take to realise that her sling ring was missing.

Whoever took her ring, she’s going to have some words.

And not the good type of words.

Her entire anger almost washed over her, turning into almost panic and stress as she paced around the room in her astral form. Illyria’s body needed rest, her eyes glancing back to her physical form laid out on the bed – which wasn’t creepy at all.

Though just as she was about to explore what was beyond the room she was put in, the door opened.

With a gasp, she flew back towards her body and woke herself up, flexing her fingers and adjusting her eyesight just as the figure appeared from her sight. Standing up from the bed, she noticed herself still barefoot. Illyria hoped Lord Elrond did not mind it. She remembered what the elven lord was like in both the books and the movies, almost seemingly intrigued by his character.

Though, as she turned around to face them: she hadn’t expected to feel her breath blown away.

In front of her was indeed Elrond Peredhel, but much younger than the actor who represented him.

What even irked her more, that she recognized those grey eyes when she was back out in the field.

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Elrond Peredhel was not always easily alarmed. [9]

He had millenniums of experience in his life to not be knocked off his feet from surprises. His own sons’ antics and pranks causing him to mentally lose a brain cell would probably be the only thing that had kept him on his toes, as well as the usual wandering Ithron coming to and from Imladris.

However, he might as well be dreaming right now.

He was not seeing a ghost.

It was truly her.

She wore her hair the same as before, a simple tight braid down her back. She was the same height, perhaps slightly shorter with her long-rounded face looking up to her at a small angle. It was her face that blew him away.

Exactly the same; with those blue eyes which reminded him of the sea beyond the West, still sparkling. Prominent cheekbones that used to crease whenever she grinned or smiled.

Though whilst he saw the same features, he could tell others were different.

One thing that caught his eye was her aura, which felt more like a comforting warmth washing over his skin in comparison to the outburst of energy that he once remembered sensing ever since their first meeting. So instead of a large glow over her, there was hardly a light that covered her – shocking him how controlled she was with the same power he had known to be uncontrolled with.

And the next feature that threw him back was her ears.

They were rounded. Not like his softer-pointed ears. No. They were the same as the ones his adopted son had. Ears that belonged to the race of man.

That couldn’t be possible.

But then again, Elrond was seeing her physically there. Not in a dream or some façade.

Mithrandir’s voice then echoed in his head.

“She is not the one you knew before, Elrond Peredhel.” The Ithron [10] told him after he had tended to the woman’s injuries. “She may look like her, but she is not from this world. For what she can do – what you have seen of the extent of her powers – is unlike the powers she once had.”

“She bears the same power, however.” He told him, rubbing his hand on his temples. “Then how do I approach her if I am to see her face?”

Mithrandir said with remorse, “You must be careful what you all say.” He added, “I believe there is still something there that is left of her. But it is dormant, constantly bursting in moments when she speaks of certain words.”

“Like what?” Elrond asked, peering his eyes where the Ithron was.

“The jewels.”

Right then, he was still shaken after discovering her on the outskirts of the valley.

She had been surrounded by orcs and wargs with only an outcrop of rock protecting her back.

At first, he had been notified of the scout of orcs closing into their borders. The twins were busy keeping his youngest son occupied whilst Glorfindel informed him of the news.

Though it was right before the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower informed him of sightings that a vision struck him.

It was brief and blurry, and he couldn’t get a glimpse of the figure’s face as they fought side by side in an odd landscape. The place was even odder, with multiple sceneries reflecting each other like a mirror. The enemies before them appeared to look from the race of men, creating these golden circles – beautiful yet terrifying.

However, his visions stopped as another surging force pulled him away.

More specifically, it had been the pull of his ring: Vilya, that told him that something (or someone) had breached the borders of the valley, just beyond the Fords of Bruinen in the moorlands. The last time something brought such strength was the dark forces from Angmar. [11] [12]

Those were times he had long forgotten because it had been nine hundred and sixty-six years since the end of the war in Arnor – but what he had lost from that fateful day. [13]

He equipped himself with armour, insisting to carry the scout on his own in place of Glorfindel. After his friend accepted, he climbed on his horse in search of the orc scout.

Closer and closer, he could sense the familiar force of energy grow. He unsheathed his sword the moment he heard the howl of a warg, ordering the guards to begin surrounding the scout to where they concentrated. Elrond assumed the worse, with a large pack presumably hunting some men of the Dunedain heading to Imladris. [14] 

Instead, it was a figure fighting around them, producing these patterned circles that glowed in the air. With what seemed to be a staff in her hand, she waved them across to slice the orc’s stomach as the other end jab at an oncoming sword. He ordered for them to charge, swiping the warg’s head off as he rode closer to the magic user.

Almost all the orcs and wargs were slain but one. It had almost taken the person’s head hadn’t he rushed to the side and killed it in his own hands, the scent of orc blood reeked his nose. But spotting that face almost drained the colour of his.

Despite how shocked he had been, Elrond caught her in time and began to murmur into her ear. She could sense her powers draining, her eyes rolling back as she laid limp in his arms.

It was like seeing her once more. Why the Valar cursed him to find her again in the same situation as before. He didn’t know.

This time, he did all he could. He took her and saddled her onto his horse, sprinting off to reach the healing halls. Elrond needed to try. He would not lose her again. Not this time when he knew their time in Middle Earth was almost done.

And here he was in the present, seeing her awake and…young. Not in terms of her face. Yes, she looked around the age she once was. But her eyes: they seemed to flicker from almost an ageless figure to a young elfling.

No, not elfling – a child of man.

They must have been staring at each other for a long time as it took him a moment to notice her mouth moving. She was standing rather awkwardly, wearing the peculiar burgundy robes she wore back outside the valley. But underneath them was a tunic paired with dark brown leggings.

Elrond’s eye wandered down to her feet which were bare. Had he accidentally entered the room whilst she had been changing?

“Sorry, I was asleep, and I didn’t have time to put some shoes on.” She sheepishly said, smiling slightly.

Even her voice was the same as hers.

He mentally shook the thought aside, plastering a polite smile back as he said, “No need.” How was he supposed to approach her? Elrond carefully said, “I am glad you are awake…”

Had he remembered he didn’t know her name was his terrible mistake.

Actually: no. In fact, he should blame Mithrandir for never mentioning her name at all.

Luckily, she realised what he intended, answering him: “Oh, Illyria Strange.” She continued, “It’s a pleasure to meet you…?”

At the mention of her name, it immediately faltered his thought process and quickly forgotten who he was talking to.

“El- Lord Elrond,” As he slipped up, he rushed out hurriedly his title.

Oh Elbereth, he was clearly going to get a look from Erestor and Glorfindel after this.

Her eyes almost sparkled with amusement, barely hiding her grin as she raised an eyebrow. “El Lord Elrond? Please say it isn’t Spanish,” She quipped.

First things first, he did not know what this ‘Spanish’ was (perhaps it was some title or word from where she came from). Secondly, if his brother knew that he was acting like this: Elros would be laughing at him.

He cleared his voice, saying once more in a calmer tone. “Lord Elrond. I am Lord Elrond.” He added, “That was what I was meant to say.”

Elrond then saw her grin, and his chest swelled in longing.

But he yet to remember again: that this was not her. Illyria Strange was obviously her own person, with the appearance and voice likeness to hers (with a rather odd name to choose and it surprised him that her translation had not been in Sindarin but Quenya).

But she was not her.

Even despite how similar she took her own quips, nodding her head as she rolled over the balls of her feet. “Well, Lord Elrond. It’s an honour to meet you.” Illyria spoke guiltily. “Probably not in these circumstances but then again I’m not for one for entrances.”

Elrond slowly came to feel comforted by her own way of speaking, chuckling along, “Likewise, my lady.” He might as well admit his own mistake stumbling out his greeting. His own name as well!

Then his own healer instinct brought him to concern. “How are you?”

Even as the Lord of Imladris, he was also an experienced healer. His own concerning nature and wilful mind to make sure others were fine first than his own caused many to feel a little constricted by his choices. He did was he could to treat those in need first then his own self.

“A bit lightheaded.” She said truthfully, rubbing the side of her head. “I may have used too much of my energy out there. Travelling doesn’t give the luxuries of sleep if I’m honest with you.”

‘Ah yes, I forgot you’ve been travelling with dwarves, a hobbit and Mithrandir.’ Elrond wanted to frown at that thought, disdained that how even a woman of man decided to go on some odd trek with a group of the likes of Thorin Oakenshield.

Perhaps there will be more to reveal later this evening about it.

He hinted at this by suggesting to her, “Some food and drink will help you.” Elrond then mentioned, “But I believe your friend has been waiting.”

Illyria’s eyes lit up; a small wave of energy fluttered around him causing him to inhale sharply. Thankfully, Illyria had not noticed Elrond’s reaction to her own. Did the energy not affect her at all?

There was an awkward pause where they weren’t sure what to say, and he blamed himself for bringing the odd end of the conversation. She seemed rather concerned, a mix of guilt as he told her that several of the dwarves almost broke into her room whilst he was healing her injuries. Elrond dismissed the apology, knowing himself that he would do the same if any of his friends or children were hurt.

“Oh, um. Thank you.” Illyria’s voice became serious, clearing her throat as she continued, “For that.”

“No need,” Elrond replied, assuming it had been to do with informing her about her companions.

However, she shook her and clarified. “No, no. Thank you for saving me there.” Illyria said sincerely, gesturing out of the window as she continued, “I must have looked like a madwoman single handily defeated those creatures. If you hadn’t arrived on time, my friends would have been shot and gutted when they figured out the entrance to the valley.”

Elrond could feel his heart thump against his chest, his lips forming a small smile. “You do not need to thank me,” He then added along, “I was... impressed.”

“By what you meant impressed; you mean horrified?” She raised an eyebrow, before setting herself to sit at the edge of the bed. “Also, you did decapitate that orc.”

Elrond’s lips twitched, and he could not help but reply in a sarcastic tone, “My apologies then, I will try not to get orc blood on you next time.”

There again, another chuckle left her lips and Elrond was practically on the verge of stomping propriety out of the question and finally breakdown.

There goes his heart again, cracking whilst simultaneously being revived.

But nope, he was going to take this in small steps. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her away with everything and then realising that Illyria Strange wasn’t the elf he knew years ago.

His thoughts were then cut as her voice turned with a tint of nervousness.

“Oh uh, my bag. My stuff.” She questioned, glancing back up at him. “Did you happen to see a ring anywhere? I was wearing it.”

Notifying him, he slipped his hand into his pocket and picked up the object mentioned and held it to her. It was an odd sort of ring, with two bands for two fingers to slip through whilst they were joined together by a rectangular metal design. He didn’t have the time to study the object (and also the fact that he felt like he was intruding on her own privacy), but he spotted the small engravings of what seemed to be scripture at the surface.

Once he returned it into her hands, she slipped it on the first and middle finger of her right hand. Elrond answered as he watched her do this, “Yes, I must apologise. I had asked Miriel to remove it when we were checking for injuries.”

“Thank you.” She responded, “I can lose everything else, but this is very precious of me.”

He was eyeing the ring in question, a feeling of worry falling in step. Was the ring much like Vilya? Did it provide her with the same power which she showed when she fought those orcs out there?

When he took it off her hand whilst she was unconscious, there was no sense of power lingering around it. Perhaps it was from somebody she knew – a gift.

That gave him a little jerk back from his thoughts, explaining how he found her bag that had been hiding under the bed. “We were able to retrieve most of your belongings and weapons from your horse who arrived just in time when we returned.”

Illyria’s hand flew to her mouth, speaking with relief in her tone. “Oh, thank god, I thought she was a goner.” She quietened her voice before she asked, “Might I be able to see her sometime?”

He nodded, but then mentioning. “Of course, though one of your friends are currently waiting for you down the corridor. There will be a welcome dinner as well.”

“Thank you again, Lord Elrond.” Illyria piped once more.

Bowing their heads down, Elrond took this time to exit.

His heart had wanted to stay, but he knew he was intruding right now. He would have to patient.

He would make himself wait another decade if he had to.

He couldn’t concentrate during dinner.

One: was because of the dwarven company destroying most of the food at the other table.

Two: this was because of the figure that sat beside Mithrandir.

Three: was because that person beside Mithrandir was not exactly enjoying the spectacle the dwarves were doing.

Elrond wished this were not the turn of events and perhaps might have brought either Glorfindel or the twins with them. Instead, he made sure the twins were far from Illyria Strange’s eyesight. The worst-case scenario, which he didn’t want to hear, was his sons seeing the familiar face and breaking down into either denial or happiness – all including with tears.

He was not going to imagine how Glorfindel was to react to her presence. The older elf would perhaps never let Illyria Strange leave his sight ever again.

Mithrandir saw Illyria’s discomfort in the meal and changed the subject at hand to the swords which they found. Elrond was surprised to find the two swords still intact and sharp, knowing that they from the First Age – specifically Gondolin. [15] The name of the city rang in his ears, his eyes wandering slightly to Illyria who was studying the inscriptions on Glamdring. But how her eyebrows didn’t furrow made him deduce she had understood the Gondolinic runes. [16]

That was peculiar. If she was able to read them, it was a possibility that she was remembering her past. Though, this clashed with his notion as to the reason Illyria Strange could only speak in elvish. More specifically, Sindarin and Quenya.

It would seem Mithrandir had been hiding the truth to Illyria’s talents of changing to and from the two languages. Elrond would need to ask further about this.

However, his attention was now focused on the dwarven king himself.

And why Thorin Oakenshield brought a hobbit and Illyria Strange with him.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

She could not really believe it again.

She was here, in Imladris, also known as Rivendell. Though that name was harder to speak in Westron, so she resolved to use the Sindarin name instead for the foreseeable future.

After the very awkward dinner affair that had food was thrown about and dwarves dancing upon tabletops, she excused herself and decided to head back to her room. She could have used her sling-ring but a little voice that sounded too much like Uncle Wong told her again that – and in the voice of Boromir – ‘one does not simply use magic to get to places.’

If Uncle Wong told her that she could not use her portal to go to Mordor, she might as well riot. [17]

Okay, maybe she was being over the top again.

Again, Uncle Wong and his rules. No matter the older she got, Illyria would somehow herself up to stick to them.

Thankfully, she found her room, which resided in the east wing of the large house. At such a size, it should be stated as a mansion instead (but Illyria didn’t think they had mansions in Middle Earth) and it’s not because she was totally about to give up finding her after the third dead end. Once she was in, she collapsed in her bed – boots and outer robes still on as she shut her eyes and finally succumbed to sleep once more. She can astral project another time, but right now: the sorceress decided a few hours of sleep for her mind would not harm her.

That was why she was up just before sunrise, excited to explore the city in the valley. Her first agenda was food, and Illyria was perhaps a little too intimidated to venture the kitchens just yet to take one.

It only took ten hours later to break Uncle Wong’s rule of using magic, no big deal. Her defence if he does discover what she did was that she was probably going to be in the outlines of an unknown location and she needed sustenance.

After memorising the location of the kitchen with her astral projection and several small portals later: Illyria Strange was happily skipping over the bridge with an iced bun in one hand and a bag of apples in the other. She couldn’t deny though, elven food was the good shit. If she somehow was able to return here, she needed to remember to bring a cookbook with her.

Or a tablet.

Illyria could imagine introducing the elves to the internet, learning recipes on YouTube to finding different DIY videos on braiding techniques. Perhaps they would like to learn about the stars from an astrophysicist? Though from her knowledge of the lore in this world, one of them was in fact a star so that might not easily sway them to her side of science. [18]

Anyways, the reason why she was off so early was that Illyria promised to visit Nala.

Miriel had given her a set of directions after bumping into the elven lady on her way out. She was slightly surprised when she saw her with the food, as Miriel herself was just in the kitchens to get some food herself. That was a rather awkward affair to dodge, which involved Illyria saying that she didn’t see her.

Thank fuck Miriel brushed it off.

Once she arrived at what seemed to be a large establishment of different buildings, she realised now how dumb she was. There was about over a dozen of horses here; how was she to distinguished which one was hers? That led her to wander to the nearest stables, slowly going about to inspect every horse until she spotted someone down at the other end of the stables.

‘Maybe he knows where Nala is?’ She wondered and inhaled before then striding towards the blonde elf.

He was currently invested in grooming the beautiful white horse behind the pen…and talking to them.

Huh, so she wasn’t the only crazy one that can understand horse language.

Clearing her throat, she greeted them. “Hey. Hi.”

Their body grew tense, almost frozen before they spun around and looked down at her.

It was there she sensed something pang at the back of her head, a strange familiarity when she found her eyes staring up at his.

Speaking of familiarity, this dude strangely almost looked at her. No, no. Not just because of the blonde hair, but his face was similar. Well, his face was more chiselled and defined by his jaw. His nose was a little bit more pointed than hers and obviously: pointy ears.

Not going to lie, if this elf was her doppelganger: Illyria would not mind at all.

It took the elf a moment to then shake himself back to reality, faltering his voice as he spoke, “Good day, my lady. You must be the human wizard many have been speaking about.”

She raised an eyebrow at that. Yes, it was not a secret around here that word about her and the Company are here. People were constantly talking about it like it was some episode of Gossip Girl she was reliving whilst their minds were always questioning her face. But not all opinions were nice. [19]

In fact, was along the lines of ghosts.

Illyria rolled her eyes, commenting. “And so, I’ve heard.” She then changed the subject, introducing herself. “Illyria Strange.”

“Laurefi- Glorfindel.” The elf responded, shifting his feet a little.

Her eyes flashed back at him.

Did she hear that right?

“Wait, you’re Glorfindel?” She gaped at him.

Her doppelganger was Glorfindel.

Oh, Darcy was going to flip when she hears about this. She won’t hear the end of it, but she didn’t care.

“You have heard of me?” He questioned, raising his own eyebrow.

Okay, how was she going to explain this? ‘Oh hi, I am a big fan of your character even though you’re hardly in the books. But what you did almost shocked me and probably questioned my guardian’s relationship with other men such as my dad.’ Illyria thought and immediately scratched that off her mind.

She really hoped he couldn’t read her mind, quickly putting a barrier around herself.

“Not in the way you expect.” Illyria quickly explained, “I’ve heard your stories. My…guardian loves you. And I mean, if my father didn’t exist, she would practically fall head over heels for you.”

Illyria was not wrong. Darcy’s taste in partners varied (which was a really awkward conversation when she first started high school already) whilst hers seemed to stick to men with dark hair and grey eyes.

The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower looked amused by the comment, replying. “Well, at least my name has some meaning in other realms.” His tone then turned to curiosity, asking her. “Say, why are you here?”

“Looking for…” Illyria didn’t even finish her sentence as her eyes found her girl right away.

Nala quickly recognised her, dipping her head into her arms as Illyria hugged her friend close. Taking it from her bag, she gave her equestrian friend the apple who was now happily munching on it with glee.

At the same time, Illyria found Glorfindel approaching them. He peered his eyes to Nala, gesturing back: “You have a very loyal friend. I found her just at the borders of the valley when I waited for the scouting party to return.” He then glanced at her and added, “How she managed to know where to go is a surprise.”

“You’re not the only one,” Illyria admitted, and took another apple from the bag. The horse just continued eating the other. “Nala’s just special, you know. Right, girl?”

There was just the sound of a crunch.

Yup, special alright.

“She is also the one who eats the most apples,” Glorfindel informed her, glancing over to the white horse he was grooming. “And I thought Asfaloth ate a lot.”

The famous horse seemed to understand what his rider said, snuffing back at the elf before trotting around.

Illyria pretended to be offended, huffing to him. “Hey, I think she deserves them after the stunt Gandalf made us do.”

Glorfindel held a smirk, drawling out. “Yes…” He continued, “Mithrandir has a way of surprising the Lord of Imladris.”

A grin formed on her face and she couldn’t help to reveal some more gossip about what occurred over dinner. Or what exactly happened afterwards. How did she know this? Well, let’s just say she could sense Gandalf’s mood this morning when she found him off towards the library, muttering about ‘elven lords and their stubbornness as well.’

Illyria spoke, “Oh, they were pretty much on a heated argument after dinner. I was glad Bofur lightened the mood.” Her voice changed in tone, shifting her own feet now, “Say Glorfindel. Um, would you care to show me the way back?”

After they tended to their horses, Illyria followed the elf out into the stable courtyard. The elf in question was several inches taller than her (maybe even taller than Dad if she remembered) and managed to out-stride her with his long-ass legs. Seriously, she was going to be out of breath if this was called a gentle walk.

Maybe she really needed to go to the gym when she comes back to Oxford. Hopefully, there was still a student discount when she comes back.

“You managed to get here.” He tilted his head to his right, looking at her and smirked. “Unless you forgot?”

Somehow the floor looked a little nicer.

“Maybe,” She quietly said.

What she earned was a laugh that could match a song, he gestured for her to follow as he answered her: “Very well. I think we can take the long way back.”

Before she had stumbled into Middle Earth and had a pony scare her to death, she had been in the mountains. The Alps more specifically. The reason for her little trip to the snowy caps of Austria was actually not involving Mordo and his rogue sorcerers.

Actually: she was there to do her research.

A year ago, she had applied for a place to do her doctorate: luckily getting an offer from Oxford University to study anomalies of background radiation on earth and its history. A year later along with all of the fiasco occurring to her family, she removed herself from the chaos of what the superhero world had and settled to return to what she loved. It was this research that caused her to notice several anomalies concentrating in the Alps in the past few decades.

How no one noticed baffled her.

Well, there was the purple alien grape that came down to earth and ripped her away from her dad as well as the aftermath of it. But clearly, there were anomalies already occurring before the courses of Thanos.

Then there was the convergence that happened almost over a decade ago. Darcy had spoken of that tale about eight times, speaking about the Thor and the dark elves almost destroying Greenwich. (That conversation included some rant from Darcy and how ugly the aliens were and that they shouldn’t deserve being called elves.) That had brought about hundreds of anomalies popping about in London, going into worlds part of the Yggdrasil. [20]

These anomalies occurring in the Alps were not of the scale of both of these but gave Illyria a chance to prove herself of her abilities. Well, she had to start somewhere: so why not these small-scaled anomalies?

The Alps had no chance of matching the beauty of Imladris.

When Glorfindel told her he would bring her back to Lord Elrond’s house the long way: what he really meant was a free tour around the city. He didn’t mind, despite her asking every other five minutes if he was supposed to be doing lordly duties, but he waved it off and excused himself that he would rather be doing this than sorting papers.

Illyria shrugged it off. Who wanted to do legal papers anyways when you can be here?

Not only she was enjoying the view, but she was also enjoying the company she had. Glorfindel was surprisingly relaxed, freely answering any of her questions no matter how dumb she believed it was. She spoke briefly about her own home, of course, saying that this was hardly matched by Imladris.

They arrived at what seemed to be the top of the valley, allowing for her to see the top of what she assumed was the Misty Mountains.

She breathed, “This is amazing!” Illyria spoke with nostalgia, “I used to live in the mountains as a child. But this: this is beautiful.”

Bringing her hand into her pocket, she secretly conjured her phone into her hand before taking it. Might as well act like a tourist and bring something Darcy as a souvenir.

Her concentration at the landscape almost caught her off guard when Glorfindel asked, “What is that contraption, if I may ask?”

Turning to her side, she held her Stark phone out and answered. “Oh. This is a phone.”

Glorfindel leaned in closer, peering his eyes at the black screen. Once she tapped it on, the lock screen came up. Suddenly, a gasp left his lips and he might as well had jumped at his spot as he stared at the phone in awe.

Smiling to herself, Illyria shut the Stark phone off before twirling the device around her hand.

He exclaimed, though his tone almost seemed to turn to worry. “It emits light! Is it like…”

Illyria wondered, “Like what?”

“…A jewel.”

As that word went into her ear, she wanted to snap the memory shut and kick it like a bucket. Nope, she wasn’t going to think about it right now. Though when she looked at him, he too looked shaken.

Then her eyes widened. She realised then who she was talking to.

Rushing out her words, she assured him. “Um, sorry. No no, not those jewels.”

A sigh left his lips, guilt edged on his face. “I am sorry, Lady Illyria.”

She was confused as to why he seemed guilty as well. Had he noticed her react at the word as well?

“Lord Glorfindel,” Illyria called to him.

He glanced back at her, a smile returning to his eyes. “You may call me Glorfindel, my lady.”

There was a part in her heart that grew warm and she couldn’t help but quip back, “If you promise to call me Illyria.”

That earned a nod of gratitude, them agreeing to drop the formalities. Did she just make friends with the Balrog Slayer?

“Now explain to me what this…phone is? What does it do?” Glorfindel asked, returning the subject at the device in hand. If she was honest to herself, he looked like a puppy looking at a new chew toy.

Bless him.

Illyria gave him a side smile. Though on the inside, she was too giddy to comprehend what she was about to ask him to do.

“Darcy’s going to freak out!”

Bursting into Bilbo’s room, she spotted the hobbit in question jump from his chair by the balcony.

He rushed up to her, questioned back: “What! What happened?”

Illyria laughed, shaking her head. “Oh no, Bilbo.” She reassured him. “It’s just an expression. What I meant is that: Darcy will be extremely excited when she sees this.”

Conjuring her phone, she turned it on and showed her hobbit friend the screen.

Showing right in front of them was a photo.

Of her and Glorfindel. A selfie with Glorfindel. 

“What is that?” Bilbo questioned, slightly disturbed by the bright light of the device.

She then quickly explained, “Oh, I forgot to show you this. It’s a phone. I showed it to Glorfindel when he took me around to see the city.”

Bilbo made a noise of realisation, speaking as matter of fact. “So that is where you have been." He continued, "Balin has been wondering where you have been, you have not met with any of the Company that even Thorin asked me where you have run off to.”

She placed her hands on her hips, asking back: “How would you know? I thought you went to the library with Ori?”

“I was, but-“

Bilbo turned as pink as a peach, hiding his embarrassment under those light brown locks as he stared down at his hobbit feet.

Was she hearing this straight? Was Bilbo Baggins spending time with Thorin Oakenshield, the very same one that called him a grocer?

It was there that she couldn’t help but snort to herself in her mind. How she didn't expect this would have to resolve to her lying to herself, and she hated that too.

Kili and Fili will probably want the juicy details about this.

Illyria gave him a deadpanned expression. “Right. Tell that to Valar,”

He gasped, “Illyria Strange!”

“Bilbo Baggins!”

That earned her a glare back and did not look healthy for the hobbit to wear.

She laughed, waving her hand at him before sighing. “I’m joking, my friend. But as your friend, I have privileges in being nosy.”

She couldn’t sleep.

Again.

Meditation was the first thing she was taught in Kamar-Taj ever since she began to even crawl and sit upright as a baby. You would think it would have been the Ancient One who had taught her the simplest forms of the mystic arts – but it was in fact Master Kaecilius.

Who was now trapped in the Dark Dimension, but we don’t talk about that nowadays. [21]

Anyways, she had been meditating for about an hour in the astral plane until she was feeling rather irritated. No matter how she tried to lull herself to some calm, all she was remembering was the visions that she saw during the journey here. Seeing that jewel again haunt the back of every view of her cursed her to even look at the sun – just in case it would morph into a Silmaril and would burn her. Burn her so much that sunscreen won’t stop it.

So instead, after she was done going through her own plans on what she’s going to do during her stay here (which now she thought of it, might be longer than the two days the movies depicted), Illyria decided to wander about the house through her astral plane.

What she wasn’t expecting were the two people just behind her door.

It was the blonde hair that caught her off guard, surprised that both he and Elrond were about to see her – presumably, check up on her. She still technically was healing, but she was perfectly fine and replenishing much of her energy thanks to food and drink (Lord Elrond wasn’t wrong about that).

The two walked off down the hallway, a conversation forming between the two of them. As for her, she couldn’t help but walking behind them and eavesdrop.

What they can’t see won’t hurt them all. Technically, she was asleep.

Her dad was going to have a go at her. More than Uncle Wong too, and that’s not the usual agenda.

“Was she asleep?” Glorfindel asked Lord Elrond, keeping a low voice.

Lord Elrond hummed to confirm. “She was rather exhausted today.” He asked the elf next to him, “What were you doing with her during the day?”

“Well, I found her at the stables. She was there to visit her friend when she caught me off guard asking where her horse was.” Glorfindel explained, chuckling at the end as if he was reminiscing their first meeting.

Well Lord Elrond wasn’t wrong, Glorfindel had tired out with his fast walking and the climb up to the cliffs where the waterfall was. She was hoping to take Bilbo there, but she might need to give the hobbit a warning about the steep incline.

Lord Elrond sharply gave him a look and said, “I do hope you did not scare her.”

The other elf scoffed, answering. “Of course not. I should thank you for telling me what Mithrandir told you.” His tone of voice change, slightly croaky as he continued, “Though, I was surprised she did not see me almost tear up at her sight.”

Illyria paused in her tracks and creased her eyebrows. Did Glorfindel cry during the moment they were at the stables? But why?

She raced after them, still not used to their long strides until they made it to the crossroads which connected the other parts of the house. They stayed there for a while, staring out to the balcony that overlooked the entrance of the house. Illyria decided to step further back, placing herself several feet from them. Enough to see their faces under the moonlight.

“I…I am glad to see her face again.” Glorfindel’s voice was full of emotion, almost trying to control himself quick enough to continue. “You must have been shocked to find her fighting out there.”

What came out of Lord Elrond’s mouth made her even more confused. “She was alone; left to fend herself,” There was anger entwined in his tone, not to mention how his fists clenched at his sides.

Shaking his head, Glorfindel told him: “Do not be blinded by Mithrandir’s choice, friend.” He suggested, “Perhaps she joined them because she is trying to search for something. Has she mentioned anything about her origins to you?”

A sigh left his lips and he looked out to the front entrance. “I have not been able to speak with her alone since her waking up in the healing halls.” Lord Elrond continued, “She…whenever we are together, either someone else is there or I cannot speak of it.”

‘Speak of what?’ Illyria thought, more questions filling her mind. ‘What have you not told me, Lord Elrond?’

“You will find the moment, friend.” Glorfindel reassured him, “Fate has brought her back here. And if this is a sign that the Valar returned her to us, it must be for a reason.”

Her eyes peered across to them. What did they mean her returning? She’s never even been here since yesterday! And at the mention of the Valar, her confusion morphed into concern.

The Valar was always mysterious in the books, always acting like gods in her opinion and only making matters to the rest of the people of this world if Melkor or Sauron was involved.

Did the Valar send her here then? If so, that was too far-fetched. She created the portal herself - nothing else did. (Or did she...she was rather unconscious the moment it all happened.)

She frowned at this, displeased that one: nothing seemed to make sense. And two: they somehow speculated she was meant to be here.

“That is why I do not want to tell her.” Lord Elrond’s voice rose slightly, worry lingering in his tone. “If she has returned with memories of her past, I would be terrified for her. That would be that the Valar has given her the task to be released from the Halls of Mandos. But she is an entirely different person, not like how you were released from the Halls. She is of man now, with no memory of her.”

She raised an eyebrow at this. At this point, she wasn’t sure if they were talking about her or someone else. This person from what she heard seemed to be close with both of them, and she’s only met the two once. Though with their interactions almost stark and yet so clearly driven by one purpose – it feared her on what truly was going on.

Did she want to know the truth?

“I think you might have to take a step back, Elrond.” Glorfindel told him, “When I mentioned about the jewels, she…reacted in some way. That she was remembering something or has already remembered them.”

An expression of horror scattered over Lord Elrond, “What in Arda made you mention them?”

Glorfindel answered, “Her phone. It is this small box which glows! It can do many things such as show a mirror which creates paintings of you and then collects them in this small box.” He pointed out. “And it can send messages.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his change of demeanour. He was almost giddy, intrigued and a little curious. She might have to introduce him to more technology again.

“How is that possible?” Lord Elrond furrowed his eyebrows, also beginning to have some curiosity over the device.

Glorfindel pursed his lips. “Not sure. I will ask her tomorrow if I see her.”

The Lord of Imladris gave Glorfindel a pointed look, “You have training.” He said matter of fact. “You are Captain of the Guard.”

“And yes, yes I know.” The blonde elf waved his friend away and then quickly suggested, “Perhaps I will invite her with the twins tomorrow. Have they met her yet?”

He replied simply, “Not as of yet.”

Oh shit, she forgot about the twins. Elladan and Elrohir, who were meant to actually appear similar to what Elrond and Elros would be, had some features Celebrian had. By the conversation she had with their father, he spoke of them with a mix of pride and exasperation. It would seem the twins were much like Kili and Fili in that subject of controllable children.

“Do not lose hope, Elrond.” Glorfindel insisted, “That small hope might be the thing that could bring her back.”

Lord Elrond looked over to him and solemnly nodded his head. “Thank you, brother.”

“Brother?”

The second she realised she spoke; she clamped her mouth shut with a gasp and floated backwards from where she stood.

Elrond immediately froze from his place, his eyes darting everywhere in the hallway with narrow eyes. “Did you hear that?” He asked, tensing with suspicion.

With shaking arms, she carefully walked over to them until she faced him.

Looking at the Lord of Imladris this close was rather different from the first meeting. There in her room, he had been kind but somehow faltering. It was as if he was dragging himself back before he could say something out of turn. There was also that familiar sense of hope in his eyes, which right now almost dulled into guilt and pain. Had she reminded him of someone he knew?

God, I hope she wasn’t giving him some weird trauma after casting her freaky magic right in front of them.

“Hear what?” Glorfindel echoed next to him, placing an assuring hand on Elrond’s shoulder.

Illyria then saw his eyes stare at her, and she held her breath suddenly. They were just inches from each other, and the only barrier between them was the thin plan of the Astral plane to the physical one.

Almost instinctively, she wanted to reach out – her fingers wanting to touch the carefully laid locks of hair. But as her fingers got to him; it easily went through.

At the same time, Elrond’s body straightened when his hand went to touch the same part where she tried to touch his hair.

“I thought…I felt something.” He murmured, letting his hand fall to his side and turned his entire body back to facing the hallway.

When the two left, Illyria stood where she was probably for a while. She wasn’t sure what came over her to do that, but somewhere deep in her mind – it felt familiar.

She got up a little bit later today, hoping to catch Miriel from last evening to tell her where she could get some breakfast.

So after carefully doing her routine (which in turn wasn’t really her normal routine back on Earth as this place didn’t seem to have anything such as Clinique to get her skin glowing here), Illyria wore her usual attire. She was up to the stage of getting her boots on that there was a knock on the door.

Illyria shouted that she was coming there in a moment, hopping on one leg as she yanked the top bit up and stomped the rest of her foot into the boot. By the time she made it to the door, she was ready to greet the elf servant.

“Morning…oh?”

Illyria then realised she was staring at someone’s chest. When she glanced upwards, she found a new face looking down at her. She stated, “You’re not Miriel.”

A polite smile was on his lips, answering. “Indeed not.” He then nodded his head curtly, introducing himself. “Na-My lady, my name is Elladan. My father has invited you to break your fast with us and I offered to escort you.”

Her first train of thought brought her what occurred last night, and her heartbeat increased tenfold. She grew tensed slightly, her fingers curling over the ridges of the sling ring on her hand until she controlled her breath once more. Did Lord Elrond know what happened last night? But Illyria was 87% sure that neither Glorfindel nor the Lord of Imladris realised she was following them.

Why did he invite her then?

She did her best to compose herself, her usual character asking out loud, “Oh? Not that I’m complaining but, I wanted to go and have some time with the Company.” Illyria gave a small grin and shrugged her shoulders. “But I can’t say no to food.”

Grabbing her gloves, she gave a glance at the room to make sure she hadn’t just left any random modern device out for the elves to curiously have a tester with it and shut the door before her. Bless Elladan for actually taking his time to walk slower for her; kindly taking her own pace as they went down the corridor towards the family quarters.

Yet again, it was a beautiful spring day. She could swear that every day must be like this here in the valley, or else she wondered how everything could be dry and blooming with life and light. Though one thing she did notice the short time they’ve been here was this magical barrier surrounding the city itself. It was subtle, nothing like the barriers of the New York Sanctum or Kamar-Taj. (Those were probably the strongest magical barriers she saw back on Earth. Though, Illyria had to point out that one of the Avengers did crash land through the attic several years ago.)

Whilst her mind was elsewhere, the elf by her side began to speak.

“So...Lady Illyria. How has your stay been?” Elladan wondered, a genuine curiosity towards her waiting answer.

Illyria didn’t hold back, expressing with total glee. “It’s only been three days, but it’s been like swimming in a dream.” She grinned back up to him. “Gandalf was right when they said it’s the last homely house.”

There was no lie there for her. If Middle Earth had its own version of TripAdvisor, she would rate this place five stars in a heartbeat. [22]

“I am glad you are enjoying your stay.” Elladan held an amused expression before he then added, “Also, Glorfindel has asked if you would like to come and watch our training today. We heard so I thought to mention it now.”

Illyria raised an eyebrow at that. She did remember him speaking to Lord Elrond about it last, so she guessed that he already talked to the twins about it beforehand.

Pointing out, she said nonchalantly. “Rather nosy of you.” She continued, “But I don’t exactly fight like how you guys do.”

Or more specifically: she didn’t fight at all. Not in the way the elves or the dwarves did, as they waved their swords about and carried bows behind their backs. No way was she going to embarrass herself in front of more people. Illyria could fight when her actual neck was on the line, but fighting for fun?

Even if it were training, she would prefer to train without an audience. The sparring back in Kamar-Taj has always been with consent and with those that she knew around the temples. These elves were hundreds – or even thousands – older than her, with experience in defeating creatures of the dark.

Illyria frowned at this. Gods, in one part she wanted to: but the other spoke otherwise.

“Perhaps it will be a good challenge.” Elladan suggested, trying to clear her troubled look as they then arrived at two double doors.

Glancing back up to him, she gave him a wry smile as an answer. She would confirm later. Now it was food time.

What seemed to be the dining room was much like the smaller version of the large hall during the first evening. Finding already the two elder elves seated by each other at the table, Illyria quickly shut the panic down and held her chin high.

And then goddamn Lord Elrond had to be the one to look at their direction first.

“My son, Lady Illyria.” He polite called out, greeting them as they headed to the table.

Illyria took notice of the elf, feeling the nerves crawl back into the back of her mind as she met his eyes. She then did what she usually did for her own comfort, joking back: “El Lord Elrond.”

Lord Elrond’s eye’s flickered slightly, spotting him tense. Though, after that: he somehow relaxed, almost giving a sense of amusement…and awkwardness.

As she pulled out the chair in front of her, she grinned at them before nodding, “I meant Lord Elrond. Glorfindel.”

She sat down at her place, hearing Lord Elrond clear his throat. “Thank you for escorting Lady Illyria, Elladan.” He changed the subject and asked his son, “Where are your brothers?”

The table before her could probably match a month’s worth of food for her and Darcy. There was about a variety of different fruits and pastries, locally grown around the city when she noticed the types of vineyards and farms they had here. At her spot laid a small plate along with some cutlery.

Illyria eyed the other three who were sat down and noticed that they were already tucking into the food. ‘Well, fuck it.’ She said to herself and reached forward to grab some grapes and some odd pastry thing that looked similar to an apple turnover.

It took all her sheer will not to groan in pleasure when tasting it.

These were even better than the ones they got back in New York.

So, whilst she busied herself, Illyria heard Elladan answer his father. “Taking out twigs from Estel’s hair.” He explained further, “Estel tried to climb a tree last night to plant some bags of goose feathers by the pathway where most of the visitors pass through. Sadly, it did not work.”

A small grin was hidden behind the slice of pastry in front of her lips, letting her eyes wander to Elladan – simply eating away without giving any guilty glance back at his father.

Illyria knew that look, and it something Tony liked to point out at both her and Harley whenever they accidentally mucked something up in the garage. They had been tinkering with some new parts of the armour they have designed, finding out that the Stark elder himself left out some blueprints to create his latest suit.

An hour later, Tony came into the garage to find it decorated with streamers and patterned designs that floated across the ceiling: all made from the paper copy version of his ironman suit.

Let us just say he wasn’t happy with them using his blueprints, but he didn’t comment anything bad about the new decorations. Illyria and Harley just decided that it was a good thing.

But Lord Elrond seemed to portray the same disappointed expression. He grimly spoke, “Yes, I know. Lindir told me.”

She creased her eyebrows and asked, “How didn’t I see this.”

Expecting Elladan to answer her, it had been Lord Elrond who confronted her, “You are lucky, my lady. You were asleep throughout the whole ordeal.”

“How would you know?” She muttered and froze.

She really needed to shut up.

Her eyes darted slowly to the dark-haired elf, who was now rather interested at the bowl of cherries down at their end. Right next to him, Glorfindel had the audacity to just be chill – hiding the smug face behind his teacup.

Thank Elladan again for stopping the tension, making Illyria turn her face down to her plate. He spoke, “Well…my brothers will be here soon. Do not worry, father.”

Illyria mentally sighed to herself. ‘You just have to get through breakfast, and then you can go out and just enjoy the peace.’

It wasn’t a moment later that the double doors opened behind them. Two figures strolled in, with one mirroring the appearance of the elf in front of her whilst the other tailed along – who was shorter in stature.

The other twin, Elrohir, finally arrived. A small smile and a nod to her as he spoke, “Good morning. Glad that my brother did his job to find your room.”

Elladan rolled his eye’s nudging his brother’s shoulder once the other twin sat down. “It was not difficult. Just find the empty ones which the dwarves neglected who instead destroyed the furniture in the east wing.”

Whilst the twins seemed to bicker to themselves Illyria’s curiosity was focused on the shorter figure that sat across her. If she wasn’t sitting with a bunch of elves, she was perhaps dancing to herself in her mind.

This was Aragorn!

The Aragorn the Second, who practically gave the best of his best for the free peoples of Middle Earth.

The boy in front of her would be the same one that Lord Elrond would reveal his true identity as the heir to Gondor and the Chieftain of the Dunedain. He would then venture out into Middle Earth, exploring the world as Thorongil, get chummy with some Rohan and Gondor royals and then meet the love of life in the very same place as he was revealed of his lineage. They would then pledge their love in Lothlorien several years later, with Arwen giving her immortality to spend one lifetime with the man she loved. [23]

She mentally sighed at the heart-warming tale. Man, she wished her love life were like that. Unfortunately, it was a little bit non-existing at the moment.

Forgetting about the love arc of Aragorn’s life, she knew already by his own mind that this boy would become a great leader someday. All because of the people in this room that gave him the lessons to become one. She had to thank them all at some point for that.

She gave him a dear smile, speaking warmly to the young boy, “You must be Estel. My name’s Illyria.”

She was met with similar warmth, a small smile gracing Estel’s lips. “Well met, Lady Illyria. I hope you are liking your stay here.”

“It’s been really good.” She stated, popping a slice of apple turnover in her mouth. “Your father has been a good host.”

The boy’s eyes could have popped out of its sockets hadn’t he desperately asked her, “How was it like? Travelling with dwarves?”

“Estel.” Lord Elrond carefully pulled the young boy’s pleading look back.

Estel leaned back, looking down at his plate guiltily. In turn, she hurried to change the boy’s mood and waved her hand.

“Nah, it’s fine. I can tell you everything that I know about them, which isn’t as much as I hoped to have been.” Illyria continued, happy to find Estel’s cheerfulness to return. “But three of them are my friends; they might like to meet you if we’re here to stay a little bit longer. Depends on how long Gandalf wishes Thorin to stay.”

The young boy’s face turned to his father with a pleading look. From her side of the table, he might as well be at the edge of his seat by how he leaned in. “Can I, Father? Can I meet the dwarves with Lady Illyria?” Estel begged.

“If you complete your work with Erestor.” Lord Elrond reminded his youngest son, and Estel nodded his head profusely which earned a small chuckle from Glorfindel.

The next fifteen minutes was rather quiet, allowing Illyria to just savour the food and the serenity to herself. Estel asked her some questions, mostly about the dwarves and Bilbo and she answered as much as she could sometimes going off the track that she had to stop herself (or had Glorfindel be her saviour and give her look).

So it wasn’t that bad. Or so Illyria thought.

After she had answered Estel’s question: she noticed several murmurs lurking. At first, she thought it had been the twins speaking to each other in front of her. But when she looked over to them, they were just eating fruit.

It was then she realised where those voices were coming from.

‘Did you hear that?’ One voice spoke through her mind. Was it Elladan or Elrohir? She wasn’t sure.

‘Indeed. Dwarves bathing in the Fountains of Vana must have scarred father’s brain.’ Okay, that was definitely Elladan’s voice, with the same raising tone that reflected amusement.

Elrohir, in turn, laughed and replied, ‘You do not see naked dwarves every day, brother.’

By then, she had squished the grape in her hand.

“They did what?” She questioned in a dead tone.

All eyes were at her, but the ones she was focused on were the two twins that almost stared at her with shock – and slight fear. They now realised what they had done.

“Illyria?” Glorfindel called to her.

She shook her head and said, “I’m sorry for the mind-reading but-” Illyria paused and pointed out, “Wait, you can do it-ugh never mind. Where are they?”

Lord Elrond was the next to speak, a worried tone as he began to connect the dots. A little too slow for her opinion. “Illyria…”

However, she had cleared all external voices around her and stared deadly at the two twins.

‘Where are they.’ She demanded.

‘They are in the east courtyard still.’ Elladan said to her through her head.

Whipping his head to him, Elrohir exclaimed. ‘Brother, do not tell her!’

The other twin shrugged, continuing to eat his breakfast like it was some typical day in Imladris. ‘What? It is not going to harm her or anything.’

She mentally cursed in her head, her ears about to blow off if she hadn't begun slowly counting to ten. But that was not enough for Illyria Strange. No. When she was angry, she meant it.

So, she stood up as gracefully as she could, putting her cutlery down neatly before taking her sling ring and gloves. Illyria began, “Those blasted sons of…” But her eyes moved to Estel and she hurriedly added with a sharp inhale of breath, “Sorry. I am going to throttle them when I find them. They have no right.”

She left the dining room swiftly, ignoring the shuffling of seats and the twins’ pleads in her mind as she headed to where Thorin and the Company were last found.

So goes her lovely plan to spend the day in peace.

After confronting the company of dwarves (who were still camping in one of the courtyards and using the nearby gardens as their training grounds), Illyria Strange stomped out of the sight and tried to navigate herself back to her room. But anger and a poor sense of direction weren’t a good mix for the sorceress. Instead, she strode briskly to what seemed to be another empty courtyard and paced about.

She was pissed. Who did the dwarves think they were! They were invited freely into the lord of Imladris’ home; given food and shelter. And they repaid them by bathing naked in some sacred fountain that now the elves might have to disinfect about ten times. Not only that, Thorin Oakenshield (the smug bastard) didn’t think it was wrong and just went with it.

Argh! Why did she even agree to go? At this point in the story, she might just bail out and try portalling back home.

Illyria was so consumed by her own mind that she didn’t notice the small figure rush into the courtyard. Bilbo Baggins exclaimed, “You did not have to do that!” He then questioned in shock, “And how in Yavanna’s garden did you know?”

Pausing her pacing, she faced her hobbit friend and took a deep breath. She was not in the mood to tell Bilbo how she even knew about it. That’s going to be another conversation at a later time.

Illyria revealed, “The twins were chatting about it during breakfast.” She exhaled, folding her arms over her chest. “Heard it from their father, which I still do not understand how. The only person that can connect through my mind is Gandalf here.”

Bilbo inhaled sharply, fidgeting the buttons on his jacket as he spoke, “Goodness, I should really speak of it to them.” He turned to look at her. “And perhaps mediate for you to Thorin.”

The offer was too tempting for her but being her goody self: Illyria waved her hand and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll go to Balin at some point and apologise.” She huffed, “I could do it now but Glorfindel and the twins invited me to their training. I’m a little bit scared.”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “Why? You fought a bunch of orcs and wargs!” He cried out.

She gaped at him in disbelief, “Have you seen me with a sword? Fili almost chopped my hand off let alone almost my head! I can become Captain Hook, but I don’t really want to rein act the French Revolution.” Illyria argued, “Also, I’ve only fought in one big battle, and half of the time I was staring up at Captain Marvel.” [24] [25]

That might have been an overstatement.

But why think of a time when a flying woman punches an alien spaceship with her fist? Not gonna lie, it was a very reasonable girl crush.

“Your world has very odd titles.” Bilbo shook his head, though his grin never left his lips.

Illyria defended, “I think they’re cute.”

He gave her a blank look and asked, “You think the name Ant-Man is cute?”

Okay, maybe the hobbit had a point.

She rolled her eyes and replied, “Okay, not all of them.”

Soon after Bilbo went off to perhaps search for one of the members of the company, Illyria sneaked back into the house and tried to search for the particular blonde elf. After what happened this morning, the best she could reciprocate her own emotions was probably to go and hit something with her staff.

Therapy could work, perhaps. But Illyria didn’t think Middle Earth had the medical knowledge yet to distinguish mental illnesses. From her own inspection, many of the people she encountered had some sort of PTSD from fighting wars or dark creatures. Evil in this world seemed to be in the physical form, amongst the underlining of racism and misogyny that varied between races and cultures as well. If someone did establish a clinic here that focused on psychological therapy, they would have a cut at their job.

Thankfully, the one way Illyria could let out some steam was accepting the Balrog Slayer’s invitation to his training.

That was why she was standing at the edge of what seemed to be training grounds. With Elladan and Elrond standing by her right, with one sharpening their sword with a whetstone whilst the other was testing various daggers.

In front of her was (what she assumed to be her partner) Glorfindel, who held his own elven-made sword in his right hand before passing a similar one to her. She held it within her right hand and felt its grip. The sword did not feel right within her hand, sensing no connection with the weapon, unlike her own staff that was still hidden.

She turned to him and admitted, “Glorfindel, you know I can’t fight. Especially with a sword.”

As she approached him, she held the sword with both her hands. Everything was wrong. The weight, the texture of the handle, the physical metal blade. How was she supposed to fight this ancient elf with this?

“Better to start from somewhere.” Glorfindel pointed out, explaining the details of the weapon. “Elven weapons are much lighter, better for you in comparison to the height weight of dwarven swords.”

From the corner of her mind, Illyria could hear the twins tell each other disadvantages of dwarven weaponry. How short they were to even their designs. Illyria wanted to facepalm.

“Can we not compare men’s swords please and stick to this.” She flicked her head around to them, and they quickly shut up.

Well, after her outburst at them this morning: Illyria could understand why they easily followed her demand.

Glorfindel twirled his sword in his hand, his feet already in a stance. He assured her with a small smile, “Do not worry, Illyria. I will start off lightly.”

Illyria gave a deadpanned look. “Right.” She called out, “Boys. If he kills me, you better go tell your father than I’m coming back to his house and bleeding all over the floor.”

“Oh, he will know quick enough,” Elrohir said, and her eyes peered at the two.

Again, twins. Why does she seem like she’s seen this before?

Returning her eyes at her male doppelganger, she shifted her position to her usual position and muttered. “Okay, Golden Flower.”

Illyria didn’t think the human body was supposed to feel this much pain in places that shouldn’t be in pain.

It was only three minutes in which Glorfindel had her disarmed, afterwards taking another go.

And another…and another.

By the sixth time, Illyria was more than pleased that she could last six minutes before hearing her sword clatter onto the dirt ground and his sword right next to her neck.

Fighting the famous Balrog Slayer was suicide. She was drenched through her clothes, her hands clammy because of the grip of the swords. Loose strands of her hair fell out of her braid whilst she might as well be a tomato in comparison to him.

“Well, you need some improvement.” He told her.

She panted, “You think?” Illyria waved her noodle arms up and exasperated, “I was practically just hitting air!”

Glorfindel pointed out as he walked closer to her. “That is because you are used to your staff.” He added, “Which you can now use, as I would like to see how you fair against me.”

Illyria sighed in relief after hearing that. At least now she had some chance of hitting the blonde elf now. With that, she took a moment to catch her breath and straightened her posture. As she held her hand out, Illyria decided to do something cheeky.

When her staff materialised in her hand from thin air – she watched Glorfindel’s eyes flash in surprise before a small smirk rested on his face.

She gripped the staff with both her hands and twisted its handle – the two golden blades forming at each end. “Well, it’s better than the sword, so thanks,” Illyria spoke.

Glorfindel chuckled, “I will not go easy now.”

This time, Illyria felt much more attune – using her own fighting techniques she learnt as she dodged and parried Glorfindel’s calculated swings. This gave her some chance to plan at least a second before how to strike, ducking at a swing before blocking another swing.

He didn’t lie to her that he wouldn’t go easy. This time, he was quick and ferocious – bring more power to his strikes whilst she parried and defended herself. When she had landed her first strike, Illyria hoped it was enough to catch him off-guard. That was not the case as he took this chance and lunged back at her.

Ten minutes in, she was gasping every breath before her staff flew away and the tip of his blade returned to her neck.

“I yield.” Illyria breathed, looking at him with confidence.

Glorfindel lowered his sword and smiled at her with pride. He spoke to her, “You were hindering your left; someone should be there.”

When Illyria looked back at him, he was already holding her staff back her, the blades now retracted back as he passed it to her. “Maybe you’ll be my left wing-elf then,” She said wryly, and the blonde elf simply raised an eyebrow.

However, his attention seemed to flicker behind her which made her turn around curiously who had come to watch.

To her shock: it was him.

Whilst she and Glorfindel walked over to the twins, who were now joined not only Estel but Lord Elrond himself. Much like his older sons, he appeared to have worn something less regal to what he dressed in, removing the velvet robes and circlet for once since her stay here.

To her surprised, she kind of liked him in this attire.

Wait, what was she saying?

Illyria’s voice tightened, “Lord Elrond, I didn’t know you would come and watch.”

The elf in question took a second to answer and gestured over to the human child that sat with his brothers. “Estel insisted.”

“Father says he would like to spar with you,” Estel said loudly.

Lord Elrond gave a pointed look at the boy, but to her amusement: Estel didn’t seem ashamed for saying that. Well, as much as she a little intimidated by the elf lord in front of her: Illyria felt her chest tighten. Whilst feeling honoured, she felt conflicted and confused as to why he was here in the first place. Had he been watching her spar Glorfindel this whole time?

God, she must have looked like a dying seagull by the end of it.

“Did he now?” She gave the Lord of Imladris a careful gesture to the empty space in front of them. “Well, care to join me to dance?” Not waiting for his answer, she strode over to the centre of the sparring ground, noticing that several soldiers were stopping from their own training to watch their lord spar.

She raised an eyebrow at that. It would seem that Lord Elrond didn’t usually come out here often. Well, who would when you can easily just train in privacy?

As she pulled back a strand of her hair and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand, she eyed the dark-haired elf unsheathed his own weapon. A long silver blade that perhaps was about half his height.

His eyes caught her own as he called out, “Is this what you call dancing where you are from?”

Illyria was thrown back in surprise. Did he just openly joke back at her?

With a bigger grin, she answered – staff now ready. “In a way. I like to call it dancing.”

And so, they danced.

They didn’t pull back, constantly assessing each of their moves and strikes as they covered the entire training area with their fight. Lord Elrond was a different fighter to Glorfindel, that what Illyria immediately caught on to. He didn’t possess the strength or power the taller blonde elf had, so it resulted in quicker and sharp strikes that almost drew her to almost getting caught.

When he clashed his sword with one of her blade’s she heard the silvery clang as the sparks of light flew across them and she quickly retracted back the blade. The disappearing weight caught him off guard, stumbling to the side. However, he rushed back to his own stance and lunged towards her.

They spun and they twirled, never staying in the same position. At the moment she could have taken a blow had taken her to her worst mistake. The elf removed her staff from her hand, letting it fly out of her reach as she stumbled back. Illyria thought she was done for, but in the back of her mind - a wilful push urged her to continue.

Illyria summoned two Eldritch mandala shields in her hands, spotting the elf pause whilst she heard several surprised breaths. She allowed her feet to position back to her defensive stance and inhaled sharply. They stared at each other for a second, before the elf took the next blow. She blocked it easily with both, leaning back to duck before aiming to kick him at the side.

She mentally cringed when she heard him grunt. Illyria hoped she didn't get kicked out of Imladris because of this. 

The next seconds was her closing in towards her staff, allowing her shields to block every tackle he tried on her. They were both exhausted, her muscles aching and crying at her to stop as she jabbed another punch at his sword arm. When she saw the opening, Illyria immediately took it and swiped her staff up with the tip of her shoes.

At that moment she forgot to keep her eyes on him - she saw the thin metal blade aimed at her. Her free drew upwards, blocking it with her shield and held the sword in place. She then spotted the opening, a clear side she didn't favour and jabbed the un-bladed end of her staff at his stomach.

Lord Elrond staggered back, pulling his sword back into his body. Despite regaining his defence in his upper body, Illyria managed to swipe his legs with the end of her staff.

With a thud and the ring of metal onto the floor, Illyria’s bladed staff met Elrond Peredhel face.

“I yield.” He called out with gasps.

Suddenly, she could feel her head throb with pain. Her hand faltered, the grip of her staff loosened as she heard a laugh ring in her ears. She could have sworn she was having a sense of deja-vu. Seeing those grey eyes look up to her as swirls of muffled voices clouded her mind. They were getting louder and louder, and yet so untangible that it eventually moulded into a white scratching noise.

“Illyria?”

She blinked herself out of her thoughts, and just as she looked down to the floor – she had forgotten who had just met the end of her staff. “Sorry, just blanked out.” Illyria cursed to herself and pulled back her staff. “Oh god, I’m sorry! Where are my manners.”

When she held her hand up to him, Lord Elrond hesitated but quickly regained a moment of realisation and took it. At that point, Illyria wasn’t sure if she was already hot or sensing someone else’s body heat through their hand was a thing.

Also, she hadn’t noticed she had been staring at him for about thirty seconds until he snapped her back again to reality.

Boy, she hoped this wasn’t going to be a recurring thing for her.

“I am not familiar with the fighting style you use.” Lord Elrond admitted with a tone of humbleness in his voice.

Illyria let go of his hand, bringing her hand to her staff as she answered, “I’ve been taught various fighting styles since I was a child.” She paused before taking one breath. “But your swordsmanship is incredible, especially Glorfindel’s.”

The dark-haired elf stared down at her, and softly spoke, “I have to admit, seeing your magic…it is wondrous.”

Hearing those words from his mouth caught Illyria by surprise. She wasn’t going deaf, was she?

He was still looking at her, waiting for her own answer.

With a prepared answer, she leaned against her staff and gave the elf a wide smile, “You’re not too bad yourself, Lord Elrond.”

“Elrond.” He corrected.

She paused where she had stood next to him and raised an eyebrow.

Lord Elrond – well now Elrond – explained, “I think after that we have come to know each other, and almost having my head off my shoulders, we do not need to address such formal titles.”

“Alright then.” She said, before clarifying one thing. “If you call me Illyria.”

She was met by Lord El- Elrond’s nod before a smile rested on his lips that deep down: Illyria’s heart fluttered at the sight.

Oh fuc-

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Imladris, Middle Earth

Time: May 2941

Word began going around the valley about the mysterious sorceress known as Illyria Ettelëa.

She thought it had a nice ring, but the opinions latched onto it was not something she was pleased about. It was a mix of opinions; some more…’ expressive’ than the others, but it didn’t really budge the boulder that was herself.

She’s been at the end of gossip many times, and even in her old home in Kamar-Taj – Illyria was never away from loud whispers that spoke about her. How a child of her age was under the care of one of the most powerful sorcerers in their history, and why she was brought up alongside other sorcerers. It caused tension around certain people who were offered tutelage, even if they couldn’t admit how freaking adorable she was with her small stature: with her blonde hair braided and with tiny grey robes.

Illyria knew this since her dad had found photos of her in the Ancient One’s belongings, along with a letter and the staff she gave her before she passed on. (Not gonna lie, she had to admit she was pretty fucking cute – especially with big blue eyes and the widest grin as she posed next to the temple entrance.)

It didn’t help her own self-confidence that her telepathic abilities sprouted ever since she was a child, which was worse for Illyria. She couldn’t control which thoughts she can listen to and if her thoughts can be heard from others, resulting in Illyria having major headaches. The lack of control led her to feel insecure, always doubting her place in the Mystic Arts.

Now, it was just like that.

Elves were subtle indeed, but Illyria can smell bullshit from a mile away. The guards who watched her and Lord Elrond (now insisting to be called Elrond after that fiasco) duel in the training grounds a few days ago had most of a positive intake of her, asking about the different fighting styles she used and the weapon she wielded. The people around the city hearing about their fight was mostly the opposite.

Illyria shouldn’t really put a label on it, but probably xenophobia might work.

She couldn’t blame them. Illyria could imagine that majority of these elves have lived in this valley since its establishment and never had any vital reason to leave. It’s a safe place, with its own magical barrier to protect and signal them in case of enemies. They had food, shelter, water (perhaps not electricity or Wi-Fi but never mind about that) and the elven music they needed to live their immortal lives. So why be open to having some stranger – a human stranger – come into their safe home? Not only that, why bring someone who could have potentially killed their lord?

Now she’s feeling pretty much like Thor right now. (And she hasn’t met him yet to know how he feels being on Earth).

What made things much worse: was the elves themselves.

Particularly the ones who worked at Lord Elrond’s home. Illyria’s suspicion was driving her to the very night Glorfindel and Elrond spoke to each other, suspecting that what they talked about seemed to relate to what’s been going on.

Like the twins for example.

One day, where Illyria had somehow entwined herself with not only the twin’s devious plans but also Kili and Fili’s, something happened.

Ever since she had the two boys meet the Peredhil twins: it had been the worst thing to happen since Heinz baked beans on Weetabix biscuits. [1] At first, they were still hostile at one another, but after their fair share of stories pranking their parents or anyone they lived with – Illyria knew she made a grave mistake. Even a bigger mistake taking down those trolls over a week ago.

It was why she can admit to seeing Thorin’s anger simmering away with his glare at her whenever they crossed paths in the house. Whilst the two have much had the mutual agreement to, and Illyria would quote ‘Stay the fuck away' from each other apart from discussing the quest: she and Thorin could not get away that day since Gandalf had her talk to Balin, Thorin and Bilbo.

“Spending time with the elves, training with them.” Thorin scoffed with a disgusted tone. “Why must I allow to take you along after what you have been doing?”

Illyria could easily facepalm right there, but she simply pointed out, “Because I’m…” She eyed down Bilbo and silently nudged him.

Bilbo glanced up to her, “Contracted?”

“Yes, what he said,” Illyria answered. She really needed to get ahead of her Westron soon. ‘I don’t think I’ll have a hobbit translator next to me all the time.’ She thought.

“I can easily remove you.” He sneered back.

‘Oh, please.’ Illyria mentally said, not even bothering to react at both Thorin and Balin jumping slightly as she projected a thought to them. They could complain or call her witch, but she wasn’t going to have them pester her whilst she can’t speak to them properly. ‘Are you really going to try and get rid of me just now because I’m being an actual decent person?’

Gandalf flashed her a look of warning, and she quickly deflated back her anger. Honestly, the wizard might be a meddling little shit: but Illyria was still terrified of the Maia no matter if he needed to look a little tidier…and perhaps some cologne. He still smelled like pipe weed (and maybe a bit of what Radagast smelled like) and from last night’s dinner. Though despite Illyria’s issues with the wizard’s habits, she knew he was on the verge of wanting to whack Thorin with his staff.

Gandalf said in an exasperated tone, “Thorin, you must rid of your prejudice with the elves! Thank Illyria Strange for bringing some mutual friendship between your two races.”

“Yes! By corrupting my sister sons with those twins!” Thorin exclaimed.

Raising her hands, she replied to defence. “I’m not corrupting them! Your nephews are really enjoying their company.” Illyria paused, before shrugging back. “I mean, apart from the amount of trouble that’s exponentially increased the past week: I’d say they’re mending some of this petty feud.”

Was she wrong?

That’s right. No. At least Illyria was spitting facts.

“And who was to initiate that, sorceress?”

Okay, might need some ice for that burn. Illyria could not lie; she was the one who brought the four together. Hell, it was also likely that little Estel might have joined the bandwagon too.

That wasn’t good.

“Thorin, you must calm down and negotiate.” Balin, ever the politician and negotiator, tried to calm the dwarven king down. “Their friendship may possibly offer closure to what we seek which is to have Lord Elrond read the map.”

“Which is why you must show the map to him, Thorin Oakenshield. Or I will do it myself if you do not do so!” Gandalf’s voice grown lower, and an odd rumbling feeling shaken Illyria’s body that could almost result in her skin prickling.

When the wizard was angry. He was angry. Not even a Snickers can stop him. [2]

Illyria waited for Thorin’s answer, and his big thick skull saw through the realisation of Gandalf’s reasoning. His shoulder’s stifled upright, eyeing the grey wizard with a nod.

The dwarven king replied, “Alright, I will show it to him.” But then his eyes narrowed to hers and with a gravelly voice. “But not a word. Even from you, sorceress. I will not have our quest fail because of you revealing our intentions.”

With a stiff nod, she responded. “Pinky promise.”

She wasn’t sure if the others understood what she meant, though the only two who understood Sindarin seemed rather confused at her response.

Thorin stalked off, but not without glancing over next to her where Bilbo was for probably too long to be normal, whilst Balin gazed up to her with a sympathetic smile. She gave the elder dwarf a reassuring smile and told him that she would keep her promise not to speak of it further. And so Balin followed, which then left her standing idly in the presence of the wizard and Bilbo.

“I do apologise, Illyria.” Gandalf exhaled, adjusting his hat back to its usual position. “However, I must say to you that you will need to tread more carefully when speaking to Thorin. Your response and your character as of now will only set you further from joining them again.”

She sighed sharply, fiddling with her sling ring as she looked out into the gardens. Again, it was a beautiful spring day. She wondered if she truly was here now, or this was some Matrix simulation. [3] Or perhaps like the Hex… [4]

“I know, Gandalf,” Illyria spoke. “I have yet to try…how you would say…keep my patience. But it’s been a bit difficult when everything you do is suspicious to them.”

Bilbo hummed in agreement beside her. “It is a little difficult to integrate with the Company.”

“Oh Bilbo Baggins, Illyria Strange.” Gandalf looked at her and Bilbo, his eyes glimmering with a mix of sympathy and pride. “How you fail to recognise yourself with reasonable esteem perplexes me.” With that, he gave them a nod and glided off with no time for her nor Bilbo to respond.

It was her turn to give Bilbo a look, to which he shrugged and then snorted. Illyria couldn’t help but chuckle along and decided to guide them down to where the library was – hoping to catch Ori on the way down.

When she wasn’t doing various activities that either involved Nala, a sword or keeping the twins and the Durinsons from destroying the entire valley, Illyria did was she liked to do - which was go to the library and spend the entire time having her nose over a book and perhaps take a big sniff at it (not that sort of sniff; don’t do drugs, kids). If she had to guess, Illyria had once covered all the books in the library in Kamar-Taj and the New York Sanctum.

The ones that weren’t restricted to her specifically.

Before her dad became her dad, Illyria and Stephen Strange somehow bonded over books – always asking each other about spells and casting and other lore needed for their training. In fact, she was the one that managed to get through Uncle Wong’s graces ever since the old librarian got killed (unfortunately) and he took the position. During her dad’s training, Stephen got used to listening to her and asked how she could easily conjure Eldritch shields and portals at such an age.

Stephen’s stubbornness and Illyria’s willingness to be open and non-judgemental perhaps gave that spark for them.

It was why it was a comforting nostalgia when she, Ori and Bilbo are in the library together. Ori had yet to learn Sindarin so it’s been her translating some of the text for them but also Bilbo. Despite knowing Sindarin fluently, Bilbo had yet to master the written language. As for her, Illyria just wasn’t surprised anymore that she can easily read a written language she yet not encountered before.

And holy fuck, it was harder and prettier than she thought.

Whilst Ori and Bilbo were reading for their own pleasure and knowledge, Illyria was doing a little bit of digging. In particular, the history of the elves in Middle Earth and what had changed to make Elrond Peredhel, son of Elwing and Earendil, to be close kin to Glorfindel of Gondolin.

Her first assumption was to figure out the oldest history, but that came into an obstacle – also known as the head librarian in Elrond’s home. Erestor was (if she can put it in sensible words) the sort of elf that would want their tea at the exact temperature they would want to drink it. She’s not exactly insulting the elf for that analogy, though she had met a lot of people like himself who preferred to be with his own hobby than people.

However, their first introductions were not the thing she expected.

Erestor had almost frozen in his spot finding her in front of him, with a book in his left hand whilst another was sticking halfway out of the shelf. His eyes, icy blue, could match Central Park’s lake if it was frozen during the winter months if he actually blinked and spoke.

Illyria tried to ease the elf, smiling politely up to him, and asking where she could find some books about the Second Age of Middle Earth. It took some time for Erestor to process her request before assuring her that it was unfortunately unavailable and that most were being used by other elves under his tutelage.

Well, that wasn’t suspicious at all.

Instead, Illyria kindly thanked Erestor before he could return to his work – his actions rather robotic, whilst she walked away back to where Ori and Bilbo were sitting.

She huffed as she plopped down on the chair beside Bilbo, earning a concerned glance from the hobbit. “What is wrong, Illyria?"

Illyria looked around, darting across the aisles of books to see if anyone else was around. ‘I’m trying to find something about the history of the elves in the First Age, but the librarian says they’re unavailable.’ She slumped down on the desk, holding her head on top of her folded arms. Leaning across, she watched Ori copy several scriptures onto his own book. ‘I’m not saying that it’s suspicious, but it’s suspicious.’

“What about it?” Bilbo quietly asked her.

She decided not to say it aloud but did notice Ori pausing to eye them warily due to Bilbo’s unannounced words. Illyria nodded to the young dwarf and mentally said, ‘Don’t worry Ori, nothing bad. Just something me and Bilbo are talking about the other night.’

The dwarf slowly nodded but never took another second to pause and returned to his work.

“We weren’t talking about Elves in the First Age at all.” Bilbo furrowed his eyebrows before spotting the frustrated look she had. “Did something happen, Illyria?”

It was there she just blurted out, not even caring who else could sense her thoughts. She removed Ori from the picture and focused back on Bilbo’s mind. ‘When your mother came here when she was younger, did she know about Glorfindel being siblings with Elrond?’

‘Yes…’ He slowly replied, elaborating further for her: ‘My mother mentioned of it as that was very much the purpose of her trip to Rivendell. She had wanted to learn more about the elves, more importantly, Glorfindel’s sister.’

Illyria rotated her head sharply to look up at Bilbo with creased brows.

Did she hear that right?

‘Glorfindel has a sister?’ She gaped back. ‘Since when the fuck did this happen?’

As much as Bilbo was not pleased with her rude reaction, he was more caught in confusion as he stared at her.

“Was she not in your…”

Sitting straight back up, Illyria shook her head and explained further: ‘In my version, nothing was mentioned about siblings. And if his parents weren’t even mentioned let alone his date of birth.’

Her pondering led her to think about the elf lord in question. She read The Silmarillion before, though enough to know the main parts that occurred as well as the other smaller books referring to several tales, which involved The Fall of Gondolin. It had mentioned the Noldorin elf followed Turgon during the Exile of the Noldor, where they crossed the barren icy wastelands to then establish a hidden city which Ulmo led the former High King ruled. Nothing else was mentioned about what Glorfindel did or if he ever had any relationships. [5] [6]

Illyria backtracked through her thought process and came to remember what the Ancient One and the masters spoke of. How the Multiverse was extensive and was still growing; how one world could have multiple realities, all different no matter how similar you can believe it be. One small difference can alter the course of its future.

And this reality of this universe had already been affected by not only her but the birth of this new character.

This…well, she would have to technically call her ancient because she was. This elf would be over 6000 years old, and she would probably still look like a Vogue model. But besides the thought of a possible feminine sexy version of Glorfindel, Illyria was intrigued at the possibility of this universe itself.

If she fell into Middle Earth, it had been this one.

If so, why this universe with these changes?

The portal that brought her in was a haze. The longer she thought about it, the more Illyria realized her memory of fighting and landing on Middle Earth was getting harder to depict. Had she been dreaming about that as well?

There goes her brain again, being opened like a door and bulldozed by a truck. This was one of the reasons she hated being part of the Mystic Arts, and that was having to accept and understand that the world and reality around her were more than just the physical and material plane. She was brought up to accept that there are multiple possibilities, and therefore multiple consequences.

She was so invested in her head that she only heard Bilbo’s last parts, “…hearing how much you must know, but now-“

A heavy, and very unappealing, groan escaped her lips as she rubbed her face. ‘Yeah, it seems like everything in this world is a little different than what I intended.’ Illyria turned to him and smiled wryly. ‘Which isn’t entirely surprising.’

“How so?” Bilbo asked audibly, curious what she meant by that.

How was she going to explain this? She did not expect the hobbit to either understand quantum physics or the Mystic Arts.

‘Let’s just imagine another reality, where perhaps you didn’t join the Company or some other hobbit did.’ Illyria slowly explained, ‘There are many realities and many more worlds just like this.’

She watched Bilbo let the words seep in, his eyebrows and face scrunching to focus before he looked over at her with a side smile. “Then I am glad that you have stumbled in this one, Illyria.”

Something must have tied a knot around her heart because Illyria was almost eager to squeeze the hobbit and hug the daylights out of him. Of course, she wasn’t going to do it (or else Thorin won’t have his hobbit to hug with obviously) but felt herself smile in honour towards him.

Bilbo Baggins deserved someone. And she would do whatever she can to make sure this hobbit get’s his dwarf whether the two didn’t acknowledge it or not.

Though as her happiness subsided, Illyria frowned as she questioned, ‘Wait, you said ‘had’ a sister. Is she alive? What happened to her?’

Bilbo shook his head and flipped the page of the book. “I do not know.” He continued, “My mother’s research was rather cut short as well. It was said that when she was mentioned, there was a mixture of opinions of her. As well as wondering if she passed or she sailed.”

She wondered, ‘Why’s that?’ Illyria tapped her own quill on the parchment. She might as well start writing whatever Bilbo’s been writing. ‘Was she un-elfy or something? Or did she murder someone? Oh god, I hope not.’

It was a possibility. There was clear evidence that some elves turned bad over the years, depending on how you would see it on your side. Such as the Fëanorians and the Kingslaying. But if she continued throughout the rest of the ages, Illyria couldn’t imagine this elf surviving with the Ainur hating on any kinslaying elves. [7]

Bilbo shook his head furiously and crossed his arms. “N-no! Not in that way. Well from what the books and what my mother told me, she used to be loved by the Noldor elves and disliked by the Sindar.” He explained further, “There was an Ancient War in the First Age. They said she changed the course of the war but also were a part of the very reason it was much like it.”

‘Sounds like main character vibes.’ Illyria commented, and resumed. ‘And I know what you’re speaking of. The War of Wrath. It probably was the most horrific war, worse than what happened in the Second Age.’ [8]

He further explained his own side to her vocally, “Us hobbits did not exactly exist then. We did not enter history until what the elves and humans called the Third Age.” Bilbo inhaled sharply, “But all I know, I believe, is that her name was Elemmírë.”

As that name echoed into her ears, Illyria felt the room grow still and froze.

“Why are you still awake, my love?” The figure hovered behind her, leaning his head down close to her shoulder.

The other elf leaned back, sensing his back as she shut her eyes as a sigh left her lips. “I could not sleep; my mind has been too full for the past days.” Tears slowly fell over her cheeks as she leaned over the desk, tears staining the written pages of the book.

Kneeling beside her seat, the figure stared at the elleth, his hands entwining over her fingers. “Oh meleth nin, what is wrong?” He asked her, “Please, I cannot help you if you cannot tell me.”

The elven woman turned to him, tears continuing to litter her face. “I do not know if I can control it anymore.” She confessed. “Every day, I feel it growing. So fast that I am afraid it would hurt you and the children.”

“Oh meleth nin,” His eyes saddened, a hand wiping across her cheek as he spoke. “You can never hurt me, neither our children. Your power is a gift, not a curse, and that no one can be able to control it other than yourself.”

The elleth whispered, “Promise me, melmenya.” She pleaded to the ellon, “Carevamme cen an mime tulwië.” [9] [10]

He stared at her in dread, trying to search in her mind.

"Why?” He asked, “Meleth nin-“

“Promise me.” She spoke with utter pleading, with wide startling eyes.

Gulping, he lifted her hand – pressing his lips on the back of her hand before answering. “Antan vandaya, melmenya. Ni annetye mime quetta ar mime hon, Elemmírë.” [11]

“Illyria?”

Blinking away, she was thrown back again to the present – looking at the parchment and quill in front of her. Her heart was practically a drumkit after band practice, feeling it almost jump out of her chest if she didn’t snap herself out of it with Bilbo’s concerning voice.

Though once she unclenched her hands, she turned to the hobbit and asked, “What's wrong?”

“Your eyes.” A worried expression was plastered on Bilbo, reaching out to put his small palm over hers on the table. “It was as if your mind went elsewhere.”

The small action caused her to inhale, remembering that vision so vividly.

That hand…that kiss. It was so real. How their hand fitted well over each other. A hand that seemed familiar. When she hoped to see the figure’s face in front of her, all she saw was Ori who had stared at them with concern and his own worry.

Illyria shook her head, raking her hands over her hair in frustration. “Sorry, Bilbo. I was just thinking.” She knew that Bilbo wasn’t convinced of her answer, though allowed to let it slide as he let his hand return to the page of the book.

Ori, ever the sweet shy one, finally spoke up. “I’m glad you are both talking again.” He nervously chuckled, “Hearing Bilbo only speak is rather frightening.”

While she gave him an amused smile, it took Illyria a while to adjust before picking up the pen. Unsure what she had been taking notes about.

Though the memory of eyeing the blank parchment drew her back to the vision, imagining that navy-coloured bound book in front of her. The tears that would have made the ink run.

She lost most of her sleep again, believing that after that revelation it would give her some solitude. But instead: it had given her more questions based on the reality around her.

Almost a week had passed since their arrival to the valley. Illyria wasn’t sure exactly the time span of the Company’s stay at Imladris, though it would seem it was longer than expected. (Illyria wasn’t sure if it was because of her involvement with the elves and the quest or it was in course of the entire story and that the movie just cut a lot of the scenes. Though, she couldn’t blame Peter Jackson for skipping a lot of the scenes here; all the dwarves have done is bathe naked in a fountain and be jackasses the entire time.) [12]

She did what she could to get by, almost sensing that time was physically dragging on for the sake of her suffering. Even meditation couldn’t aid her and there was no chance that she could spend her time going through her own research when she didn’t have the right equipment. All she could do was read, babysit the troublemakers, and learn more about Westron.

And also dodge the very two elves she should be going for answers.

Yes: she had questions. But demanding who this elf who was either dead or sailed away was going to give her some weird looks. Illyria wasn’t going to make herself stand out any more than she already was.

Hoping that today was going to be another one without any elves in question, she just had to pass by the very one she didn’t want to see.

Lord Elrond was very much in his own thoughts as well, his eyes straight upwards to their direction he was going, though with a glossy look that Illyria knew well from many others. How someone’s mind can cloud their own actions always made her curious, and it shocked her as she sat on the balcony ledge – her phone in her hand – that he could easily still focus where he went despite his heavy thoughts. A quick glance at him caused him to snap his brain to her, and Illyria quickly flicked around and looked out into the city below.

The cliff that overlooked this balcony seemed pretty nice. She wondered how long it would take her to hit the ground and break her legs just to get out of here. Well, she could use her sling-ring instead to escape this impending conversation but alas she was too much of a decent human being to rudely break a spine (and literally too).

As she dangled her legs over the balcony, she heard his gentle steps fall into place next to her. When she glanced to her side: there she found Elrond – clearly distraught.

“Good day.” She greeted him.

“Good day, my lady-“ Elrond paused before he then corrected himself. “Illyria.”

Illyria kept her eyes out into the landscape, her expression grim as she said, “From your worried look and clouded mind: Thorin must have shown you the map last night?”

A large heavy sigh escaped from him. “Yes,” Elrond answered, annoyance in his tone. “And it took quite a while to discuss the matters of hand with Mithrandir afterwards of its purpose. Would you know about it?”

‘Don’t I know about it…’ Illyria huffed internally. ‘Oh boy, you have no idea how much shit’s gonna go down in a few months.’

Her eyes darted to him and gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry, not my right to say.” Illyria raised her eyebrows before sarcastically complaining, “Which has been spoken to me for the entirety of my time here in Middle Earth.”

There was a moment of silence between her and Elrond, both feeling empty and unsure what to say after that. Maybe she shouldn’t have continued; now it looked like it was all about her. Illyria rose her eyebrows again at this. She was the sort of anomaly in this world, and perhaps right now: the Valar was probably coming to pummel her ass with whatever powers they had for interrupting their little one hobbit show.

Until then, he spoke gravely, “I have not been truthful, if I may confess.” Elrond continued, “Mithrandir has told me your issue.”

Her eyes darted upwards, glancing at the elven lord. However, his own gaze seemed to focus on the view in front of them off the balcony. A panging feeling in her chest thrummed, uncertain where the heck it came from as she returned her eyes back front and chose her words carefully.

Illyria responded, “I see.” Another sigh filled the air, as she twirled the phone in her hand. A sickly feeling in her stomach beginning to form. She spoke, “He is telling the truth, and that I’m not from this world.”

“Where do you come from?” He questioned. Not in an interrogating way like those FBI shows she’s seen over and over again with Darcy (honestly, after five years with her they’ve practically watched every show on earth. Even the show Wanda Maximoff made) but perhaps in a curious tone. Like how someone would ask when they would meet someone in a café. [13]

Maybe during a date or something.

Illyria swiped those thoughts away before they could get somewhere.

She answered truthfully, “A place called Earth, neither top nor middle or bottom…Just Earth.”

His head now glanced down to her. Their eye instantly meeting simultaneously.

“How did you arrive here, then?” Elrond asked another question, his voice now more intrigued than curious.

In her head, Illyria was doing everything to stop her mouth from spitting every little detail at him. Her rational part of her head knew of this. It was already a great risk telling Bilbo everything about her and who she was. Telling somebody else that had greater power and hold to many things as well as being immortal was possibly the worst thing she could do.

However, her irrational heart almost caught her in a knot – whispering for her to at least say something back in a quip. “Well, that’s an entirely different story to tell.” Illyria smiled at him, and she watched him ponder at her answer for a second.

There is was, the glint of amusement in his eyes as he answered back: “I think I can spare some time to listen to your tale.”

Telling someone how you got here had to be the most relieving thing Illyria had done.

Forget about telling immortal beings that she was a PhD student accidentally getting caught in a fight against a rogue sorcerer, she felt like a whole weight left her shoulders. Elrond might not be a licensed doctor, but as someone who was a healer: he could get along with some therapy sessions.

And so, they talked. And talked. And…talked.

A range of different topics was connected by her own mind going off tangent whilst Elrond was quick at keeping up with her speed. She was surprised he took it all in well (or just hiding it well enough in his head not to question mentally what this weird human was talking about). There were questions on several parts, like what her subject was: what a school was and certain things that randomly popped out of her mouth.

She tried talking about Wi-Fi and the internet and that led to him almost having some breakdown. 

Illyria shouldn’t have talked about a virtual library of knowledge that can fit in one singular device to an elf that invested his entire life researching and learning. (She chuckled in amusement when she caught his eyes bulge at the phone in her hand, seeing the photo of Imladris pixelated). Imagine how he would react if she introduced to him Google. The half-elf won’t ever get off the internet any time soon. [14]

As much as she spoke about her life on Earth, Illyria was cautious to answer sensitive questions. She strayed far from anything to do with the Mystic Arts enough to keep him concentrated, her eyes always just slightly from his eyes – looking around his office as she noticed more books and scrolls lingering in bookshelves.

Illyria had some feeling that Elrond had known her activity down in the library after she budged about the history of the elves, asking if he had some books regarding Beleriand and the Noldor elves. [15]

And in his head, she saw a tiny crackle of fear in him. It was small, but she wasn’t easy so disregarding the details.

After she thanked him for the lunch and conversation, she left his office for him to continue with work with a shuddering sense expelling from her fingertips.

‘Something is definitely up with him, and you know it, Strange.’ Illyria told herself as she faced forwards and began to walk. ‘Or maybe you’re just being paranoid; or being awkward as always to anyone that gives your attention. You’ve never been good at these things.’

Illyria turned around the corner (corner? Well, more like a straight line but her head was kind of elsewhere) when she halted her steps.

Running towards her was the youngest Durinson.

And he seemed to be out of breath – and definitely not because of running. He caught her gaze, a slight expansion in his eyes before the dwarven boy before she raised an eyebrow and leaned his head to the side. He was staring at the double doors at the end of the corridor.

Kili took staggered breaths, calling out: “You were with Lord Elrond for a long time, what were you speaking about?”

How the fuc-

Okay, she was going to keep her cool down. She wasn’t going to throw herself into his bait like a flounder and easily fall into his mischievous grin that was beginning to form from in his mind.

Illyria coolly answered his question, “How I got here and where I was from.” A grin spread across her lips and she mentioned through his mind: ‘Did you know that this place has natural hot springs? That means there must be some volcano somewhere…Hey, where’s your brother?’

Expecting Fili to come rushing down came at a loss when she spotted a much taller figure skid up to Kili’s side – hair whipping around him as he was too focused on Kili and what was behind his back.

“I set the trap, Kili. Now we just have to wait for Fili, Estel and Dan’s-“ Elrohir froze, his eyes flashing in fear before nervously waving at her, “Hello…Lady Illyria.”

She looked at them, raising an eyebrow. “Uhuh…” Illyria folded her arms over and said blankly, ‘Hello, Elrohir. I hope you five aren’t causing that much trouble?’

“What do you mean? We have been the perfect guests, 'Lyria.” Kili spoke with an innocent tone.

Yep. Totally suspicious alright.

She snorted, “I will believe you when pigs fly.” Illyria then changed her tone and asked, “What were you doing?”

“What were you doing in my father’s study?” Elrohir gave a peering look and then whispered in her head, ‘I hope it was something appropriate.’

Illyria widened her eyes and she choked out, “Talking if you must know! And…no.” She shook her head before making a soured face. Her face must have looked like a tomato by then. “Not like that.”

The elf’s eyes were sparkling in amusement, answering through their mind. ‘I will not judge you, Lady Illyria. Father has been rather lonely the past half a century.’

After that comment, something must have died in her mouth and decided to stay there. Or maybe a Sour Patch Kid (she hated those as a child and pulled all desires in eating American candy for eternity). [16]

But yes: there was a moment where it was a mix of shock, horror and slight embarrassment (not that she was going to admit to anyone, heck no) before Illyria gave him an unamused expression.

She warned him with narrowed eyes. ‘If you and your brother try to act as wingmen, I will be the one trapping you in a box and sending you off to Mirkwood.’

“My lady, if my father heard you...” Elrohir chuckled, “Also, King Thranduil hates us. Hates us more after we became friends with Legolas.”

She muttered under her breath, “I can see why.”

“ELLADAN! ELROHIR! ESTEL!”

And at the roaring voice of the blonde elf, Illyria darted her eyes back at Elrohir with a questioning look.

The cheeky elf just simply smiled back before she then spotted three people running towards them. One had been the peredhel’s brother, the other being Fili. And to her surprise: Estel out of all people.

Now there’s five of them?

Well, what did she expected? Of course, if four of them banded together, the youngest was going to get pulled in like a puppet.

Elladan said in between breaths, “Brother, we escaped. But he is now after us!”

“Please can you use your magical portal!” Kili flicked to her and begged.

She made a cross with her hands and exclaimed, “Heck no! I’m not getting involved!” Illyria refused to be a part of their nefarious schemes and wasn’t going to give in no matter what. She was probably one of the strongest people in this city, both in this plane and the rest. Illyria Strange wasn’t going to care for five children.

All five of them gave her the biggest puppy eyes.

Damnit.

She exasperated aloud, “Argh, fine!” Illyria glared at all of them, making sure her annoyance will be the last thing they’ll see before turning up somewhere outside the city. “But you. You five owe me.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

All of them bowed their heads at her before she huffed.

The elf’s voice was getting louder as she created the golden portal through one of the walls. As she finished, the two elven twins pecked her cheeks whilst Kili and Fili bowed their heads before Estel waved back at her that sent her creeping a small smile at the little boy.

Just as the portal shut behind the five, she glanced over her shoulder to see a tall silhouette enter her eyesight.

Glorfindel demanded, “Where did they go?”

But she wasn’t exactly focusing on his question. More likely at what was right on top of his head.

Right before her: was an ancient Noldorin elf and a former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

And he was ginger.

Illyria stuttered as her hand rose, “My…word your hair is…”

Her sentence cut off as she immediately began laughing, clamping her mouth with her hand.

Holy shit. She had not seen something like this ever since Harley, Morgan and she decided to paint Tony’s prototype suit – the Mark LXXXIV – in bright neon pink one night. (She and Harley were on babysitting duty that evening, as Pepper was adamant to take Tony out of the garage for once and go on some date.) Tony turned up the morning after in his garage in shock to find that the 1980s neon theme just exploded in there.

But this and the fact that it was one of her favourite characters in the books who now was ginger – this beats all the pranks she had seen.

He exhaled a large breath and said in defeat, “Orange, yes. I know.” But he stiffened up and asked irritably, “Are you finished?”

Calming herself down, Illyria wiped an imaginary tear off her cheek before shaking her head. “If you’re looking for them, catching the five won’t solve your so-called…hair issue.” She waved a pointed finger at his hair and gestured for her to follow. “Come on, Weasley. I know how to sort this out.”

Another heavy sigh left his lips as he revealed, “Thank you, Illyria.” He turned his eyes to her, grumbling to himself. “If my guards see me with orange hair, they will not stop talking about it until the new year.”

The two of them had been sorting out his hair, trusting Illyria’s method as he kept himself sat down. His head was laying back down, hair sprawled in a large bowl of water whilst she sat by his side. They’ve been probably doing this in the past two hours or so after Glorfindel found her. She had dyed her hair once before despite Darcy’s refusal. Call it a teenage rebel phase she once had, probably after Darcy telling her that she couldn’t skip high school to go to university no matter if Tony Stark told you he could fund her tuition. (Which didn’t really work because the outcome was Illyria having silver hair and a letter to get into Culver University).

The first few rounds of dyeing her hair were a major flop, with parts of her hair being too silvery whilst the roots were still blonde. Illyria hadn’t dyed her hair past the age of entering university, choosing to keep her hair colour (and also the fact that student budgeting was a thing). But she learnt the technique of losing dye at a quicker rate.

Which slightly used some magic to speed the process.

What her dad won’t know won’t hurt him.

As she rinsed his hair, Illyria informed him of the outcome. “It’ll take some time, but I used a simple spell to not make it permanent.” She continued, “You’ll just have to keep washing it every so often.”

“If I get my hands at those twins…” He breathed into his nose, eyeing her upwards as he added: “You do not know how much trouble they are when they are here.”

Oh, she can imagine alright. It’s been almost a week of it.

“Do they often go out?” She asked him curiously. “Other than patrols and whatnot.”

“Yes, from time to time,” Glorfindel answered back, explaining further to her as to why the twins stayed. “Though ever since Estel arrived here, they have been here to aid Elrond to raise him.”

She felt herself let out a small smile, imagining the elven family do various activities around Imladris. Perhaps go down to the market or climb up to the waterfall. Maybe they taught Estel to spar together, deducing by how the young future king seemed to know the moves of his father’s fighting. “They are really good to Estel,” Her voice grew soft in wonder. “Lo-…Elrond must be proud of them.”

The elven lord’s eyes glistened over, remembering something as he replied. “Elrond has been always kind and considerate, taking in any of his brother’s descendants ever since Angmar…” His voice trailed off all of a sudden, with such widened eyes that she had to pause her hands.

She had seen similar expressions before, having to see it on herself and everyone else she loved after what happened last year. Illyria knew that no one in her world had come out of the snap as if nothing occurred to them. They all had five years to adjust to it; five years that she felt that she was dragging her own ass just to feel alive.

Illyria had also seen it in her guardian, who was always the bravest person she had known. Darcy Lewis had put a brave face for her ever since her dad dusted, and after she met her again after New Jersey: Illyria had seen her change. Moments where it was too quiet, sitting in front of the television in their part of the Sanctum: Darcy would stare at the TV like she was seeing something horrifying happening.

Truthfully, Illyria did not know what exactly happened to her and her father in the Hex. Maybe one day she would.

That was why she knew not to ponder on, noticing how the name Angmar almost brought him to harsh memories.

However, she couldn’t help but sense a familiar longing towards the blonde elf. Why can she sense the pain? His pain? She wasn’t there.

And her stupid mouth decided to blurt out the very thing she shouldn’t have said.

“Glorfindel, I heard about you.” Illyria continued, “Your story.”

Glorfindel tilted his head to his right and spoke. “…and?”

“Your sister.” Her voice grew tight, her mind trying to reel her back in, but her heart was not vibing for it. Damn her poor coordination. “What happened to her?” Illyria asked quietly.

Glorfindel stared at her, lips parted as he breathed: “I…”

“You don’t have to tell me.” She rushed out, blinking away her own trance before she murmured, “I know what it is like to lose someone.”

It was his turn to widen his eyes. Glorfindel questioned, “You have lost someone?”

She gulped, grinding her teeth slightly before nodding slowly. “A very good friend of mine.” Illyria quickly dodged any more elaboration as she apologised, “And I’m sorry…I just wanted to ask about her, but I can understand you don’t want to speak of it.”

Whilst she began drying his hair with a towel, she cast her spell in his hair and watched it turn a slight blonder shade.

He quickly replied, “No, no. It is just that: we were rather close.” Glorfindel’s voice cracked, her heart skipping as the blonde elf continued, “She was younger than me by a few hundred years. But without our parents, I raised her until she was grown.”

The sudden realisation hit her like a bullet train. Her heart plummeted.

She whispered under her breath as she stared back at him, who sat straight up next to her. “The big brother.” Illyria spoke, “You must miss her.”

Glorfindel simply looked at her, a blank look on his face before turning away to stare out of the window in the room. Maybe it was best not to go any further. She knew that if she asked more, she would feel more guilt than she had at the start.

The last thing he mentioned stuck to her head though, a sombre smile on his lips. “Despite her waiting for us across in Valinor, I know she is with family.” [17]

For the next few days, Illyria was on edge every moment she was alone.

All she could think about was Elemmírë, the mysterious elf that was related to Glorfindel and perhaps the very reason both Elrond and Glorfindel seemed to act up around her. Maybe perhaps she looked like her and that was why Glorfindel was rather emotional when he laid eyes upon her. But Elrond, it just made the matter more confounding and complicated – especially what was simmering underneath the layers of her heart.

She couldn’t lie to herself that she might have grown some liking to the Elven Lord, but Illyria knew it was wrong.

Her liking Elrond Peredhel that way was wrong. Way wrong on so many levels. And it didn’t help her own assurance after hearing what Elrohir said to her the other day. He was married for god's sake! With children no less! And his children were probably a hundred times older than her, with their adult lives.!

Argh, she really needed to kick something: but Glorfindel was too busy training the elven guard today. She was not going to the half-elf for company. Nada. Even if a small portion in her head told her that maybe there might be more she could get out of him…or get out of his office for instance.

Nope. She was not going down that road. The last she knew someone sneak into a place to look for information, she had caught Stephen Strange turning an apple back to its decaying core before rewinding time to return it to its life.

Well…it might be an idea later.

But not now, as she set her journey down to where Ori and Bilbo were working. She hadn’t seen Bilbo in the past few days, always leaving her with Ori to help with translations or doing her own notes to take back to Earth. She and Ori just agreed with the same assumption: that Bilbo was with a certain dwarf king doing some…extensive training.

Yeah, we’ll go with that.

She was carrying her staff along with her, tapping it on top of her boots as she sauntered along before she found a short figure sitting by the steps overlooking the front entrance. Once she noticed the familiar long dark hair wrapped with a hair tie and the dark grey tunic, Illyria tapped her staff onto the marble floor – catching his attention.

His head flickered towards her whilst she greeted, “Hey, Estel. What are you up to?” Illyria then stopped before correcting herself, “I mean, what are you doing today?”

To her prediction, Estel sighed in boredom. “Erestor’s busy with helping Father prepare, and both Elladan and Elrohir are on patrol this week.”

Illyria can tell from just inspecting his face that it was a normal occurrence. She guessed that some weeks he would both have the twins around to keep company, and some weeks where the twins would be busy. She wondered if there were other elven children in Imladris. And come to think of it, she realised she hardly heard or saw any.

She then spoke, “Well, since I’m free: want to join my company with Ori and Bilbo?” Illyria smiled encouragingly. “They’re going to help me with my Westron. And I’m certain you’re much better than me.”

Their entire day revolved about bringing Estel some happiness, allowing him to ask her questions about what’s it like being a sorcerer (if she was like Gandalf) and what kind of spells she could do. Bless that boy had the energy of an Xbox 360 controller, everlasting battery life that might as well run-in fuelling questions than food. [18]

She had Estel join her lessons in Westron. It was better having the kid around since she was the only one being grilled by Ori or Bilbo whenever she pronounced something wrong. Though after an hour of learning, Estel did begin getting a little impatient and kept staring out of the window from the library.

Illyria took her leave, taking Estel with her down to where the Company was training and hoped to see if Kili and Fili were available to occupy them. To her relief, they arrived on time just as the dwarves were finished training – catching the older dwarves’ suspicious eyes before she gave Balin a polite smile. The Durin boys greeted Estel with similar enthusiasm, patting his head (even if Estel was almost their height to her amusement) before greeting her.

Then came the fun part of the day, which she wasn’t sure she could consider ‘fun’: but was interesting.

Teaching them Tag was questionable. (Especially when one can escape up into the trees, two could tackle each other onto the ground or toss a pebble at their head, and one that can create portals: tag became a little wilder). But by the end, their cheeks were red out of exhaustion and laughter.

However, the fun could never last. Kili and Fili said their goodbyes to Estel as they headed off to where they camped whilst she led him down towards the house.

“I had a wonderful day, Lady Illyria. Thank you for letting me join you.” Estel spoke with pure delight and honesty in his voice.

Illyria glanced down at him with a fond smile and waved it off. “Oh don’t sweat it, Estel. It’s been fun having you around other than just Bilbo, Ori or the boys. And I know they don’t mind bringing you along on their little escapades.” She continued, “Just try not to dye anybody’s hair again please?”

Glorfindel had to go to training with ginger hair still; she wondered how that turned out.

“I promise, Lady Illyria,” Estel replied.

Illyria nodded, leading him down the path. “Good, because right now I think I took the wrong turn.” She turned around from the dead end, but then noticed her small companion frozen in his place. Illyria asked concernedly, “Are you alright Estel?”

Where they ended up appeared to be a little courtyard, with multiple bushes and trees surrounding them. And right at the opposite end of the entrance was a large stone block and a statue. When she got closer, she realised that it was a woman.

“Estel?” She echoed back.

He continued to walk towards the statue, looking up to face. “This is my mother’s grave,” Estel revealed.

She heard her heart drop, a pit of unease beginning to churn as she strode towards his side. Illyria breathed, “Oh, I’m so sorry Estel.” Her hand went over her face, rubbing her temples. “Gods, I feel like I’m intruding.”

He spun his head up to her, exclaiming: “No! Not at all.” Estel’s eyes then saddened, gulping. “It is just...It has only been several years since she passed away. Mother was sick when we got here. Father tried to treat her, but he said she was growing worse.”

Gilraen.

She remembered her name. The mother of Aragorn, who had brought him here to protect him from the darkness that was growing in Arnor. Ever since his true father, Arathorn, was killed as a child: he had been here ever since.

However, this wasn’t what the books said for her. Gilraen was supposed to be alive; she was supposed to have left to return to her people whilst keeping Aragorn here for safety. Here she was, now in the tomb in front of her.

Her heart tightened with pain, seeing Estel’s tears fill his cheeks as he looked down to his feet. Drawing herself down to her knees, she reached for his hand and turned him to her.

Estel then stared at her, saying with honesty. “I just miss her, Illyria.”

She brought her hands up to his face.

“Oh, Estel…” Illyria said sadly, carefully wiping the tears off his cheeks with her fingers. “I am deeply sorry for your loss. But remember, she is never gone. Not when you are still here, breathing the very air in this world. She would be happy that you are happy, that you are with a family that loves you and you love them back.”

His eyes turned back to her from the ground, curiously asking back: “Did you lose someone as well?”

It was her to finally reveal something she had yet told anyone in this. Far more in detail than she wanted.

Illyria hummed, “I did. Quite recent too.” She spoke, “He was like an uncle to me, to me and my friend. We used to create things together, discover things that we both loved. But I know, it is difficult to let go of someone.”

She gulped down the bile that went up to her throat, trying to find her voice again.

Clearing her voice, Illyria continued. “My first guardian once told my father, who then told me, that death is what gives life meaning. To know your days are numbered.” She looked at the side, imagining the Ancient One’s figure form in front of her. “At first, I believed it to think it was for her to say that she was grateful for the life, but in fact, she meant that we would never be ready for an end. We don’t like endings, do we?” She gave him a small smile.

Estel's hands fiddled with each other, twitching his lips. “I always feel sad about ending a book.”

Humming in agreement, she responded. “Me too. But I think what we can learn from that is we should cherish what we have now. To think of the present.” She continued, “Yes, there will be some days where it’s going to be hard, but I promise you: there will be light at the end. Could be a small flicker of a candle or the sun. But enough that shows you hope.”

“Like my name?” He gazed down at her, his eyes showing such pure openness and trust.

Illyria her heart skip, grinning back at him. “Exactly,” She whispered before standing up with the aid of her staff. Instead of keeping the sombre atmosphere, she decided to change the mood and encouraged the young future king back to the house. “Now, I think we should get some food. What do you think of more apple turnovers?”

That evening, Illyria was going to do the stupidest thing of all stupidity.

Even stupid might be an understatement because she clearly could have just done it all in the Astral plane. However, the only drawbacks in choosing the Astral form were trying to connect herself onto the material plane. She was not at that chapter yet in the book of the Astral Dimension to be able to touch things physically let alone allow herself to walk on the floor. (Also, Uncle Wong forbade her to extend her learning until she can complete most of the lessons for an apprentice to then integrate herself fully as a disciple rank.)

Hence why she was sneaking around the large home with the use of her sling-ring. Illyria checked all corridors, keeping her footsteps as light she could with her human feet (elf feet are still hard to comprehend according to laws of physics) whilst checking for any people. Once she knew it was empty during the late-night, Illyria set off towards the family wing.

She had to pat herself in the back for memorising Elrond’s office just to form a small portal in the darkest part of the room. With this, she looked for any signs of the half-elf and found the office to be empty. After closing the portal, she took a deep breath and conjured another.

The view of Elrond’s office appeared in front of her before Illyria stepped through with no hesitation.

Illyria muttered to herself, “This is totally breaking and entering but it’s fine.” She thinned her lips and shrugged. “Dad’s done it before, so.”

The golden portal disappeared behind her, allowing the silence to enter her ears as she walked around in awe.

The moonlight shone through the columns, creating an ambient atmosphere as she sauntered quickly to the bookshelves and began to search – anything to do with Elemmírë or the First Age.

‘Alright. So where would you hide all of the First Age history books?’ Illyria wondered, her hands trailing over the binds of the books as she skimmed read each front page. She realised that the books were sorted by subject, hinted by the first set of books she picked up before placing them back into their former spot.

Ten minutes in, she already growing rather frustrated. Nothing seemed to relate with the Noldor elf here – which could also imply how suspicious this was all. If the library was one of the largest on this continent, why the hell they didn’t have a famous elf recorded. The longer she processed this, the harder she frowned to herself.

By twenty minutes she was about to give up and return to her room but then eyed the dangerous area.

Elrond’s desk.

Illyria rose her eyebrows slightly before heading towards it swiftly. Guilt was growing in her body, but she threw it aside and told herself that it was for her own good. If he was hiding something from her, he would keep it somewhere safe.

Luckily, she had a knack for locks.

She went through the top of the desk first, which was neat piles of papers along with an inkpot and quill beside it. A candleholder was perched on the other side, the wick already halfway melted. Elrond must’ve been working late this evening, which was evident by all the papers. Illyria then rummaged through the drawers, opening the top one to find more papers and quills.

‘They need to start recycling these at this rate,’ Illyria quipped before shutting the drawing quietly and continued. When she tried to pull the knob on the bottom drawer, it had not budged an inch. Well, that’s a jackpot.

Illyria muttered a few words and smirked to hear the click of the lock. She pulled the drawer open and found herself looking at a book. She looked over to the door for a second before grabbing it, smooth leather over her fingertips, as she placed it down on the desk. It was there Illyria came to realise what it was.

It was the navy book from her dreams.

A sharp breath escaped her mouth. There goes her chance of believing her visions were just whack. Now it seemed to be real. Illyria opened the cover and read the title in the front.

To Elemmírë

From Elrond

Calanya

“Calanya…” She muttered to herself, “My…light.”

Illyria began to go through, reading the first excerpt. [19]

Hello, I am Elemmírë.

Elrond gifted this to me in hopes I can clear my thoughts. He said that writing my worries could ease my mind after a days-worth of work and training, which perhaps could be the best thing I ever was gifted other than obviously my children.

But alas, a mind like mine is rather unique than most. I have always been attuned to the Song around me, hearing the thoughts of minds like it was my second language. But now, I can read them now with no guilt of intruding.

Illyria flicked through the rest, skipping several excerpts before reaching the page that caused her to halt.

I am afraid.

For several weeks now, my powers have been uncontrollable. It feels as if in one moment I am burning like the sun, and the next I feel myself wading in darkness.

What is happening to me? I have always been able to control this. The light that no other Eldar has been given by the Valar. I wished now that I once spoke to Melian for advice, as now I am unsure of how to battle this. A war is brewing, and I am supposed to ride in a few days with my brother to give aid.

Arnor grows dark as the shadow from Angmar grows. I want to hope for a good outcome, for the people of Arnor to be safe. But for my own self? I do not know.

Not when I feel that my power may be my undoing. [20]

She flicked to the last used page, gasping under her breath as a separate piece of parchment caught her eyes.

She did not realise she had picked the book up in her hands, lips parted in utter shock.

It was a drawing of an elven woman.

An elven woman who looked exactly like her.

It was her. The same eyes, nose, and lips. How her smile was precisely tilted when she smiled in the mirror. The cheekbones and round jaw. Her hair was long and flowing, braided down like how Glorfindel wore his. Perched on her head was a silver, circlet: ornate and beautiful.

Suddenly, her hand grew weak under the book’s weight.

There was then a soft thud.

Her head rose upwards, her hand still on top of the drawing.

However, Illyria’s body grew cold as she found herself staring at grey eyes.

Elrond’s eyes.

And they were filled with anger.

“Put down the book.” He calmly ordered, his eyes never leaving hers as she faltered her movement.

Illyria opened her mouth, but all she said was a sound.

“I…” She clamped her mouth shut and gulped. She felt like she had been caught like a child after being caught red-handed at a place they should not be. Like how she wasn’t supposed to be here at all.

However, she could not leave his gaze – moving away from the desk as she stepped back with her hands at her side and lowered the book down.

Meanwhile, he edged closer towards her.

“What are you doing here, Illyria.” He asked her, his tone blank as he then glanced his eyes at the navy book on the desk.

His anger turned into dread.

It was her turn to flex her fingers, inhaling through her nostrils as she said with a bland tone. “I think we both have our questions, Elrond.”

The moment she caught his face once more, she was surprised to him relax before exhaling heavily with a grave voice. “I had hoped this would never have come. Not after only three weeks.”

Illyria raised her eyebrows and corrected, “Barely three weeks.” Her eyes darted back to the desk and the set of chairs surrounding it. Gesturing to the setup, Illyria stated. “So, let’s talk.”

“Very well.” He said in defeat, walking over to her as she waited behind the chair quietly.

Illyria hoped he would go around to his place but was confused as he passed and went over to one of the cabinets. Taking out several objects, she sat down without any concern for his sake.

He returned to his side of the desk, placing down a wine glass at her end.

She glanced up and peered at him, “Why are you giving me a glass?” Illyria asked but then saw the bottle. “Oh.”

Whilst he poured the red liquid into both glasses, Elrond commented. “You and I both know we will not be able to do this without wine.”

She grunted back, still a little stunned by Elrond’s chill attitude suddenly. One moment she could tell he was utterly pissed, the next he looked like a deflated sad balloon from a funfair. Whilst he took his sip of the wine, she cheered herself and took a sip.

Illyria choked on the wine. “This is horrid!” She cried, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

Elrond took another sip before he replied, “At least your tastes have not changed. Dorwinion wine, from The Woodland Realm.” He elaborated, swirling the liquid around his glass before putting it down. “King Thranduil sent this a century ago.”

Forget about it being from the Woodland Realm. Whatever this wine is: this was not wine. This was practically 100% alcohol. Her human liver would practically beg for mercy if she drank a ton of this.

But then Illyria remembered why they were drinking.

So, she took another sip. And then placed the glass down and pushed it away from her grasp. Illyria’s tongue was on fire, her throat burning more than any hot sauce she’d eaten.

Shaking her head, she held her hands up in surrender. “No thank you. I like my wine a little sweeter.” Drawing them back over to her lap, she glanced up to him and asked, “So, who’s going to start?”

Elrond was yet staring down at the book, entranced by the writings. After a while, he then took a larger gulp before pouring more wine into his glass.

She exhaled, “Me then, considering you’re still trying to put alcohol in your system.” Illyria then changed her tone, catching his attention. “Elemmírë, tell me about her.”

He cleared his throat, probably how dry that disgusting wine was. “All you must know is that she was an elf from Gondolin. Glorfindel was your…her brother.”

Elrond revealed, never leaving her eyes. “Majority of her childhood was in the hidden city, safe away from the enemy.”

Illyria finished, “Until it was betrayed.” She saw the curious looks from him before she then added, “I know the tale of The Fall of Gondolin.”

Elrond nodded carefully, understanding what she knew. What they both knew. She revealed to the half-elf the day their conversation commenced how their world existed in hers through stories and books, dictating certain stories that have yet been made. The elf quickly knew not to question any further, but it didn’t stop Elrond from being inquisitive about the future as well as her knowledge.

And from now, it would seem she should remember the past much more intimate than Illyria wanted. But how? Why her?

“You were there,” Elrond answered, a steady breath as he spoke. “It was always the thing that you spoke of when we first met.”

Illyria inhaled sharply back, pursing her lips as she stared down at the desk. She was trying to think as hard as she could, trying to find any memory of what he was speaking of, but nothing came. Why? Why couldn’t she think of her past?

Never has she encountered the chances of reincarnation. Yes, several religions mentioned this on Earth, but Illyria never witnessed it in the present.

“I don’t even know that.” Her voice cracked, continuing to question him. Her eyes began to sting as she kept speaking. “How is possible that I can remember a life that wasn’t even mine?”

Elrond inhaled, gazing away as if he was unsure himself. “I do not know.” He returned his face towards her, shutting the navy book close – afraid to see the drawing again. “But you bear her appearance, with the same voice despite the differing style of speech.”

He became quiet, like a whisper in the wind as his voice faded into silence. She could sense his eyes lingering on the front covers of the book – may be trying to remember the last time Elemmire once had it in her hands. Eyes that were filled with fondness, but also pain.

So much pain that Illyria was afraid that if she saw what was in his head, she would snap herself.

Illyria spoke, “She was something to you, wasn’t she?”

He paused, staring down at the book. All there was, was the sound of her breath growing shallower, nervously reaching her hand towards his.

And in a comforting way, Illyria took hold of his hand, her heart rate pacing.

What was she doing? It felt familiar to her, sensing her hand partially mould in his. But something foreign and distant drew her back to feeling unsure.

His eyes locked into hers as Illyria whispered, “Elrond, I need to know if I’m not going mad. And that this is all a dream.”

“I wish it was a dream.” He murmured at her, fingers curling around hers. “You do not understand how much you are in danger if you truly are her.”

“What do you mean?” Illyria questioned.

“You…you are my…”

Elrond never finished just as there was a knock at the door. They both noticed their hands intertwined and he gently let go, making her hand seem lonely to her thoughts. Illyria blinked her eyes, noticing how close her face and quickly leaned back in her chair. Her cheeks warm and hot. And it wasn’t because of the alcohol.

Speaking of alcohol, she took a quick sip from her glass before turning her head around.

“Enter,” Elrond called out.

Illyria adjusted herself in her seat before finding Glorfindel striding towards them.

Great, right on time. It wasn’t as if he had been interrupting anything.

And for her, she was impressed that Elrond immediately became composed. But from reading his stiffened posture and pink cheeks, Illyria and he both mutually agreed not to mention it to the blonde elf.

Speaking of the blonde elf, he seemed worried: eyeing the half-elven lord as he spoke, “Elrond, Illyria was not in…” He then noticed the other glass and the wine before looking down at her. “Oh.”

Illyria raised a brow and looked across to Elrond. “Oh indeed.”

Whilst that occurred, Elrond took another empty glass and poured it in half-full – placing it down in front of Glorfindel.

As the blonde elf took a second to process his thoughts, he glanced between Elrond and her before saying something. “I am clearly missing something here. And with the wine out, I think you have found out.” Taking a sip of wine, he made a grim look at the glass. “Thranduil’s taste needs some work.”

Alright, so this was the most awkward conversation Illyria had to sit in. And nothing can compare to when her dad had to explain to her about the birds and the bees. (Seriously, he was a former doctor and he was terrified of having to explain puberty to her.)

Illyria cut to the chase, letting him sit down beside her. “So… I am your sister.”

Glorfindel hardened his gaze, gulping: “I…I do not know how far Elrond has spoken about it, but by how I sense your fëa and your powers…”

He trailed off, looking across to Elrond before returning to her.

Glorfindel’s eyes prickled with tears, continuing. “But yes. I cannot lie about that.” He added, “The moment I met you, I knew you were my sister despite your second-born features.”

Illyria gave the elf an unimpressed look, rolling her eyes as she leaned back on her chair. “Wow, I feel loved already.” Her voice then broke back to seriousness. “So, we were talking about how this was possible.”

“You seem to agree rather freely,” Elrond observed.

She hesitated for a moment. A part of her was eager to let it slide, to make an excuse of believing everything that was happening right now. And the other, she wanted to explain to them what really was going on inside her head. If those visions truly linked to this elf. Why she can sense understanding around her. That there was more than just a link as she physically held Elrond’s hand.

Illyria could sense in all planes of this universe that she knew them. Not at Illyria, but as somebody else.

“…When I was a child. I’ve had visions. Things that I’ve never would think of. What a six-year-old kid would know about dragons burning lands and these large creatures, which I came to realise as orcs, shouldn’t be what a child should be dreaming about no matter how much they’ve been exposed to stories and movies.”

Illyria had her hands fiddle the hem of her robes, taking a shuddering breath.

“I hid them well, tried not to mention it when I was younger." She told them, "But my guardian always said I would wake up drenched in sweat, crying and screaming of names they assumed were from the books I’ve read.”

The two pondered for a while before Elrond softly questioned, “When did you begin to realize they were becoming true?”

Oh no. I don’t think they’ll like her answer.

“When Gandalf mentioned about the Silmarils.”

Both of their minds focused on the name with irritation.

Illyria raised her hands and added, “Hey! Don’t blame him. I think he didn’t see how much it affected me, but since coming here: I just haven’t been able to sleep at night.”

Elrond held his hand near his face and rubbed his temple. To be honest, if she were in his place, she would probably be having a headache over her story. “Perhaps it is possible for Elemmírë’s fëa beginning to resurface into your mind.” He thought aloud, “But that would mean that her fëa must have left the Halls.”

“That’s impossible, Elrond.” Glorfindel gave a narrowed glance at him. “All fëar after passing stays in the Halls until re-embodied. If Elemmírë would have returned, she would have come through to Círdan much as I did.” [21]

“Okay, hold up. First, drink.” Illyria took a sip, made the same horrible face, and then gulped it all down. God she needed more alcohol to discuss theoretical magic. “Second: so she died. And I can tell that you two don’t want to speak about it. Which I’m okay with, I understand what’s it like to talk about people you’re close to. But since she’s dead and she’s not in Valinor…”

“You were reborn somewhere else. Outside of Arda.” Elrond finished, his jaw tightening as he stared out of the window.

Glorfindel frowned his lips. “For the Race of Men is possible, but for the Eldar?” He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. “Elrond, you know that we are tied to Arda no matter what.”

That brought up a thought, remembering from the books that everyone here were tied by what Tolkien told as ‘The Fate of Arda’, which sounded ominous enough for her amusement. At least right now it didn’t appear to be a shock to her. But it did seem funny, making her snort.

“Nice to know I broke the laws of your world and left this world.” Illyria whistled, earning a blonde elf to roll his eyes at her. “Wow, I did not know I was a troublemaker.”

“It runs quite well in the family…” Glorfindel muttered.

Elrond sent him a sharp look and sighed. “It is a possibility. I am not someone who usually dwells in these waters.”

“Who would be?” She asked back.

Elrond answered, “The Lady Galadriel.” He continued, “You knew her before. And as she is arriving in a few days, perhaps she might answer our questions.”

Taking a short huff, Illyria stretched her back (damn this chair needed a better backrest) as she replied, “Right. Okay.” Her head then flicked back to them and gaped.

“Wait. The Lady of the Golden Wood.”

No words can describe how much excitement caused her heart to race. The Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, perhaps one of the most powerful elves known to Middle Earn. A.k.a the Lady of Light, Mistress of Magic and clearly the hottest woman to have ever graced the movie screen. Damn if she – Elemmírë – knew her before, she might just faint and lose her voice.

Yup, Illyria could fangirl right now if the two weren’t giving her amused smiles.

She shifted in her chair and asked, “Why are you looking at me?”

“Elemmírë would not be as enthusiastic as you are hearing of this news.” Glorfindel sipped his wine, grinning under the glass.

She blinked several times before nudging her head at them. “I’m guessing there’s a history behind this.”

“You have no idea, sister,” Glorfindel responded.

They continued their conversation for perhaps another hour in the night, the two elves answering her questions to and from each other. And as much as Illyria wanted to deny it, she started to feel relaxed and comforted by what they were talking about. What she used to be.

Or it was the alcohol again. Might be that.

Soon, all things must end and Glorfindel excused himself to rest.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, giving her a small smile before wishing her goodnight. He nodded back to Elrond and exited the office, which then left her and the half-elf standing facing each other. A stagnant silence beginning to form.

Illyria glanced back at the navy book, guilt residing in her chest. She glanced at him and said, “I am sorry. For that.”

Elrond shook his head, “I for one should be apologizing as well.” He gave her a small sad smile, her heart cracking. “None of us should have hidden our speculation, whether if you were Elemmírë or not.”

She took a deep breath. Illyria can see the reasons why they have hidden it as of now. They wanted her to feel welcomed, but also free with a choice. She was impressed that it took them almost three weeks to hide this all, to watch her walk around Imladris unaware that she once tread in these halls.

Even then, she knew it would take her time to adjust. Illyria needed to find a common ground between them. Not only realizing that she now had a sibling but something between her and Elrond.

In the dark pits of her heart, it tried to hint her to speculation.

However, Illyria shoved it aside. She wouldn’t come to that conclusion yet. It was too early.

Shaking her head, she answered back. “It’s not certain yet.” Illyria picked the navy book up, held it towards him. “And here. I’m sorry for intruding. This belongs to you.”

Elrond’s eyes softened, pressing his hand at the end of the book and gently moved it back to Illyria. “Keep it.” He insisted, “It is – was – yours to begin with.”

Slowly, she drew it back into her hand, carefully opening the page where the drawing was. When her eyes darted to the scripture, she noticed something familiar.

The ink mid-sentence was running down as she noticed the tiny splotches on the page.

Tear stains.

“Illyria?”

Glancing upwards, she closed the book shut and held it over her chest.

Illyria gave Elrond one last gaze and said, “I should go.” She nodded with a small smile. “Thank you again.”

Chapter Text

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Location: Imladris, Middle Earth

Time: May 2941 T.A

He was not up for today.

In fact, it was the worst time for them to arrive today.

Elrond had slept through the alcohol with a minor headache despite the strength of Thranduil’s concoction. If he was this much in a mood this morning, he was afraid of how groggy and moody Illyria Strange was. The race of men were not ones with the strength of alcohol, often getting drunk faster than any other species in Middle Earth.

So yes, he expected her not to arrive at breakfast this time – with only Glorfindel and Erestor as his company whilst Lindir bustled about to prepare for the arrivals of the Lady of the Golden Wood. Though not only just the fair elven lady of Lothlorien but also the White Wizard, Saruman. His dear friend Círdan could not make it in time for the note to call in the members of the White Council had been rushed, all because of Mithrandir’s message. [1]

He couldn’t deny that he was suspicious, and also paranoid at the Ithron’s call. After what Thorin Oakenshield showed him, and now waiting for the right moon to show the map’s secrets to them: Elrond was highly suspicious. Even more so, that the truth of Illyria Strange possibly being Elemmírë of Gondolin was now in part.

Oh, he totally messed up last night. A hundred and ten per cent. And now Illyria Strange was now edging closer and closer to the truth at the fastest rate as possible.

So went his plan to ease her back into their lives. Now it would seem it would make her push away if word got around that he knew her closer than just a close friend to her and Glorfindel. He wanted her to start remembering slowly, let her remind her of the feelings of what it was like to be around elves: to allow her to adjust.

In a way, his supposed plan was to also ease him into the new character of Illyria. Illyria Strange: the sorceress of a world that was far more advanced than theirs, where no elf walked their own world but only humans themselves. (She mentioned several characters that questioned him, such as a talking raccoon and unknown gods from other planets but he brushed it aside to file it in his mind and speak of it later). Not only she was a sorceress, but she was a sort of scholar: conducting her own research about the stars and the planets in the skies.

How such impossible things Elrond once believed: could actually be truly possible in his world?

It was as if his mind had widened again, seeing another side that he had yet seen. The elves who once dwelt in Aman during the Years of the Trees always said that seeing the trees and their light almost opened their mind and fëa in some way – broadening their possibilities and emotions. Like the elves, Illyria Strange spoke of her time learning magic since birth much like that.

When she spoke, Illyria had the emotion of wonder and passion: speaking about her family and her work and magic. There were moments she would hesitate, choosing her words carefully as she changed the subject from her family members to something of another memory.

For him, it had mended some part of Elrond’s heart. To see the light in her eyes, with no pain or horror in them. Despite knowing Elemmírë for over three ages, it was difficult to spot this in her. Yes, there were moments that she would burst into utter happiness or to a small tint. But time and war had made Elemmírë choose when to shine her light to.

Unlike her, who didn’t know how much joy and power she brought even just at her presence.

One thing he did worry about was the other light that would arrive in just a couple of hours.

As he wandered his office just an hour before the expected arrival, he stopped to look at the pendant placed on the desk. Elrond carefully picked it up and inspected its features and let himself smile at the fond memory of it. He was surprised Illyria didn’t spot it hidden under the drawer along with her journal. There were more things which Elemmírë kept after her passing, though now they were secured down by the inner atrium, placed in front of her statue which he commissioned. That comprised of her sword and armour, untouched by time and kept new in his request.

They both gave a promise to each other many ages ago. He would follow on with it no matter what.

Lady Galadriel arrived at the front courtyard along with her own guard. The familiar banners of Lothlorien billowed in the gentle breeze as he stood at the top of the staircase with his head held high. Beside him was Lindir and Erestor, both fixated at their spot as he headed down the steps to greet the Lady of the Wood.

He was met by the lady herself, her flowing platinum hair flowing down her back in tresses of waves. Her light still shone as bright as before, with an air of mystery and power that only some may go up against.

Some would include Elemmírë. And by how he knew Illyria’s character by now, it would seem it will go down that path.

Elrond did what he could to put the worry aside, welcoming Lady Galadriel to Imladris before escorting her up to the house. Lindir followed suit to instruct the other guests with their horses whilst Erestor hurried beside him to prepare for luncheon with their new guests. He had hoped to ask Lady Galadriel to have a word with him in his study afterwards, deciding by both him, Glorfindel and Illyria that it would be best for her to meet the Lady of the Wood.

And from Galadriel’s gazes at lunch, and how Estel continued to speak about what his son and Illyria have been doing the past few days: Elrond could not keep it hidden. Not under the guise of Galadriel especially.

He hoped this will turn out right.

Or else, he might as well have the house burn due to a bunch of dwarves.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

She hated hangovers. God, she regretted drinking that glass of wine.

If she went back to Earth, she was going to bring a bunch of alcoholic beverages for Elrond and Glorfindel to try. Maybe tequila, or perhaps gin and tonic. She’ll definitely bring some vodka; nothing can go wrong with some good old Russian water to down after being told she was a reincarnated elf.

Thinking of reincarnated elves, or whoever she was, she had not looked at the book (or now journal since it was hers, to begin with) since last night. Illyria wasn’t sparing any more sudden visions during the day since her head really needed a self-quarantine before getting into the nitty-gritty bits of her past. Plus, the temptation to want to know was rather stable, especially when she was not in the mood for dwarves today and decided to hide up near the waterfall to meditate for the entire morning.

Her luck came to her since she didn’t have to bump into anyone this time around. She heard from several elves that Lady Galadriel was arriving in a few hours, and from what Glorfindel and Elrond said: they hoped to have a hearing from her.

From them, it seemed she had something of a history with her.

Illyria sat down on the hard ground, hearing the rushing waters behind her as she looked at the valley down below. It will be one more day here until she knew she needed to leave with the Company once more. But a reminder prevented her from pursuing this.

And that was the White Council.

(Why was it called the White Council? Was it because white was good? That might have some questions if this existed in 21^st Century Earth.)

That was one thing she did not tell Elrond about, knowing well that he would probably drag her along for the sake of her own knowledge. (Or maybe push her away, either way: anything Elrond suggests tended to be good 99% of the time.) But Illyria knew that if she went there, she would be risking herself in being in the same room as Saruman the White.

Ah, Saruman the White.

Not one of her favourite wizards. Even the blue wizards might run as third place.

Also known as that traitorous Istar motherfucker that betrayed not only the Valar but Middle Earth as a whole. [2]

Just because Sauron gave him a better deal at the auction of ruling an entire continent someday doesn’t mean you’re doing something right. As Darcy once said to her, coupons aren’t always the most practical thing to pay less. Not that Sauron gave Saruman some coupons. Maybe a gift card or something. He might be a gift card sort of person; how would she know?

Anyways, Illyria meditated.

She meditated for gosh knows how long until she sensed a mind approach her from the steps. As she opened her eyes, she floated her body down to the ground before standing up – glancing over to a shocked Bilbo Baggins with his mouth open. Bless him, he should probably close his mouth before he catches a fly.

“My word you are floating. How can you do that?” The hobbit gaped at her.

Illyria wanted to say that it was just special effects but that might just end Bilbo Baggins.

Picking up her staff, she stretched her arms out and yawned. “A lot of practice.” She greeted him, “I’m surprised you found me.”

“I went to knock on your door, but you weren’t there. I asked Miriel and she said you either went to Nala or up here,” He answered. “And by Yavanna you don’t look so good.”

Illyria snorted, “That’s what being hungover gets you.” She slid down to the edge of the cliff, sitting as her legs dangled out and then patted the empty spot next to her.

With carefulness, Bilbo sat down beside her and questioned, “Why were you drinking last night?”

“To drown my problems,” Illyria responded.

He asked, “And with who?”

“My problems.”

“Illyria.” Bilbo frowned, unamused by her joke. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

A snort came from her nose as she yawned, “It’s true. No cap, no lie.” Illyria sighed and leaned back with her arms at her side. “I just had some lovely revelations which I’m going to have to approach Gandalf with. Unfortunately, the Valar might strike down at me if I decide to go and hunt Gandalf down for lying to me.”

Her eyes glanced upwards to the sky, imagining some godly figure wearing a white toga and laurel crown on their brow carrying an animated lightning bolt – tossing it at her like some lasso as they burnt her into toast. Not exactly the right depiction of what she imagined the Valar or even Zeus, but the symbolism was spot on. They will definitely go and rip her insides apart if Gandalf didn’t do it first.

It was his fault anyway! The sneaky wizard-boi thought hiding about who she was could make things smoother for her, now she was trying her best to expel every inch of her mismanaged anger and betrayal in the form of sarcasm. (To be honest, it had been much like this since she and Darcy met so it was not a surprise.) It wasn’t because of him hiding it, it was mostly the fact that she had high expectation from him.

She blamed his grandpa façade.

But then again, most of the masters in Kamar-Taj were secretly gossipers.

“With what?” Bilbo echoed back.

She slumped her back to the ground with a thud. “The truth.” Her free hand slapped her forehead as she closed her eyes and groaned, “I wish Darcy was here, or Uncle Wong or Tony or Harley. They would know what to do.”

There, she felt the homesickness appear. Well, it had been almost two months since she arrived in Middle Earth. An ordinary human would have already had a panic attack after a few days, depending on how their tolerance is to new environments. Most people tended to group around those that were familiar with what they initially were accustomed to but living in Nepal in a magical sanctuary had brought immunity to Illyria.

Even then, it did not mean she missed Earth. She missed her family. Her own family, not Elemmírë’s. Glorfindel was…well he was Glorfindel. But even from her faint memories, it felt that she could not depict any proper moments that truly showed he was her brother – only the faint feeling when she spoke or was around him. Heck, she didn’t even know his favourite colour, but she suspected it was probably blue or gold.

And not because Erestor wore the same colour.

Yeah, she needed to find the time to question her new brother’s way in pining for crushes. Because pestering Elrond’s advisor and librarian when he should be out training doesn’t count.

Was she comparing Imladris to a high school drama show?

If she was, Illyria hoped it was High School Musical. [3]

Illyria opened her eyes and squinted her eyes from the sunlight, staring upwards. “Bilbo, do you think it’s possible?” She wondered.

“What?” He asked.

She murmured, “To remember your past life?”

Bilbo gave a sidelong glance at her and began, “Well…” However, he had stopped for some reason and looked to his right.

Illyria felt another mind in their presence and rose from her spot, standing up with her staff in her hand. When she was done dusting her robes, she was met by an elf in his usual guard uniform.

Bowing, the elf informed her: “Lady Illyria, Lord Elrond asks for your presence.”

Illyria’s eyes lit up and smiled with thanks to the elf. On the other hand, Bilbo waved her off, deciding to give himself some more time to himself. Don’t we all love some self-care? So, she wished Bilbo a good and mentioned, “Make sure the boys aren’t causing any trouble. If so, probably tell Thorin or Lindir.”

After she arrived back at the house, she placed her staff back into her dimension pocket and wiped her boots and robes from any remnants of dirt, grass, and dust. She was going to go meet the Lady of the Golden Wood; Illyria had to look her best. It wasn’t really helping when she looked much like an extra from Walking Dead, dark circles marking her lack of sleep and tired body. Meditation can only give her much to physically appear alive.

As she braided her hair on the way to his office, Illyria mentally prepared herself for what was to come. She hoped it would turn out well. With what the two elves told her; she was beginning to become nervous. She hadn’t been this nervous ever since presenting her dissertation. That involved too many mints and not enough flashcards to hide her face behind.

‘Okay, chillax Strange.’ She said to herself. ‘You’re the daughter of the Sorcerer Supreme, a sorceress herself and a total badass. You can do this.’ Her hand went to knock on the door three times before she heard his voice order her to enter.

When she peered her eyes in front of her, she gulped down the nerves and looked around the room. She carefully shut the door behind her, before walking over to the three figures.

“You asked for me, Elrond,” Illyria said aloud before her eyes fell before him.

She can sense Glorfindel standing just a few feet on her left, leaning against the columns whilst the new mind almost rocked her from her feet.

Standing right next to Elrond was perhaps the brightest elf she had seen. And she wasn’t exaggerating this at all. Most of the elves glowed, with the brighter ones being Glorfindel and Elrond. But this elf: she was a beacon.

Elrond gestured to the platinum-haired lady who now stared at her shock. He said, “Illyria, may I introduce to you Lady Galadriel.”

Illyria stared at the elven woman, suddenly feeling her head grow dizzy.

“…Elemmírë.” She breathed a tone that lined with disbelief.

Out of nowhere, Illyria echoed back. “Artanis.”

And then her vision turned white.

The couple approached the end of the grand hall in which several chairs were perched, enclaved around. In the centre was a grand chair, a throne, with whom a figure of dark black hair sat – a golden crown upon his brow – head held up high like any leader should do. He was adorned in robes of royal blue, the colours of the Noldorin kings of the past.

Sat next to his side was his confidant and friend, the young son of Eärendil and Elwing, with his own stature brought by wisdom at such a young age. He wore similar colours to his king, instead, he wore a silver circlet contrasted by his own dark hair and reflected the steely gaze of his grey eyes.

Both shared their solemn expressions, greeting the two who approached – with one radiating more than the other. The one that was known as the Lady of Light, once an apprentice of Melian the Maia of Doriath. Her hair was exactly like the stories told them of, neither one colour of blonde nor silver but of both, depending on how the light caught its reflection through her hair. But it was not only her hair that glowed but her face. There was power and radiance, a beauty that can’t be comprehended other than of Lúthien herself. [4] The air that once was calm was now brought with utter light and peace.

Besides the Lady of Light was the Fief of Harlindon, a Sindar elf who carried his own authority and wisdom in his person. His own silver hair was simply braided, straight down and neat as his own green robes which were lined in soft white fur. Though unlike his wife, he was cautious and attentive at the hosts in front of them, his eyes wandering over to elf sat on the other side of the High King of the Noldor. 

Some might say that it was the Lady of Light that brought a magical aura in the great hall, but nothing could be said more than the Lady of the Golden Flower.

The Eternal, a name that has been whispered throughout the lands of Middle Earth after the end of the great war. When one’s eyes looked at her, she appeared to look simple, perhaps far out of place. Her blonde hair braided tightly back, keeping her face and ears shown. Her robes were a mix of blues and dark reds, paired to anyone’s shock with brown boots unlike the other elven advisors around them. Covering her hands were a pair of dark navy gloves, hiding her callous hands as they were perched upon her lap.

However, whilst the Lady of Light’s presence brought peace in the atmosphere, The Eternal brought power. Raw and natural power that unnerved those that didn’t dwell in her presence. Her beauty was brought was an ethereal explosion, bringing joy but also fear to those in front.

And it was why both the Lady of Light and The Eternal felt the song grow unhinged; a discordance in the planes of physical and astral as their powers first met and treaded into uncharted waters. Whilst the Lady of Light’s flame burned softly like a star, The Eternal’s was like a sun, shining upon the darkest skies as she merely sat there, an ever-growing discomfort.

“Welcome, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.” The High King greeted them. “It has been some time that we have met.”

Lord Celeborn placed his hand over his heart and nodded his head. “We thank you for your welcome, Gil-Galad.” He continued, “My Lady and I hope to discuss with you some terms.”

Ereinion Gil-Galad held his arm in a gesture. “Speak, my friend. What of your wishes.”

“It has come to our knowledge that my people now seek for our own place,” Lord Celeborn began. “Many years have we settled here in the far West of Middle Earth, dwelling amongst your kin. However, wariness and unsettlement have been lingering in our people. We believe it is our time to move on, to bring my people to their own lands.”

A sense of mixed shock and dread crawled around the room, with many faces growing nervous whilst others stared at the Sindar elf with simmering anger.

Whereas for the High King, Gil-Galad sat with his jaw tight. Composed as he was taught to be, he answered back with preparedness: “Forgive me that I have yet to understand your inquiry, but our people have been in peace for many decades now. Lindon has prospered due to the unification of our peoples.” He stared at the Sindar elf and continued, “We cannot be divided when our population is low.”

“We will not be divided,” Lord Celeborn firmly spoke. “Our people will still be linked through many aspects, such as the case of the secondborn in Númenor as well as those that are of Oropher’s people.” [5]

Gil-Galad frowned at the mention of the former Sindar King. Oropher had once dwelt in Lindon for many years, recovering from the great war. And despite it all, and the proposition both he, Círdan and Celeborn made: the Sindar King declined all chances of uniting the races. There was no love for the Sindar to the Noldor, all because of one house that brought it all down.

“I cannot confirm now your request, Lord Celeborn,” Gil-Galad answered. “Our people are still shaken since the downfall of Beleriand and the War.”

Lord Celeborn’s rage was growing, hidden by his own discipline. “And what of Celebrimbor. He was allowed to establish his hold in Eriador.” [6]

The name strung a chord to the Lady of Light. She had not yet heard from her half-cousin in many years, often strayed due to the stigma around their own family. Which as a result, brought her to feel remorse to the young elf in the line of Fëanor.

Another in the room had also mixed feelings, specifically The Eternal who sat in guilt by Gil-Galad’s side. She had once known the older elven lord during his time in Gondolin, often discovering her joy in conversing with Telperinquar as he tinkered and created. Their friendship grew onwards, with the latter expressing his love to her whilst The Eternal herself only loved him as much as any of their kin would.

The two elven ladies stayed silent as the son of Eärendil and Elwing mediated the subject. “Celebrimbor was given time and arrangement to move his guild to Eregion during the entire course. We were not able to establish much since his decision therefore had no time to set any negotiations.”

Lord Celeborn spoke flatly, “Tell me, King Gil-Galad. You set yourself to protect and serve your people.” His eyes then darted to the lady on the High King’s side. “And yet you allow those whose pasts that are tainted by red to sit amongst your guarded side. I must say you have no shame.”

The room went dead silent, all eyes flowing in the direction of the blonde elven woman. Her face gone cold, frozen at her spot as she stared at both Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.

To her luck, Gil-Galad cleared his throat and answered for her: “Lady Elemmírë has earned her place as my advisor during the last years of the war. Her knowledge and advice are extensive, having been brought up in part of former King Turgon’s court, the former High King of our people.” He continued, “She has only been a value to the people of Lindon as well as a key ambassador to both Eregion and Númenor .” [7][8]

Lord Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, “And also to the dwarves.” He said with disgust, “Or have you not all forgotten that not only she has allied with dwarves but also the Feanorians as well?”

The High King was starting to become impatient, unpleased by Lord Celeborn’s change of subject. “Lady Elemmírë was held hostage under the Feanorians after the Sack of Sirion. She was their hostage for many years until she came to escort the sons of Eärendil and Elwing to me.” He corrected, “I believe it is not correct to speak of her when our subject involves your people, Lord Celeborn.” [9]

They expected for the Sindar elf to retaliate, but in fact, it was the Lady of Light next to her who stood forward and gazed her eyes at The Eternal.

“But you were not, weren’t you Lady Elemmírë.” Lady Galadriel imposed. “Neither Lord Elrond nor Lady Elemmírë was entirely against their will under the Feanorians. In fact, I believe that it was what drove their plan to rescue you, am I correct, Lady Elemmírë and Lord Elrond?”

The Eternal curled her fingers into a ball, trying to sense some serenity in her breaths. She could sense Elrond’s eyes looking back at her, silently pleading in his head for her not to speak out of turn. He was always the best mediator between him and Elros, the negotiator. She had always thanked him for keeping her emotions at bay, letting her choose to relax than lash out like a burst of light.

But as the words processed into her head, she could feel the heat in her chest warm up. Anger that was never brought unless something like this would trigger it like a switch. Much like the former Lord of Gondolin, Elemmírë matched the temper of her brother’s: sourced by long periods of calmness before a raging blaze would burst.

No one truly knew what occurred between her and the two eldest sons of Fëanor, often running around in rumours of their hostage. And how the cause of her choice to not bond with an elf was due to a possible defilement from them. That was plain bullshit, and it upset her and angered Elrond and Elros that their kind would think of their dearest friend like that.

But in a way, perhaps not revealing the truth of what occurred between her, the twins and the Feanorians was the cause of the stigma. Her defending them in front of not only her people but also Eärendil and Eönwë themselves who only thought of the twins and her to have been taken against their own will. She tried her best to prove that they have changed, along with Elrond and Elros help (and Elros’ hooked fist) that Maedhros and Maglor had changed.

However, it all fell apart once the Silmarils returned.

Elemmírë couldn’t deny it. She was hurt ever since their demise, with them unsure whether Maglor was truly gone or hiding. Whereas Elros felt betrayed, the latter peredhel twin somehow knew it would come.

How Galadriel asked her of her friendship had struck something, something familial. She wanted to defend them again. She would not hide any more of her guilt.

The Eternal exhaled and finally spoke, “Yes, Lady Galadriel. I am, was, friends with the Feanorians.” She continued, bright blue eyes shining down at her. “But despite what you think why I hide it; I have no shame that I willingly followed them. You may never know why, and that will be something that you would both need to understand on your own.”

Lady Galadriel never responded vocally but through her mind. ‘Your choice will be your doom, Lady Elemmírë.’ She warned, ‘Much like what doomed of both Maedhros and Maglor.’

As her anger return, she hissed back. ‘Do not speak of their name, Artanis!’ Elemmírë said, ‘You have no right to speak of them!’

‘They burnt my home, killed our people.’ Galadriel’s tone was hinted in deep hatred despite how calm she was. ‘How can one saviour follow the likes of kinslayers?’

Elemmírë took a moment to stare at her. Many elves have spoken highly of the Apprentice of Melian and yet meeting her, she came to realise that the Lady of Light was not exactly how she expected to become acquainted too.

Ambition, that was what Elemmírë saw in her. She could see how much she wanted the room to lock eyes on her, to make her feel that she was the jewel in the room. But she also wanted to give compassion, to make those wield at her feet for her goodness and strength.

But she also saw innocence and naivety. Despite being older than her, Galadriel had yet to know the darkest depths of evil. To have evil breathing down her neck as their fingers crawled over her body. How the agony and pain brought when watching those she loved to be stained in red. The light in their eyes fading away until it was just an empty shell.

Elemmírë had touched death.

That is why Elemmírë could not feel the entire hatred or jealousy. It was sympathy that brought her to the realisation that Galadriel was lucky not to have participated in much of the war.

She thought back to her, ‘Then you do not know how it feels like to live through war then. What it feels to feel utterly lost in the dark.’ Elemmírë murmured, ‘What pure darkness can feel, and that hope was so thin.’

Galadriel took a moment to seep the words through her mind, a sense of common ground between the two. ‘No, I do not.’ She admitted, which surprised her. ‘And I hope to not succumb to the darkness.’

Quirking her lips, Elemmírë thought. ‘We have both yet to learn.’

‘Indeed, we do.’ Galadriel returned the small smile.

However, both could see in their eyes that their small truce would not be their last.

Illyria swayed side to side as her head grew heavy. She could have toppled over to the ground if both two pairs of arms stabilised her and slowly guided her towards the uncomfortable chair she sat on last night.

Glorfindel said, “Sit down, sister.” He hovered towards the desk in front, pouring a glass of water into a metal cup before holding it towards her hand. “Here, this might help.”

She took it with a meagre hand, her limbs slowly returning to their senses. Damn, that vision would have to be the most vivid of them all. Though, it felt odd considering how she wasn’t sure if she was seeing it in the eyes of her previous life or like some panning camera in the room.

But she felt everything. To the very smell of the room to the sonorous sound of Gil-Galad’s voice that still echoed in her ears. Even the feeling of her elven robes and the twitching of her ears. Pointy ear if she may also add. She could also sense the magical auras in the room, the odd sensation as it flowed like waves in the sea. In Illyria’s best summary possible: it was very fucking weird.

As she finished with her drink, she leaned forwards to put it down and looked over to Glorfindel. “Thanks,” Her hand went to massage the front of her face, squinting as she relaxed her mind. “If my memories are coming back like this, I might have to put a rain check on it.”

Whilst she brought her head back up to face Elrond and Galadriel, the half-elven Lord spoke, “You remember Lady Galadriel. You know her name.”

Illyria looked at Lady Galadriel. Artanis. That was her name before coming to Middle Earth before they had all crossed. But how can she remember that name? And why did she feel like she wanted to suddenly leave the room? So many bits left in her memory, vast gaps she knew that won’t ever return sooner than she needed. But wanted, probably so.

Because her heart rate was dangerously high.

She blankly answered, “I strangely remember that you threatened me for something.” Illyria shrugged her shoulders and gazed at her, “I don’t know what, but I was very angry. Why?”

From Elrond’s mind loudly sighing at her behaviour, he kept himself composed and reassured Galadriel, “My lady, Illyria is who you believe it may be.” He paused, “We believe it is possible of her to be Elemmírë.”

Galadriel never left her face, continuously staring at her like she was seeing a statue that Illyria was possibly wondering if elves could blink. “Yes. Your body is human, but your soul: it is Elemmírë.” She spoke confidently, frowning. “But it should not possible. All fëa are reborn in their previous bodies in Aman. Your fëa must have escaped or passed on as the race of men.”

For some reason, Illyria didn’t think she was saying everything. Maybe it was Elemmírë’s emotions coming through her, but even then – she can sense something prodding in the back of her head.

Wait, was Galadriel trying to read her mind?

Aw hell no.

“The Valar would not allow that, though. Surely not.” Glorfindel frowned at this as well, seeming more worried now as from last night.

The trio was hiding something from her. They were repeating the same things and yet they were running around in circles. So, she did what she could and allowed Galadriel to connect her mind to hers.

Illyria tuned off both Glorfindel and Elrond, focusing her mind to connect to the Lady of Light.

‘Tell me the truth.’ She stated out to her.

Lady Galadriel asked back, ‘And why do you believe I do?’

Nudging her head at the two people out of the conversation (who looked entirely offended because of it), Illyria answered. ‘Because one: you are wiser and smarter than these two. And two: if I had something against you it means I can trust your judgement.’

‘Not all questions can be brought to a simple answer, Elemmírë.’ Galadriel told her truthfully. ‘It is why you have always puzzled our kind. How an elf can act…much like the second born.’

Her eyes narrowed at her. ‘Humans are not second born. They are their own rightful equal to elves,’ Illyria gritted her teeth, her hand flexing around her staff.

Galadriel twitched her lips, humming in her head. ‘She said that once too. Her closeness to the race of men was a gift and yet also a threat to them.’ She continued, ‘And perhaps the Valar may have thought to give you the gift of men for that.’

Raising an eyebrow, Illyria answered slowly, ‘You are saying the Valar just simply allowed me to move forward.’ She asked, ‘But why allow me to remember my past?’

‘…I have yet to know.’ She said truthfully.

Illyria peered her eyes back and grumbled, ‘Now that I remember, I can understand why Elemmírë didn’t agree with some of your comment.’ Illyria thought in sarcasm. ‘Riddles are really out of trend nowadays.’

Thank god Galadriel didn’t understand the phrase, simply brushing off: ‘I have yet to know Illyria Strange, however.’ She said curiously and pointed, ‘You share her same force. Her passion.’

Her eyebrows rose and then questioned her, ‘When did we meet?’

‘Lindon.’

A glimpse of the vision returned to her, which caused Illyria to hum in realisation. ‘Gil-Galad’s court. So, I guess I lived through that.’ She thought, ‘If I remember exactly, you and Lord Celeborn lived there for a while.’

A dark tone passed Galadriel for a moment, perhaps remembering a darker time in her past. ‘Indeed. However, we then left and decided to travel down the Anduin.’ She told her, ‘Many of the elves much like us took refuge there. When Gil-Galad established his kingdom, you were amongst his advisors.’

Illyria said, ‘Neat.’ She smirked and eyed her gaze in the direction of the other two. ‘I’m trying to pick out when I died without making both Elrond and Glorfindel cry once they tell me. They are secretly rather touchy in the subject, which shouldn’t really be the case because I am right here.’

Laughter filled the room.

And to her surprise, it was Galadriel who chuckled and spoke, “You are clearly her, Elemmírë.” She smiled, “I am glad to see you again.”

The smile she wore wasn’t exactly what she expected. A mix of amusement and maybe something else. The Lady of Light was giving the worst case of mixed signals that Illyria was more frustrated that she was giving her that sort of expression.

The one that said, ‘Oh I’m glad you’re back but we had some tea, and we were slight frenemies, but I won’t tell you because you need to remember it on your own. Sorry xoxo.’

Yep, that sort of smile.

“You too, I guess,” Illyria replied with some unsure tone. “So, I guess we won’t know yet how I came to be and why?”

Her solemn expression returned, “Not all things can return to you quickly.”

Illyria’s shoulder sagged slightly, displeased at the honest answer she got. She really hoped that Galadriel knew more about her situation, but even one of the most powerful beings on Middle Earth was also stumped at what happened to her. And that unnerved her even more how someone her status in the power level wouldn’t know.

“But at least we’ve got some inkling that I’m remembering,” Illyria answered with a tint of hope, and then questioned. “Do you know how long it’ll take for me to get my memories back?”

It took a second for her to ponder and then Galadriel replied, “It is your choice in that matter, Illyria.” She continued, “You must decide if you are either Illyria Strange or Elemmírë.”

Her body straightened once more, feeling the air grow stagnant. Illyria frowned. “I like myself as Illyria, thank you.” She asked, “And why can’t I be both?”

There was a sense of unease once her words flowed out of her mouth. The blonde (well partially, he’s still a little ginger) elf stiffened in his stance, glancing away like he didn’t want to be here. Elrond looked too pained, his eyes widening before he stared at her with lips parted.

Not that she was looking at his lips.

However, it was Galadriel who she focused on. Her expression morphed to concern, almost to worry as her voice carried through lowly, “That will be a dangerous path to take.” She locked her eyes at Illyria sternly, “A mind and a soul must be able to work together.”

She mentally raised an eyebrow at this. If she weren’t ignoring the other two elves, she would assume this was the first time.

Inhaling through her nose, Illyria answered calmly, “I won’t know if I try.” She stared with determination at Galadriel, a small smile curling on the end of her lips. “If I can get reincarnated and leave the Halls, I think I can get both of Elemmírë and me to get to some common ground.”

“I would only know one person that can be as determined as you are.” Galadriel’s lips quirked up.

She had thought it would infuriate her, but in fact: it gave Illyria some hope. At least one person believed in her.

As much as she wanted to stay with the elves and listen to their subjects at hand, Illyria felt that she was intruding at something she was not involved in after the situation of Elemmírë dissolved and changed to talking about elven politics and the situation in Mirkwood. There was a moment which Galadriel was mentioning about Arwen (almost giving her massive whiplash hadn’t she stopped herself spinning her face from the cup in her hands), but Elrond sternly gave the Lady of Light the biggest stern gaze that even to their surprise Galadriel trailed off.

Illyria frowned in displeasure. They were still not talking about certain things all because of the 'safety and structural integrity' of her brain. At least they haven’t asked about her age; if Glorfindel and Elrond knew how old she (well, assuming this body) was: they were going to practically baby her and cage her here until she turned a hundred. Illyria didn’t want to think how wrinkly she would be by then – along with the saggy melons (despite lacking in that department even at this age).

Yeah, she didn’t want to imagine old-granny Illyria Strange at all.

She excused herself after an hour in, thanking Galadriel and hoping to see her sometime around the house whilst she patted Glorfindel’s hand and nodded back at Elrond. After she shut the door, Illyria relieved a massive breath out of her lungs and clung a hand to her heart. Honestly, that might have been the hardest shit she’d done. It was like being summoned into the headteacher’s office.

Nevertheless, whilst she did feel odd after the whole conversation, her head did seem a little relieved. The visions were a bitch to throw at her, but somehow it did bring her some connection to who Elemmírë was.

So, as she brought herself back up, Illyria walked back to her room and probably sleep the entire day. Because right now, all her energy plus being hungover really took a toll on her.

That was why she was up early once more the next day, shocked by her own sleep schedule to wake up just before dawn as the birds whistling in the trees. Illyria decided to snoop down in the kitchen to grab some breakfast before skipping down to Nala’s to give her the usual daily apples. Glorfindel told her off for doing this last week, informing her that feeding Nala was going to make her equestrian friend dependant on her.

Well fuck it, she can spoil Nala as much as she can. Not even a ginger-haired elf was going to stop her from doing it.

After she took Nala for a quick trot around to keep her active, Illyria wished her friend a good day before going back up to the waterfall to meditate. Whilst she expected it to be just her presence today, Illyria was surprised to find another figure stand watching the sunrise over the valley.

She wasn’t sure if he knew, but it wasn’t a coincidence that Elrond was at the very spot she usually occupied at this certain time. Something inside her almost felt flattered at that very thought. He knew she was going to be here despite it only been three weeks.

He glanced back at her with a solemn nod which Illyria returned, before Elrond gazed over the landscape. As she got closer, she decided to stand by his side – her hands awkwardly placed to the side as she tapped a usual pattered over her robes. Well, this was awkward.

Or maybe it was just her.

She wasn’t sure how to begin; she could ask him why he was up here, but it was obvious he wanted to talk to her before this evening commenced. Illyria didn’t need to read his mind to know how deeply he was thinking, almost over analysing everything with his knitted brows and long stare.

Thankfully, he finally cut the silence. Elrond asked her, “What did you and Lady Galadriel speak about?”

Her head turned to him and raised a brow, “How did you know I was talking to her?” Her question wasn’t entirely serious, almost hiding her smile as she quickly darted away to look at the valley.

She heard Elrond respond, “You were both looking at each other long enough.” He added, “I know it when Elladan and Elrohir do it.”

Her eyebrows raised at this. She forgot that those two twins can easily read minds, and rather freely too. Her heart softened at the mention of the two as she answered his first question.

Illyria spoke, “Just about Gil-Galad’s court.”

“Just about Gil-Galad’s court?” It was his turn to raise an eyebrow.

She waved it off and explained, “Don’t worry, nothing embarrassing. She spoke about how I took refuge there and spent most of my time as one of Gil-Galad’s advisors.” Illyria took a side glance over to him and mentioned: “I don’t think you’ll want any of my advice.”

Damn her heart for acting up at the gentle smile which formed on his lips. “I beg to differ.” Elrond answered, “Your ideas on removing headaches have helped me.”

Out of everyone here, Illyria had found the time and patience to teach at least one person her methods of peace – and that had been him. When they were talking in his office about her world, she mentioned about meditating. Now she can admit to Uncle Wong that she had gotten at least one student. (She tried it on Harley, Darcy and Tony one time, and choosing three STEM people to chill the fuck out in the most zen possible way didn’t really help them chill the fuck out.) [10]

She did feel appreciated at his attempt, hoping that it really did ease his mind for some spare moment. Illyria did quip back, “That’s because the majority is caused by my own hand.” She muttered, “And maybe the twins and the Durinsons.”

There was a change of subject, her previous sentence almost sending him to some path of nostalgia. Maybe before she was like this, annoying and perhaps a little clingy.

Though, she wasn’t expecting him to comment something like that. “Elemmírë was never an ordinary elf. Many of the elder ones did not like your…plans,” Elrond told her.

She wondered, “Why? Too good for them?”

He had a sort of thoughtful expression, reminiscing a surfaced memory. “You were always and foremost seeking to protect those outside our kin. Especially with those of the race of men and the Númenóreans.” Elrond continued, “You believed there was more to the Edain and that there was a possibility for them to strive for the better.” [11]

Illyria couldn’t help but smile fondly, her cheeks growing slightly warm as he spoke of the elf that once walked Middle Earth. Even if she wanted to deny that she wasn’t who he thought she was, she couldn’t help but agree that it sounded like her. Illyria had always thought there was more to people than what they thought of themselves, like her dad, like Darcy, like Tony and Harley. Heck watching the young kid Peter Parker save London this summer, she couldn’t deny that she was proud to see one of Tony’s prodigies finally see himself more than just a neighbourhood hero.

She spoke with a tone of courage, “Because there is. There is always something more to others. Not just humans but hobbits and dwarves too.”

At the second she finished; Illyria sensed the disapproval from him. Which she should have seen coming. After all, she slept throughout the entire night when Elrond went to read the map under the moon along with Thorin, Balin and Gandalf. He must have figured out the truth of why she was travelling with them.

As well as the fact that he was trying his best to compose his anger.

He began, “I respect what you have for hobbits and dwarves. But I do not approve of what they seek, Illyria. Do you not know what lies at the end of your journey?” Elrond questioned her, stressing his words. “If you awake, what then? There are lives that are at risk surrounding those lands. The dragon will burn everything in its path if you awake it from its slumber.”

Illyria wasn’t sure how to feel about that, biting the inside of her cheek as she tried her best to remain calm.

She creased her eyebrows and made a soured expression. “Look, you said that too and that speech seriously didn’t give me as much hurt as watching it.” A breath escaped her mouth as she said defeatedly, “I can’t say much, but I believe it’s the best course. Not because it is right, but it is the only safe option for the future.”

Elrond peered his eyes towards her and questioned, “You are not saying this because of Mithrandir or…”

She shook her head vigorously and sharply said, “No. Neither.” Illyria revealed, “I’m not saying the real reason because the information I have might not only put you in danger: but the people in this world too.”

Illyria meant what she said. Every second she was here, the risk of others knowing significant parts of a possible future might entirely change the course of this world. It was already bad enough that some of the characters in the story she loved knew partially that Illyria knew what was to come – even if they thought of her as someone like Elrond with the sight… or just be plain weird. Either way, it wasn’t worth arguing against him despite her own heart really want to bust out the truth about why killing Smaug was the best way for Middle Earth.

And she wouldn’t even think that might even sway Elrond’s opinion. He would do whatever was best, thinking about every single factor that would cause a domino effect. Because that was what he was – a strategist. He saw would analyse whatever path the future would take, using what was given to him, any information to then set his own advice to them.

Damn, perhaps she needed someone like him by her side. Considering the number of shitty decisions she’s had since arriving here, maybe Illyria could get an Elrond.

However, whilst Illyria was not exactly a strategist or the wisest person: she did understand many other things people discarded. Like people’s feelings or thoughts. She wondered how someone like Elrond can easily live with a power such as what he had.

It was why she blurted out as she turned to him, “How do you do it?”

His face rotated towards her, glancing down as he echoed. “Do what?”

“Handle knowing a possible future?” Illyria stared up at him. There was recognition in his eyes as she continued, “I know you can see the visions of possible futures. How can you live with it?”

Elrond pondered for a second, taking a deep breath. “I do what I can with what is brought to me.” He looked at her, staring right at her with longing. The same haunted and sad expression that he wore when they were back in his office the night, she discovered who she once was.

“The sight is not always a gift, Illyria. And sometimes I doubt what I can truly do with the information given to me.” He admitted, head looking away from her – almost in shame.

Illyria felt her heart lurch, confused, and heartened by his openness. She wasn’t sure what to say back, afraid that she would mess it up. But in her own true way, she shrugged her shoulders and answered, “You don’t always have to believe in them. And don’t put yourself too much for it.” Illyria tried to cheer him up, “My father used to be able to see glimpses of the future; I think he once looked into 14 million future possibilities just to defeat a purple grape from snapping our universe into half.”

Elrond’s face just looked more confused than her own.

There she exhaled, reaching out to then take his hand into hers.

As her smaller, nimble fingers took hold of his own, she stood back to the side and faced the valley below – allowing them both to succumb to a second of peace.

The simple gesture shook him, with Elrond’s eyes flashing in surprise as she felt a minor headache go through. Vague voices echoing in the back of her mind. Her heart was beating fast, unsure if it was his or her own. She was afraid to glance to him at the side, regretting every second now what she had done.

Illyria spoke breathlessly, “What I’m trying to say is that I admire what you do.” She twitched her lips a little, keeping the tone light despite her nerves. “Even if it’s a little nudge in the right direction, I think people underappreciate how much you’ve helped.”

Elrond didn’t answer back, only staring towards the valley with her.

Illyria inhaled sharply as her heart thrummed.

He never let go of her hand throughout the time.

When night arrived, Illyria knew that the White Council was commencing. She did all her best to stay far from the creepy eyes of Saruman, keeping herself occupied as she prepared her pack which Miriel mended and headed down to Nala to prepare her for the journey soon.

(Which wasn’t hard; she just needed to stray as far from the really large anomaly that began walking about in the valley. His very guarded mind that had too many layers almost made her shudder. She didn’t want to know what he has hidden in his head, whether it was graphic or just weird.)

Miriel had to the best elleth on Middle Earth, providing her most of her womanly belongings as well as bringing her new travel clothes which fitted her. She tried to thank the elven woman as much as she could, crafting her a little star chart of the sky back on Earth as a gift. (She thought that Miriel seemed like an elf who would respect Zodiac signs and all, well according with all the girls she’s seen when scrolling for six hours through her TikTok For you page.) [12]

Note: do not tell anyone that she spent six hours in that app.

Not that she didn’t know who else spent their entire time there. Darcy once spent four hours educating her and Uncle Wong about the whole world of Vine – endless compilations videos until Uncle Wong finally cracked up a laugh. [13]

To her shock, the elven woman almost burst into tears.

From happiness? She wasn’t sure.

Reason why it was happiness, perhaps relief that she was finally gone? Possible.

Though by how word began to flow around that Elemmírë of Gondolin had returned from the dead began to go around the house, it might because Miriel was happy to be gifted by her. Illyria was sure. Elves were still mysterious to her, no matter if she was one before.

You know what the opposite of elves was: the dwarves.

If she described the Company with one word, it was not subtle. Hah, subtle her arse.

They were literally making a racket with their packs as they snuck from where they camped and towards the side exit of the house. The elves had to be either fast asleep with earplugs in their ears or really cannot be asked to tell anyone that they were sneaking out in the night.

“You’re not coming?” Bilbo asked, dismay beginning to form in his eyes.

Illyria sadly shook her and revealed to him. “No, I’ll be going with Gandalf after the meeting.” She pointed at the sword strapped on his belt, “I trust that you know how to use that now?”

“Sting,” Bilbo said proudly, twitching his lips to a smile. “That’s its name.”

She proudly smiled at him, honoured to have known someone like him over the course of two months. If the dwarves weren’t here, Illyria would tear up and possibly hug the air out of the hobbit for just now. Only two months took for her to notice how much Bilbo changed. Before she had arrived here, Illyria knew that the various dangers which the Company encountered were what brought Bilbo to grow as a person. Though now, she realised that even staying here in Imladris brought some changes.

He was more open to the dwarves, despite some still unsure of their hobbit burglar, but it didn’t stop him from always drifting towards the dwarven king. Illyria wasn’t oblivious, she, Kili and Fili (and even Ori sometimes) did their own meddling to get the two to spend more time with each other. Whether it was Thorin teaching Bilbo to wield a sword or just the two discussing about the Shire, Illyria always found them somehow bringing some joy around here.

Crouching down, she smirked at the hobbit and said, “Well Bilbo Baggins, I hope you use Sting well.” Illyria spoke, “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks alright?”

She surprised her friend with a hug, his body relaxing with hers as he encased his arms over her shoulders. She was going to miss her hobbit friend, even it would only be a couple of weeks.

Bilbo stood back, grinning back at her. “See you soon, Illyria Ettelëa.” He slung his pack on his shoulder and turned to the door ahead. As for her, she stood there to watch the Company leave, her eyes somehow finding the leader’s with narrowed eyes. Thorin did not trust her for staying, but their decision in distracting the elves was the most possible way for them to leave without alarming the White Council.

Illyria just hoped Gandalf did his own half of the plan.

Never have she’d seen an elf speed-walk as gracefully as Lindir. (If the mothers back on Earth see him, they would be livid. Especially the Karens: with their jealousy because an elf can walk faster heading towards to see the manager than them as well as looking fabulous.) [14]

Speaking of the manager, that was where Lindir was going to as she found him walking past her towards the courtyard in the North wing. As soon as he was a few feet away from her, Illyria decided to follow the poor elf up to ease the situation that was going to happen.

As he got up to the front entrance, he looked over to the Lord of Imladris and said, “The Dwarves, they’re gone.”

Illyria arrived right a second later, standing behind the elf as she panned about and sighed in relief internally. Saruman somehow left early, probably to go back to Isengard and plan his little schemes with his Palantir and what not. Good for him, because that meant that she didn’t have to reveal herself to him.

But that didn’t mean she was off the hook as Lindir exited the courtyard and found herself standing exposed with the other three people left in the room.

Galadriel each gave the two side-glances and thought, ‘You knew, the both of you?’

Whilst Gandalf had the most unbelievable innocent expression, Illyria nudged her eyes to the grey wizard and replied, ‘It was Gandalf’s idea, not mine.’

The Lady of Light thinned her lips. ‘Elrond would not be pleased.’ Her eyes focused on Illyria and added, ‘You understand that friend.’

‘Yes, it’s obvious when he’s giving me that look.’ Illyria wryly responded back and glanced at the half-elven lord who looked like he was reconsidering his life choices.

Gandalf chuckled and added in the conversation, ‘He gives that look to you, quite a lot before.’

‘I can understand why,’ That was when she turned to Elrond, who scowled at the trio.

“Are you three done?” He questioned, loud enough which caused her to laugh internally and hear the other two chuckled along. Seemed like this was something she used to do, and Elrond was just re-introduced to his least favourite pastime.

To her surprise, he was scowling.

The Lord of Imladris was feeling left out.

That made her grin even more, folding her arms over her chest and retorted, “Oh, don’t be mad. Not all of us have healer’s hands like you.”

Elrond wasn’t the only one irritated at her for joining Gandalf’s little quest.

The morning after the meeting, she had just placed her armour back underneath her robes until Glorfindel just strode in like he owned the place. She was a little hurt by that. No, actually annoyed considering he was her brother and he had truly little respect for her personal space.

It was also a little hypocritical of her after snooping about Elrond’s office. But that was beside the point.

As she tightened her belt and sheathed her daggers in them, she heard Glorfindel ask her sternly, “Why are you joining Gandalf?”

Illyria looked up to him and saw his hardened face at her. He did not look pleased with all after hearing she was going. “If this is some weird brotherly way to say that you’re afraid for me then I’m not used to it.” She said wryly before adding: “Also, I have a contract to fulfil and I need to protect Bilbo at all costs.”

She picked up her pack and slung the straps over her shoulders, before taking her staff in her right hand.

Glorfindel exasperated, “From a dragon!”

“Yes! From the dragon.” Illyria faced him and saw his reaction, narrowing her eyes. Her finger pointed at him as she said, “Oi, don’t shake your head at me. I only knew you were my brother for just a couple of days so don’t try that act.”

She guessed this was their first sibling fight if you counted them having a staring contest whilst a tall blond-ginger elf blocked the doorway.

In the end, Glorfindel’s face relaxed into worry as he exhaled, “I am just worried, sister. I just found you, and you’re to leave again?”

Illyria replied blankly, “I left you before. It’s the same thing.” When she saw him grow more pained at her response, she immediately backtracked and sighed in frustration. “Look, I had a life before. I am still Illyria Strange, and nothing can change from that. I can take care of myself.”

And it was true. Even if he was Elemmírë’s brother, she couldn’t be pulled so easily. Yes, she felt guilty for even snapping back, but Glorfindel had to know that she wasn’t her.

“I know.” He spoke lowly, confessing to her. “I am just afraid.”

Suddenly, she what she did best.

She wrapped her arms around his torso, surprising him with an incoming hug. A second later, his body relaxed – his own arms encasing her into a hug. Illyria and Glorfindel stood in the room for perhaps twenty seconds, feeling as if she was remembering his embrace in her past life. Was she close to him before? Were they like this?

Illyria stepped back, adjusting her pack and clothes. Her eyes darted back to him as she gave an assuring smile. “I will return. I promise you.”

She found perhaps half of the household staff waiting in the front entrance of the house, with her confusion as to why they were up in the early hours. Though from how their eyes never left her as she passed them down the steps towards Gandalf and Nala, it would seem they all knew her now as the ancient elven woman.

Illyria wanted to ask questions, why they looked up to her with honour and pride. In fairness, it irked her immensely as the weight on her shoulders began to return. She had arrived in Rivendell weeks ago as just Illyria Strange, the sorceress from Earth.

Three weeks later she was Elemmírë of Gondolin as well.

Only three weeks. Beat’s her dad’s record for becoming Sorcerer Supreme in less than ten years. And definitely beats her three years of getting through university.

She did her best to keep her eyes forward, strapping her pack on Nala’s saddle whilst she muttered to herself. Once she was done, she took a moment to assure Nala of the attention before finding herself locking eyes at the very host that took her in.

Illyria looked to Elrond with a wry smile. “I am surprised you’re not forcing me to stay,” She spoke.

Replying back, Elrond murmured back, “I really could. But I know you wish to go.”

She stared longingly at him, trying to figure out what was going in his head. Elrond hid his disappointment well, remaining as solemn as possible around the rest of the elves. They have not really spoken much after the waterfall which left Illyria mixed with regret after trying to understand the elf.

And now she was doing what he opposed to.

Illyria stated, “You are mad at me.” She inhaled through her nose and assured him, “Elrond, I’m not going to leave any time soon.” She did her best to give a small smile of encouragement.

“I know.” He responded with a melancholy expression that almost brought her heart skipping a beat again.

Illyria nodded before looking around before hiking her body up onto Nala’s back. Her eyes tried to search for the prodding voice in her head before discovering her up at the top of the steps.

‘Until we meet again, Illyria Strange.’ Galadriel thought to her.

With a curt nod, Illyria brought her focus back to Gandalf to which he trotted forward with his horse towards the bridge.

And so, her journey continued.

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

“You will let her go? So willingly?” Glorfindel asked beside him.

They watched both her and the Ithron begin their journey from the front of the house, their horses crossing the narrow bridge and up towards the valley cliffs and exiting towards the wilderness. It would be a two-to-three-week journey to the Misty Mountains, excluding the week of trekking up the range before coming towards its peak. If they were fast enough, and surely from Mithrandir’s haste response, they could possibly arrive to catch up with Thorin Oakenshield’s company in less than three weeks.

However, it was not the journey that Elrond worried about. He knew that Illyria Strange’s time in Imladris was bound to end, but he had not hoped of it to be so soon. There were so many things he had yet to speak to her about, not only the memories which he wished to speak of her.

Illyria’s reasoning still echoed in his head, her voice and character so much like Elemmírë but still felt foreign and unique to his own.

It was there at the top of the valley which Elrond began to realise what he had been doing. No matter how much he tried to see her as Elemmírë, Elrond would never fully find the elf he once knew in Illyria Strange. It was a battle in his mind, trying to resolve his own desire to see Elemmírë again whilst trying to be rational and practical.

That was why when she left now, Elrond felt the regret grow.

Elrond admitted, “She is not the one I had in my arms when she passed away. She is her own person, and her own fate resides with her.”

Glorfindel answered back, “And she is my sister.” He continued, “I am surprised, Elrond, that you would easily let her go with some dwarves.”

He understood what Glorfindel was implying, knowing both well that they have yet encountered Illyria in the fullest of her powers. He said, “And yet she was able to conjure magic so easily. Unlike her own magic.”

The blonde elf frowned, “Her magic was dangerous.” Glorfindel questioned him, glancing at him. “What if she cannot control it on her own?”

Whilst the staff returned to their activities, Elrond and Glorfindel clambered up to the house once more.

He sighed, “I know.” Elrond paused in his steps and looked over to him. “That’s why we made sure to have them follow her.”

“Oakenshield will not like that,” Glorfindel spoke.

Elrond internally smirked as he calmly responded, “She is not under orders of the dwarf king.” Though his lips thinned as the thought brought him to worry. “I am only afraid of how she will tackle Thranduil.”

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Illyria Strange forgot how much she fucking hated travelling.

Having Nala was alright anyways, a good companion to have when you’re travelling with a wizard, though after a few days it does get a bit boring after talking to a horse about astrophysics. She would be pretty impressed if, after all her conversation with the equestrian animal, that Nala would now understand string theory or quantum field theory. All the theories. [15] [16]

Don’t get her started with Gandalf the Grey. She realised now why he was called the wandering wizard by most of the population because all he did was smoke, travel and talk to her about the oddest things that usually cut off every moment he told her that they needed to start travelling again. You could not have a decent conversation with this guy no matter if you were talking about the weather or knitted scarves.

Heck, Illyria would pick the talking tree over Gandalf. Ent or Groot, whoever.

But despite the annoying bits, the time she had with the wizard did bring her to a better understanding of the Maia. She learnt the reasons why he was sent to Middle Earth and what he formerly once did back in Valinor. He spoke with such passion and respect to Nienna, the Vala who chose him to go to Middle Earth all those ages ago when the world needed angels like him. [17]

Because that was what he truly was, according to Tolkien himself. Gandalf was here for the free peoples of Middle Earth and to make sure things are moving and flowing. His tales of travelling from the far east of Gondor to the West near the Grey Haven’s awed her. How he used to help those who truly needed a little whack from his staff to find the right direction. [18]

Illyria respected that, and it almost reminded her of somewhat of the Sorcerers of the Mystic Arts. In most of her twenty years of her life, the core belief she was told was that the Sorcerers protected the different realities and worlds. Always in the shadows.

However, as she began to remember some bits of Elemmírë: it seemed to be far the opposite. Elemmírë seemed to be someone that shone in the spotlight, someone who brought attention to a room.

Yeah, not her sort of thing.

Speaking of spotlights, one thing she didn’t find pleasing was what was coming up. They have just arrived at the foot of the Misty Mountains – edging closer to join up with the Company. They had ridden hard and fast (that’s what Gandalf said) to try and gain to them. Though, since most of the road was littered with orcs and unwanted creatures, they were slowed down.

These were moments she wished her sling-ring came to use, as she slumped off Nala’s back and sadly gave the horse a tight hug. Illyria didn’t want to bring her to pass the Misty Mountains, knowing how dangerous it was for an animal like her. Instead, she wished luck to her equestrian friend for the final time and watched her trot away along with Gandalf’s horse.

Illyria was not crying; it was the onions that mysteriously appeared in her hand.

So, they climbed. Higher and higher than anything she would imagine. The Misty Mountains seemed to be taller than what Mount Everest and the Himalayas once did. She couldn’t deny it was beautiful though, in a sort of wintery haunting way that caused her to stop and stare down below to where Imladris used to be.

She hoped that the twins would forgive her. Illyria wanted to say goodbye to Elladan and Elrohir, but time was of the essence.

Gandalf was also pissed that Thorin didn’t listen to him to stay put at the foot of the mountain. And once Illyria and Gandalf knew where they accidentally fell to, they both internally sighed.

Great. Time to go to Goblin Town.

Illyria prepared herself, her own staff materialising from her pocket dimension as she repositioned the pack on her bag. She would have to fight with extra baggage in her back.

Just as they met the back doors of Goblin Town, Gandalf ordered her to hold onto his staff and prepare herself. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, feeling herself flow through some tight corridor. If this were Gandalf’s own way of teleportation, it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be.

Better than what Apparation was in Harry Potter. Illyria used to cringe in discomfort when she watched the characters gets sucked into a tight tube like a tube. Talk about Poiseuille Law. [19] [20]

As the light dissipated, she found herself letting out her breath. She then realised where she and Gandalf landed.

Surrounded by goblins.

Along with the largest and fattest goblin ever.

He kind of looked like a mouldy marshmallow if Illyria thought hard enough.

Gandalf distracted the goblins whilst he roared for the dwarves to take arms. This gave her enough time to blast a light ray around them, giving the Company some time to pick up their weapons and begin slashing a path out of this place. Illyria took her staff and brought upon her blades, swiping any creature that crawled at her as she followed Gandalf through the rickety bridges of this place.

There were goblins everywhere! She was slashing her staff from her head and towards her feet. If she wasn’t running for her life, she would consider her own mind for even going now.

Dwarves. Mountain. Dragon. Yes.

Illyria stopped to a halt as Gandalf stood in front of her and the rest of the Company, grunting at the impact of someone’s sword dig against her back. And from the curses going through his head, it must have been Dwalin. In front of them, the Goblin King stopped them from going through, a cackle shaking the wooden platform.

That cackled turned into a sharp gasp, as his gut and throat spilt with blood from Glamdring’s blade.

She gaped in shock before saying, “I preferred David Bowie thanks.” [21]

To her side, she realised from the blonde braids, Fili answering back. “Enough commentary, Lyria.” He questioned at her, “Can you portal us?”

Just as it did so, she felt the platform faltered and creak. She eyed the roped which suspended them and felt her heart drop. When her eyes turned to the dead Goblin King, she swore internally as he swayed towards them before falling in a large thud.

She shouted, “That’s not how my magic works, Fili!” She shoved her staff into the dwarf’s hands as she felt the ropes snap and the sense of weight in her feat disappeared. “Now hold tight!”

The dwarves screamed as they fell down the large chasm of the hollowed mountain. Illyria shifted her feet into a better position, raising her hands as she formed a pattern. And with all her might, she channelled most of the energy from the other parallel dimensions and reformed the platform below their feet.

As they hit the ground, Illyria tripped and fell, landing on a soft surface with a grunt. All the Company grunted, though not as painful as they imagined it to be as they stared at the landing.

Kili patted the white surface, unsure if he was seeing it truly. “Woah, pillows.”

All eyes turned to her. Illyria gave them all back a look and shrugged before proudly grinning to herself. Heck yeah. She had always wanted to try that spell.

“Get up!” Gandalf urged them. Fili returned her staff back into her hand, a nod of thanks between the two before they aided the rest off the massive pillow and hurried down towards the opening.

Yeah, she wasn’t going to Goblin Town anytime soon.

They stopped running just several metres from the small pathway cut into the mountain, the entire Company taking each a deep breath as they adjusted their packs. Gandalf – being the scout guide he was born to be – counted each other them before frowning at the conclusion.

Whilst for Illyria, she suddenly froze when she realised why.

Fuck, where’s Bilbo?

And then she realised when in the story she was and still ran up to them with a panicky tone.

She looked around the Company, no hobbit insight. “Where’s Bilbo?” She demanded at him, “Thorin, where is he?”

What she did not expect was the dwarven king to lash back at her with uttermost fury.

His tone spoke of more than anger, however, as he spat out: “He left! Abandoned us.” Thorin then changed his voice and glared up at her and asked, “Even so, why are you here? I would have thought you have stayed with the elves.”

Illyria threw her free hand and pointed at her chest and shouted, “Because I’m here to make sure Bilbo doesn’t die! And you bloody left him to rot in that place with that son of weasel-“

“No, I’m right here.”

All heads turned to the voice, and Illyria could help but sob in relief before rushing towards the hobbit. She didn’t care. Illyria gave sobbed over his shoulder as she hugged the hobbit.

“Oh, Bilbo!” Illyria cried mixed with the laughter of disbelief. “Don’t you ever pull a stunt like that you hear me?”

Bilbo looked up to her before turning towards the Company. How proud Illyria was to watch him speak to Thorin so confidently, speaking how he chose to come with them on the quest not because of his own benefit but for them. Bilbo Baggins, the compassionate and sassy hobbit: spoke his heart out to them that she could see Thorin’s angry façade crack slightly.

She wanted to happy and proud, though the moment her adrenaline relaxed: she felt her head almost throb in pain. It was whispering in her head, voices hissing at her as she stared at Bilbo’s pocket.

Okay, maybe she did forget one bit.

Well, a really big part of the story.

Though before she wanted to speak to Bilbo about what he found (and probably had to have a riddle battle with) in the mountains, Illyria spun her head behind to hear a howl.

Thorin spoke, “Into the fire.”

The grey wizard continued, “And out of the frying pan. Run. Run!”

This was the part of the movie in which both Darcy and Illyria had to pause because everything that happened here was the most infuriating thing to watch for them.

No offence to Peter Jackson’s directing and his company’s scriptwriting (she had to give praise for having to make six movies out of this world), but Illyria had to ask why this had to exist in this world.

There she was, following Gandalf and the Company down the face of the mountain, dodging trees as she stayed at the far back to keep the dwarves ahead. The entire day had been running and she was ready to collapse.

She can’t exactly take a break when an orc and warg pack was upon their butts.

They arrived at the cliff edge and Illyria had to bite her tongue from screaming at Gandalf for guiding them to dead end. Great! They’re so dead now! She turned around at the sound of the wargs closing in, tossing her pack up at the tree before putting her staff and blades in front of her.

She gave the dwarves some time to climb the trees, creating a large Eldritch shield as the arrows flew at them. The arrows disintegrating at the impact of her shield before she swiped her blade through the air and sent a wave of light at them.

The wargs were torn off their feet, orcs falling off their backs as she brought another wave of light at them. She could sense herself draining, her heart coming to burst if she didn’t stop.

As closest warg was thrown off its feet, Illyria placed her own natural magic back and chose to bring herself up the trees.

There was fire. Everywhere. Her body was shaking in both adrenaline in horror as the realisation brought her to a standstill. They were surrounded, and all they could do was wait.

‘Come on…come on…’ Illyria thought and sent another mental cry to Gandalf. ‘How long will they hear your word!’ Her eyes went over to the wizard as he watched the moth fly off into the skies and he gave a lingering look of worry.

Oh, they were really screwed.

Not only they were trapped, but Illyria also now dreaded who was before them.

Sitting on the back of a warg was a large white orc. Azog the Defiler.

She knew what was to come and she screamed all she could, trying to prevent the dwarf king to approach the orc! Thorin FRICKING Oakenshield just had to bring his hero complex and restore his honour and whatnot!

He grasped the oak bark in his left whilst he drew Orcrist in front of him. Meanwhile, Azog spoke back in Black Speech (which she assumed it was by how much it made her spine shiver at the words) before drawing his own sword…hand. Sword-hand?

Nevermind, all Illyria could do was try not to facepalm at Thorin as he charged upon the large orc. To her horror, she watched Azog slice him down in a single swipe grinning from ear to ear as he approached the fallen dwarf king.

She pleaded towards him, trying to find his mind with all the fire blazing around her. Though to no effort, Thorin didn’t respond as he laid on the ground passed out.

Azog’s warg approached Thorin’s body, ready to attack him until Illyria’s breath hitched.

Tossing himself into the fray, Bilbo Baggins shoved the warg out of the way – impaling Sting into the warg’s throat as it wailed in pain. He then ran up to Thorin, his sword out and ready with a practice stance as Azog laughed and walked over to them.

She knew what was going to happen. The eagles would be here for them any second. But with the dwarves almost falling off the tree and Thorin and Bilbo in danger – she did the most stupid thing.

“Illyria!”

Summoning a portal, she jumped into the portal and landed right in front of Azog. With the strength left in her, she brought her hand out and produced a blast of light – blinding the orc.

“Thorin! Bilbo! Get him out of here!” She shouted at them, clutching her staff as she prepared for Azog’s blow.

And the orc was not happy after what she did.

Her staff slammed against his sword, his strength overpowering as she was thrown back at the impact. She brought another blow, her arms growing weaker as he pushed her closer to the edge of the cliff.

The next blow brought her to utter shock.

As his sword parried with her staff, Illyria stared as sparks of golden light flew out of the staff. The wood began to crack. Once Azog pushed in the last second, Illyria let go of her staff and stumbled back.

The sound of wood clattering into the ground.

There sat on the ground was the remnants of her magical staff.

Broken right in half.

Illyria said dangerously low, “Oh you son of a bitch…” Anger began to soar up her chest. “You’re going to pay for that, asshole!”

Before she knew, Illyria took the last bit of energy and let out a blast of light over Azog’s eyes and summoned a dagger – flinging it towards his eye. The orc cried in agony, flying back as she ran towards him and grabbed the two pieces of her staff. A screech echoed in her ears as she jogged over to the edge and saw the silhouette of a bird take her into its claws.

Illyria wasn’t sure what happened then, passing out as soon as she felt her body land on something warm.

She woke up abruptly as soon as she heard someone howl in glee. Illyria blinked her eyes awake and weakly brought herself up to her knees and sharply inhaled. Illyria didn’t mind tall heights but being on the back of a giant eagle was an entirely different matter.

It was beautiful in honesty, despite her heart sinking as she held her broken staff in her hands. Illyria swallowed the bile that rose to her throat, searching for any other face in the group of eagles in the air. To her left, she saw Kili and Fili enjoying their time in the air whilst in the right, she spotted both Bilbo and Thorin and her heart thumped against her ribs. She hoped that they were safe.

They arrived at what seemed to be a large nest atop a large singular rock cliff. The eagle which she was honoured to speak to through their minds brought her down gently, reminding herself to bow at the eagle before stepping back to hobble over to the rest of the Company.

Thorin had not woken up and all she could do was watch Gandalf try and revive him. The wizard approached the dwarf king, kneeling to whisper words before the spell became to effect.

God, if Thorin didn’t wake up: she was going to wake him herself just to kill the bastard for being stupid.

There was an exchange of words, especially between Bilbo and Thorin as he finally opened up to her hobbit friend. All she could do was observe tiredly in the sidelines until the very dwarf brought himself in front of her.

“And you,” Thorin sternly looked up to her.

“What about me?” Illyria folded her hands as she questioned, “You still want to kick me out?”

And to her surprise, the dwarf’s expression relaxed. “Perhaps it is the right time to apologise.” Thorin Oakenshield bowed his head at her. “I thank you for saving us, Illyria Strange.”

There was a moment in which she had to think to herself what just occurred. It had taken almost three months which Thorin Oakenshield and his stubborn sexist ass finally respected her. Two of those months of constant vigilance from him, wary of the sorceress who followed them in this quest.

Now, he had finally accepted her.

Illyria gulped back the emotions, smiling down at the dwarf king before bowing. “Thank you, Thorin. For giving me another chance.”

Chapter Text

Stephen Strange | Sorcerer Supreme

Location: New York Sanctum, USA, Earth

Time: February 2024

-Six Months Ago-

“Strange…”

He groaned and thought, ‘Illyria, can’t it wait?’

“Strange, you have to wake up.”

Since it wasn’t Illyria, who was talking to him? Didn’t they know it was the weekend and it was his early night in?

“Stephen!”

Snapping his eyes open, he flung his upper body up from his position – forming two mandala shields in his hands. But once his mind quickly adjusted to his surroundings, he relaxed his arms and internally sighed.

Standing in his bedroom was Wong, and from the look on his face: he was not messing around.

Well, most of the time, Wong was kind of like that anyway. So why was he surprised? Oh wait, that was it: it was probably because he had walked into his bedroom just now. This was also another question to ask himself since he did put multiple protection and locking spells in the entire living spaces in the Sanctum.

And then Stephen remembered what had happened for the past five years and mentally facepalmed.

Instead of trying to comprehend the 'how' question, Stephen pulled away the shields, slid out of his bed and glared back at the sorcerer. “What?” He tiredly yawned out as he continued, “Wong, it’s 4 am in the morning. Why are you-“

“It’s Mordo.” Wong simply answered.

The librarian had given him enough time to get changed into his outdoor clothes (and from embarrassment, Wong had just seen him in his pyjamas) before leading him to towards the opened portal to what seemed to be Kamar-Taj.

“I have heard from Singapore that several magic users have encountered him,” Wong informed as they strode down the corridor. “Most are gaining close to the Hong Kong Sanctum, but he’s been taking more ever since we all returned.”

Half of the time Wong was talking to him; Stephen was still trying to wake himself up. Man, he would kill for a cup of tea just to stop him from dozing from Wong’s discussion as they arrived at the large domed room. The Orb of Agamotto, glowing in gold as it was suspended in the air hovering over a painted chart of the stars. [1]

When Stephen glanced up, he narrowed his eyes to concentrate. The Orb has always detected any possible threats, whether it was Earth or the other adjacent dimensions in this multiverse. But as he saw the red stain rather brightly, Stephen realized how near their threat was.

And how many Mordo has crossed with.

Stephen’s lips thinned, a low hum from him as he thought loudly, “He’s doing a clean sweep of magic users again.” He exhaled deeply. “I thought he would be done after we were all brought back.”

That was what he, Wong and the other Masters of the Mystic Arts believed. Even before the snap, the couple of years since Mordo left the Mystic Arts and began popping up in their radar was already concerning after discovering Jonathan Pangborn reformed into his paralyzed self – before he had come to Kamar-Taj to heal his spine. It was there he knew he needed to keep an eye on him, even if it did hurt Stephen then. Not only him but the entire Mystic Arts.

Especially Illyria, who had once looked up to Mordo as one of the best teachers: only to be let down as he stepped out from the doors of the Sanctuary to search for his own future. Stephen wasn’t sure then if Illyria should know about Mordo and what he was doing, but with her own unique ability to read through his head so easily as a child, it wasn’t a secret to her that Mordo was doing questionable things.

Wong murmured back, “I believed so too, but you might need to see this.” Holding out a sheet of paper, Stephen took it from his hands and looked closely.

He asked, “What am I looking at?”

“Names we have identified.” His friend replied, a worried expression crossing over him subtly.

As he skimmed through the list, he noticed several names he knew from his time in Kamar-Taj and ones he had yet to meet. But to his shock, they were not just novice sorcerers. Some were masters already for years. Stephen pursed his lips and stated, “He’s gaining followers.” Glancing back up to Wong he said, “That isn’t him.”

Wong reciprocated the same disapproval. “No. And that is why we need to warn the other magic users.” He looked at him with a dour expression. “You are Sorcerer Supreme, Strange. You will need to be able to contact the other sorcerers to warn them.”

Once they were done, Stephen followed Wong out of the doors and through another portal created by his sling-ring – entering what was the Hong Kong Sanctum. His memory of seeing this once destroyed due to Dormammu still lingered in his mind that he had to quickly delete it from his head as they headed into one of the Sanctum’s room.

They entered what seemed to be a bedroom and found two figures by a single bed. One was lying down whilst the other beside them. Stephen quickly knew the familiar Master at hand as Wong greeted them.

“Master Minoru, how is he?”

The petite sorceress was kneeling beside the middle-aged man, who laid down on his back. Stephen grew to recognize the man’s face, having met him many years during his training back in Kamar-Taj. Whilst many of the students who came in studied and learnt the Mystic Arts, not every single person stayed to continue with their training and mastery. Like this man, Ryoichi Sasaki, who he once heard that his heart could have faltered despite any use of a pacemaker.

Tina Minoru held a distraught face, speaking honestly: “I don’t think he will last.” Her hands held an orange glow over the man’s heart as she continued, “His magic was what kept his heart alive.”

The sounds of a struggling breath drew Stephen back to his doctor mode, analyzing the situation. He was already forming plans in his head, both a mix of medical and magical solutions that could save the man’s life-

“Strange, I know what you’re thinking.” Wong cut him off with a blank look. “You cannot let him suffer.”

Stephen tightened his jaw and bit the inside of his cheek. He wanted to reply back that it was possible, but even so – the chances of the former sorcerer to survive was very slim. Sasaki would not survive even the duration of the procedure.

Instead, he asked Sasaki carefully, “What did Mordo do.”

“…He came during the night,” Sasaki whispered faintly, a breathless tone as his eyes closed and opened every few moments. “I remembered his face, but it was too late. I felt like the connection of my energy getting destroyed.”

The times when the discovered the magic users, they would never arrive on time to know how Mordo could have done it. But now, Stephen realized how the sorcerer could do something impossible to what he believed it to be.

Stephen murmured, “Like destroying a program,” All pairs of eyes turned to him, “He tried to cut the connection of his source of magic. That’s what he’s been doing to sorcerers. But why though…”

Wong simply answered, reminding him of the memory. The day Mordo left. He said gravely, “Order. Strange, what he said those years ago. He believes in restoring the Natural Order.” His eyebrows creased firmly as continued, “And he would do what it takes to take our sorcerers down.”

They left Master Minoru and Sasaki in the room, returning to the New York Sanctum as Stephen processed through his mind on how to tackle this. He cannot just go and try and reason with Mordo. Talking to that man would be a death trap after how much determination Mordo would do to achieve his goal.

Baron Karl Mordo would do anything to bring balance.

And he was equally a threat to Thanos was.

Once they were in his study, Stephen began pulling through books to see how Mordo had been trying to cut the connection of sorcerers. He then eyed Wong and told him, “We’ll need to keep an eye on him. Make sure we begin contacting previous students in Kamar-Taj.”

“And what of Mordo?” Wong questioned with a hardened look despite the small tint of fear in his eyes. “I know that we knew him, Stephen. But he is a threat.”

Stephen took a moment to ponder on that statement. This was more difficult than defeating Thanos. Whereas he didn’t know the Titan much despite searching through Thanos’ history, he and Wong shared a friendship with Mordo for almost a year until he walked away from Kamar-Taj.

He would need to tread carefully and do this without shedding blood.

Location: New York Sanctum, USA, Earth

Time: August 2024

A couple of days had passed since Darcy and Jane’s discovery of the energy anomaly in Europe.

Most of the two days comprised of going through the data the two astrophysicists found along with setting key points on the specific location before packing up enough sweatshirts and thermal underlayers for Darcy’s suitcase. There was also the need to bring the equipment with her to measure out the anomaly but when there was a sorcerer in the picture, he knew that Darcy would take any advantage.

He had hoped the time trying to track Illyria down would have been quicker, but seemingly even detecting the location of his daughter throughout the multiverse and all possible realities was the most mind-numbing experience. He had tried to find something that could detect her, anything from memory to her own DNA to connect a link through the realities. But that trick which he used with Thor Odinson to locate his and Loki’s father didn’t seem to work for his daughter.

However, he could not deny that he felt relief and respect for Darcy after he contacted her and confessed that he couldn’t find Illyria back in Oxford. Or anywhere on Earth for that matter. Already, their relationship (if he still hopes there was one) was shaky, only tied back because of Illyria herself, a young magical child that not only had him but Darcy around her fingers.

And he couldn’t ignore it. Stephen still cared for her even after for Darcy’s sake: she hadn’t seen him in five years. But seeing her alive again when he returned, arriving at Tony Stark’s funeral with still the flame and confidence she had – perhaps there could still be a chance. He had seen how close she and Illyria have grown to be, how Darcy went ahead to comfort Pepper first before trying to gain some smile from Stark’s child.

It was only a month later that brought them back together again.

Sort of.

And then the following year brought him as far as he could from his family, with the aftermath of the Hex and Mordo causing havoc across Earth – he hadn’t had the time to reach out to her. Until now, where he was still unsure after last year.

So, there he was, setting himself down to try and bring some reconcilement between him and the astrophysicist. Darcy gave him the address and coordinates for the anomaly before picking a reasonable place to set up a portal from the Sanctum. He allowed the Cloak of Levitation to be with Darcy, amused at how the two got along well enough as she stepped into the Sanctum with her suitcase and backpack behind her back.

Whilst she prepared last-minute adjustments and checks, he teleported over to his study and skimmed read through several texts to remind himself of the instructions of working the gateway. Whilst Jane and Darcy did their work, Stephen managed to go through several books in the Sanctum library – only ending up in a dead-end for any reason as to why he couldn’t identify Illyria’s location.

Teleporting back up to where he found her waiting in the dimly lit room, the lights from the Rotunda of Gateways allowed him to see Darcy’s pondering expression. How the low coolant light made her face solemn and yet still showing the beauty she had. He approached her, nodding to her as she lifted her shoulders – a sign of preparation.

Stephen had not used the Rotunda of Gateways in years, hardly anything to be of use other than tossing zealots into jungles and deserts. After changing the central gateway, they found themselves staring through the glass doors. [2]

Through the gateway was a layer of snow, a path leading towards the snowy cap of the alpine mountain range.

It was there he turned to her and glanced down. “These anomalies, how can’t I detect them?” Stephen asked her.

Darcy glanced back up, adjusting her glasses as she shrugged. “I’m not sure, but until we can go up there and check it out, we won’t know what happened.”

He stared at her, looking back in his mind at the very moment he saw his daughter. Illyria: battered and bruised in what was supposed to the Avengers Compound. Her staff in her hand as she sliced an outrider by the head before sending a blast of light around her.

It was there they locked eyes, and all he could reminisce was embracing the tall nineteen-year-old girl in the middle of the battlefield – not caring for the world who saw him.

“Stephen, we’ll get her back.” Darcy brought him back to reality with a little murmur.

He licked his lips and replied, “I know, Darcy.” Stephen paused. “It’s just: I’ve come back after five years; I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

Stephen wouldn’t say he was slacking.

Maybe he was.

But you can’t blame him: he’s been away from this plane of existence for five earth years. All because some purple douchebag was destined to go through the universe, trying to obtain six cosmic stones created from the big bang - just to snap his thick sausages fingers and erase half of all living beings. If Stephen told his old self ten years ago, Dr Stephen Strange would think he was bonkers and kick him out of the hospital. Now he’s technically unemployed, part of a cult (that’s what Christine said, not him), has an adopted daughter and had seen 1000 years’ worth of futures.

Again, it was all because he was a dick back then.

And he’s still being a dick now considering he hadn’t taken care of Illyria since he returned. He did try. He really did. For Stephen, it was already difficult to comprehend that he had missed five years of reality. But for a father, he had missed Illyria grow up through the most important parts of her childhood.

Five years ago, he left a 13-year-old girl, scared and worried.

Now, he comes back to find his girl already an adult with a life of her own. Twenty years old and still afraid of spiders crawling around in the Sanctum. Where did that little girl with the blonde braid go?

“You know it’s not too late.”

As Darcy interrupted his thoughts, Stephen looked at her with bewilderment.

The astrophysicist explained, “Illyria’s only twenty and age doesn’t change the fact that she’s been your girl the entire time. She never gave up on you, always telling me and Wong that it’s possible for you to come back from the snap, that you’ll just return back home.” Darcy waved her hand, gesturing to him. “And there you were, with your round golden portals that breaks the laws of known physics. I don’t think you were forgotten, Stephen.”

There was Darcy Lewis again, surprising him in more ways than one as his chest was hit by a force that he forgot was there.

All he could hear was the thumping of his heart, and the shallow breaths from Darcy as she stared up at him. He could see the emotion swirling around her, the passion and the spike that almost confused him how it could catch his attention.

He then asked back attentively, “What about you? You were probably angry I left you with her.”

“Yes.” Darcy didn’t hesitate to confess, shuddering a breath.

He noticed how her hands constantly clenched at her sides. Stephen wouldn’t be mad if she did throw a punch at him.

She then explained: “I was really pissed at you first. Not for the reasons you think…But I was mad.” Her eyes closed for a moment before taking a deep breath. “You left without saying goodbye or even any note for me! I wasn’t ready to take care of her, Stephen! I can barely take care of Jane and Selvig at the same time let alone a kid!”

Her eyes began to water, the light from the gateways making her eyes sparkle from his view. Sensing the anger and energy flowing out of her, a realisation came to Stephen then what he had truly done this whole time – and that pushed Darcy away.

Not entirely, no. But he pushed all the responsibility onto her shoulders when it should have been him. And all this time, he had been calling Illyria his kid; his daughter. When in fact, the very person who cared for and nurtured Illyria was the woman right in front of him. The once assistant of a scientist to now a scientist of her own. The same one who shared her home and passions with Illyria; the same one who brought her to school and sat down with her to do homework. The one who would talk to Illyria if she was upset or angry.

All those thoughts and feelings made his heart clench as he reached out his hand to her face.

Darcy’s body froze at his touch whilst he brushed the tear on her cheek. “I am sorry…for not being there on time.” Stephen croakily admitted, “I don’t really think I can just apologise in one time or even a year after what happened.”

Grasping his hand, Darcy pried his hand softly from her cheek. She swallowed before answering, “Yeah well, I just needed to let some anger out.” Inhaling, she glanced down onto the floor before looking at him. “I know you’re busy; you’re an important person on Earth and maybe in this multiverse. But even Illyria needs you from time to time.”

They passed through the gateway, regretting to put on at least his gloves to protect him from the cold. Because goddamn he forgot how cold it was up in mountains. How the heck did Illyria manage to round herself up here?

So, bearing down his body’s complaining, the two began their trek through the snowy path towards where the portal should be. He suggested in carrying her rucksack up the hiking to make it easier for her, but Darcy refused – already mentioning that he already had the equipment stored in his dimension pocket. She told him how Illyria grew into the same habit as he did, carrying anything and everything in their own little dimension pocket that they might as well have the entirety of Costco in there. [3]

Stephen couldn’t help smirk at that and didn’t exactly deny it. Why physically carry baggage when you’re already carrying an emotional one at that?

Nonetheless, if he was carrying a suitcase filled with equipment: it was there and then he would’ve dropped it from his hands if he didn’t put it in his dimension pocket.

Darcy was the first one to react, “Woah, now that’s new.”

They arrive at what seemed to be a wasteland of rocks, sheltered by the rising outcrop of rock as the snow hid them. It was a round open area, with the peak of the mountain above them.

In the middle of the open area was nothing like he’s ever seen.

A white and golden aura was emitted in the middle of the area, perhaps the height of his own or perhaps even taller. It was like a portal, but the shape was different from the golden circles the sling-ring created.

It was as if something tore the air around it, forming a sort of geode-shaped gateway that not only showed nothing but just white.

Huh, well this was new indeed.

“I’ve never seen anything like this.” Stephen breathed, too much in awe at the spectacle.

Darcy turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Really? After going through the multiverse?”

He shook his head and elaborated, eyes never leaving the portal. “I haven’t been everywhere. I saw glimpses of other realities. Our realities.”

“So, you’re saying this isn’t in ours?” Her eyes widened, surprised.

She wasn’t the only one. “No. This is different,” Stephen responded and began going around the portal to inspect it.

When he went around it, he realised that the tear was three-dimensional. And by the geometric and jagged shapes…it did kind of looked like a shard of crystal. It was far from what the Mirror Dimension looked like, far from it. [4]

Not to mention the energy and power radiating from it. And from how Darcy was holding her radiation detector – it seemed to be acting up.

“Well, you’re not wrong. Look at this.” Darcy nudged him to look at the data as he returned to her and saw heard the device whirling as she held it towards the portal. And to his worry, he had seen her body begin to shiver – and it was not because of the cold.

He narrowed his eyes in concern.

As he was about to ask her a question if she was alright, he then heard a family hiss before he spotted the golden portal forming just a few feet from them. His body relaxed once he knew who came through. “Oh, look the calvary arrives,” Darcy commented and greeted him with a wave. “Hey, Wong.”

The librarian spared a small kind smile over to the astrophysicist before turning his usual stern look back at him. “Darcy. Strange, I got your message.”

“Thank you,” Stephen spoke.

Wong shut the golden portal before heading towards them. “Well, we’re doing it for her.” He paused and continued, “We can protect the Sanctums but there’s only one Illyria Strange to protect.”

For a moment, Stephen, Wong and Darcy shared a silent thought. For months, he had yet to fully thank Wong for not only keeping Illyria safe from danger but also keeping up her apprenticeship with the Mystic Arts. The librarian had given his time to teach Illyria during the five years he was gone, finding it amusing to hear from Illyria about Uncle Wong’s lessons.

He specifically liked the story about them trying to make Wong laugh. And he was impressed that actually cracked the serious sorcerer for once.

“Woah, readings are really high now. Even brighter than the sun and something weird.” Darcy whacked the side of her device with the side of her leg before holding it back up. “It’s similar to what the Hex radiated with, but it’s in the spectrum of UV and Infrared, not microwave. It should have melted half of the snow here. With all the heat.”

She wasn’t wrong.

With what Darcy said, Stephen knew that the snow should have melted with the radiation. But instead, he felt no heat from his hands.

Stephen made a grim look and said, “It’s being contained.” He turned to Wong and spoke, “We’ll have to keep this a secret.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” Darcy snorted back before placing her device into her rucksack.

With their decision to head back to the New York Sanctum, Stephen decided to take some mental pictures and began filing through his head to begin researching the library before creating a sling-ring back to the Sanctum. Luckily, the place the portal was in seemed to be isolated from the rest of the mountain paths. However, both Wong and Stephen didn’t want to take any other chances for other people to stumble upon it and began putting shields around – creating an illusion to hide the source of energy.

Though just as they were about to head through, he spotted Darcy pausing in her tracks – her eyes staring intently at the jewel-shaped portal.

Approaching her, Stephen placed a hand over her shoulder and asked, “What’s wrong Darcy?”

It took a second for her to respond before she shook her head. “Nothing.” Pulling a small smile up to him, Darcy spoke. “Let’s head back and analyse this. I need to make sure you can enter that portal safely.”

He waited for Darcy to enter the portal, his growing worry for the astrophysicist after what occurred. Stephen would probably ask her when they are back.

That evening, he found himself and Darcy sitting in his study.

They had set up her equipment already, letting her type away in her laptop as the monitor and machines operated throughout the entire time since they arrived. Tomorrow, they would plan to head back to the portal to set equipment once more to test out the extent of its power. Hopefully, if it wasn’t as dangerous as he, Wong and Darcy perceived it to be – they would be able to enter the portal and see if Illyria went through.

Wherever she was. Stephen hoped she was alright. From his knowledge from both her, Darcy and Wong: Illyria had yet experienced travelling the multiverse. Hardly any of the sorcerers did, let along with her age. It was a dangerous trip to enter in, and sometimes he’s heard that people couldn’t even find their original one.

As well as worrying about his portal, he was also worried for the woman sitting opposite her. He knew how much work this was giving her, and he could tell it was stressing her out. And when Darcy Lewis was stressed: was stressed.

If he wasn’t such an idiot, he would have been a better partner and actually encouraged her to sleep it through. But Darcy wasn’t like that. No: she had gone through so much. With the bad moments becoming frequent in the past six years.

He decided to enter the lion’s den and approach her, beginning the conversation, “That portal.” Stephen spoke, “Isn’t it just any ordinary one?”

The question was directed at her. And from how Darcy paused for a moment from typing, she realised what he meant.

Stephen wouldn’t ask an obvious question to someone other than the likes of her. Out of all the people he’s known in his life: only Darcy knew that answer.

And to his surprise, Darcy answered cautiously: “No. After what the Hex did to Monica, I need to make sure your atoms don’t reconfigure and mutate.”

It was then he put the question bluntly.

Stephen gave Darcy a plain look before questioning, “You haven’t gone to the doctors yet, have you?”

From her silence, that was enough to know.

He was about to grill her that she should be getting checked but she was there first: “What do you say to the doctor about that?” Darcy rambled sarcastically, “Oh hey, I just came back from a pocket reality where my cells mutated and now: I can sense energy fields. Not see them with my eyes but sense them. And that’s weird enough!”

Stephen reached forward, placing his weakened hand over her own. Her head immediately went to his, startled at his touch. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Darcy.” He spoke with sincerity. “In fact, I think it’s helping you with your work. But it could potentially harm you if someone from S.W.O.R.D doesn’t analyse you. At least have Christine give you a scan.” [5]

Taking a shuddered breath, Darcy composed herself. “I’ll appreciate what you say until I can understand what that Hex did to me.” She tried to smile, but her lips faltered as she whispered to him. “But as of now, I’m going to call it some freaky whack seventh sense before calling it a superpower.”

As they assured, they went back to the anomaly the next now along with placing most of the equipment a few metres away from the perimeter of the portal. Luckily, no one had seemed to enter it as the snow from yesterday hadn’t yet built enough to hide the footprints he, Darcy and Wong created.

Once the set-up was done, Darcy was busy inspecting the live data causing a very awkward silence between him and the sorcerer standing beside him. They were watching the portal intently, trying to study how it had been able to stay here. Even from all the countless search Stephen did last night (which was probably the most frustrating night he had in his astral form), he found no books about light portals of this shape, size and energy.

And if Darcy’s ‘seventh sense’ was right: it might be possibly the reason why he hadn’t been able to detect her in the nearby realities and dimensions. Even the Orb of Agamotto didn’t show Illyria’s location.

Wong spoke after breaking the silence, “I am impressed that it only took you this long.”

“And you didn’t?” He raised a brow in return.

“She wasn’t picking up her phone calls,” Wong informed him. “I call her once a week.”

Stephen sighed and asked, “What else don’t I know?”

“Strange. If you stop to think for a second, you will know that Illyria has been trying to reach out to you. She didn’t want to be in your way as she knew our work was more important than herself.” Wong looked at him directly, “I know this because I had to sit down with her.”

He had to take a double look back at the sorcerer in question before the words fully immersed into his mind in a wave of realisation. Wong was right; he should have taken more effort in reaching out to his daughter all this time. If he did it, perhaps she wouldn’t have disappeared.

His heart might as well be hurt from that burn he deserved. “Wow, never thought you would be someone like that, Wong,” Stephen said wryly.

Wong’s lips twitched as he folded his arms. “You would be surprised. Knowing her as the little girl in Kamar-Taj, and then bringing her up with you and Darcy. It changes you, Strange.”

“Are you trying to give me the worst guilt trip ever?” Stephen raised an eyebrow. “If so, you’re doing a great job.”

Standing beside him, he found Darcy pipe in, “Yeah, we are.” Her eyes then widened before trailing off: “Oh fudge…”

“What?”

Stephen looked over to the portal and saw what she had meant.

The portal before them began to alter, sensing the energy beginning to grow as they took a step back.

“Fuck, it’s acting up.” Darcy rushed over to the equipment before typing, breathless as her nerves and power began to act up. “I don’t know why, but we need to get back!”

“Strange! Get out of there!” Wong ordered back, already forming two mandala shields from his hands.

However, Stephen ignored his command – his feet firmly on the ground as the force of wind began to grow around them. The portal was glowing brighter like it was pulsing bursts of light as a spectrum of colours were emitted in a beam towards the sky.

She staggered back, along with Wong at the outer rim of the anomaly. “The portal’s just changed energy patterns. It’s changing to fit for something!” Darcy’s voice was growing with nerves as she continued, “I don’t know if it’s Illyria’s work or-“

“Then I have to go. I have to go in.” He spoke loudly, his feet rising from the ground as he got closer to the portal.

Darcy exclaimed in shock, “What! Did you just hear what I just said?”

“I did.” Stephen turned to her and said determinedly: “But I’ll take the risk.”

This was their chance, and he was not going to miss it when the possibilities of seeing this portal again were small. He had to try.

Because if he didn’t, Stephen knew he wouldn’t forgive himself.

She grasped his wrist and said, “Stephen. I know I shouldn’t have said those things. I just needed to let it all out. But stay safe will you?” Darcy pleaded, “I want my wizard boyfriend and my kid back home, okay?”

If he could have kissed her then he would, but he knew that time was short. He had to go. Giving one last stare at her blue eyes, he felt her lose grasp from his wrist as he began to hover towards the portal.

He stared at her and spoke, “I’ll bring her back, Darcy.” Stephen darted his eyes over to his friend and nodded to him. “Wong, keep the Sanctum and Darcy safe.”

After Wong nodded in response, Stephen levitated towards the portal. He could feel the energy beginning to tug him in. It was unlike anything he had felt, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good feeling or painful. He looked up and took a deep breath before he whispered in his head one last thing.

‘Don’t worry, Illyria.’

In one motion: Stephen Strange entered the unknown.

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Carrock, Middle Earth

Time: July 2941 T.A

They were heading down the Carrock after thanking the Eagles of Manwë for their service.

Who at some point, she could sense the utter judgement from the Lord of the Eagles: Gwaihir with his eagle eyes as they healed and rested in their next for a few days. Illyria wasn’t sure if the eagle could telepathically sense her or it was the fact that he was a giant bird with big eyes. Either way, it scared the hell out of her, limiting her own magic to heal her wounds as around them.

They probably already seen her fight Azog with a stick and shoot light at them, but she couldn’t trust one of the Valar’s eyes and ears knowing every magic trick she knew. Though even so, Illyria felt an odd familiarity with them.

That was when she remembered she had a life before being Illyria; it was possible she must have met these eagles before as Elemmírë.

As a little girl, The Ancient One once told her that she was destined for great things. And that one day, she would become something she would be proud of not because of her power, but because of who she was as a person.

The Ancient One must have missed a future possibility because right now – Illyria Strange was doubting that.

There she was, bruised, tired and cranky and really craving some chocolate. Any type of chocolate. Even if it were just 100% cocoa, she would probably chow it down until her tongue was damaged from the bitter taste. Illyria just needed something that wasn’t broth or meat to fill her aching stomach whilst she was clearly feeling like British Weather.

Or the fact that she should be in her time of the month again and seriously just needed some Netflix [1], ice cream, chocolate, and a weighted blanket to wrap herself up in. She missed having things like the sofa in the living room, watching sitcom shows with Darcy until they would laugh their asses off. Or cooking with Uncle Wong in the kitchen with various cuisine until she would be so full. Or reading with her dad in his study, an open fire beside them as the snow fell during the winter months in New York from the window. She missed going to Tony and Pepper’s: babysitting Morgan with Harley and making dens out of blankets and cushions.

Those were the things that meant so much to her, and what made her who she was.

And now she didn’t have her family here.

God, if The Ancient Once saw her now, they would be so disappointed.

The very thing that they left her with – was now broken. Before the Ancient One passed away and whilst her dad was still learning in Kamar-Taj, they had given Illyria the very relic into her hands. It was heavy as a little girl, remembering how she stared at the golden runes and patterns engraved over the wood. How the blades it formed awed her. The Ancient One knelt to her height, telling her that it was hers and hers alone. That no one could know the staff better than Illyria.

An extension of her own magic.

And now the very thing that made Illyria herself was gone. A memory and promise she made to the person who brought her up, taught her to be open to the world beyond were shattered into two.

Illyria did all she could, meditating every moment they took a break to try and sense its former power – any inkling of it. But to no avail, the relic didn’t respond to her call. One evening as they sat around a fire, she was sitting with Bilbo, Bofur and Bifur. The two parts of the staff were always in her hands throughout their journey post the Carrock and created sympathetic looks from the Company as they assumed the staff was important.

Well, they fucking should be.

Azog the freaking Defiler bloody broke her staff. And if she sees him again, she was going to stab his other eye until he was Nick Fury squared.

Illyria shook her head and sighed defeatedly, “I can’t fix it.” She said hoarsely, “Not until I’m back in my world. There are dozens of spells that made this.”

“Who created it?” Bofur asked her, smoking in his pipe.

She breathed in and answered the toymaker, “The Ancient One did.” Her hands went over the engravings, continuing: “I think they looked into the future and saw that most of my futures led to fighting with a staff, so this was made for me. It’s not the most powerful of all the relics, but it is the only thing that is left of her memories for me,”

Bofur gazed towards her with an encouraging smile, “They would be proud that you saved us there, lass.” He told her softly, “I haven’t seen anyone other than Thorin and Bilbo who have taken on him and lived to tell the tale. And what you did, you defended us when we haven’t really been so kind to you.”

Never had the dwarves let alone Bofur had spoken to her like this, almost surprising her at the spot as she wandered her eyes around the camp. She could tell that they were listening in despite how ‘focused’ they were with their usual evening hobbies. After what happened to them from Goblin-town and Azog, both Illyria and the Company finally clicked in some way.

Obviously not like proper buddies who would share secrets and whatnot, but she could sense an air of respect amongst the elder ones. Thorin had finally stopped glaring or being hostile against her, being more open to his own inner persona as well as finding the time to show his growing feelings to Bilbo. Gloin and Oin had yet to speak to her but now had grown to stop talking about her in Khuzdul when they thought she couldn’t hear. Dwalin, on the other hand, had finally grown some mutual respect after defending his friend and king whilst Dori and Nori were now interested whenever their youngest brother discussed culture and everything about Earth to them.

As for Bofur, Bombur and Bifur: Illyria had come to know them a little more equally to Ori, Kili and Fili. Especially Bofur, who Illyria keenly felt more relatable with by his crude humour and his openness to Bilbo. He liked to play the clarinet to them in the evenings during the first month of their journey, and it heartened her how he spoke so passionately about his life as a toymaker with his cousin Bifur.

Illyria realised then how much she had come to meet these people. And how much they have gotten through. Their culture and respect for their craft and their knowledge. She might never know them entirely, but this was enough for her now to lessen the homesickness which had grown in her heart for months now.

Not only the Company but perhaps even the elves too.

She had realised then that her cheeks were damp, wiping off her tears. “Thank you, Bofur,” Illyria said dearly to him, but also to the rest. She quirked her lips, “But you have been kind, really. I mean I’m still here, right?”

Chuckling along, Bofur replied, “Indeed lass. And you’ve made this journey a lot easier for most of us.”

Illyria sensed herself flushing at the attention and placed the two parts of her staff back into her dimension pocket. Perhaps she might find another moment later to try and fix it again or at least mend the spells. Sadly, Middle Earth didn’t have Gorilla Glue and instant ramen. [2]

“What does this symbol mean?” Bilbo asked, pointing at the right side of her body.

Illyria turned to the side and raised her upper arm slightly to try and see it. Only then, she saw the outlines of the badge. The sewed lines that were intricate made her mesmerised by the memories of when she first received this. How she first patched it after she first got her robes.

“This,” She turned her arm further around, letting the rest see her sleeve. “This is the Seal of Vishanti, one of the most powerful sorcerers in the known multiverse.”

The younger dwarf widened his eyes as he shuffled closer, inspecting her sleeves. “What does it mean?” Ori questioned.

“It means the window of the worlds,” She answered, a nostalgic smile on her lips. “I…I once longed to explore the different worlds. I was practically brought up to experience so much more than anyone. And maybe…maybe it’s coming together as it should be.”

When they began travelling again, Illyria was expecting a faster pace. But with an orc pack after them through the open plains of Rhovanion and truly little forestry: they were forced to hide every so often in little outcrops of rock and bushes and trees. [3]

It was this part of the second movie that she knew where they were headed next, and Illyria was dreading it.

Enchanted rivers, blonde prickly elves, greedy masters, and dragons. Not to mention the giant bear Bilbo was just about to see chase out in the field. Gandalf already suspected it from her, which he kept silent after Bilbo returned (only to praise him for being sneaky and quiet as fuck despite Illyria’s rolling eyes) and warned them that something large was amongst the wildernesses.

Her eyes went to Bilbo anyways, smiling proudly at her hobbit friend before there was a rustling of leaves.

Wait, this wasn’t part of the script.

They weren’t supposed to be eaten by a bear right now!

“Something’s coming,” Thorin ordered, preparing Orcrist in front of him. “Prepare yourselves!”

What she also saw was Thorin protectively having Bilbo right next to him. She would have squealed at the cute gesture hadn’t she told herself that they might be in possible danger. Perhaps be turned into bear food.

Though as the swishing of the brambles and trees got closer, Illyria then sensed two voices in her head beginning to form and realised who appeared into the clearing.

Standing in front of them was totally the two people she was not expecting to see.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Illyria said with a deadpanned tone.

Looking right back at her was not a giant bear – but the Peredhel twins.

Inside her head, Illyria was praying in her mind to say syke right then. And then her reality was returned when Dwalin growled, “What are they doing here?”

So began another headache. Illyria could not be asked right now to even ask them telepathically why. Because Illyria already knew, and it definitely wasn’t because Gandalf was standing by the side - pretending to look at the sky as if it was a lovely sunny day.

Yup, ignore her when the reason two elves were here was because of her!

Gloin gasped and hissed, “I knew it! We should never have gone to the elves.”

The twins had sheathed their swords, calmly keeping a distance between them as one of them began to speak.

Elrohir answered politely, “We are not here for you. We are here to make sure Lady Illyria is safe.”

There were more unwanted glares at her and it took all of her might not to glare back at them. Seriously, it wasn’t her fault these two followed her. If they were pointing fingers, Illyria would be pointing at the Maia right now for knowing exactly when the twins would arrive.

A large sigh escaped her mouth as she slapped her hand over her face and rubbed her forehead, heading to them. “Yeah, I think I figured that out the moment you both appeared.” Her focus turned to the twins and asked tiredly, “Honestly, who did it? My brother or Elrond?”

It was Elladan who replied, “Actually, we did.” His eyes then went over to Thorin and the young elf had the audacity to speak in a slightly joking tone: “Since you are going to go kill a dragon, why can’t we join?”

“Absolutely not.” Thorin rumbled, glaring back at the twins.

She would be barking with laughter hadn’t this was a life-death situation. The twins just tried to get into the quest by proposing as if they were just going to grandma’s house. Yes, slap a pair of Ryanair plane tickets in their hands and off they go.

Illyria wasn’t sure if she was mad at them or mad at the Company right now.

“We only follow Illyria Strange. As she is our elf-friend.” Elrohir shrugged, “Also, Father was concerned. Especially when you will go to Mirkwood.”

Oh for Pete’s-

Illyria wasn’t having it. Nope, nada. Not right now. And especially not right now. She had just hiked for a month, got chased by goblins, now orcs and possibly a bear at this moment. She was not having the two races debate now when she and Gandalf knew that they could die.

Stepping between the twins and the Company, she narrowed her eyes at all of them and ordered, “Okay, that’s enough.” Illyria flicked over to spot the wizard’s worried expression. “I think a bear’s about to chase us.”

She and the twins were the last ones to enter the doors, slamming it shut as Dori and Gloin put the locks on. She was shocked that a piece of wood for a door could withstand the force of the bear as he slammed his body against the door. Whilst the dwarves held the door, Illyria readied herself with a protection spell, ready to place an enchantment shield over them.

Until several moments later, she felt the bear’s mind grow further out from the house they arrived in. Probably to go and run around more to kill off the orcs.

Speaking of running, Illyria was moments in collapsing to the ground as her knees buckled. Luckily, one of the twins noticed her heavy breathing and held her up – thanking Elladan for holding her up.

She sucked in a huge breath, “That was a huge bear.” A laugh escaped her mouth as she spoke back in Sindarin, “Larger than what I expected from the movies.”

“Who was that?” Bless Ori, whose eyes were as wide as saucers as he shivered in his spot – traumatised.

Talk about trauma: they just saw Bombur sprint like Usain Bolt towards the doors like it was nothing!

Everyone (even the twins) was gobsmacked at the round dwarf’s sprinting abilities.

As for the Maia, he tapped his staff at the door before turning over to them and grimly answered, “Our host.” He revealed, “Beorn. A skin-changer.” [4]

That evening, they hid in the barn.

The Company were still hostile against the twins whilst the latter easily ignored them – mentally talking to each other as she droned them out to meditate and enter the astral plane to ponder about outside.

She just needed her own space tonight, without any dwarves or elves or wizards or even good Bilbo. Bilbo appeared so knackered, his clothes now loose around him as he slept on the haybale.

What she also saw during her astral break was spot Thorin enter the room, gazing over at the hobbit. Taking off his cloak, Thorin placed it over Bilbo’s shivering body before stepping back to look at him for one final moment. Illyria knew from those eyes easily how the dwarf king truly felt for the hobbit. They were the same ones her dad had whenever he saw Darcy.

The look of love.

With a small smile, she decided to give the two their space and went through the walls of the barn and went around Beorn’s lodgings. As much as everything seemed slightly larger than her, Illyria could not deny that it was beautiful. A quaint little place, with a house in the middle of nowhere along with a garden of flowers and giant bees. There were honey pastures and many ponies and animals.

‘I wouldn’t mind a place like this,’ She wondered to herself as she brushed her hand over the tall grass, pretending to sense the strands pass her fingers. ‘Just a place to live where I can be who I am and just forget the world.’

Her heart ached at that longing future. After all of this, being in Middle Earth: that dream of having to simply settle down seemed so far. Illyria’s life was complicated, complicated by Elemmírë and sorcery and her powers. Complicated by the very beginning.

Illyria swallowed back the bile and staggered her breath.

The Ancient One was right. She would be destined for great things, but would Illyria like it?

What if she just wanted simplicity and peace, maybe become a professor at a school. Perhaps find someone she loved and who loved her back. Maybe even a family.

She wasn’t expecting life to hand it to her on a plate with a bunch of problems along with it.

Not only a brother but perhaps a possible extended family along with the twins and Elrond. But she couldn’t think about them; she wasn’t sure why though. Her feelings with Elrond confused her. It tangled her thoughts to no end, unsure how something so quick could grow into something. As for Illyria, she was becoming more and more enamoured by the half-elf.

However, the prospects of Elemmírë drew her back. Illyria felt that she was cheating. Cheating against Elrond’s past wife – whoever the hell she was – and his children. His wife’s children. Illyria knew Elrond once loved another, so why with the mixed signals?

If elves were supposed to love once: then why was Elrond Peredhel allowing her to be so…intimate.

Maybe that was the wrong word. Maybe ‘close’ might be the correct term.

After half an hour of exploring, she sent her astral form back into her body and opened her eyes from her seated position. All the dwarves were asleep apart from Balin, who watched over them. Gandalf was seated in the corner, smoking his pipe like a boss whilst Elladan and Elrohir were sharpening their swords at the far end of the barn.

Standing up, Illyria headed to the Peredhel twins and greeted them with a nod.

Plopping down onto the ground before them, she gave them a look as she began, “When I finally get the trust from the dwarves, you two decide to tag along.” Illyria seethed through her teeth and pointed her fingers at them, “I’m assuming there’s a proper answer.”

The two glanced at each other, pausing their activities, before Elladan solemnly answered, “We know you are Elemmírë.”

Illyria sucked in her breath and murmured, “How?”

A small, amused look was returned from Elrohir as he explained. “Father isn’t so attuned to protecting his mind around us and Glorfindel is good, but not exactly subtle.” He continued, “Our father couldn’t stop thinking about you throughout dinner the night you left.”

“Yeah, you tend to get people to…did you just say he was thinking about me?” Illyria questioned, her head flicking up to them. She could sense her heart rate quickening and she was glad that it was dark enough for them not to see her cheek flush pink.

Elladan and Elrohir shared a look whilst the latter smirked, “Perhaps.”

She could sense them laughing in their head, making her roll her eyes before changing the subject, “Moving on, so I guess you knew me.”

“In a way,” Elrohir answered attentively.

Elladan continued for his brother, “You helped build Imladris. Both you and Father chose it as it was shielded within the valley as well as the Misty Mountains.” He grinned at her, “We’ve known you since we were little.”

A small warm smile formed on her lips. Illyria can’t form a vision, though can imagine what it must have been like. Seeing the two tall dark-haired twins as once little elflings, with such bright faces filled with innocence and wonder. They would’ve gotten away with every prank with those adorable looks, to be fair.

Illyria grinned back, and assumed, “So, I lived there. I must have been pretty close to your family.”

The two elves wavered for a fracture of a second before smiling wryly.

“You were,” Elrohir spoke softly.

A part of her wanted them to tell her more, but by how they appeared to be holding back – she tightened her lips to stop herself from prying. Again, she didn’t want to hurt the two, like Elrond and Glorfindel, for information. In time, perhaps they’ll be more confident in telling her.

She stretched on her arms and yawned, “I wish I know more, Elladan and Elrohir. I really do.” Illyria placed her hands over each other on her lap, continuing. “But I’m taking my time. Hopefully, at some point, I will remember what it felt. To know you both. I bet I was a cool aunt, right?”

The smiles faded away until they pondered into confusion.

Elladan was the one who echoed back, “You were…cool.”

Chuckling, Illyria grinned and replied, “I forget how colloquialism differs from each place.” Her mind quickly averted as she questioned, “Anyways, I forgot to ask. Does Estel know you both left? I didn’t get to see him before I left, and I regret not saying goodbye.”

Illyria hadn’t gotten the chance to see Elrond’s youngest son, considering how early she left whilst he was still in bed asleep. Before they headed out to the front of the house, Glorfindel had asked her if she wanted to wake Estel up to say goodbye – but she shook her head in response. She didn’t want to disturb the kid, only placing a little note to him as well as one of her broken daggers she had arrived with. Maybe one day they would meet again hopefully, and perhaps he would keep it with him for protection.

Elrohir answered for him and his brother, “He was alright when we left. Slightly upset he wasn’t able to come but he wanted to give you this.” Tucking his hand into his pack, he carefully took out a small object and handed it to her.

As she inspected it from the small amount of light, she was taken away at the sight.

On her hand was a pendant.

It was the shape of a tree with golden leaves. Surrounding the golden tree was a bunch of small white crystals, with one large eight-pointed star at the top of the tree – encircled like a dome.

“This...this is beautiful. I can’t-” Illyria clasped the pendant necklace into her and brought it into her chest. After a while of composing herself, she decided to keep it safe in her dimension pocket. “Tell you what, if I see him again: I’m going to give him something he’ll like back from my world. Do you think he’ll like Rubik’s cubes?” [5]

It was only four days which they stayed in Beorn’s halls until the next part of their journey began. Those four days was mostly trying to replenish their strength from the Misty Mountains and repaying their lodgings through some good old farm work.

From the wise words of the Internet:

It ain’t much, but it’s honest work. [6]

Illyria helped to tend the farm with the animals and the twins, reminding her to ask one of them (not the animals obviously) if both Nala and Gandalf’s horse arrived safely to Imladris. (When Elladan did answer her, she sighed in relief and felt like a proud mother. Bless her, Nala was growing up to be such a good horse.)

The owner of the lodgings in question, following what she predicted from the books and movies, was not exactly pleased to see them. Thirteen dwarves, two elves, a hobbit, a human and a wizard arriving on his doorstep after using his barn – what could go wrong?

Well, possibly everything if Illyria had to be truthful. Most of the time she was scared that a big, massive spider was going to crawl up her leg. The giant bees weren’t a problem: they were the cutest things she had ever witnessed – almost eager to just grab one and hug the hell out of it. But from Bilbo’s warning look and the twins’ chuckles: Illyria pouted at her friend for being a killjoy.

It is not every day you can hug a bee, let alone fall in love with one.

Illyria wondered if someone on Earth stumbled upon Middle Earth one time, met these giant bees, and possibly just experienced something similar…thus creating the Bee Movie. [7]

She should go ask the bees if they liked jazz-

Nevertheless, once the days were done, they were given enough ponies and horses to take them to the edge of Mirkwood. (She was a little sad though since she had grown attached to the dogs and kittens around considering how she was able to easily converse with them. Even the twins were surprised to gain a quick link with the animals and enjoyed their own time teaching them some games…plus the odd prank at the dwarves which she should have expected them to.)

Beorn gave them all a warning, informing them to stay in the path if they did wish to go through. Both the twins easily understood it, having already been there years before. But for Thorin and the Company, it might be the first time for the younger ones of the Company.

Before they even got off their horses, Illyria gazed up at the canopy of the entrance and gulped.

The movies did not comprehend how this place was supposed to look like. This wasn’t a forest at all – it was a death trap for them. And they would have to venture into such shadows just to get through. As Gandalf said, it was either 200 miles north or twice the distance South.

From Thorin’s response, they didn’t have much time. Durin’s Day was nearing and as July was coming to an end, it would be another two months until the secret door would be revealed. From what Illyria recalled, Durin’s day was during the middle of October – that gave them perhaps more than two months and two weeks to get through Mirkwood, Laketown, Dale and then the slopes of Erebor. [8]

Simples, right?

However, the longer she stared into the forest: Illyria sensed something sickly. Like some curse layered over the roots and trees and leaves of the forest. Like a sauce, that expelled out a foul smell.

Bilbo appeared much worse, and she could easily tell. Hobbits were supposed to sense the earth rather well and the connection between plants and the ground must be rather sensitive for him. Though whilst they kept the ponies and horses with them, Gandalf approached the archways before mumbling to himself.

“A sickness lies in this place…” Illyria watched the wizard head over to the statue of what seemed to be a woman.

When he pulled the brambles away, what appeared painted in red caused Illyria’s vision to go black.

Darkness clouding over.

A daunting hollow sound echoed over the chasm of black, as a wave of dark energy flowed out like a waterfall before bursting out of the rock like a volcano.

Nine shadows screeched and bellowed, reaching out into the dark as their bodies begged for hunger. A hunger for greed and power. They sense the call of the eye, a flame that burnt not of light but darkness and domination until.

They arrived at the large fortress, broken, and ruined by time and war. As they head the summons of their master.

And as Illyria Strange saw the black form of energy enter her vision, she heard his words shiver down into her heart.

“I see you, Oialëa…you are close…”

Illyria flashed her eyes open, blinking away her dry eyes before rushing over to the wizard – her steps weakening as her head throbbed.

Out of all the visions – that was the worst one yet. Forget about being hit by a bus; this was like getting hit by a moon.

‘There is not much time Gandalf.’ Illyria pleaded to the grey wizard, who spun around and glanced at her.

Frowning in worry, he asked telepathically, ‘What is wrong, Illyria?’

Illyria clenched her fists beside her as she exclaimed, ‘Don’t go Rhudaur!’ Her voice in her mind trembled. With fear or with pain: she wasn’t sure which one. ‘I can sense them. They have been summoned.’ [9]

It was there the first time she saw the Maia show fear in his eyes. Illyria can sense Gandalf, as he skimmed through her head and realized the vision she had just experienced.

He said with a low tone through her head, ‘You can sense them. Have you not told me before-‘

She admitted whilst interrupting, ‘I only began sensing it when we got closer to Dol Guldur.’ Illyria insisted to him, ‘It is not the human necromancer Elrond and Saruman believe it to be! He is really back!’

It took a second for him to finally believe what she said.

Gandalf let out a sharp inhale, his eyes growing wider. ‘And he has detected you. Of your return.’ He pried at her, ‘What does he seek?’

By now, everybody around them was looking at them. Even the Twins, who knew that they were having a private conversation as they tried to pry into their conversation. But with Gandalf’s control of their conversation, Illyria was stuck having to quickly hide every bit of her knowledge of the story.

She wanted to tell him the truth, despite their mutual agreement not to speak too much about the story. And right now: Gandalf seemed more adamant to get it out from her. Because now: he-who-must-not-be-named – knew her fucking name.

And she wasn’t talking about Voldemort. [10]

Illyria firmly said, ‘You know what he seeks. It’s the very same one Thorin has his eyes on.’

Another breath echoed into her head as Gandalf answered, ‘Then we must not let them reach the mountain-‘

Eyes widening, she made a crossing gesture (forgetting that they were speaking through their minds but of well, might as well be a good mime).

‘No! I mean. Thorin has to! He needs to! Erebor…’ Illyria threw her hands down and sighed with pleading, ‘It’s important but you have to trust me, Olorin.’

She slapped a hand over her mouth.

Fudge.

Where the heck did that come from?

Because from her knowledge, that was not from Illyria nor Elemmírë.

A shadow overlooked the wizard as he narrowed his eyes and demanded, ‘How do you know that name?’

‘I…’ She stumbled, biting her lips in nervousness. How did she know that name so closely? Yes, she knew it from the books, but she hardly knew the Ainur’s Quenya name like it was familiarity.

However, she didn’t think it was from Elemmírë’s memories.

‘You are remembering…far more than you should be.’ The grey wizard spoke gravely at her, his voice tinted with sympathy and worry that she wasn’t sure how to react to that.

What did he mean ‘know more than she should be’?

As Illyria was about to open her mouth, she then felt the connection between her and the wizard break whilst the voice of Elrohir’s entered hers, causing her to snap back to reality.

‘Lady Illyria?’ He wondered, striding over to her.

As the four ponies were kept along with them, Gandalf began securing his pack onto the back of the saddle. He directed his head to her and stated, “Illyria, you will come with me.” Gandalf continued in Sindarin and murmured, “If what you say is true, then we need to drive him away. Far away.”

Wait, this wasn’t the plan.

Illyria had it all planned out for them. And even the Company was agreeing with her protests, who gaped back at Gandalf whilst Thorin gritted his teeth at the wizard.

Elladan creased his brows and began, “Mithrandir, that was not what…” He thinned his lips and continued, “We were to escort them through Mirkwood, that was what we insisted.”

Illyria flung her head to the rest of the Company, watching their eyes go forwards and back from her to Gandalf. She protested back at the wizard, “Hey wait! You promised I would follow them.” She vowed, “I need to make sure they get through Mirkwood safely!”

That was her plan all along. She knew that the journey here was what changed the outcome of their journey to Erebor. If they didn’t stray from the path of the Elven road, they could have arrived at the mountain a month before it was possible. Kili wouldn’t ever be in such pain and they would never have to be tracked down by Bolg down the river.

What was worst was being kept in Thranduil’s dungeons for weeks.

Illyria had an entire plan to sort this all out, and Gandalf just decided to take her plan and shred it like a sheet of paper.

Gandalf spoke to her with sincerity, “You know what happens down my path. Only this time, the enemy already knows your presence.”

Illyria gaped, “But…”

However, she knew that Gandalf wouldn’t simply just order her to go with him. The dark lord knew who she was. He knew her name. Not Elemmírë’s – but a title that Illyria recognised from her visions.

Sauron was waiting for her.

If he wasn’t waiting for her: she knew that he would do the same as Azog and Bolg did to the company. He would follow her as well…along with the twins and the dwarves.

Her shoulder slackened as a cold feeling washed over her. Illyria stared at him and said, “I have to leave them for their safety, don’t I?”

A saddened expression formed in his. “I’m afraid so, my dear,” Gandalf informed her.

Bilbo was the one who tugged her sleeve, as he stared up at her and assured: “It’s okay Illyria. I’ll be fine.” He gave her an encouraging smile, “If it’s important and if Gandalf thinks you must go, then go.”

Gazing down at her friend, she knelt and placed a gloved hand over his shoulder. Her eyes bored into his, staring at Bilbo with wonder and utter awe. A few months ago, he had once asked her that if he wished to leave the quest, she would portal him back in a heartbeat. Oh, how this hobbit had changed, not only by appearance but by mind and heart. She could sense his strength, his courage.

Bilbo Baggins was never fully wrong when Gandalf asked what he found in the mountains. He did find his courage and his heart.

It was why Illyria felt so proud of her hobbit friend. How someone so peaceful and happy to go to the lengths to help strangers bring back their home. How he took her in as well; a stranger who had stumbled upon her.

A small singular tear fell down her cheek, as she embraced the hobbit and allowed him to relax. It was then Illyria pulled all her strength to subtly block the minds of both the twins and the grey wizard to talk to Bilbo.

Illyria conveyed into his head, ‘That ring, use it. The elves are not as nice as the ones in Imladris, so you better tread quietly.’ She warned as well, ‘Oh, and maybe a clue; if you do get stuck with the elves, try the cellar. It’s a good way to escape.’

Pulling away, Bilbo was struck in shock – wondering how she knew about the ring until he shook his head and connected the dots. Again, with her and her knowledge of the future.

Bilbo cleared his throat, “Right.” Bilbo pleaded to her, “Please don’t die, Illyria. I want you to be there when we enter the mountain.”

Illyria stood up and rolled her eyes, not helping to smile back. “Of course, Baggins. Who would you think me for?” Her head then turned towards the dwarf next to the hobbit and added, “And you Oakenshield, protect him at all cost. And listen to him, it might even save you.”

Thorin nodded back, a silent agreement between them before she hopped back on her horse – the twins following her and Gandalf.

And so: The Company of Thorin Oakenshield broke…and Illyria Strange sensed that the story she once knew was beginning to bend away from the prediction she hoped for.

Elladan gave the grey wizard a disapproving frown as he questioned, “Why go South, Mithrandir?” He added, “What is important that we must diverge?”

It’s been hours since they’ve ridden, finally setting the horses away as far as they could reach. From now, Gandalf told them that it would be three weeks journey until they would arrive close enough to Dol Guldur. Those three weeks, she would hope the Company would luckily get through…if they didn’t stray off the path.

But obviously, for Illyria, she knew it wasn’t going to be easy for them. Spiders, hysteria from the sick forest beside them as well as an enchanted river would challenge them before Thorin would have to test his own self-will not to piss Thranduil off.

Which was another thing was upset about; Illyria wouldn’t be able to meet Mirkwood’s next top model: King Thranduil if she was here. But at least now, she had the twins. It was better than having to converse with a Maia about the weather.

Whilst the grey wizard was walking ahead, Illyria was the one to answer Elladan. “Dol Guldur.”

Their eyes widened.

Oh god, Elrond was going to kill her.

Like really kill her. She just brought his sons down to a possible death trap. Well, he was the one who told them to follow her…so technically they both have equal responsibility.

Shoving off that thought, all Illyria could think about was the very reason she was following the wizard. Striding beside him, Illyria questioned, “Gandalf, why does he know that I’m back? Did he know me before?”

They climbed over some rocky outcrops whilst Gandalf answered her, “His interests in you had involved the very powers you once wielded before you became Illyria Strange. Before you became human.”

She leapt from the rock, landing gently using a golden shield as a platform before asking, “Why?” Illyria furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Even now I don’t even know the origins of my magic. It’s always been with me.”

What did Gandalf mean? Did her powers derive from Elemmírë then? If so, was it possible for a reincarnated soul to pass on its powers? Nothing from all the books in Kamar-Taj had mentioned anything about passing natural order powers. And if so, the power she naturally was born with was not being drawn from any dimension, unlike Eldritch magic. Most of the sorcery which allowed them to create spells and charms have derived from connecting into other dimensions, tapping into energies that were not part of the material plane.

Gandalf hummed to ponder before he responded slowly, “For the entirety of your presence in Middle Earth as of now, I had an inkling that your powers derived from something older. Much more ancient than even what the Eldar would believe it to be.”

Her feet froze at that. Did she hear that right? Older than elves? Illyria glanced over her shoulder, seeing the two twins constantly having their eyes around them though still curious in listening in to their conversation. And from their confused expression, the two also were surprised at Gandalf’s speculation.

How was it possible for her to have ancient magic…

Oh right, she was an old elf.

Illyria blankly spoke, “Huh. I forget how old I am. With Gondolin and all.” She grinned to herself and continued, “Glorfindel told me of my time in Gondolin. Briefly.”

The longer they travelled, the more she remembered again where she was. This was not some holiday trek around the National Park back in the US – this was the wilderness of Middle Earth.

Despite its beauty, it also daunted Illyria. So much of the world Tolkien dreamt of was still undiscovered. Places where creatures of people once roamed here, who brought their culture and history. In the end, it would be brought back into its original form – nature taking back its land.

The Old Ford was an example, a broken stone bridge that connected the West and East from the River Anduin. The very river the Fellowship would travel down by boat from Lothlórien before arriving at Nen Hithoel and Amon Hen, passing the great stone statues of the Argonath. [11][12][13][14]

Big statues of men with small dick energy because they thought they can wield the very evil ring that started the war of the Second Age.

Again, men and their jewellery. Not a good combination apparently.

They followed the river with it on their right, the days mostly filled with silence. They hadn’t encountered any orcs as of yet, and hopefully none until they arrive at the fortress. But not every moment was quiet since the twins never stopped talking to her through their telepathic techniques.

Illyria learnt more about them, constantly asking about their adventures and stories like it was just some ordinary day back in Imladris. Somehow it did ease the worry that was growing in her, having the twins talk to her and forget about the destination. She also got to know each one a bit better.

Elladan was more secluded despite his confident demeanour. He would be more serious when it came to night watches, assuring her that she didn’t need to constantly be awake. But when her body was asleep, and she stayed in her Astral projection to keep him company. Of course, she was invisible to him, but Illyria noticed the small changes whenever she was there – as if Elladan could sense her presence without even realising.

As for Elrohir: he was more open to her and Gandalf, politely suggesting routes for them to take once they divert from the River and almost keeping a conversation going. He would always start it, asking about what Earth was like and if there were elves. When she told them that there wasn’t any elves or dwarves or hobbits on Earth, they were shocked. If they were surprised about a planet filled with humans, she could not wait how they would react about space gods, space raccoons, space trees and extra-dimensional beings. Not only that, mutants and mutates as well.

But she was ever so surprised that after everything she told them, they were curious and open about the thought of a world beyond them.

For Elrond, he struggled to comprehend a world that wasn’t filled with elves – even Glorfindel. They were fascinated after she explained it further, but it was different from the twins. They ate up her information, almost asking how planes worked and how it was possible to create light out of energy.

Yeah, that was a hard conversation, but it was doable.

However, there were some days which she asked questions too, though it was a bit of a short, ended conversation. If she ever asked about her past, they would divert the topic as fast as they could. Gandalf would explain as vague as he usually would, and it ended her having to read through the torture device that was Elemmírë’s journal.

She hated having to look at that thing as much as felt so compelled to read it.

Like social media, reading a blog that felt so intimate that it was borderline intruding - even though this was her a thousand years ago. Her handwriting (well Elemmírë’s) was rather fancy though, knowing now that she must have brought up high-class. (Obviously; when she was the sister of the Lord of Gondolin, who else would be using thou and thy words).

However, not every page answered her impending questions – tossing her to ask a very touchy subject to her three companions.

Illyria walked between the twins and began, “Can I ask something?” She trod carefully with her words as she questioned: “Does…the name Celebrían bring up any recognition?”

“Why do you ask, Lady Illyria?” A befuddled Elrohir asked back.

She glanced in front of her and whistled, “Just wondering…”

And to her astonishment, it was the Maia who answered her.

“Ah yes, the Lady Celebrían. She married Gil-Galad: High King of the Noldorin Elves.” Gandalf reminisced. “However, when he fell in battle at the Last Alliance, she decided to go to the West to heal.”

Her heart softened as she whispered, “So even then, I never changed it…”

Say what again.

Illyria stopped.

Like not even from her walking. IllyriaElanorStrange.exe had stopped working.

Her eyes bulged out as she alarmingly said loudly, “Wait, hold up. Celebrían married Gil-Galad?”

All three pairs of eyes were staring at her as if she were an orc with a hula skirt and a coconut bra.

“You mean Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn.” She stressed every word, never letting her eyes from them. “That Celebrían.”

Gandalf carefully answered slowly, “…Yes? Why?” He then asked curiously, “…What occurred in your story?”

“Story? What do you mean Mithrandir?” Elladan flicked his head to the wizard as he questioned him.

Whilst she was still recovering from an early-onset stroke, Illyria had time to but in and answer the elf’s question. She might as well explain to the two about the idea of realities and dimensions and the multiverse.

Because right now, she couldn’t care less now since all of this – this world – was way different than she expected.

“In my world, you exist in stories. This whole world actually.” Illyria explained as easily as she could. “Someone wrote perhaps the entire story of your world. But in my version, it was different. Celebrían um…may have married your father sometime in the Third Age.” She flashed a nervous grin at the two, whilst Gandalf was chuckling along at the revelation.

Elrohir and Elladan though. Bless them. “I see…” Elladan was the first to respond, almost haunted at the thought.

This was getting awkward.

Even so, Illyria continued: “If I got the timelines correct, it was over four hundred years ago that she got captured by orcs when she was travelling to Lothlórien to visit her mother.” Her tone cracked a little, a feeling of remorse to the Lady. “She survived…but not mentally. She sailed in the end, much like what happened to her in this reality.”

The twins simply nodded before continuing. Illyria inhaled sharply and forced herself to keep moving on. Despite what this world had, in her heart – The Lady of Rivendell would always be someone to remember with. But now, knowing that Celebrían was never the twin’s mother: Illyria was stuck.

Hence why she blurted out afterwards, “Then, who did Elrond marry?”

Suddenly she regretted saying those words. Both twins froze from their stride and glanced back to her – their eyes almost staring out as their memories were glazed in a mix of memory. Like they were seeing a ghost. A second later, they shook off from their trance.

“An elf.” Elrohir tightly answered, “She was from Gil-Galad’s court as well.”

Illyria pried thoroughly, “What…happened to your mother then? Not that you must answer my question.” She internally slapped her face and apologised, “Sorry, this isn’t the right time.”

There was another long minute of silence.

And in a soft murmur, Elladan answered her. “She fell in battle. During the Battle of Fornost against Angmar.”

She felt her chest tighten as she watched the two elves, who have been so brave and confident the past couple of weeks: finally, feel down. Reaching out to both, Illyria grabbed their hands and squeezed them.

“I’m sorry.” She said with sympathy.

Elrohir tried to cheer up, shaking his head. “Don’t be, Lady Illyria.” His lips twitched as he continued, “She’s still with us here.”

They let go of her hand and quietly headed forward along the path, leaving her and Gandalf standing there. She stared at the two, her heart almost torn. Perhaps she should have really been quiet.

“What is in your mind, my dear?” Gandalf brought her back from her thoughts.

Shaking her head, Illyria assured him. “Nothing, I…” She swallowed the bile down her throat and admitted, “Even if that happened. In the end, Elrond still lost a wife. And I can’t even remember her. Is that bad?”

Her eyes searched his as he gave her a blank stare before his face contorted to a sad smile.

“There have been things that I have seen in my entire existence, Illyria Strange.” Gandalf the Grey spoke, “But I have learnt through the knowledge and wisdom that sometimes grief can bring goodness and courage. How light can arrive after the shadow.”

Illyria could sense her eyes already stinging.

With one last look at her, Gandalf spoke sincerely. “Do not be despaired, my dear. For things will return in time in the most unlikeliness of places.”

After three weeks of trekking and perhaps the worst case of crusty feet – they arrived at the outskirts of Dol Guldur.

Radagast had found their camp the night before they were planning to enter, greeting his Istar friend before disappearing once more into the forest. For what, Illyria had no clue and didn’t really want to think deeply about what he did.

Once day broke (or what seemed to be daytime, but somehow the magic surrounding the area created this dark grey cloudy sky. The perfect weather back in Oxford), they packed up their camp arrived at the entrance to the old fortress.

Whilst she and the twins stood behind, the two Istari wizards conversed with one another.

“It looks abandoned,” Radagast commented, displeased at the leafless trees and overgrown shoots.

Well, no shit: the place was being occupied by a legion of orcs and a dark lord. If Sauron hired so many of these people, why didn’t he bother to hire a gardener at least? Unfortunately, Halfast was halfway across the continent and Samwise Gamgee didn’t exist yet – the two best gardeners she knew.

Gandalf made a grim face and replied, “As it is meant to, a spell of concealment lies over this place which means our enemy is not yet ready to reveal himself.” He pointed out, “He has not regained all of his power.”

The Brown wizard spoke, “Then we go on-“

However, Gandalf interrupted him with the tap of his staff. “No.” He instructed him, “Radagast. Send a message to the Lady Galadriel, we must force his hand.”

“What do you mean?”

“I am going in alone.” He stated.

It was there that Illyria remembered this part of the movie which Darcy completely felt cheated by. The scenes in Dol Guldur spread between the two last movies, though with the original cut cutting an especially important character in the movies. (All because they misused the worst sound for his death.)

Thrain, son of Thror, was in there – contained by Sauron. Not only because of his line of Durin but because Thrain had something Sauron needed back.

Elrohir replied at that notion, “Mithrandir, surely you don't mean that- “

He interrupted the young elf and stared at them. Gandalf requested, “On no account you come after me, especially you Illyria.”

Illyria gawked at the wizard. Ouch, that hurt.

“Until I know what lies that place, you must wait for Galadriel.” He instructed them, before allowing Radagast to head towards the sledge and heading off to the direction what seemed to be to Lothlorien.

She then realized what the Istar was planning to do and raced after him.

‘Gandalf, Wait.’ Illyria stopped him and blocked the twins from their conversation. ‘Thrain. He is being kept there. I know you told me not to tell you anymore, but I can’t let Thorin’s father meet a horrible end. He doesn’t deserve it. If not less, let Thrain know that Thorin will be alright.’ She begged with all her might; some chance that she could change something small in this world.

Gandalf nodded solemnly in return before turning his face back to his path.

All they had to do was wait for him.

For once, Illyria prayed to the Valar that Gandalf would be safe.

Several hours passed since Gandalf entered the fortress. If you would think Illyria was worried – you would be mistaken.

She was practically sharing her worry like a radiator towards the twins, who watched her pace back and forth as they waited for his signal. Any ounce of notice from him. But to no avail, she didn’t feel Gandalf’s aura near her perimeter. (Not only that but there was also a massive shield covering the fortress that stopped her from sensing Gandalf anyways.)

In her heart, she wanted to just grab the boys and head in. Forget Galadriel’s calvary; Gandalf was probably hurt and Thrain…

Illyria slowly came to the realisation that Thorin’s father would never escape Sauron’s grasp.

She swallowed the fear down and tried to think about something else. And just on time, as three figures appeared out from the wilderness. Signalling the twins, she prepared an Eldritch shield in front of them as they unsheathed their swords.

However, as the figures entered her radius: Illyria sensed the familiar aura from one of them.

Striding into the clearing, was Glorfindel, Elrond and a silver-haired elf. And the one with the grey eyes immediately went to hers.

Crap, she was so dead.

As she placed her shield down and the twins brought their swords down, she stood awkwardly between the twins and Elrond and the silver-haired elf who looked rather familiar from her mind.

Glorfindel glanced around and asked them, “Where is Gandalf?” He headed past them, trying to search the landscape of the fortress for any signal from the grey wizard.

Elrohir answered him plainly, “Gone without us.”

With a stern gaze, Elrond spoke: “He shouldn’t have brought you here.” He glanced at his son and highlighted. “All three of you.”

Illyria jaw tightened as she shrugged and pointed a thumb at the twins. “Well, he did, and I followed and got these two as my baggage.” She let out a ragged breath and explained, “Somehow, Sauron seeks me and only I can do something about it.”

Now when she processed it in her head, it was either he was trying to lure her in like some evil dark lord he was…or a really bad way in asking for a Facebook friend request. [15]

Either way, both involved un-human leaders who seek to dominate the world by taking away your data. No offence to Mark Zuck, but that man looked more alien than Thor should have been.

Even Thanos looked more human than Mark Zuckerberg. [16]

(Darcy and Dad were not going to be amused hearing her say that.)

Elladan peered into his eyes and asked, “Why are you here, Father?”

There was a silent decision between the three older elves before Elrond revealed to them, “I was summoned, The White Council has been warned of the dangers here.”

She knew that Elrond had his eyes kept on her despite focusing out into Dol Guldur. Though Illyria changed it up a little bit, introducing herself to the silver-haired elf. “You must be Círdan if I remember my lore.” She asked, “And I guess you knew me?”

The tall Teleri elf was exactly how she imagined, with a mind that almost matched Tony Stark’s and her dad’s, though with an aura of wisdom. He did however look rather perplexed at her statement before his eyes changed.

Círdan nodded his head and smiled kindly, “Ah, I forget. Indeed, I am Círdan.”

Returning the small gesture, Illyria spotted her brother returning to their little group and found him beginning to set his sword into his sheath.

All this time, the very elf that was mad at her was ignoring her.

Elrond instructed the golden-haired elf, “Glorfindel, it’s best to return your sister to Lothlorien. Along with you two.” He eyed his son, who protested.

Elladan spoke back, “But father-“

Though he was cut off by Elrond’s stern glare as he ordered, “I mean it.” He gravely continued, “It is far of a risk to take you both in there.”

Her nostrils flared, sensing her power soar back up again as she strode right towards Elrond and caught his attention. Illyria said firmly, “Hey. I think we have the right to help Gandalf out.” She gestured out to the side and added, “We travelled three weeks, left the Company because we knew this was vital!”

Elrond gave her a blank look, speaking once more. “I am sorry, Illyria but it is far too dangerous.”

As he passed her, Illyria spun around her heels and cried out, “I know what lies in there! It isn’t the necromancer you believe it to be!”

However, the Noldorin elf ignored her and ordered, “I won’t have you three harmed, do you hear me?”

She watched the two enter the fortress, with no choice but to watch them from her place – her hands clenched in fists.

This was the worst version of a timeout because right now she was absolutely seething.

Firstly, how dare he made her go without her into that god-forsaken place!

Secondly, if she found him dead: she was going to march over to the Timeless Halls, demand Elrond back to her and kill him herself.

He had no right to make her leave because he thought it was too dangerous. She was a sorceress for fuck’s sake! She had fought in the war against Thanos, stabbed Azog in the eye and defeated an orc pack all on her own.

If they would be asking who can take care of themselves, he better admit that it was her.

Damn elves and their goddamn so-called wise decisions.

Illyria did not hide her anger around the twins and Glorfindel. In fact, they chose to stay silent as they walked down to Lothlorien. It was an awkward affair too, with her brother doubting to speak to her whilst the twins just didn’t even try to telepathically talk to each other.

He had no right. Sauron was after her and after Thorin and the Company. And only she knew how this fight would end.

Inhaling a breath, she stopped in her tracks and did what she had to do. Forming a small portal behind her, the elves quickly heard the hissing of her magic – but not quick enough to stop her.

They haven’t seen her portals yet.

Glorfindel spun around and started, “Illyria- What in Elbereth…”

However, she didn’t hear the rest of her brother’s voice as she jumped into the portal and quickly shut it behind her – the last sound being the yelping from the twins.

Illyria winced and spoke to herself, “God, I’m so sorry boys.” She pursed her lips and made a short whistle. “I do hope they forgive me for teleporting back here. And I hope Elrond doesn’t punish any of them.”

With one last look from the path, Illyria pushed through the barriers of the shield and ran across the narrow-broken bridge.

Already, the moment she entered the energy barrier Illyria felt as if something was beginning to eat her heart. This wasn’t any magic she encountered over on Earth, but not foreign from how she managed to bring herself back up before sprinting.

The fortress was large, though it was obvious where the White Council was fighting by the screeching sounds and metal clashing.

That would probably be the Ringwraiths. [17]

Take a deep breath, Illyria mentally prepared herself for what was to come and conjured two shields on her fists. There: Illyria entered the upper levels of the fortress.

She can already sense the Ringwraiths’ aura around her, as her eyes searched the staircase and found one spotting her. The outline of the shadow ran towards her as it brought its sword down. Deflecting it with her shield, Illyria held the sword up before blasting a ball of light at the wraith’s body, pushing it against the column. Another blast of light, she saw the column begin to falter and the wraith fell into the abyss.

Illyria took another breath to adjust herself. These wraiths were harder than she thought they would be.

‘Okay, plan B.’ She thought and spotted the White Council. They were busy fighting: with Círdan protecting Galadriel and Gandalf whilst Elrond and Saruman were keeping the other wraith’s busy.

‘Hmm, let’s see if this works.’

She quickly formed a portal with the sling ring just below the wraith’s feet whilst it fought Elrond towards the edge. And with a quick change, she formed another portal out from the air.

If wraiths can convey emotion, that wraith was confused. Though it didn’t have enough time as it fell into the portal and expelled a high-pitch screech down into the ground below. Illyria smirked inwardly and shut the portal, before finding Elrond looking completely baffled.

Her breath hitched, as she quickly screamed out and sent a wave of light at the incoming wraith before him. Snapping back at his senses, he pivoted from his stance and stabbed the wraith in its gut before tossing it down from the edge.

There was then a moment they made eye contact.

Her blue eyes meeting his grey ones.

Elrond shouted angrily back, “I told you to go back with them!” He turned around and parried the wraith.

As she realised, he was holding it back, she conjured an Eldritch whip and tossed the end at the wraith, tripping their legs as she tugged them towards her to the ground. Elrond took the last blow, twisting the blade into the wraith’s head as it burst into a mist.

Illyria blasted another light at the incoming wraith as she shouted back in irritation, “And I don’t listen to orders!” She pushed the wraith back towards Elrond as she added, “I hope we weren’t like this, what would your wife say?”

Slicing his sword through the wraith is a pattern, the wraith screeched in pain before he disintegrated in shards of black. Elrond replied with heavy breaths, “Actually, you were equally as reckless. And my wife was no less different.”

Illyria smirked back and conjured her shields the moment a sword was aimed at her. “Glad that your wife and I are on the same page,” She said with the same breathless tone, and from the corner of her sight: she almost swore that Elrond looked amused.

At the same time, Radagast had arrived on time, taking Gandalf onto her sledge. Illyria continued to battle the wraiths by Elrond’s side, keeping his back protected and vice versa whilst Círdan aided Gandalf onto his feet before getting Galadriel. Gandalf insisted on bringing Galadriel along, but she shook her head, ordering Radagast to go.

So as the two Istari left, Illyria glanced over to the Lady of Light and found her gaze at her.

It was there Illyria felt something enter her head. Faltering, she was lucky enough as Elrond shoved the last wraith off the edge and stared at her with concern.

However, she wasn’t focused on him at all.

Someone was in her head. A dark shadow made her spine grow stiff and her heart freeze as the whispers crawled into her head. Illyria tried to push them away, though the more she did the more it pushed against her barriers.

She turned around and saw a burst of red light enter her sight. A dark outline of a figure appeared within the burst of flames, roaring and growing until it formed the shape of an eye.

He was here.

Sauron was in front of them.

“The Eternal Light has returned to this world.” Harsh hissing voices echoed around them, and into their minds.

Whilst none dared to respond, Illyria was the first one to speak loudly back. “You know me then?” She questioned him.

Sauron rasped, “You brought my master down, after what we offered you…After what I offered you.”

More vision clouded her sight, the faint voices of blood-curdling screams and metal.

Not right now, why was she getting visions now?

She realised who was giving it to her, and Illyria shoved her mental barrier further out as she gritted her teeth back at the spirit. Illyria sarcastically spat, “Sadly, I can’t remember anything about that, I hope you kept a receipt!”

“It time for the age of orc to come! You and your kin will burn when I return! The first will be you!” Sauron answered before he brought a blast of dark energy at them.

“NO!”

A bright light burst from within her hands – enveloping her with an intense golden-white glow. Nothing Illyria had ever witnessed herself as she felt the energy continue to radiate through her body like electricity. Her head was spinning with visions of the flaming eye and flashes of the eye.

However, Illyria didn’t stop. She pushed all she could, feeling the glow overcome the dark tendrils in her mind as Sauron tried to attack her mentally and physically.

‘Elemmírë!’ A voice called out to her.

Illyria screamed mentally, ‘Artanis, it is too much…you must use…your ring!’

Suddenly, she felt a new force of light enter. This one was brighter and yet cooler. She pried her eyes open, finding Galadriel stand beside her – her own hand out as she commanded the ring from her hand.

“You have no power here, servant of Morgoth!” Galadriel charged, channelling a deep sonorous sound as multiple layers rang into her ears. “You are nameless. Faceless. Formless. Go back to the void, from whence you came!”

The flame of the eye began to flicker, and Illyria took one last breath and cried out. Another burst of light pushed the dark figure until a powerful force pulled Sauron back.

A flash of light burst in front of her and Galadriel, pushing her from her stance as she stumbled backwards. Feeling someone catch her, Illyria’s eyes rolled at the back of her head as a choking gasp left her mouth.

She did her best to stay away, but all she last saw was Elrond’s blurring face.

“Illyria!” His voice was so far away, “…Illyria, stay with us! Stay with me…”

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Unknown

Time: September 2941 T.A

Dreams are said to be images of wishes or impulses from childhood. Wishes such as wanting a favourite toy and meeting your favourite storybook character in real life, or perhaps wishing to have superpowers such as flight or superstrength. Maybe turning into a mermaid or having your very own fairy wings.

In the case of Illyria Strange: she never had those dreams.

Ever since she remembered up to this point: her nights were spent reminiscing scenes that were not her own. One of the more occurring dreams was a city, hidden under a surrounding landscape of mountains – and in the centre where the great white walls of the white city. How each gate she arrived at was of a different colour, and how in the centre was a beautiful palace adorned with jewels, paintings, and a tall tower.

She also dreamt of a forest-dwelling, with houses built atop treetops and figures wearing green holding spears. Mixed amongst them were those who wore red, who played with children and the blonde-haired figure chased them around – laughter filling her mind.

However, she also dreamt of the valley. A valley that never faltered its beauty, with waterfalls cascading down cliffs and houses dotted across with bridges connecting each dwelling. It was then that the dreams she thought she imagined from the books she read were not her own.

As her knowledge grew, dreams became visions. Visions of a past, present or future Illyria neither knew nor made up. When she began learning of the existence of possible alternative realities, it was then she knew that some higher being or even connection to some other higher power was giving her these visions.

Or sometimes Illyria just thought she was going crazy.

But if she did go to a therapist, she believed that they’ll just wonder why a bunch of monks adopted a random child they found.

In conclusion, Illyria never went to a therapist for the dreams and decided to conduct her own research. She thought that the Ancient One might provide the answers she sought out once her dreams began to get realistic in times of the year – but all the Ancient One said was this.

“Why do you believe someone is giving you these visions, little one?” The Ancient One asked her back.

A nine-year-old Illyria didn’t know how to respond.

The Ancient One took one of her hands into their own and gazed down at her. “I know that you are young, Illyria. Far too young to know the vast realities.” They said with sympathy. “But I assure you that neither any higher being can control you. We dictate our own paths, and those visions are your own.”

Illyria – still so young and afraid – wept. “But why? Why do I have them?” She questioned them before crying out, “I don’t want to see them! They hurt her so much!”

“Who?” The Ancient One asked?

Illyria answered, “The blonde-haired lady.” She spoke, “Everything she sees, she loses. Her family, her friends.” Tears littered her cheeks as she clenched her eyes.

Illyria felt the pain for the blonde-haired woman. The sorrow which the blonde-haired woman endured; watching the fires burn as a blonde knight fell into the abyss or the red-haired man toss themselves into the fiery chasm.

A hand cupped her face, and Illyria found the Ancient One draw her eyes to them.

Their eyes shone with wisdom and age. Illyria wondered how truly old they were. If they were older than some of the furniture in the Sanctuary.

“Your grief for her is your own,” The Ancient One said softly. “And grief is the product of one’s love that had never died. Do not be upset for the pain, for it shows that you are stronger than you believe.”

Illyria searched her eyes and whispered, “I want them to go away.” She asked, “Can you do that? Make the pain go away?”

“I cannot,” The Ancient One replied, placing a hand over her forehead. “Memories and dreams differ. Memories and visions will forever be with you. But I believe you can strengthen yourself through thinking about another.”

She asked, “Like what?”

“Think of good memories.” The Ancient One explained. “One you will understand how your powers work, little one. And the first step to controlling them is to think of the happiness of those visions.”

“All I have to do it think happy things?” Young Illyria questioned.

The Ancient One nodded, “Yes.” She then stressed out lastly, “But remember Illyria. From time to time, you must allow your visions and memories to surface. You cannot always run from them. They are still a part of you and over time, you must accept a part of you that you wish not to have, or it will hurt you more than you expect.”

Ten years later: Illyria Strange was still trying.

Her consciousness waking and rising every moment asking herself what was happening. Where was she? What happened? Were the others alright?

She can hear voices, unsure if it was in her head or from her surroundings…wherever this place was. Her sight was still blurry, trying to pry her eyes though the bright light prevented her from fully adjusting.

Illyria began to hum, doing all she could to muster a word or a thought. Though as she tried to reach for any nearby mind, Illyria felt getting cut loose through the connection.

‘Rest now…’ Finally, a melodious voice caught into her head.

And Illyria felt herself drift off once more.

A clear blue sky hovered above the hidden valley, with the sun filling the city with warm light. Many of those who dwelled in the valley took the opportunity to spend their time under the conditions, as it was the first day since the turning of Spring.

Up in the upper levels of the city was a large house, along with many gardens and courtyards which decorated the lands with many plants, trees, and flowers.

A little girl raced down the path down to the garden, passing gardeners with the cutest smile before they greeted the young child. Her breathing became shallow, breathless from all the running until a pair of hands grabbed her from the back and picked her up in the air.

The little girl squealed as the blonde-haired woman spun her around in her grasp, both breathing heavily from all the running. The blonde-haired woman pushed the dark strands away from the little girl’s face and stared at her with utter pride and joy – before grinning back and chuckling along.

“How long was that my Evenstar?” The blonde-haired woman asked her.

The little girl answered, “Not long enough.” She pouted, “You’re too fast, Nana!” [1]

The mother’s eyes twinkled in contentment, “Well one day, you’re going to be faster than me.” She spoke. “Perhaps you might even be faster on a horse.”

“Like Uncle Glorfindel and Asfaloth?” The little girl gasped, widening her grey eyes.

Of course, the mother couldn’t resist those eyes and smiled warmly. “Maybe even swifter than them.”

“But that’s impossible!” The little girl exclaimed, waving her hands out. “Asfaloth is the fastest ever!”

As the mother carried her daughter towards the bench which overlooked the gardens and valley below, she placed her daughter down on her lap. “Fastest ever, you say?” The mother hummed, “I’ve heard of many other horses, ones that are faster than Asfaloth. A horse called Felarof was known to be the lord of all horses.” [2]

“I want to travel so fast everywhere, Nana.” The little girl sighed wistfully, a dreamy gaze over her. “Like you and Ada. Uncle and Dan and Ro.” [3]

Letting the girl sit forward, the blonde-haired woman brought her daughter’s hair and began braiding it much like her own. “One day you will,” She spoke. “And we’ll travel to all parts of Middle Earth.”

“I want to see the white city of Minas Tirith and Dol Amroth by the sea. Oh! And I want to see Lothlorien and their golden trees and the Grey Havens.” The little girl rambled on, causing her mother to grin along as she continued her work. “And Fangorn Forest! Is it true that the trees are alive there?” [4][5][6]

The mother replied, “I believe so. They are called the Onodrim, shepherds of the trees created by Illuvatar.” She then took a spare ribbon from her own hair and began tying the end of her daughter’s braid. “It is said that they once had wives though due to their gardens being destroyed, they disappeared.” [7]

“Why Nana?” Her daughter turned around to glance up at her. “Why did they?”

The mother pondered a second, never truly delving into that question ever since. She had known that Sauron had destroyed their forests and gardens in the last age. Now numbers so scarce, the Ents had removed themselves from ever mingling with the other races.

She was about to begin until a voice answered instead.

“It is said that Ents preferred the wilderness of the forest whereas the Entwives chose their gardens. They would meet from time to time and find love.” Entering the secluded garden, a tall dark-haired figure approached them – spotting them sitting idly on their favourite bench.

The little girl spotted them and asked, “But why? Why don’t they make gardens in the forest, Ada?”

“Yes, why don’t they live together?” The mother asked towards the dark-haired elf as he sat down beside them.

As he sat down, the little girl turned to the side – propping her bare feet upon her father’s lap. He spoke, “Gardens need a lot of sunlight to grow. And the forest canopy much covered the ground we walk.” He continued, “Only the East of the forest allowed space and thus the Entwives moved. However, the Ents loved their forest too much.”

Her parents glanced at each other for a moment, a thought going through them as their daughter spoke, “Nana, are you going to leave?”

There was a moment of silence as the two parents stared at her.

“No, my darling!” The mother shook her head and tucked a strand of hair over her pointed ears. Pressing a kiss over her daughter’s head, she spoke. “Not in all the ages will I leave you and your brothers, Arwen.”

The little girl looked up to her father and questioned, “And you won’t leave too Ada?”

The father, who was also taken in surprise at the question, drew his daughter close and his wife by his side. They were now squished despite how large this bench was, but he didn’t mind it at all. His wife seated as she draped her head on his shoulder whilst their daughter was on their lap.

At such a young age for an elf, Arwen had become perceptive. Of course, she knew it wasn’t true: her parents loved each other too much to leave each other. From time to time, Ada would leave to go to Lothlorien whilst Nana often visited Arnor and Gondor. One day, Arwen wanted to go out there, beyond the valley she called home and see what the rest of Middle Earth as well. But she knew that they would never leave each other.

Not even all the forces of Arda would separate them under Arwen’s eyes.

“Never, my Evenstar.” He placed a small kiss on Arwen’s forehead. He then eyed his wife who gazed over him with the same bright light in her eyes. “And I will never leave you, Elemmírë.”

“I will always be by your side, Elrond.” Elemmírë softly spoke, a smile never leaving their lips.

When her eyes fluttered open, she was met by her heart thumping against her ribcage.

However, her body never moved – a tingling mix of warmth and coldness seeping through her as she adjusted her vision.

And to find those same grey eyes that were once from the little girl in her memories, made Illyria breathlessly say her name.

Her daughter’s name.

“Arwen.”

When you wake up after banishing a dark maia, you are not supposed to find out your sort-of-daughter looking down at you as if she were seeing a ghost.

Well technically-

Illyria snapped back to reality, or what she assumed it to be, and let her eyes linger over her. This was Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar – one of Illyria’s favourite characters in both the books and movies.

Though now why she had to accept that Arwen was her daughter wasn’t because of the dream as well: but because Illyria can see a clear resemblance of her in her. And like…real clear resemblance of her.

The elf in front of her wasn’t entirely mirroring her appearance, paler in skin tone and rounder in the face. Not to mention that her hair was dark brown, almost black. Long and silky though with the waves that she had. Her lips and nose were hers whilst her eyes and eyebrows were perfectly identical apart from the colour of her irises. Grey eyes like Elrond’s.

Noticing that she had been staring at her for about a minute, Illyria was glad that Arwen snapped her own shock by asking her;

“Do you…do you remember?” She questioned, almost in a whisper. At least Illyria was not the only one surprised.

Honestly, Illyria was conflicted about how to answer. All the memories of feeling and sensing the relationship with her daughter were all there in her head – but it felt foreign and yet familiar at the same time. It was like coming home after a long vacation, perhaps a month or so away, and then coming back to your house and you wonder how to work the oven or the microwave again.

Was this how people felt like coming back from the snap? Her dad must have felt this way after all the adrenaline from the battle ended. Even after having to sort through all the issues around the dimensions and earth, Illyria could tell that her dad was still unsure how to approach her. After all, she did age five years.

However, this can’t match the hundreds or thousand years (she still didn’t know the details of her death and that’s going to be an entirely different conversation to ask about) since Arwen had last seen her.

Why did her heart suddenly slump onto the pit of her stomach?

Illyria hesitated as she answered, “I…I guess.” Pulling herself up, she continued. “A memory of us…and…”

As she tried to push against the soft mattress (which in doubt was heavenly after two months using a bedroll or the hard ground), she felt her arms weaken under her. A sting of pain rose to the back of her head, her vision going dizzy around the room.

Arwen supported her back with her arms, easing her to a sitting position. “Do take care, Nana.” She told her, “You have drained much of your power.”

Half of that time, Illyria got whiplash after hearing that word.

God, this was strange. Stranger than even her name to begin with.

Illyria nervously chuckled, “It’s going to be a while to get used to hearing the word mother.”  

That earned her a soft laugh from Arwen as she stood back and sat on the chair beside her bed. “I knew you would remember,” She told her, underlined with such hope and joy that it almost broke Illyria into tears if she wasn’t having to feel herself float in limbo in her mind still.

Wait.

Illyria tilted her head and asked, “Why do you say that?” Her hands rested over her lap, letting her feet cross over each other. “And how long have I been asleep?”

Her eyes darted around the room, to find most of the walls to be made of wood. Everything was ornate and darker than those from Imladris, with more curving archways and curling motifs outlining the columns. What awed her was that despite the sun shining in small rays through the large windows, it had been the cool glow of the lamps which awed her.

This must be Lothlorien. And from her knowledge from the story, this must be Caras Galadhon. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn’s domain. [8]

Arwen answered her question whilst her eyes were focused elsewhere, “A week.” She explained, “Father and I have been making sure you’ve been drinking and eating. Do you remember anything else?”

Taking a deep breath, she exhaled in frustration. “No. I passed out in Dol Guldur.” Illyria added, “Well I at least it wasn’t anybody I didn’t know that woke me up.” Oh, she would’ve made a very big scene if some random elf decided to tend to her. Miriel was lovely and all, probably the only one she would probably not mind waking up to see after getting beaten down by monsters and a dark lord.

Arwen’s eyebrows furrowed, and her mind set to confusion as she spoke, “I don’t understand, Father told me you would not know-“

“I…I don’t know to be honest,” Illyria admitted, looking back to Arwen. “I just…it was just so close that…”

Trailing off, she then remembered all the moments in which several…certain people tried to dodge a particular question. Why Glorfindel had called Elrond his brother. Why the twins were so awkward as she asked how their mother died. And why Elrond was beginning to get rather close and didn’t mind her holding her hand-

Illyria’s mind jerked and her body twitched like a glitch. Her jaw tightened as she gave every single bit of her energy left from not bursting out of those doors and storming towards where those prickly pointed elves were.

Not only that, she was going to have some words with a certain wizard.

Very colourful words.

Illyria inhaled sharply and murmured a little lower than usual. “I am going to kill them.” She then flashed back a smile at the elf in front of her and added, “But first, I am starving.”

So, food was a lovely affair…if you considered squishing up every bread roll your daughter (still might have to reconsider calling her in her head like that) would pass to you over the small dining table. Illyria ate with much gusto as any starving hobbit, eating the fruit and cheese whilst Arwen went over to get her some clothes.

Illyria was not having the greatest time at all. Don’t get her wrong, the quarters were lovely and homely and ethereal. Everything felt fresh and mysterious (even the pillows were like a send-off to dreamland or something) and not to mention the wine that was on peak. Ten out of ten would have an Italian vineyard winemaker jealous.

However, it didn’t delay her rather moody attitude as she healed her cuts and bruises. Arwen had caught her doing so, almost having to take a moment in shock before realising Illyria was using more of her magic and scolded her.

Honestly, at this point, she was beginning to think their relationship was the other way around.

That had been an awkward affair before she was left to her own devices.

Oh where to begin…

Right, about five certain people as well as countless others (who she can’t exactly name and shame as of now (cough Lindir cough Erestor cough Miriel)) who have been involved in the process of believing that everything in Imladris and Middle Earth was all sunshine and flowers. The fact that no one told her Elemmírë was the real Lady of Rivendell all this time…

She needed more wine. Perhaps an entire casket. Or perhaps once she heads off to Mirkwood and Erebor, she might ask for that piece of utter trash Thranduil called a beverage.

It wasn’t that she was angry. Hell, yes she was. (She can probably go green like the Hulk smash the entire tree if she could.) But it was how they dodged every bit thinking she would react like she would collapse any minutes. They’ve practically been talking to their dead mother/wife/sister/friend/lady/elf for possibly three months.

She should feel betrayed…though slightly impressed.

Even so, she then felt guilty. How did they feel the entire time? They had to carry the burden of watching her throw herself into these things and had to hide the pain-

It was there Illyria, now in her third glass – finally felt the reason as to why Elrond Peredhel lied to her.

She was sitting down on the platform that comprised this entire level of the tree. Most of the city was built from the ground up, with platforms and bridges and staircases all connecting to one another. When the evening grew, it was even more beautiful as the blue lamps glowed and the stars twinkled from the gaps of the golden-leaf trees. Illyria couldn’t remember from any of Elemmírë’s memories, though she did skim read through an excerpt from her journal about her trip here.

Not many elves have stumbled upon her, and those who did were the ones who brought food over to her. Even Elrond had not come up, which she was thankful for or else she might have done something stupid and perhaps slap his face.

(Darcy might even suggest the taser too, though Illyria was equally horrified and dying of laughter after that conversation. You don’t normally find people who have tased a god before.)

(The god of thunder to be exact.)

Finishing her glass, she placed it at the side only to spot from her periphery the familiar blue dress that someone wore today approach where she sat. Illyria returned her face to stare out into the forest, before sensing her get close.

“I tend to sit here when I am lost in thought as well,” Arwen spoke softly, sitting over the edge like her – dangling her legs over the platform.

Illyria glanced at her and smiled, “Not the only ones then.” She nodded her head and introduced herself. “I’m Illyria now, but with you know…memories and all. But as you said, your father told you what’s happened?”

“Yes,” Arwen answered.

She then asked back, “Have you told him?”

To her surprise, Arwen replied honestly, “I haven’t been able to.” She explained, “He’s been tending to Lady Galadriel as well.”

Arwen elaborated on what happened since she, the twins and the White Council several hours from Dol Guldur. Both Illyria and Galadriel had passed out to try and banish Sauron’s own life force from the fortress all the way back into the East (assuming it must have been Mordor from her deduction). The Lady of Lothlórien had woken up first, aided by the healers along with Elrond. Lord Celeborn had not left her side for the entire time, afraid that his wife would fade.

Whereas for Illyria, she had been asleep for another five days, almost waking up before going back to sleep at times. Glorfindel and the twins visited her often, keeping her company when Elrond and Arwen weren’t in. But the fact that Elrond tended to her despite what happened made her slightly guilty until she remembered who had forgotten to tell her who she was.

“Oh good, because I’m not going to tell him,” Illyria said, a hint of irritation set from her tone.

Sensing the anger from her, Arwen inhaled and bit her lip nervously. “He did it to protect you, Nana.” She looked over and spoke, “They all did.”

Illyria tilted her head to her side and looked at her, “I know that they did,” She straightened herself up, adjusting the dress that she wore. “But as Illyria, I just can’t bear it when people hide the very thing that’s been on my mind for months now.”

Her voice trailed off in a whisper, already preparing for the pain that was ensued. Despite knowing now that this was her daughter, she couldn’t do it to her – to any of them for that matter. She could not lie to them that she was this Elemmírë again and that everything can go back to normal.

When in fact, this entire remembering bit of this journey just made things so much more complicated. How was she going to approach them now after this? Will things now change when the world finally realised Elemmírë returned from the dead?

Illyria was not prepared for the world her past self once roamed, and she felt the fear eating her from the inside.

Perhaps Galadriel was right. Perhaps Illyria Strange and Elemmírë were just too hot-headed to fight over who gets this body.

Illyria knew the growing pain that was in Arwen’s heart. How a daughter had thought that hope was so near but not as she wanted it to be.

Reaching towards her hand, Illyria squeezed as she began, “I know this isn’t what you wanted, Arwen.” Illyria apologised, “But please forgive me. Both of me.”

The elven woman breathed, “I know.” Arwen’s eyes glistened, never removing her awe at her. “I just wonder if this is all a dream and that you’re not really back.”

Somewhere in her heart or mind, a small inch of her cracked open. Illyria whispered, “Oh Arwen.” She shook her head, “No, my Evenstar. I…I remember you. Not through memories but in feelings. I don’t know how but… don’t ever think it’s a dream.”

Scooting closer to her, Illyria pulled Arwen into a slow embrace. She gave the elf a moment to consider the action before she silently welcomed herself in Illyria’s side-hug. Her daughter nestled her head on her shoulder as Illyria gentle caressed her hair.

For some reason: it felt right for once. And Illyria heart calmed as they let the time pass by around them.

The next morning, still forced to take it easy and sit in her allotted room, Illyria found herself spending breakfast over Arwen’s presence. She began to know more about her daughter (again, still weird for her to think about) and asked what she did here in Lothlorien and if she was ever planning to head back to Imladris sometime.

Arwen thanked her for passing the raspberry conserve before continuing, “I’ve been living in Lothlórien for the past few decades.”

Illyria should be focusing on what she was saying, but the fact that Arwen Undómiel preferred to put more cream than jam on her scone was the proudest moment a mother could say. Or just her for any matter because living in Oxford for a couple of months now, Illyria began to respect the idea of desserts and she should note that clotted cream was divine.

(She once ate an entire tub of clotted cream down from the corner shop where her post-graduate house was, and she didn’t care about her budget if she could get this bad boy.)

Back to the subject, Illyria placed her teacup down and raised an eyebrow across the table. “Why?” She asked, “I would have thought your father would keep you back in Imladris.”

She capped the jar of conserve before answering, “Father wishes I stay there, but sometimes many years at home you long for change.” Arwen twitched her lips fondly but also added, “As well as that, Lady Galadriel has offered to aid me with my training.”

“With what?” Illyria asked.

Dusting her hands clean, Arwen rose her hand outwards – palm up as she took a breath.

What formed on Arwen’s palm shocked her.

There, Arwen had produced a similar ball of light like her own. However, the colour was warmer in tone, unlike her white glow.

Welp, this suddenly proves that she was definitely related to her alright.

The energy emitted from her hand was similar to hers, only cooler, with perhaps the potential to grow. She quirked her lips and said, “I guess it comes down the family…” Illyria then realised something and trailed off, “No wonder why those two…”

Okay, she was dumb. She was really dumb.

Elladan and Elrohir had the ability to telepathically connect because of her genes. They’ve been speaking freely to her through their mind as if they already knew each other.

That’s because they technically did.

If it wasn’t breakfast and Illyria wasn’t trying to spit out the tea in her mouth: she would be slapping her face.

Arwen already deduced from her disappointment and pointed, “I assume you’ve known about the twins’ tricks.”

Groaning, she heard Arwen chuckle as Illyria complained, “Do you know how annoying they are?” She had her free hand making a waving gesture. “I literally travelled with them for three weeks with Gandalf and they talk constantly to each other! Not to mention the number of times I’ve caught them talking about what rumours are going about in Imladris.”

She told Arwen that her older brothers were talking about Erestor’s secret affections to Glorfindel and vice versa, which Arwen then already knew about it (to Illyria’s annoyance because her brother should have mentioned about it already) and only heard through eavesdropping the gardeners about the house.

Ha, she liked her already.

As her ball of light disappeared, she returned to eating her breakfast. “You were the only one that can handle them.” Arwen told her, “Even Ada cannot tame the two constantly using their abilities.”

Illyria glanced at her and asked, “Do your brothers have them?”

She received a shake from Arwen. “Not as strong as I do.” Her daughter explained, “Elladan and Elrohir both had theirs later than I.”

‘Well, that’s interesting…’ Illyria wondered to herself, taking another sip before grabbing another scone. She must consult with the masters she grew up with within Kamar-Taj and ask when she began to show her powers. She had yet to know if it was possible to transfer her powers so it must have been passed down or within her own DNA.

She could ask Uncle Wong and Dad, but then Illyria did remember who she was going to explain to.

Oh fuck. How was she going to explain to her dad about all of this?

‘Oh hey, Dad. It’s been a while. Just found out that I’m a reincarnated elf who has a family that you might have heard of,’ Illyria wryly thought before biting into the food. “Well, I’m glad only one of you three got this. Is that why you’re here?” She asked Arwen.

“In honesty, Lady Galadriel has only been able to help me control them.” Arwen smiled softly towards her and continued, “You used to teach me before, and how to wield it in many ways.”

Illyria admitted back, “I don’t even know the extent of them myself.” She then clapped her hands after finishing the scone and spoke with a grin, “Well, tell you what. I can give you one quick lesson right now. Have you ever heard of meditation?”

Getting along with your so-called daughter from a past life was surprisingly easy. Illyria and Arwen spent the entire morning practising and teaching all she could to her.

They did agree on the condition to not mention Illyria’s revelation, which Arwen was a little hesitant on going but then casually shrugged as no one was going to be hurt. (Apart from some egos and whatnot but oh well.)

Ha, time to get revenge on those four (excluding the wizard) for hiding the very thing.

“You and Arwen get along well.” Glorfindel pointed out.

Finally, Illyria wasn’t on bed-arrest and could wander about the city wherever she pleased. She had spent her own free time sorting out her clothes as well as grabbing some pictures of the beautiful forest city with her phone. More elves were beginning to glance at her as she walked amongst the bridges and staircases, wondering how this imposter was allowed in their secret home.

Illyria asked herself as well and wondered if she had some beef around here, especially with certain ones who spoke about ‘Noldorin elves’ in a suspicious or even disgusting matter. Well, at least all civilisations and societies had some form of racism in this world or else she would call this all an illusion.

Even to her shock, some Silvan elves gave Glorfindel some odd looks, and he was probably one of the most known elves of the Third Age. But after their little wandering, she and Glorfindel decided to head up to more open parts of the city as they found a secluded platform that showed the starry night sky.

Illyria turned to her brother and grinned, “She’s a very pleasant person to talk to.” She then questioned, “Was anyone going to mention Arwen and I share the same power? I was able to help her tap into a little bit of shield protection spells.”

Glorfindel easily dodged the question (again, she’s going to give payback for his little lying) and took a deep shuddering breath, “I am pleased that you’re enjoying your recovery, but I am not happy with what you did.”

As they found a bench to sit on, Illyria plopped down and sighed, “I knew you’d say that.” She waved her hand and added, “Come on, tell me off blondie.”

“Illyria, we did it to protect you. You have not encountered him in this life, and I don’t even know you remember him.” He peered his eyes and added, “…Unless you did know.”

She took a moment to process her thoughts and began, “I knew the moment he tried to get inside my head.” Illyria’s hand began to rub her chest through the dress, feeling a slight burn in her. “He was trying to get somewhere. I don’t where but maybe my powers. But I don’t even know how I even manifested these. Do you?”

As she gazed up to him, Glorfindel shook his head. “In truth, never.” He answered, “It was the very thing no one knew about you. A lot of our kind had some form of magic, though rather small. You, on the other hand, used to glow like a lamp in a dark room. Always wanting to spend the entire night under the stars.”

The last bit made her lips twitch, imagining herself become like an elven glowstick getting chased by a big, tall blonde elf around Gondolin. If she had wings, she might have become a firefly.

Illyria grinned manically and asked, “What did we usually do together?” She leaned towards him and pushed on, “Come on Fin. Let me guess, I used to annoy you to no ends.”

“And you still do to this day,” Glorfindel answered back, never hiding the grin.

With a mocking gasp, Illyria swatted the elf’s arm. “Hey!”

A laugh left his lips before he calmed down – a nostalgic smile as he looked back, “But when I wasn’t away or busy, I would take you up one of the towers in the city. And the entire night we would stargaze, and you would teach me all the different constellations you and Idril learnt.” Glorfindel gazed up, following her lead. “You always loved to see the stars up close, wishing that one day you would fly up to the skies and touch them with your hands.”

Illyria sucked in her breath, taken back at the heartfelt memory from him. She had yet to speak of something about Gondolin to Glorfindel at all, almost feeling privileged that he would say it even if they were siblings. She knew his memories were beginning to fade most of his life before his death, so hearing about a time where they were happy together made her chest tighten.

He had given her a gift she didn’t deserve, so touched that Illyria almost teared up hadn’t she sucked it in and told herself that she’d been crying too many times lately. Not when they were happy once more.

Illyria continued to eye the sky as she whispered, “I still do it to this day.” She continued, “I mean not upon a tower, but I study planets and the stars too. That’s astrophysics. And actually, our world has now found a way to fly up there. Maybe one day…one day I’ll take you up there. See the stars.” She glanced to her side, hesitant from her proposal.

Looking down at her, Glorfindel smiled softly. “I would love that, little sister.”

They continued their little sibling moment in silence, just keeping each other company as they stared up at the sky. Illyria never noticed how much she had meant to him, how important Elemmírë was to the golden-haired elf. She had been the last remnants of their kind, his last kin who knew what Gondolin was like.

Eventually, Illyria leaned her head and kept it on his shoulder, allowing his hands to wrap around her shoulders for support. This was something she could get used to.

However, five minutes later: her brother asked her a question.

“Oh, sister. The twins told me of your trip South. You told them about your so called ‘movies’, I’m fascinated by how people on Earth portrayed me. Was I good?”

Illyria choked out a laugh, swearing that every elf in the city must have heard her. She probably sounded like a dying orc.

Because it was the ugliest laugh she had done since landing here.

Then arrived the day she needed to get through.

As much as she was equally annoyed at the so-called half-elven Lord of Imladris, Illyria was too nervous to approach him.

Even at the presence or even the mention of Elrond Peredhel, she felt sick to her stomach like she had just gotten off Space Mountain in Disneyland (with half of the population gone, there was half the amount of people to line up for the rides so she didn’t waste the opportunity to get on with Harley and the Starks.). When Arwen or the twins or Glorfindel mentioned Elrond, if she had seen him or talked to him, Illyria would freeze from the spot and send her mind projecting elsewhere. [9]

She didn’t want to talk to him, not when he was her husband.

Another turn insider her stomach churned as she swallowed her at any existence of her true nerves as she headed towards his temporary quarters. Her entire mind was chanting every bit to force her not to do anything stupid or just plain wrong in front of him. If the plan was to continue, Illyria needed to play her part and act calmly.

Turning around the corner, she found him leaving his quarters and headed towards the bridge. But damn his elven ears and eyesight when he spotted her just entering his vision.

When her eyes laid over to his, her heart twanged like a bell.

Shit. Calm down Strange.

‘Were his eyes this wonderful before-‘ Illyria partially froze from her spot and clammed up her mind. This was not the right time to be thinking about his appearance!

Thankfully, the half-elf in question gave her a small, serene smile that wavered slightly – tilting his head to indicate for her to follow.

Striding as coolly as possible to his side, they walked over the bridge across the trees.

She was not sure how to begin the conversation, so Illyria came up with the next best topic. “How is she?”

Elrond took a breath and responded, “Much of power was drained when using Nenya. But she is growing stronger to her usual self.”

She knew that tone really well. Again and again, the same set of tone that even he was doing right now at her. Because Elrond didn’t want to have a conversation about it. About what happened in Dol Guldur. Illyria didn’t need to read his mind at the anger and frustration he was holding back.

And somehow her chest skipped at a coldness that drew her out his name.

Illyria slowed down to a stop where they stood, an open platform. She spoke aloud, “Elrond…”

He quickly spun with his heels, questioning her with an irritable tone. “What possessed you in going against him?”

And what came out of her mouth made her soon regret it. “Well, you went against him-“

“I meant alone.” Elrond glared, inhaling sharply. “You have no idea how there could have been a trick or a mistake-“

She interrupted him frantically, “But I didn’t mess up, didn’t I? I kept him away as long as I could before Galadriel used her ring-“

“It does not mean you risk your life!”

As her jaw tightened, something in her head clicked.

Illyria snapped back, “I am not your wife, Elrond Peredhel!” She continued, her rage growing. “And if she was here, I think she would be very upset that you thought she could not handle on her own!”

Elrond stopped. His eyes narrowed.

She wasn’t sure what he was about to do. She could sense his anger growing. But to her surprise, he simply stared at her before walking away.

Wait, no. She didn’t want him to leave!

Argh, why did she have to use her idiotic mouth?

Illyria paused and ran up to him, reaching out but quickly flinching it away. “Wait, Elrond I didn’t mean it.” She exasperated and clenched her hands to her sides. “You…You just frustrate me!”

He raised an eyebrow. “I frustrate you?”

Huffing, she rolled her eyes and spoke, “You know what I mean.” Illyria then rushed out, “Look that was stupid of me to say.”

Turning to face her, he listened.

She took a shuddering breath. “Look. I know. That was stupid and reckless. You can say all those things.” Illyria opened her eyes and gazed at him. “But I’m angry because you didn’t think I take care of myself. I’ve been on my own for many years with my magic. I’ve been taught how to defend myself and how to tackle dark powers.”

Illyria could feel her energy surging up her chest, almost charging up.

“How you treated me in front of them…I felt like a child when I am nowhere near one!” She gritted her teeth, not caring anymore who heard her. “I am not a child anymore. Not when I had to grow up to not only lose my father but a close friend who might have been like an uncle to me. You don’t know my entire past, Elrond Peredhel and you don’t understand how recent everything that’s happened and-“

She couldn’t breathe. All she heard was the buzzing in her mind and a sense of heat prickling up to her fingertips. Her heart was beating so fast until someone grabbed her hand.

Illyria looked up and saw Elrond’s worried look. He had not let go of her hand.

In fact, his thumb began to rub circles on the back of her hand – which started to ease her breaths.

He spoke softly, “Illyria. Take a breath.”

Following his advice did cool her down, taking a moment to concentrate on his gentle caresses before she bit her lips and murmured.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be rambling, but I needed to get it off my chest.”

“I perhaps had lost my temper there as well.” Elrond took a breath.

Illyria looked back up.

Never had she felt like this before. Watching someone’s eyes almost look at her like that, with care and compassion. And she was so urged to reach up to him to cup her hand around his own face.

Elrond breathed, “You are correct, I may have stepped over my boundaries.” He whispered to her, “But you must understand that I- we lost you in the same circumstances. And I cannot leave you assured only by Mithrandir’s protection and your own…magical abilities.”

This was the face of someone who genuinely cared for her. Not even as a family, but something more than even her mind was bewildered by.

She wasn’t sure anymore if this was her own growing liking for this elf or the love that was buried within Elemmírë’s memories. Could she be able to know the difference?

Did he like her or was he just seeing her as Elemmírë again?

Despite it all, Illyria knew she was falling. And not in the pit she had thought it will be.

All she could do was muster up a response, gently pulling away from her hand from him. “But I won’t be alone.” Illyria smiled a little, “I’ll have Gandalf and some others with me.”

“We’re coming with you? We didn’t say anything-ow!”

Elrohir had yelped after Arwen lightly smacked his arm with a stern look.

They were currently heading down to the main gates of the forest, each carrying a pack along with a horse in tow.

“Are they always like this?” Illyria creased her eyebrows, amused at the trio’s antics.

Elrond, who stood at her side, answered: “When the three are together, they are always like this.”

Both Elladan and Elrohir were dressed for travel much like her, over towering most of the elves with their tall genes (whatever of her and Elrond had, she didn’t know how they could be so tall) as she tied their packs on their horses. Beside them, Arwen had decided to stay behind, chiding each of her brothers.

Arwen cleared her throat and sweetly said, “What the two mean to say is that they’re coming with you.” Her grey eyes focused on hers and assured her, “Don’t worry Lady Illyria, they will behave. And Glorfindel can come with you too.”

Glorfindel arrived with Asfaloth in tow, draped in his own travelling attire. “That I am.” He glanced at Elrond and plainly stated: “Mellon, you are drained and need rest. Allow to make sure the Lady of Lothlorien is cared for.”

Illyria was not sure how she can do it, but at the right time – Galadriel just gracefully waltzed in with Lord Celeborn at her side. The Sindarin elven lord had yet to speak to her, only eyeing her and his wife and probably was waiting for them to have some ugly catfight.

Bitch, if they fought: Illyria was going to be on the ground in less than twelve seconds.

Beside them was Círdan, who she had the most time to discuss about aeroplanes, helicopters and ships. The old Teleri elf was extremely interested in her explanations and hoped for them to meet again and discuss drawing new boat designs.

Maybe he might even like the movie Titanic. [10]

On second thought, perhaps try not to terrorise the elves and start a fear of ships around them when they’re supposed to sail West.

Elrond on the other hand looked lost in defeat and huffed, “…I feel outweighed by this outcome.”

She patted his shoulder, assuring him with a grin. “At least I know your wife raised your daughter well.” Illyria glanced over to her daughter, who secretively smiled from her periphery before approaching Elrond.

Gandalf precisely when he needed to be, saying his farewells and thanks to both the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, Círdan and Elrond before ushering her and the twins with Glorfindel.

Though beforehand, she did walk over to the three elder elves, saying her thanks for their shelter for the past few weeks. Lady Galadriel smiled as gracefully as ever. Even after Dol Guldur, where Illyria knew that her strength hadn’t completely returned: she still held the same poise and sophistication as any other leader.

“Illyria Strange, it is time again to say farewell.” The Lady of Light spoke.

Illyria nodded curtly and replied hopefully, “Maybe it might not be the last time, Galadriel.”

She gave her a soft gaze and said through her mind. ‘You know what is to come, Elemmírë. I give you luck in what you plan to change in this world.’

Illyria implied back, ‘Only for the good, Artanis.’ She placed her hand over her chest and thought back: ‘Namárië, meldenya.’ [11]

‘Namárië, Elemmírë.’ 

She hopped onto her horse, learning its name to be Lastedir from one of the guards. She wanted to hug Arwen goodbye as well but knowing their plan it’ll be a bit obvious if she hugged her publicly. Instead, she silently assured her daughter that would be safe, remembering the long embrace they had this morning.

Illyria knew in her heart what Arwen was planning, and even if her shocking motherly instincts to keep her here – she just accepted it.

The half-elven lord strode up to her and said to her, “I wish you luck, Illyria.”

She felt that part in her chest thump again. “Thank you, El Elrond.” Illyria quirked her lips and piped in, “I promised I won’t get burnt, tortured or killed.”

Elrond’s face morphed into amusement before relaxing into a soft smile.

She looked forward and took a deep breath. It was time for the final part of the story.

“Don’t worry, Illyria. Father and Arwen will be fine.” Elladan assured her as they trotted through the gates.

She wanted to look back, to catch his face – wondering if he was upset or still smiling. Instead, Illyria kept her eyes forward. There was no time now to think about him. Countless lives were depending on them and only she knew what came for them from the South.

She blew out a breath, “I know. But he’s a worrier. I can’t imagine how he was worried about his wife.”

Glorfindel who trotted Asfaloth next to her, blandly commented. “I think that’s an understatement, nésa.” [12]

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Elrond wondered aloud, “You know what is to come - don’t you, my lady.”

Galadriel, who stood by his side at the gates of Caras Galadhon, answered him.

“Her path is uncertain, as it always had been from my sight.” She turned her eyes to him, casting a calculating gaze. “But for you, your sight has always shown The Eternal’s possible future. And only you can choose how to bend that knowledge, Elrond Peredhel.”

“How can it be?” He questioned, “I had thought it was just because of my bond with Elemmírë.”

The Lady of Light explained, “There are things much more ancient than us. Such that even its origins are clouded from our knowledge.” Galadriel stared out, spotting the five figures head off into the horizon. “I believe it may be due to the very ancient power she possesses. And only Elemmírë and Illyria Strange will be able to know its roots…and its purpose.”

As the five-headed off North, they traversed towards the Lonely Mountain. The very place he had not wished for them to go. Not after what happened to them with Sauron.

Elrond ground his teeth against each other in a muted frustration over her. Illyria Strange: perhaps the most forward and fiery human he had met, with the powers that could rival an Ainu and the hardiness and stubbornness of the very earth on the ground.

And yet he could sense Elemmírë laughing at him in his head, telling him that this was who he began to like: the young adventurous sorceress who surprisingly never hid her own feelings to him despite her not know who she was to him.

As the sun set down in the forests of Lothlórien, Elrond bid his daughter goodnight and allowed his mind to rest. Neither nightmares of his foresight nor memories of his past prevented him to feel the fluttery sense in his heart.

Or the fact that he was beginning to give away his heart away once more.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Elladan and Elrohir loved her portals.

So did she, but unfortunately, she couldn’t use it when the path they were taking went through Mirkwood itself from South of Dol Guldur towards Esgaroth itself. Hopefully, with the horses the Lady and Lord of Lothlórien provided them as well as Asfaloth, they would venture through quicker than the Company would.

Their journey through Mirkwood took two weeks, following Gandalf’s advice by staying on the roads only to realise the very reason for it. Illyria sensed the enchantment which the elves put over it, preventing predators from wandering over it whilst it stopped the curse affecting them directly.

Being inside Mirkwood was unlike the Lothlórien despite its size. She wondered how beautiful it once was with its green trees and lively environment. Now there were spider webs littered about and all she could assure her spider-fear was to think about Darcy’s tactics in overcoming her irrational fear.

And that was imagining them being squished with six-inch heels. (Which resulted in a lot of worried and rather fearful looks from both the twins and a chuckle from Gandalf.) (Ha, he thought he could forget that he lied to her about being related to the twins. Perhaps spiders aren’t the only thing she’ll be stomping with Louboutin’s.) [13]

Once Illyria saw the outlines of the forest and the glimpse of a large lake, she cantered with her horse and breathed in the fresh cold air.

She sighed happily.

How she missed the sun. She could probably fall into the ground and make a pretend snow angel.

But her own joy didn’t reciprocate the large corpse hovering above the water.

Illyria plainly said, “Well, now we know the dragon’s dead.”

Just several kilometres further were what was the remnants of Laketown. Even after several days, it looked like it had burnt last night. Illyria inhaled sharply, her heart clenching as she could imagine the flames. The people screaming.

Gandalf did not look entirely pleased, almost hoping to get an answer from her about what occurred. She didn’t answer his questionable gaze though, staying silent as she unravelled her pack to grab something.

“How did you know of this?” Glorfindel asked her, bringing Asfaloth beside her.

She tied her pack back into her back and waved the wrapped object at him. “…Now that’s spoilers.” Illyria winked before adding, “I’ll tell you after this all goes down. Right now, we need to get up to Dale.”

Illyria began moving Lastedir forward.

“Dale is that way, sister.”

She rotated and ignored her pink cheeks. “Right. I know my way.” Illyria bit into her food and groaned, “Also, I can’t believe Lembas can be this fucking good!” [14]

Glorfindel smirked and nudged at her, “Such language, sister.”

Swallowing the bit of Lembas (after one bite she was quickly full. What the fuck was this witchcraft? They needed these back on Earth), Illyria snorted loudly. “You should thank my dad, Darcy and Uncle Tony for that…god I miss them. I also miss having cheeseburgers.”

Elrohir echoed, “Tony…?”

“Tony Stark. The person who I told you about.” She responded.

In truth, the past week had been her speaking about her time post the snap. Since she now confirmed that they were her family, Illyria began to open up with more sensitive topics she hadn’t spoken about. And by the fourth day of talking about Internet speech, the twins tried to use the words ‘cool, awesome and yeet’ as the weirdest times. [15]

One time, Elrohir said ‘I yeeted off the rock to kill that orc’ almost sent her going to ER.

Her boys were growing so fast.

And then out of nowhere, Gandalf asked inquisitively: “What is this cheeseburger do you speak of?”

First, Illyria shouldn’t blame Peter Jackson for the poor timelines of the movies. Can’t exactly fit nine months’ worth of content in three movies let alone several years in the original trilogy but seriously – they could have added the time skips in the subtitles.

All she can recall was that the battle occurred around the beginning of November, that was when Azog’s army should arrive until Bolg’s would arrive from the North.

Though before all of that shit to go down, she needed to know when a certain elf army was to arrive at Dale.

A certain blonde elf with the most sex appeal to any person back on Earth.

Eh, she couldn’t really see it. She was blonde herself and to be honest, Illyria was not into it.

So when the five of them halted several miles from the city and the mountain, she saw the groups and legions of an elven army already stationed in Dale. She muttered, “Oh fudge…we’re too late.”

“Too late for what?” Elladan flicked his head to her.

Illyria did eye any of them, already sensing Gandalf’s growing concern as she spoke, “Remember I mentioned about a battle?”

“No.” Elladan frowned.

Elrohir raised his eyebrows and said, “You tell us now?”

What was she supposed to say? She gave her mutual promise to the grey wizard not to tell everything to him nor to anyone she met! When was she supposed to say that an army was after the mountain?

Gandalf guided them towards Dale until they arrive at the gates and began winding through the narrow roads. If they weren’t hastily trying to trot through, Illyria would have the time to inspect everyone and everything. She might not feel the cold due to her own robes and cloak, but she can tell from people around her.

Humans. She finally saw humans for the first time in almost eight months now…or was it nine months? It’s been too long and surprisingly, it felt off watching them stare at her and the rest as they passed through.

They were the worse for wear, with many dirty, rugged, and exhausted. She can sense their minds questioning who they were, some ignoring them whilst the rest felt a flicker of hope in them. They thought they were here with the elves as well and hope they would help them after what Smaug did them.

It was there Illyria felt her guilt slow Lastedir down.

She could have helped them. Warn the people of Laketown to evacuate and possibly give them a better end in their lives. There would have been fewer casualties.

Instead, she went off to fight Sauron.

Luckily, Glorfindel had brought her back to the moment, sliding down from his steed as Gandalf already began to stride over the group of elves positioned around a large dark tent. She tied Lastedir to a post, soothing the poor boy to calm before grabbing her sword and slipping it into her pocket dimension.

Glorfindel spoke to her and the twins as they headed up the street. “Come, I know the elves of the Woodland Realm. We should be able to gain a hearing with the King.”

As they did, the change in people caused Illyria to think again. Most of them were elves down, with wide eyes and small murmurs between them. Illyria strode over until she was situated between the twins, keeping her head forward.

Illyria muttered in fake enthusiasm, “Oh joy. People are also staring at me again.” She questioned quietly, “Am I that known?”

Thankfully, Elrohir answered her, “You and your brother are legends these ages, Lady Illyria. The last of the hidden city.” He thought back to her, ‘Most of the population of Esgaroth have hardly dealt with elves west of the Misty Mountains. And the Silvan elves who mostly live in Mirkwood.’

Illyria wryly replied, “Well, they’re gonna be surprised that I can probably piss off their king in five minutes.”

Glorfindel, who walked in front of her, glanced over his shoulder and smirked, “Is that a bet, sister?” He questioned, “Have the dwarves taught you their games?”

Illyria replied, grinning back. “Maybe they did.” A thought immediately rose to the surface. “Okay, if I win: the twins get to braid your hair.”

Never had she seen the blonde-haired elf’s eyes bulge outwardly that his eyes could’ve popped out of his head. His hands suddenly went to his braids, “Ai! Not my hair! I am still not over the hair dye!” Glorfindel gasped, “Have you got no shame!”

Illyria had to use all her strength not to laugh as she said simply, “Nope.”

She can already hear the thoughts and ideas the twins were planning to do as Elladan grinned widely, “I for one like this idea.”

“What do you think, I believe a green colour might suit the lovely Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.” Next to her, Elrohir folded his arms and quirked a brow.

Glorfindel inhaled, “You two-“ He paused for a moment. “Then as a result, if you lose: you must take me up to the stars, sister.”

“Deal.” Illyria quickly replied, “I’ll ask Darcy if I can go up to the station with Monica.”

Arwen Undómiel | The Evenstar

She placed the last pieces of items in her pack before grabbing her cloak and sword. It was the very sword her mother had once given to her, only after her mother and father knew she was ready to wield it. The heirloom symbolised a connected history between her parents.

Whilst Arwen clipped it into her belt, she slipped the pack on her back before she froze as she sensed someone’s presence behind her. Raising her head, she turned around to find her father eye her along with the sword resting on her hip.

“Arwen.”

Arwen sternly put, “I promised her, Ada.” She continued, “Either you stay here with Lady Galadriel and I will guide the guard to Dale. Or you are free to join.”

“War is not beautiful.” Her father stated darkly.

They both knew what was to come. Even if her father didn’t know that she knew his own mind, having grown her proficiency in mind-reading from Lady Galadriel.

He was worried about something. Not something, but for someone. A battle was going to happen, and her mother will somehow be a part of it.

Swallowing, Arwen cleared her throat before answering, “No, but I would rather be out there protecting this world than hide in these woods.”

For a moment, her father stared at her before sighing in defeat. “This is the very reason you are far too much like your mother.” He nodded his head and began to exit her quarters, “Very well.”

As her father left the room, Arwen let out the breath she held and silently prayed to the Valar for hope. He did not know the future she saw – and she promised that she would make sure her family was safe.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Illyria wasn’t really expecting anything grand when she entered through the tent flaps.

But she wasn’t expected Thranduil Oropherion to be a massive dickhead.

They just got here for fucks sake! And a second he smelt them with his pompous nose; he somehow knew he wasn’t going to listen to them.

Oh, this was going to be easy for her.

Blonde, tall, and flamboyant, Thranduil rose from his chair (or throne. Wait did he make them carry his spare throne all the way here?) and glided to them until they were all standing in front of him just a few metres away.

He spoke in a bored tone, “I have heard that several Noldorin elves have arrived to which I wonder why…”

“It has been a while, King Thranduil.” Glorfindel, ever being the polite and diplomatic one, bowed his head whilst she and the twins followed.

Thranduil nodded his head slightly as he greeted them, “Lord Glorfindel, we meet again.” He drawled, “And…”

Then somehow it sounded as if a lemon was stuck in his throat.

His eyes gazed down at her, widening in shock. Thranduil mustered, “That cannot be…You are dead.”

Inside, Illyria already sensed there was something between her and Elemmírë. And by that tone, he was not pleased that a human that looked like her came back from the grave.

“No, I am dead.” Illyria confirmed, “I’m what was her, I guess? Reincarnation and such.”

It took a second for Thranduil to process what she said before he narrowed his eyes and turned towards the Grey Wizard – changing his tone.

“Why have you come here, Mithrandir?” He demanded.

The Grey Wizard was also holding back all his will not to be annoyed at him and instructed, “You must put aside your differences. A battle will arrive, and it will not be against those of the mountain.”

Scoffing back, Thranduil replied, “You defend those dwarves as they hide in their mountain. They did release the dragon and sought to destroy the whole of Esgaroth.”

Her teeth ground against each other, hearing a plead from her son in her head.

But that didn’t stop her from saying spitefully, “Yes, but the dragon’s dead. If that dragon were alive, it would have lived through…and probably sided with him.” Illyria froze and exclaimed, “Oh, that’s why the dragon needed to die!”

All eyes went to her.

“Excuse me?” Thranduil asked.

However, Illyria’s mind was clearly away from her body. She had watched this movie and read the Hobbit and never had she wondered about why Sauron was so attentive to go and kill Thorin. He needed the mountain, but not only the mountain…the dragon too.

The same dragon who could have easily sided with the dark maia if Sauron gave a good deal to him.

Illyria clicked her fingers and said to herself, “Ohhhhh Tolkien you smart bastard. Good old J.R.R. He wrote this place really good even without my own inclusion.” She sarcastically added, “And now orcs are coming, and we’ll be dead in a few days if we don’t band up together.”

“Lady Illyria…”

Elladan reached to her, but she was already a mere metre away from the Sindarin elf, who was glaring daggers at her and possibly imagining her to be dead again.

“So, does Glorfindel get a braiding session?” Illyria glanced over her shoulder and asked innocently.

If it wasn’t so cold, Thranduil would have caught this tent ablaze with his anger. “I will not be fighting with a bunch of unruly dwarves.” He glowered at them, “And with Noldorin elves.”

Okay, that cut the last straw.

Illyria stared up at the prickly ass and wryly said, “If you don’t believe me, I’m very much human, again.” She pointed a finger at the sides of her head. “Honestly, I better just tie my hair up nicer.”

Forget her bet with Glorfindel, Illyria would not stand back at watching this elf cloud his mind with prejudice.

The twins were beginning to beg her head to stop.

However, Illyria inhaled and snapped, “And excuse you, I don’t care about your petty racist background and feud with them. Right now, a battle is coming and if we don’t follow through: people will die! No matter elf or human or dwarf or even hobbit!” Her voice was getting louder, “I arrived in this world hoping it would be fine, but now I found out I’m pretty much embedded in this world too. Now, I would like for fewer casualties, please.”

Illyria sensed her energy to grow again, almost feeling her ears ring once more as she snarled at him.

And finally, she finished: “So, get your pointy elven sword out of your flat elven ass, Lucius Malfoy or I’ll do it myself.”

Spinning her heels, she strode past her brother and the twins and headed outside.

Her anger hadn’t depleted since midday when they arrived up in Dale. Most of the time, she had taken herself to seclusion, hiding in one of the abandoned houses to meditate before returning to the twins and Glorfindel. (She knew her brother was probably trying to mend the damage she caused and the twins as well. Good luck to them, that elf was too proud)

She had not been this angry ever since she had lashed out at a certain captain who thought it was simply just for Tony to walk away from the family, he created just to risk his life. And in the end, Tony did leave. He left his family, her and Harley and everyone who wanted him back. It was a protective and selfish hatred, though. Something she had grown to come by when she began to love the family she had.

It was why she was annoyed, how he would do anything to just get something that was just an item to them. Maybe Illyria didn’t know entirely how important they were to him and his wife, but Illyria had lost enough to know an item wasn’t worth it.

So Glorfindel found her, standing by the edge of the cliff as she eyed Erebor. He stood on her left, speaking. “You should not have done that, sister.” He said with a reprimanding tone, “King Thranduil will not treat Elrond kindly now.”

Illyria took a second to think and answered meekly, “Okay maybe I went off the tangent at the last second…” But then stressed out, “BUT tell me I’m wrong.” She gave her brother a look.

Glorfindel exhaled and said, “I would not have put those words lightly, but you are right. We must set aside differences.”

Somehow, her hand thought of grabbing her staff. But realising that the past two months without them, it was here that Illyria had the weird feeling without them. That staff had always been not only her relic but kind of comfort object to hold…and sometimes to pretend as Gandalf when she was younger.

Changing the subject, Glorfindel began: “So, war is coming, and we’ll be joining.”

She nodded along, “It’s coming in a few days, hearing what Gandalf predicted.” Illyria then remembered something and told him, “I must speak to Gandalf.”

Glorfindel nodded silently and told her that he would be off to discuss plans with Thranduil and Bard, hopeful to sway them to at least prepare for any possible enemies arriving.

As he did so, she discovered the Ainu on the battlements, with several elves stationed at the side. When he did spot her, Gandalf greeted, “Illyria, I thought you would be spending time with your brother?”

Illyria thinned her lips and said, “I wanted to speak with you.” She added, “Alone.”

They walked along the battlements, the snow falling softly in the dim light of the moon.

Gandalf began, ‘Of course. Please speak freely, Illyria. I feel a burden in you.’

Well, no kidding wizard.

Illyria revealed, ‘It is. Bilbo will come back, but with something…precious.’

He halted and his face hardened, ‘The Arkenstone.’

‘Yes.’

‘Thorin will not like that.’

Illyria shook her head. ‘No, he won’t.’ Her eyes pleaded to him, ‘And this timeline seems like they’re more than just friends. He will really hurt him, Gandalf. And I can’t allow him to…’

‘To what?’ He asked.

She wanted to tell him but immediately tied that thought away. ‘I can’t say. But I will do whatever it takes to make sure he’s alright. Both of them.’

A sympathetic look formed on Gandalf’s face. ‘You bring such esteem to Bilbo Baggins, Illyria. Is there more to the hobbit in the future?’

Yes. That’s what she wanted to say. And with the goofy smile she made and the hidden dread that underlined it, it said more about the hobbit than anything else. Bilbo’s life would never be the same and his part of this story will be the driving force of the future.

How one hobbit who found a ring will change the fate of Middle Earth.

And how two other hobbits will be underestimated by everyone else and just simply walk into the enemy’s eyes just to get rid of that ring.

Illyria chuckled to herself, hinting back. ‘You make friends with a hobbit who finds you with a pony and you’ll know. But…he is my friend. I just can’t stand here and let it happen.’ She truthfully spoke, ‘And I can’t say, sorry. Not yet I guess.’

At least Gandalf understood where she was coming from but was surprised at the comment afterwards. ‘You have so far to know more of yourself, Illyria Ettelëa.’ He patted her shoulder and assured her. ‘Now rest, let your mind ease from worry.’

Illyria was expecting Arwen to arrive today.

However, she wasn’t expecting the figure next to her to come as well.

There she was, just finishing aiding the women of Esgaroth by casting some warming charms in one of the less dilapidated halls for them to stay in and found herself watching them arrive up to the town square.

Illyria hovered towards them and questioned, “Elrond? Why are you here?”

He seemed to be wearing his armour already, circlet still on his head, as he brought himself down his horse and walked over to her. Elrond twitched his lips and spoke, “It would seem I have been persuaded to follow.”

Appearing behind him, Illyria grinned to spot the dark-haired elf. She wanted to go and hug her tightly, though it wouldn’t be appropriate.

Again, their plan in keeping the four oblivious was working well.

“…Arwen! I’m glad to see you!” She beamed at her.

Wearing similar attire, Arwen’s eye lit up and said, “I kept your promise, Lady Illyria.”

Truly she did. A group of elves from the Imladris and Lothlórien guard were entering the city, shocking the people of Esgaroth whilst more whispers and murmurs about them spread.

Illyria spoke, “Thank you for coming.” A small grin rested on her face. “The more the better.”

He thinned his lips as Elrond sighed, “I feel that you have planned this.”

“They both did,” Glorfindel added, amused as well at the outcome.

Illyria chortled, “Of course, brother. Us elleths need to stick together.” Her focused returned to Arwen as her tone changed to seriousness. “Did you see them?”

Arwen’s own face turned passive as she nodded to her, “Yes. They are about a couple of days march behind us. We were able to pass through without their knowledge.”

A couple of days, that wasn’t enough time for her to mend the issue. Illyria would have to act quickly to try and make sure shit doesn’t go down between Thorin and Thranduil and Bard.

Illyria shuddered a breath, “They’ll be here soon and there are so many civilians-“

The four of them shared worried glanced until she sensed a Woodland guard walked towards them,

He nodded his head towards Elrond and Arwen and cleared his throat. “The King seeks your presence, Lord Elrond. Lady Arwen.”

The guard eyed her warily before turning back.

She then felt the gaze at her from not only Elrond (which she suspected) but also her daughter. “Illyria, what did you do?” He asked.

Making a popping noise with her mouth, she began: “Well…” Another disapproval look came from Glorfindel. “…I might have angered Thranduil.”

“More have arrived, especially in the presence of the Lord of Rivendell and the Lady Arwen.” Thranduil drawled out as he stayed in his chair.

The tent was practically full; with Thranduil seated behind his table along with a bottle of his disgusting wine and a glass. Bard was standing stoically at the side by the door, reading to walk off if shit did go down. Gandalf was already near Thranduil, perhaps who was persuading him to stop the petty war he was going forward with. Glorfindel was beside Elrond whilst she and Arwen stood slightly to the right.

Illyria thanked herself for giving the twins the task to practice their magic whilst they scouted for any signs of the orc army. If they were here, it wouldn’t end well for them.

It was Elrond who responded in a respectful tone. “King Thranduil, why do you wage war on the dwarves upon the mountain.”

“They have something that belongs to me. The White Gems of Lasgalen.” The King of the Woodland realm answered.

Illyria silently clamped her jaw tight.

Though Elrond to her surprise was not pleased and with a deadpanned tone spoke, “You would wage war on a handful of gems.”

Thranduil rose from his chair and head towards him. “If it means so much to you, Elrond Peredhel: you must remember, the very same reason drove your people into kinslaying.”

Her mind made a U-turn at that statement.

What did he just say?

Elrond was thrown off guard by the statement but kept his composure. He sternly continued, “Orcs are coming, Thranduil; we do not need this feud over jewels or dwarves. We must gain an alliance.”

Peering his eyes at Elrond, and suddenly a moment to her, Thranduil lowered his voice and changed to Sindarin. “And where were your people when my father and my people stormed the Black Gates? You talk of such an alliance when many of my people bled for your king.” He sneered at Elrond, “My father bled for your king and the likes of men. And you call yourself Gil-Galad’s most trusted friend when you could not even save him.”

She inhaled sharply. He didn’t need to go that far to speak about that. And neither did Glorfindel and Gandalf, who were worried at both Elrond and Thranduil squared each other up with equal glares.

Illyria internally groaned before stomping forwards and stood between them. “We do not have time for this! Orcs are arriving in the bloody break of dawn and more will arrive from Gundabad!” [16]

Glorfindel was alarmed. “How do you know this, Illyria?” He asked her.

She waved her hand and said, “There’s not enough time to explain as to why, but they are after the mountain.”

“Why?” Thranduil interrogated.

Illyria lowered her tone, “For their master would want a key defence when he comes from the East.”

“Sauron is gone, he was slain by Isildur.” Thranduil rumbled.

She butted in, “Only by his physical form. But his astral body is still here in this world, far in the East. I can sense it, and it’s growing when you are all fighting for just a gem!” Illyria cried, pointing outside to the direction of the mountain with her eyes never leaving Thranduil. “Those gems don’t define all the memories and the love you shared. You had your time, your kingdom your people. Not to mention the most valuable thing.”

The Sindarin elf pried, “And what is that Elanor?” [17]

“Your son.” Illyria answered simply and questioned, “Your son was a product of your love, is that not enough?”

They both stared at each other, wondering who would cut back. She knew Elrond was looking at her with silent surprise. But she was right, and Thranduil knew secretly that. Despite knowing Thranduil in such a short amount of time, Illyria could tell the typical protective father he was Legolas. He was the only son and the only remnant of what his wife had. And in a few decades, Legolas would venture out of the safety of his home to help save the world. So, the only way to get Thranduil to see the world with open eyes was to know he needed to accept Legolas has his own person and not some memory.

Thranduil was off-put by her comment that before he could speak, someone exclaimed.

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf spoke in surprise.

Illyria glanced down towards the tent entrance and her eyes lit up. She exclaimed, “Bilbo! Thank god you’re okay!”

The hobbit in question stood there, a little confused. “Illyria! Lord Elrond? Lord Glorfindel? I did not know you will be here.”

“You know the halfling.” Thranduil turned his focus on Bilbo.

Bilbo rose his shoulders and responded, “I am half of nothing, your majesty.”

Now that’s her hobbit.

Don’t mind her; just being too emotional at her friend for not only being alive but gaining that big dick energy.

Thranduil wandered towards the centre where his table was and spoke coolly, “If I’m not mistaken this is the hobbit who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”

There was a pause, “…Yes. Sorry about that.” Bilbo continued, “I came to give you this.”

He slipped his hand into his pocket as he approached the table and carefully took it.

Placed on the centre of the table, the hair on Illyria’s skin prickled as she jerked her hand and felt her entire body grow cold.

Within her sight was the Arkenstone, shining with a radial area of light and energy in a hue of colours.

“The Heart of the Mountain.” Bard breathed in as he got closer.

No. That was not it. 

Not the Arkenstone.

It was just like the jewel she saw with the woman falling into the sea.

Her breathing shallowed, as she reached towards the table. She could sense it. The raw power and energy swirling around it. It was calling to her, as her ear crackled and her sight blurred.

No…no…they were back.

The screams. The energy surging up her chest that she wasn’t sure if it was pain or comfort.

“No…that cannot be.” She whispered before the noises began to envelop her. Hands began to grab her arms.

As her body convulsed, she could feel her eyes rolling back and the flash of white light enter her vision.

Chapter Text

Elemmírë | Lady of Gondolin

Location: Mouths of Sirion, South Beleriand, Middle Earth [1]

Time: 538 F.A

Fire.

That is all that Elemmírë of Gondolin could see.

Everything was burning, people were burning. Red, black, and gold with the sprinkle of grey as the ash fell and made the waters that were once blue into a murky black. Red was for the blazing flames that danced around them, that touched the skins of those screaming for their lives. Red was the colour of their clothes, for it shone an eight-pointed star as they drew their silver swords into her people’s hearts. Red was the blood that spilt over the ground, staining her hands and clothes – a deep red that could almost match the colour black had the moonlight did not shine above the sky.

Elemmírë rushed down the streets, her duel blades slicing and piercing any that were against her. She tried her best to conserve her power, her light, as she dodged fallen rubble before heading towards the inner city. She knew where they were; knew what they sought here. She bared her teeth and continued, her heart racing as she heard pleas for help. Elemmírë wanted to help them, to stop those that caused them harm.

But the sole reason had been just that. And that was what her friend bared in her possession.

As she arrived towards the larger house situation upon the upper levels of the city, she barged through the doors of once her friend’s home and saw them. The elven princess clutching her two children in her arms. As they realised who had entered, they sighed in relief as the mother approached her and stared at her eyes.

The eyes of pardon.

“What are you doing?” Elemmírë questioned, striding towards her as the elven princess rummaged through the wardrobe before pulling out an ornate box. As she opened the box, she gasped under her breath.

The Silmaril.

Elwing looked up at her, tears sprung in her eyes as she pleaded, “Protect my children, Elemmírë.” She whispered. “Please, for me.”

Elemmírë shook her head and back away. “Then give me the jewel.” She insisted with a murmur, “I have nothing to lose here, Elwing. Not after I just lost my brother.”

There was a moment that they both shared a willing sense of understanding. Both knew their past despite never choosing to speak openly of them. But word and stories can travel in the wind so easily, and Elemmírë and Elwing knew they have lost both their home and families because of the world beyond their control.

And now, it would seem her friend thought she had the chance to play a step in this complicated game.

Elwing gave her a sad smile, squeezing her eyes from tears as she glanced over at her children. “I’m sorry, friend.” She spoke, “But I must do this, it is my duty.”

In a swift moment, Elwing pulled her cloak over her head and took the jewel in her hand. She gave one last look at her children, whispering something in the air before escaping out the door.

“No!”

Elemmírë tried to catch her, but the elven princess was already out amongst the flames. She already knew her friend would never step foot in this place ever again.

Elemmírë glared at the two figures in front of her as she declared, “If you take the children, you’ll have to take me.”

She shielded the two twin elflings behind her body, her swords laid waste far from her reach. She could blind them, or create headaches, but Elemmírë knew it would potentially harm the children if she was not careful.

Instead, she gave into the ones before her. The red-haired one, tall and broad, scowled at her before yanking her from the children whilst the shorter, dark-haired one took each of the children’s hands and bind them together. She could still hear the roaring of the waterfall behind them as the two carried them away, perhaps out of the burning city and towards their host.

They took them in a cart, quietly murmuring to themselves as she kept the twins close to her. Elemmírë would not risk those two alone with Elwing’s children.

A voice asked her quietly, “Elemmírë? Where are we going?”

To her acknowledgement, she turned to find the Peredhel twins stare at her with wide shallowed eyes. She blamed her heart for breaking then, to see such minds that have already been filled with horror and loss. Elemmírë could lie and give them hope, but she was not like that. She may be young for an elf, but she had lived her entire adulthood through war and wandering. And honesty was the only way to seek them a careful transition to the realities of war.

Elemmírë answered him, “We have no choice but to go with the Fëanorians, Elrond.” She saw him begin to tear up. He was thinking of Elwing, wondering where she was. As for Elros, the stronger one in mind only thought of his brother and the elves that sat in front of them.

Elros curled up next to her side. It was uncomfortable, especially with the binds in her wrists, but she managed to allow the two lean against her side. “I miss Naneth, Elemmírë,” Elros spoke.

Not long before the whimpering and cries echoed through the trees. Elemmírë did her best to sing a song to them, but it had yet only reminded them of the songs which their mother sang at night.

The red-haired elf flicked his head to her from the horse and commanded, “Can you quieten the children?”

Elemmírë looked blankly back at him and answered coolly, “You try it yourself, Fëanorian.”

Location: Taur-im-Duinath, East Beleriand, Middle Earth [2]

Time: 538 F.A

They have been with them for almost two weeks. Travelling East towards Taur-im-Duinath. Those that she knew who survived the sacking of the Havens, she wasn’t sure where they fled – indicating them to hide further down the river from the kinslayers. Elemmírë only hoped that Círdan had heard the word of what occurred and would aid her people.

Elemmírë wanted to help her people, so she did all she could to escape the Fëanorians.

Her first attempt was almost successful, had not the red-haired Fëanorian threatened to kill little Elros with a dagger upon his small throat. She almost shared her secret in anger, sensing the energy coarse through her body until she dropped the stolen dagger and silently allowed them to tie her again.

The second attempt was a week later, and she had thought to blind the younger Fëanorian brother, Maglor. Though as she was about to do so, Elrond had found her sneaking out. The little elfling somehow knew what she was about to do and pleaded to her not to kill or expose herself. She had wavered then, feeling reason with the Peredhel twin that she felt guilt growing up her heart.

These boys have lost their innocence, and she was not doing any less to keep their childhood intact.

And so, she agreed with Elrond and felt herself become sombre and isolating. She did what she had promised to Elwing, keeping an eye on the twins, and making sure they were fed enough and sleeping soundly as possible. Elrond had begun to manifest his own sight, always waking up and murmuring about dragons and fires whilst Elros was getting bolder by the moment, questioning the younger Fëanorian that caused the red-haired one angry and the other sadder.

Today, Elemmírë knew from her eavesdropping in the Fëanorians’ minds that food was becoming scarce. Many animals have fled South or East and the forest was not enough to supply the leftovers of the followers of the Fëanorians.

Rationing was worrying her, and all she could do was make sure each of the twins was fed decently – even if her hands were tied. She urged her share to the twins, who shook their heads and told her to eat. Elemmírë smiled softly to them and told them telepathically that she was alright and they shall have what she had left.

When the twins hungrily finished hers, she hid the rumbling of her stomach – finding a shadow over loom her. Dropping down into her hand was a bowl of broth. When she stared upwards, she found the red-haired Fëanorian scowl at her.

He ordered, “Eat.”

“No,” Elemmírë answered.

She could sense his irritation, swearing to the Valar internally before repeating. “You need to eat; you are thinner than the other elleths.”

“I will rather starve,” She spoke with a monotonous voice. The two shared a look, with herself trying not to hear his growing anger whilst her own heart began to go cold.

The red-haired Fëanorian asked plainly, “And what of the children. What will they say when their guardian will fade.”

Elemmírë replied simply, “I am not their guardian.” She was not wrong, she had lost that title after leaving her people behind in Sirion. She was not a guardian anymore.

The red-haired Fëanorian grunted before saying back, “No, but they are what is left of their kin.”

“Who was the cause that?” She questioned, and immediately regretted speaking aloud her thought as the red-haired Fëanorian scowled and strode away.

Time: 539 T.A

A pack of orcs were waiting for them near the boundaries of the forest. Jumping out from the bushes and trees as one hurled themselves at one of their followers and tackled them to the ground. Maedhros was the first one to react, as quick as an eagle swooping to its prey as the orc fell.

That then caused more orcs to scream in, and she quickly took the boys over to Maglor as she unsheathed her duel blades.

“Go!” Elemmírë cried out, sheathing her blades into her hilts and began placing her feet into a position.

Maedhros, son of Fëanor, sliced another Orc down as he staggered back as almost all of them were surrounded. “You are mad!” He yelled out to her.

Perhaps the red-haired Fëanorian was right. Maybe she was mad.

But she would not let them die today.

Elemmírë shouted, “No, but they will die if you do not leave with them!” Hinting about the twins and the injured, Maedhros bared his jaw and began retreating with the rest. Maglor had taken Elros and Elrond as far as possible, as she sensed their presence still in her mind.

And with a short breath, Elemmírë held her hands out and brought a concentrated light upon them, growing larger before she sent it towards the orcs. As the light met them, dozens of bodies flew into the air, the ground beneath them shattering with bits of earth. She stomped her foot into the ground, digging her heel before slicing her arms outwards as a large wave of light expelled from her body and sent more falling before.

Those who were hidden from their ranks in front charged at her and she took a sword out and parried the orc’s blow before blasting them back at another.

There and then, Elemmírë slew the remaining. And the area around them would bring interest as wave after wave of energy followed through.

The Sons of Fëanor and the Peredhel twins would seek her out, panting and exhausted and not an ounce of a bruise or cut from her skin. There Elemmírë stood in a ring of dead orcs laid on her waste.

When the evening arrived, she exited her tent to find all the Followers of the Fëanorians staring at her along with both the Sons of Fëanor. She had finally got Elrond and Elros asleep, aided by Maglor who sung so hauntingly beautiful that even she would fall asleep beside them as well.

Elemmírë lowered her head down, quietly meandering across the camp until she sat as far as possible from the fire, keeping herself hidden by braiding her blonde hair back. Once she was done, she found herself facing the younger son of Fëanor who wore his question on his face.

Finishing tying the ends of her hair, Elemmírë took a deep breath. “You must have questions.” When her eyes fluttered back to him, she found as well Maedhros who stood beside his brother, his taller stature blocking the light of the fire.

Maglor began, “You wield…light.”

Almost a year of hiding within the forest, moving every several days with the Fëanorians and yet it had been now that she was able to have a proper conversation with the two without her lashing at them, Maedhros lashing at her and Maglor almost bursting into tears at them shouting.

She could ignore them and tell them that is was not their right to know of her magical abilities, despite not knowing their origins themselves. She once remembered the elder Noldorin elves hypnotised that light she wielded was possibly equivalent to the light of stars, though they underestimated the young Lady of her brother’s house and would not know her extent until it was too late for them.

However, there was a part in her heart that urged her lips to agree. Both the sons of Fëanor have approached her warily and yet with an of something else.

Respect…or was it fear?

Elemmírë was not sure, but in the end, she had begun the story of her magic. “The story of my power is not as complicated as you think, because even I do not know how or why I received them.”

Elros and Elrond were down by the waters, splashing about and fighting one another as Maedhros and Maglor kept them from possibly going to the deep part of the River Gelion.

She sat on the rocks, keeping an eye on the twins. But it would seem they already had two other elves to sort them out. In her mind, she was feeling warmth in her heart as she suddenly found herself enjoying the comfort each person had. Over a year, the twins and she had begun to lose the discomfort and distrust for the Fëanorians. And it was obvious to the younger son of Fëanor, who looked at the twins like they were his own.

Maglor took a seat beside her several minutes later, soaked up to his calves but never losing the remnants of a smile.

It was then Elemmírë spoke, still eyeing the trio in the riverside. “You are good with them.”

The Fëanorian froze and his voice lowered, “I am guilty. I…”

“Well, one thing to consider: you are a good father,” Elemmírë revealed, true and confident with her words. She turned her head to her right and smiled sadly. “I cannot be their parent, no matter what Elros says.” She remembered the day she heard the Peredhel twin tell her that, and Elemmírë almost froze and fell off her horse. There was no parental love between her and the twins, almost as if she were like more of an older sister to them.

Maglor was alarmed as he asked, “Why do you suddenly not hate us?”

Her eyes stared into his as Elemmírë answered honestly: “Because I see now in your mind that you are hurting.” She continued wryly, “And I tend to protect everyone and anyone. No matter how bloody broken or perfect or crazy they are.”

“You are unlike any lady I have met,” Maglor spoke whilst the corner of lips twitched.

Elemmírë turned away, focusing back on the two boys already pulling Maedhros into the water. How a murderer like them could act so freely when they were technically hostages. But if she would call them murderers, Elemmírë would technically be one after slaying their followers.

She began to realise this ever since her third time in escaping the Fëanorians.

In the end, what did it truly mean when in fact it was all violence in the end? Even their daggers and swords were beautiful until they’re drenched in blood at the hands of their enemies. Their world sought peace, and peace seemed to be driven by fighting. What did it say for them all when the reality was just a big ironic idea?

She straightened herself up and began, “They say I am mad, but that is because elves are so insisted to achieve perfection, forgetting how much the world is unlike that.” Elemmírë professed. “I believe that people can change, no matter Edain or Eldar or Dwarf. And you and your brother; I have seen evidence that even the ones in the darkest pits can survive their demons.”

She knew those demons as she already her own; memories of the fall of her city, the wanderings to Sirion and the sacking. Her hatred of Maeglin to Morgoth and the Balrog who took her brother’s life.

But her’s cannot match the path that Maglor and Maedhros walked upon. A dark and winding path that would never end until their desire for the jewels was complete. However, Elemmírë believed in the changes of their paths, and the first step had been all this time – sparing the sons of Eärendil.

Maglor’s face changed into a haunting look. “I cannot destroy them. They will always be with me.”

There was a moment that she paused. She knew those demons as she already her own; memories of the fall of her city, the wanderings to Sirion and the sacking. Her hatred of Maeglin and Morgoth and the Balrog who took her brother’s life.

But her’s cannot match the path that Maglor and Maedhros walked upon. A dark and winding path that would never end until their desire for the jewels was complete. However, Elemmírë believed in the changes of their paths, and the first step had been all this time – sparing the sons of Eärendil.

It was there Elemmírë spoke her heart.

Her hand went over to his in his knees, and he gazed down before at her face.

“We never lose our demons, Maglor.” Elemmírë told him, “We only learn to live above them.”

Location: Ossiriand, East Beleriand, Middle Earth [3]

Time: 557 T.A

Two figures circled one another.

The first one was an elven lady, or perhaps an elven woman for she had lost that title for many years. In her hand, she carried a silver curved blade – gripped into a position for preparedness as she positioned her feet into a defensive stance.

The other was an elven lord, neither a lord nor anything gentle as a determined look was plastered on his face. He held a similar blade, though longer and less slim. He too was pictured in a stance, though his feet seemed to jump to and throw, eager to leap into the action.

When they both counted to three, the ellon charged towards the elleth. The elleth easily blocked it, swiping her sword back to her body before deflecting another swipe. They moved around the open space of the forest, with the elleth keeping the ellon on his toes.

There was a significant difference between the two. Whilst the ellon attacked at every moment, with growls and grand strikes, the elleth was calm and calculating every movement – almost gracefully dancing around her opponent.

Once she spotted the opening, she ducked underneath and tugged the ellon’s arm under before swiping their feet.

The next thing the ellon knew, the tip of the sword was against his neck. Both were out of breath as they looked at each other.

“I yield!” Elros wheezed, groaning as he was pulled up by her arm. “…Mire, how can you be so swift?”

Elemmírë let go of his hand and winked, “Many years of practice, Elros.” She turned her head around, asking the figure behind her. “Care to join, Elrond.”

The one and only spectator in the forest glade, who had been waiting patiently, stood up to pick up his own sword from his hilt. Elemmírë smiled encouragingly to the other Peredhel twin; she knew that he preferred the library and his learning in comparison to his brother’s practical activities – which she could understand. Not everything was about sparring and fighting and wouldn’t be something she would choose as a pastime.

Not when they were in a time of war. Where fighting was surviving. Elemmírë hated having to expose the twins to violence and self-defence, but she and the Fëanorians knew it was better to show them as early as possible.

And now they were twenty-five-years-old and probably growing to become skilled swordsmen under the tutoring of Maedhros, Maglor and her. Though she knew eventually in another decade or more, even the twins would surpass her own skill.

As Elros walked over to his brother, whispering something in his ear, Elrond gave his brother a look before taking a small breath and returned his eyes to her. “If you wish of me, Elemmírë.”

With a nod, the two began their own dance.

She spoke, “You know at first, I was afraid of you.” The corner of Elemmírë’s lips lifted. “And look at what has become of us.”

They were standing on the platform atop the trees, the moon out so brightly under the canopy that it illuminated their faces. Down below, they watched the Laiquendi elves [4] along with the rest of the Fëanorians. It had been almost two decades since they have been here, seeking refuge with the Green elves in East Beleriand and things were just beginning to stabilise with the Fëanorians and her.

Though whilst she believed it to have been going for the better, the elf beside her believed the latter.

“You are still afraid of me, Elemmírë.” He pointed out, his face returning to his usual expressionless tone.

She wanted to sigh in frustration. Well, yes: perhaps she was still a little fearful for the eldest son of Fëanor, but it was not because of the reasons he believed in.

“No, Maedhros. I’m afraid for you.” Elemmírë corrected, “With Maglor, I believe that the twins can save him…”

Her voice trailed off, trying to figure out the right words before she continued.

Elemmírë spoke, “But you, you’re afraid to be saved. You’re afraid of what lies beyond the demons you possess.”

It was there she remembered the very conversation she had with Maglor, who had shared his own burdens and fears with her with minimal effort. Maglor showed his own burdens truthfully, with sorrow that began to heal with the care and love the twins had for him.

But for Maedhros, his own troubles and fears ran deeper than his younger brother’s. Even after two decades, her own stubbornness to make him open up whilst his own arrogance to push her away only got her to the surface of who he was.

Elemmírë was not sure why she had been trying at all until she realised eventually how much they were beginning to be a part of her.

He clenched his fists, his face anguish as he murmured, “You don’t know what I’ve done. How much blood I spilt.” Maedhros told her, “This Oath will drive me to my death. Look at what happened to my brothers. Maglor is all I have left.” [5]

Looking right up to him despite Maedhros looking away, she whispered, “Not anymore. You have Elrond, Elros and me.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t. You were supposed to be hostages.”

Elemmírë could instantly feel his mind going inwards once more, trying to fall into that pit of despair he usually went to when he was thinking too much. Over time, she had realised he had begun doing it less, keeping himself occupied with either the twins or stopping her from being reckless.

So, she did was she always did and took raised her hand to his shoulder. He turned to her and stared down. Elemmírë cut him off, “Hey, that Oath does not define who you are. You still fight it to this day and that is more than what anyone else could do.” She added, “And you feel guilt, correct?”

Maedhros didn’t respond, though his eyes already answered it.

Keeping herself composed, Elemmírë gave an encouraging smile as she spoke confidently, “You are not heartless, Maitimo. I think you underestimate how much good there is still in you.” [6]

Time: 559 F.A

The Laiquendi elves informed her that a party was spotted just on the outskirts of the forest and that concerned her. Elrond was busy in the library whilst she had asked Elros to head there to inform him to follow behind towards the outskirts of the forest. As Elemmírë rode with her horse, she found the Sons of Fëanor’s backs towards her. They seemed to be conversing with someone in front of them.

As she dropped down onto the ground, she strode towards them and found Maglor glancing over his shoulder. His face looked troubled, along with a questionable gaze at her as he mentally asked her where the twins were. After answering his question, she creased her eyebrows.

She asked him and Maedhros, “What is it? What’s wrong?” Though once she arrived, she noticed the elven lord in front of her. Elemmírë voiced out, “Oh. Hello.”

The elf in question was slightly taller than her though not as tall as Maglor and Maedhros, with dark hair with a golden circlet atop his head. He wore dark blue clothes, sewn in the front was a diamond with four silver stars.

When he noticed her presence, his eyes widened before he nodded his head and introduced himself: “Lady Elemmírë. I am Gil-Galad. Son of Orodreth.” [7]

So: this was Orodreth’s son, Grandson to Angrod [8] and therefore kin to her previous king Turgon. Well, he had the appearance from the line of Finwë and the aura he drove was much like any royal person who would be.

Though why was he here?

Turning her eyes to both, Elemmírë asked them. “Maedhros, Maglor?”

Maglor didn’t hide his sadness, answering her first, “He wishes for you to go with them. Back to Sirion.”

Confusion brought her heart to plummet. Over two decades and it was only now that the Noldorin have finally discovered them. She wondered what drove them east, for she knew the Valar and the Vanyar [9] have arrived in the Western shores of Beleriand to tackle Morgoth’s armies. But then she remembered who she was before, before being taken by the Fëanorians along with the twins.

Gil-Galad was here, assuming they’ve been hostages for twenty years when in fact it had been the opposite.

Approaching the two, she looked at each of them and spoke, “But I am happy here, with you. And the boys are happy.”

Maedhros stared down at her, his face stoic but his mind filled with anger and melancholy. “You know you cannot stay, Elemmírë. We…we brought you here, but not freely.”

She pointed out, “I almost killed you three times.”

Maedhros out of surprise twitched his lips. “Both unsuccessful. Elemmírë.” He smiled sadly, “But their path lies with their kin. And yours with the rest of the Noldor.”

Inside her head, she was screaming. Did they not care for what they thought? What the twins would think? The twins, who have been a part of their weird and dysfunctional family was what brought them all together. Their paths have been put together the moment those jewels existed and Elemmírë had grown to believe that this part of her life – her part of healing herself from the ruin of her people – was to aid the Fëanorians away from their troubles.

She kept her voice composed no matter how much she was shaking. “And what of the Oath? Will it continue to drive you?” Elemmírë pleaded, “I can’t let you both drive yourself to madness!”

Maglor answered her with a strained voice. “It is not your path to take. It was ours.” He gulped, “And a grave mistake we took.”

It took Elemmírë to stare at the two, wondering why they agreed to this. But then she saw their minds, how much they were filled with something she had not seen in them the night near the waterfall. There was good and light in them, and the pull of the Oath had lessened in their hearts.

With a shuddered breath, she took each of their hands into hers.

She smiled through her tears, “I would not have met you both if you hadn’t.” Elemmírë asked them attentively, “Remember them, will you? They’ve changed you both more than what you can imagine.”

Maedhros nodded at her, “We will, Elemmírë.”

Location: Sirion, South Beleriand, Middle Earth

More of the boats docked by the shore that morning.

Gil-Galad had informed them that the last host of the elves from Valinor were arriving, and amongst them would be the very elf that had left her with the twins. However, due to the promise he had: Eärendil was not to step onto the very earth of Middle Earth. Instead, she and the twins were waiting at the docks before they would board the boat the twins’ very father would be on.

The moment the main boat which the host of the Valar arrived in, Elemmírë immediately knew as she felt the strength of the jewel and its energy along with the other powerful being next to him.

Eönwë, the banner-bearer and herald of Manwë, had his eyes trained on her as they boarded the boat. She couldn’t help but gaze back before she immediately felt a large force push open her mind. The Ainu was trying to enter her head for some reason, and she creased her eyebrows in question.

Well, he could do so as he pleases; there wasn’t anything she wanted to hide from him other than the anger she had for Eärendil and Elwing.

Elros shared the same anger as well.

Too much that the moment Eärendil asked what happened to them – the Peredhel twin’s fist met Eärendil nose.

Even she jumped in shock at the sudden action, seeing the Silmaril perched on the crown clatter onto the wooden flooring.

However, Elros voice trembled in hatred: “You left us! You left me, my brother and Elemmírë to die! You and Naneth! All for this gem.” He picked up the crown and scoffed before tossing it to Eärendil.

And to Elemmírë’s surprise once more, Eärendil had scrambled up to grab it before it could hit the floor. A sick feeling went up to her stomach as a surge of heat went up to her chest.

Elros continued bitterly, “It was not because of Elemmírë that we survived. And Maglor and Maedhros, they raised us better than what you perceived it to be.”

Everyone was watching now, and she could easily hear every thought everyone was thinking. It was there she intervened, walking over to Elros, and tugging him by the sleeve.

“That is enough Elros.” She murmured to him.

Elros inhaled sharply and spoke lowly, “You are the one that bore us to this world, but you cannot be the father I have chosen.”

Walking off the boat, she mentally told Elrond to take his brother back to their tent. As the twins left, she realised she was left with the young Noldorin King, Eärendil and a maia. Eärendil nose was slightly crooked – only a bit – with blood oozing out as he tried to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Once he had sorted himself out, he had looked at her as if he were seeing two of her. Eärendil asked, “What happened truly, Elemmírë. What has come to your three?”

Elemmírë didn’t change her face, keeping it stoic as she answered, “A lot has happened, Eärendil. Even I have changed. Good or bad, you can give your opinion on that.” Her voice slipped into a coldness that even she felt herself. “But you must understand that our lives were not all good, but neither bad. It is only the jewel in your crown that bears the mark of the reason why you abandoned them.”

With that, Elemmírë kindly excused herself and find the twins. She hoped then that the two have calmed down and hoped there would be no elves getting punched in the nose by their sons once more.

Time: 564 F.A

Elemmírë strode through the paths of the campsite until she saw him on her path. A feeling of betrayal lingering in his voice as he looked at her.

“You’re not leaving, are you Elemmírë?” Elrond questioned her.

Speaking the truth, Elemmírë gave him a sad expression. “I am not wanted here, Elrond.”

That was an understatement. She was getting blamed by most of the elves in the camp for possibly taking the twins on purpose and have slowly driven them into madness by her own grief. What utter nonsense! Elemmírë was grieving to this day but she would never give her grief to them.

Though as much as the elves hated her, they found her to be useful. Or more specifically: her powers and her following. Many of the Edain and the race of men followed not only Elros but also her. She had taught the women how to defend themselves, to pick up their swords and fight. She had aided to heal with Elrond the injured, providing stories to the children as well as the grown men and elves during the evenings.

And three of them told their songs of their time with the Green elves, singing about the trees and the peace of the land. She sang about Gondolin, her beautiful white city that she grew up in.

That was not enough for her to feel how she was not amongst her people. Not now and not when the war was at its peak.

Elrond insisted, “Then I will come back, with you.” He continued, “Elros won’t mind if I leave. He enjoys the company of the Edain. Like you do.”

A small smile formed on her lips, “He has always had the heart of a mortal.” She raised an eyebrow and asked, “Are you sure? You have been marvellous as an advisor to Gil-Galad.”

He showed his own smile in return. “And so are you.”

Elemmírë’s smile saddened as she thought to him, ‘Eönwë does not speak highly of me. Thinks I have corrupted the sons of Eärendil.’

His brows creased in bewilderment, confused. ‘You haven’t corrupted us, Elemmírë. In fact, you’ve always aided us, even in the littlest ways.’

‘You should be with your father.’ She thought to him.

It was there he froze before sighing, ‘He isn’t our father. I…I believe that yes, I can understand where he was coming from and Elros shouldn’t have shown his dislike publicly. But I have already been ripped away from one family.’ Elrond admitted, ‘You and Atar and Maedhros are the only ones that have shown the love a family should have.’ [10]

Location: Ossiriand, East Beleriand, Middle Earth

Time: 565 F.A

The two of them arrived at the campsite, spotting the familiar red hair and the clothing. Elemmírë mentally informed him what she was preparing to do and crept around the camp. Once she was close, she was surprised that the two elves were occupied at the flames of the campfire, their backs in front of her until she coughed.

She slyly spoke, “I heard that a Fëanorian was in these woods.”

Both of them turned around as fast as the rapid rivers, bolting up to their feet as their eyes widened at the sight of her and the elf next to her.

Maedhros was the first to speak. “Elemmírë? Elrond?”

“Hello, Maitimo.” Elemmírë grinned as she looked at him before nodding at the other son of Fëanor. “Maglor.”

Standing beside her, Elrond walked over to Maglor and embraced him. “We’ve come home, Atto.”

A month later since their return, Elemmírë and Elrond evolved back to their normal routine with Maedhros and Maglor. Though as the war continued, peace seemed to have been a little treasure in moments as they moved constantly to prevent the enemy from finding them. They have begun travelling up the river, banding with several Laiquendi elves in protecting the east from orcs.

However, that night, it would something different. Elrond had woken up panting and screaming, beads of sweat upon his forehead as she and Maedhros rushed to his side where Maglor was already next to him.

All he could say through his breath was this. “The dead are coming.”

She and Maedhros gave each other a look before they saw Maglor’s frown.

“Are you sure, Elrond?” Maglor asked.

Elrond looked at them before returning his eyes to Maglor. “I am right, Atto. We must be prepared.”

Time: 568 F.A

After trying to tackle the dead (by which they were controlled by one of Morgoth’s more known commanders: Sauron), most of their party was intact. The warning from Elrond truly helped them to prepare for the ambush, though it did not stop them from being terrified at seeing the dead animated before them.

Seeing other magic and power used by others was an often occurrence for her, but Elemmírë had not seen the dead rise back.

Soon as the wave of the dead was gone, word had come to them that many of the front lines in West Beleriand were struggling. Along with them included Elros. Elemmírë was eager to go, to make sure the other twin would be alright. But in her heart and instinct, it was not her right to go but Elrond.

When Elrond heard of his brother in Falas, Maglor and Maedhros didn’t hesitate but allow him to go. However, he had stopped to ask her if she was coming along.

Instead, she smiled at the Peredhel. “Elros needs help.” She encouraged, “Go to him, Elrond.”

Elrond looked down at her, already having exceeded her height many years ago. He spoke, “I wish you well, Elemmírë.”

“And I to you. Stay alive, will you?” She fought back the tears that sprung in her eyes.

He too soon to show his own and hoarsely replied, “I will.”

Location: Amon Ereb, East Beleriand, Middle Earth [11]

Time: 573 F.A

Treading over to Maedhros and Maglor’s tent, she entered inside and found them standing over the small table – a map of Beleriand drawn out in front of them.

Maedhros glanced over his shoulder and relaxed the moment he spotted her usual red and blue attire and took a step towards her.

Elemmírë eyed the two brothers and questioned, “You would deal with dwarves?” She then saw the two give her a look and she paused, “After what happened in…right, must not mention it.”

She zipped her mouth and pursed her lips. It wasn’t her right to speak about past tidings, especially when dwarves are involved. Elemmírë had only heard of the battle in Doriath faintly by other elves in Sirion, and it had grown her own discomfort at how many can turn against by the jewel. Her own hatred for that jewel overshadowed the hatred the elves around her for dwarves, and she was glad at least the war had given them some source of truce with the Noldor…unlike the Sindar who she assumed would rather fight along with orcs than with them.

When the delegate of dwarves from Nogrod and Belegost arrived [12][13], Elemmírë kept an eye on them whilst keeping herself beside the two brothers. As much as she didn’t hate them, trust was little in war and she made sure to inform the brothers of what the dwarves spoke of in their minds.

What the dwarves did not know they wouldn’t mind.

Maedhros place a marker onto the map and spoke, “We must be able to sweep Morgoth’s legions up North.” He glanced up to them and asked, “You would be able to help us?”

Location: Thargelion, East Beleriand, Middle Earth [14]

Time: 577 F.A

They were outnumbered.

Orcs and Easterlings were filling in as they were surrounded, not only by them but by the landscape themselves. Lake Helevorn [15] was the very point they needed to retake and just as she was about to cut the last Easterling down, a dagger was thrust upon her leg as she toppled onto the piles of bodies.

Hands and arms picked her up and she fought at them as she was tossed up until she felt clawed by two large feet. Her heart lurched as the ground grew further from her.

Elemmírë screamed as she struggled, finding the red-haired figure grow smaller.

She cried to him, “Mae!”

He looked up and his eyes widened. As he began to run, he reached out and shouted, “No! Use your light!”

Elemmírë did not stop until tiredness brought her to unconsciousness.

Location: Angband, Erin Engrin, Middle Earth [16]

Time: 578 F.A

It was the first time Elemmírë would see a Vala up close.

However, it was not the Vala she intended to meet.

Morgoth over loomed her body, seated on his gigantic throne as his eyes bore into hers and went through every part of her mind. He tore through every memory, every moment and dream she had. In the beginning, Elemmírë fought every second of it, keeping him from her own mind no matter how much his servants lashed at her and bled her until she was in her own pool of blood.

However, as the months passed the power of her light was soon lessening – giving Morgoth the chance to see through her mind. Every secret and confession she had was now his and Sauron’s. Every moment she had with the twins and the Sons of Fëanor, her brother and Gondolin.

But Elemmírë did not tell them where they were. That was the only thing she could muster up the energy to hide away.

However, it was not those secrets he wanted from her. He wanted the truth.

The truth even she didn’t know as well.

Morgoth rasped to her, “I offer you something. If you side with me, elf. You will be the most beautiful and powerful being of all Arda.” He added, “A queen.”

Shaking, she rose her head up high and hissed, “I will rather die than choose to side with you!”

“Then you will rot here and watch me kill every one of your kin,” Morgoth told her and instructed Sauron to drag her back to the darkness she was kept in.

Time: 585 F.A

Time was meaningless in Angband.

She wasn’t sure how long it had been she had been captured for she couldn’t even see the sun or moon whether it was day or night. The room – or rather cell – Morgoth’s servants had put her in was not amongst the other prisoners, whom she could sense at the beginning of her time to be begging and pleading somewhere below the ground.

Elemmírë at first was hostile and rabid, doing anything at all means to escape.

However, a year after the other, she began to lose the hope that no one would come for her. She began to beg for her to at least be with her kin, those who were trapped in the hell underneath, but all Sauron did was laugh at her before ordering her body to be taken back to her ‘chambers’.

The fourth year of constant isolation and interrogation was when the experimenting began. She heard from the dark Ainu that Sauron would take her under his wing, she pleaded desperately to ask for the end of her life but the maia only shunned her. He tried multiple ways to analyse her powers, creating false memories in her mind to change her emotions, to see if one thing would catalyse her energy.

There were many cases that Sauron succeeded in forcing her powers to be let out, but it was not enough for the mad lord. He needed to know how and why. Where this light originated.

Two more years and a slither of hope grew in Elemmírë the moment she saw worry upon both Morgoth and Sauron’s faces.

The free peoples of Middle Earth were closing in, and it will come to a time when they would have to surrender. At that point, she didn’t care anymore if she was dead or alive; it only mattered if the two beings would finally be defeated once and for all.

She had been by the window in her cell, keeping her hands bathed into the little light in Angband. As she heard the cell doors unlock, Elemmire prepared herself spiritually before turning around.

However, as she expected either an orc or Sauron at the door – it was someone she had expected.

Elemmire stood up, her legs shaking beneath her as she reached her hand out.

She couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Elrond?” She wavered, wondering if she was hallucinating this all.

His grey eyes were struck with horror, walking closer until Elemmírë was met by his warmth. Tears began to fall down her cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably on his chest.

‘This cannot be real…’ She repeated in her head as she gazed up and found the Peredhel staring down at her. Her mind began to check through his, and a gasp escaped her mouth at the realisation.

This was him.

Elrond cupped her cheek and whispered, “Elemmírë…It’s me…I’m here.”

She then suddenly panicked and began to shake. Elemmírë begged, “El…Elrond! You shouldn’t be here…”

“Well, I am here.” He said confidently, before eyeing her with the face she had not wanted. Pity. He hid it well enough, but even the darkness didn’t hide how horrified at seeing her appearance.

Elemmírë pushed away as she croakily spoke, “It is no use; the dragon will come. Morgoth wants my power.” She implored, “Please…escape before he kills you!”

And to her surprise, Elrond stood his ground and replied, “I won’t leave you, Elemmírë. Never again.”

Location: Thargelion, East Beleriand, Middle Earth

Time: 586 F.A

When word spread at the success of the Sons of Fëanor and Sons of Eärendil’s rescue of Elemmírë – soon came about of her own actions.

How she blinded Morgoth during their escape.

In honesty, she had only done it in instinct as much of her magic had waned and lost control, causing her to lash out at one final move until they escaped through the armies of Angband and back south to Thargelion.

They began calling her with a name.

Oialëa. The Eternal.

Why so, she wondered. She was no more immortal than the elves were, who looked at her like she had been brought back the dead and seemed like she could snap her bones the moment she sat down. It was her frailty and the condition of her appearance which caused the council of elves to doubt her position. Not only as a lady but as a living person.

At that moment, anger brought her to her feet and silenced the room.

Elemmírë cried, “I am alive! And if you think because I have been shackled and defiled by the darkness that I cannot be standing, you have no right then to say that you fight for the goodness of this world!”

Location: Angband, Middle Earth

Time: 587 F.A

She stared upwards, her hands clinging onto the back of the eagle as she and Eärendil flew across the wasteland and fighting.

The dragon was close, blowing a blaze of fire across the land until Elemmírë felt her own energy burst out from her body.

Fire and light met and clashed into an array of colours. A barrier, stopping the dragon from burning the host of the Valar down on the ground whilst allowing Eärendil to fly closer towards Ancalagon. [17]

But the longer she held it, she could feel her chest bursting out, feeling the pain grow stronger until her eyes grew wide at the flames.

All she remembered was screaming, watching her hands go black before she fell back onto the back of the eagle in shock and anguish.

Location: Ossiriand, Middle Earth

Time: 588 F.A

She could not sleep that night, or for all nights for that matter. Reason was that she had hardly slept peacefully since Angband, afraid at the total darkness as she shut her eyes. She was afraid to dream as well, to hear the dark tapping of boots to the whipping of flames. The screams and howling of the wind were in fact wolves, ripping to shreds the flesh of their victims.

Another was because of her hands. After the death of Ancalagon and the capture of Morgoth and Sauron, the eagles had brought her back to the elves. Almost all of Beleriand had been washed away or sunk under the waters, with East Beleriand (mainly Ossiriand) intact. She knew that many were going to sail then and there to Valinor, and she wasn’t even sure herself if she would be counted amongst them. After what happened, the Valar would not even bat an eye at her request to land back into what had been her home.

Even then, she was a baby when she left Aman, brought along by her brother with Turgon’s host. She had not experienced the light of Valinor such as her brother, and thus her home would always be here. Once had been Gondolin. But now…she wasn’t sure anymore.

After finally becoming restless, Elemmírë stood up – carefully rolling up and grabbing her gloves from the side of her bedroll. She couldn’t bear to look at her hands anymore, scared and burnt red. The healers along with Elrond had done all they could but the breath of the dragon could not mend the hands of The Eternal.

She got up and grabbed her cloak and headed to wander about the camp at night.

It was there she heard several footsteps coming from the southern end. Elemmírë approached the commotion before she gaped at the fallen Vanyarin soldiers down the path. Elemmírë raced down until she spotted the faded red and gold armour.

As she found the two people she had expected, they were running across until she spoke. They spotted her and stopped in their tracks.

“Mae? Maglor?” She wondered. As her eyes glided down, she felt the aura around the pouch in Maedhros’ hand.

The Silmarils.

Confusion, anger, and sadness rose in Elemmírë as she strode up to them and tried to reach out. As she went to hover her hand to Maedhros’ face, he grabbed her wrist gently.

Bright blue eyes met his own pale blue ones.

Elemmírë silently pleaded, wanting to shout at him to turn back and return them. To forget the Oath and the jewels.

However, that was not the case.

Maedhros whispered to her, “I’m sorry Elemmírë.” Letting go of her wrist, he nudged his chin to Maglor who stood so frozen in place staring at her.

After all this time, was their friendship was simply this? Forgotten because of jewels their father made them take the oath with? Elemmírë had thought all this time she and the twins’ influence, their love and family bond would stop the pull.

The Sons of Fëanor gave her one last look before they fled into the night, staring at them as they were lost into the forest.

She heard two pairs of feet rush towards her. Elros questioned her by her side, “What is it?”

All she could say blankly was this. “They took it.”

“Atto wouldn’t...Maedhros would not...They would not just leave us.” Elros’ voiced wavered.

She could sense Elros’ anger whereas Elrond’s own emotion was filled with betrayal. Grasping their hands at each of her sides, all she could do was keep the twins at ease.

Soon, many of the elves already sensed what occurred, with many crying as their friends or family were slaughtered during the night. Someone shouted, “Somebody stop them!”

Another pointed a finger at her and yelled, “It’s her! She allowed them!”

Elemmírë’s heart was pounding, until she found Gil-Galad, Círdan and Eönwë in front of them. She heard Eönwë’s cold tone resonate in her. “Let them go. They do not know the consequences of their actions.”

Somehow, that was when her mind changed. She inhaled sharply before telling the twins in their minds her choice.

‘I have to follow them.’ Elemmírë told the two.

Elrond nodded, “Then we’ll go with you.”

Location: East of Middle Earth

“It is no use! Argh!”

Maedhros yelled in agony, grasping the jewel in his left hand.

Elemmírë was several feet away, trying to approach him. However, as she took a step forward, Maedhros took a step back…closer into the fiery pit of the volcano. She felt his pain, his sorrow. She was doing she can, pleading him to come back and talk this through – to forget about the jewel and to go home.

He was the only one left that knew her, who knew her torment and suffering under Morgoth. The one who brought her back to the light. Maglor had disappeared, causing the twins to feel lost as well. Their own father, the elven lord who took them in and loved them as his own.

But to Elemmírë, Maedhros was her brother. She couldn’t lose another brother again.

“Let go then!” She cried, tears spilling down her cheek as they dried immediately by the heat.

Maedhros’ face was illuminated by the lava below as he took another step back. He whispered towards her, “I cannot…I…this is what I deserve.”

She growled in frustration and cried, “You have fought the oath before because of the twins! Because of me!” Elemmírë begged, “Please, I know you can do this!”

There was a moment in which the two stared at each other.

Elemmírë’s lip trembled as she pleaded, “Maitimo, please.”

There, Maedhros spoke, “I’m sorry…”

Elemmírë raced up to him but was too late. “NO!”

And with the Silmaril, his body fell back off the cliff into the chasm of lava.

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Location: Dale, Middle Earth

Time: October 2941 T.A

Elrond’s body grew cold the moment he recognised the very energy that expelled from the jewel.

Afterwards, he saw Illyria fall onto the ground, eyes rolling back, which snapped him from the memories and quickly got her back onto her feet. Her eyes were fixed staring towards nowhere, as her hands began to shake, and he quickly knew dreaded what the jewel had done to cause this.

This jewel, the very thing that had brought his own life like this, had returned. Out of everywhere and any time: it had to be this moment. He stayed silent, hoping that Illyria would return from her mind as soon as possible. Arwen had arrived at his side, keeping her head cradled until Illyria’s eyes rolled forward and a gasp escaped her mouth.

He took a step back as he placed her upwards, though watched her shun her eyes away from the jewel with anguish in her face.

Walking over to her, Glorfindel asked her with concern: “Illyria are you okay?”

She glanced down and shook her head profusely, almost in desperation. “Take it away. Please…”

Elrond gazed at her and asked, “What happened Illyria?”

Blue frightened eyes faced him as she whispered, “You know why, Elrond.”

His heart sank and he felt impossibly ten times wearier than mere moments ago. A shadow cast over his mind and Elrond could only watch Illyria race out of the tent and out into the city. Arwen had turned to look at him, her worry crossing her face as she silently asked if she should follow her. Elrond shook his head and thinned his lips.

This was ill news.

“That cannot be possible. They said they were lost in the sea, fire and air.” Thranduil’s gaze was of fury and a tint of shock.

The King of Mirkwood was not entirely wrong. His blood father held the jewel up in the stars whereas this jewel had been lost in the fire chasm which Maedhros died with. The last one on the other hand, well: Elrond wasn’t sure. It was speculated that he had disappeared into Middle Earth and chucked the jewel into the sea – though it had been stories, nothing confirmed by the word around Lindon or Imladris.

Atto…Maglor’s disappearance was what lost his hope. However, it was Maedhros’ own death that caused Elemmírë to lose her faith. They had been so close that they could have been brother and sister if they weren’t trying to kill each other thousands of years ago.

However, what questioned him was how this jewel survived the time and conditions.

Glorfindel’s face hardened as he said, “It did not burn. Not even in the fire.” He continued, “It’s been with the mountain for years.”

Whilst there was a growing air of hostility, Arwen had excused herself to find Elladan and Elrohir whilst he was left to watching Mithrandir’s own silent pondering. The maia must be deeply concerned, for this news of the Arkenstone be one of the three jewels forged by Fëanor.

“I don’t understand, I thought this was the Arkenstone,” Bard spoke with confusion, along with Bilbo Baggins.

Mithrandir darkly murmured, “That, Master Bilbo and Bard - is a Silmaril.”

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts...and also Elemmírë Oialëa

When she left the tent, she hid.

It would be too simple to hide in the city, perhaps hide in the most desolated buildings in Dale or maybe sneak into Erebor just to keep her distance from them. Instead, Illyria had sat on the cliff edge – the mountain in the far left whilst the right was the valley heading down Esgaroth. Her feet dangling over the edge as she propped her hands onto the cold stone surface, the snow melting under her body heat.

For years she had learnt as hard as she could to get rid of those memories, and all it took again was that thing.

That stupid pathetic thing.

Illyria didn’t know how to think or feel. Right then, she was buried into her mind, replaying those scenes in her mind which the Silmaril gave her. Her own screams echoing in the large halls as that deep and darkening voice made her spine rigid. How her body sucked in, her ribs showing under the little light there was. Her hair was loose and dirty as strands began to fall every moment.

Her own light clashing into the flames of the creature. The breath of the dragon catching her hands, burning her skin until they were black and charred.

She can still hear his screams along with her screams as the lava rose and bubbled. How the heat was slashing her skin like a sword. Watching him fall before all she could do was turn away before he could hit the surface.

At that moment, she felt someone approach her and knew easily who would come to her. Even if they arrived by her right, she did not move or tilt her head – continuing her gaze up at the moon.

He said quietly, “Here, you are cold.” Sensing something covering her shoulder, Illyria glanced down at her arms and found what seemed to be his own cloak around her.

She quietly murmured, “Thanks…”

Elrond cut off the silence as he spoke quietly, “I know you do not wish to speak of it, but I cannot help you if you don’t speak openly Illyria.”

How was she supposed to speak of it openly? The Silmaril just gave her an entire episodic season’s worth of trauma that she didn’t need right now! Each memory getting worse every time.

Even then, Illyria’s heart made her speak.

Gulping down the bile, she murmured in a dead tone. “I remembered them. Makalaurë and Maitimo.” Her chest panged as those names filled her with pain. “All this time, I knew you so much longer than I thought.”

That was what she was surprised as well, the fact that she knew him way further back in history. She thought that in this universe, she would have met him during the second age or perhaps the beginning of the third age. But instead: they’ve been together for six thousand years. She had known him and his brother when they were just children.

The Havens and Ossiriand.

Illyria was there all this time, because of what Elwing asked her to do.

“She left you with me, and then they came.” She ground her teeth against each other as she curled her fingers. “I was…I was so angry. So, fucking angry at them.”

She was outraged at everyone. Not just Elwing for leaving her with the twins but for Eärendil. And then she was angry at the Sons of Fëanor for leaving them again at the end of the war. After being together, their entire personalities changing because of their influence – they still chose to give in to the Oath.

From Illyria’s view, she could tell Elrond understood how she felt. Perhaps it wasn’t anything new for him, having had to experience the loss as well. Fuck, what about Maglor. She knew even as someone who read it that Maglor had adopted him and Elros despite being hostages.

Elemmírë’s presence had changed the course of the timeline. They would never stay with them for years, having gone to stay with the Edain instead to help with the war in the West. Instead, she had brought them up along with the Sons of Fëanor. She had been the glue to the complicated relationship they all had.

He spoke, “You never spoke about them and the First Age. What happened during the war. None of us did. Not after we lost…we lost them.”

Turning her head to her side, she found him staring out into the landscape. Illyria questioned, “But why now? Why after I saw the Silmaril?”

Somehow, the jewel had made her memories re-surface and that was how she got these old memories. The energy of the Silmaril seemed to resonate along with hers, a similar aura that she wasn’t sure if it welcomed her or terrified her. It was raw and powerful that even trying to put her mind through it, Illyria was scared to shit if it was sentient or something.

She hoped it was not sentient.

Fingers crossed it wasn't sentient.

If this was this world’s version of the Infinity stones, she was going to yet off and find someone to break these mother feckers.

“I am not sure,” Elrond answered truthfully, glancing back down her. “But our past was entwined with that jewel, far longer for you.”

Illyria rose her eyebrows and didn’t complain. She did somehow spend years with a dark lord who had a bucket head for a helmet that held two of the jewels. As well as that, Elrond’s sperm donor had one on his crown too.

She muttered bitterly, “The jewel that united this place, but also divided it.” Illyria snorted to herself and pointed out, “Honestly, elves and their jewellery, we need a better hobby.”

In the corner of her eyes, she saw Elrond twitch his lips making herself feel her stomach flutter at his smile.

Illyria then faced him, turning her body around as she slipped off the ledge and back onto the ground.

Standing beside him, she gazed back onto the landscape. “I also saw you. You and your brother.” Her voice cracked, emotion ruling her mind. “I watched you grow up in a war you shouldn’t have needed to fight in. A war that was fuelled by that pathetic piece of shit. You…you were young. And-“

She could sense her eyes stinging, hot tears against the cold air as she clamped her teeth as felt her lips tremble.

“…Illyria.” He began, though Illyria continued.

“Those years, I was so angry and alone. So many died. My brother, Ecthelion, Eärendil, Elwing and my people…Idril and Tuor left, and I wasn’t wanted afterwards.” Illyria’s voice grew quiet as she murmured lastly, “I guess that was why I almost got tempted by them.”

Elrond asked her, “What stopped you?”

She turned to face him and answered, “You did.” Illyria continued, never leaving her eyes away from his own. “You went to save me. You and Elros when you shouldn’t have. You went on a freaking death journey you knew the chances of coming back was so slim. Why did you do that?”

Swallowing his breath, Elrond gazed down at her as he revealed something she was not prepared to hear.

“Because Illyria, I cared for you more than what you believe it to be.” He professed, “Your light and your passion were what brought me to love you. And I never stopped loving you after Angband.”

Everything around her had slowed down as she felt her entire body freeze at the words.

Did she hear that right?

Elrond closed his eyes, his brows creasing as if he was remembering. When he opened them again, he explained: “When the war ended, I was…afraid. Afraid you would reject my love for you. And many times, I wondered why I came to love such a person who would rather act first than think.” He stared at her as he whispered to her, “But no matter what, I never stopped. My heart was always yours, to begin with. It was only in Imladris which you finally found mine.”

Illyria’s mouth parted slightly, awed at what she heard. He had told her that he had loved her for so long. Longer than even she as both Illyria and Elemmírë had realised.

Oh god, she felt really bad now. Might be the best time to tell him the truth.

So, she tried to intervene as she called to him, “Elrond…”

However, Elrond was somehow determined to get his point across, “And you told me that you loved me, but you were afraid as well. Hearing from the bravest person I knew to be afraid with such a gesture shocked me.”

There goes her heart malfunctioning. Butterflies shouldn’t really be in her stomach either way.

The next bit had then broken not only Elemmírë - but Illyria’s heart.

Whispering to her, Elrond carefully took both of her hands and clasped them into his own. “You may never love me as before, but I am willing to wait for you, Illyria Strange.”

She wasn’t what to say next. What do you say next after that? This elf, Elrond Peredhel had told he would wait for her. He would wait for her to eventually choose if she would love him back or not. Hundreds of years of waiting since her death he found her again, changed and so different.

And even then, he had chosen to wait for her.

Illyria couldn’t breathe, struck not only by his word but by the effects of her guilt and the hidden affection she had for him.

But would he accept her even after waiting for so long?

As her hand began to rub circles upon the back of his hands, gazing up to him as she confessed herself. “Elrond, I know.”

His eyes changed quickly as he echoed, “What?”

Okay, how was she going to explain this? And in the most Darcy Lewis way as possible: Illyria awkwardly summarised it all.

Biting her lip, she nervously smiled back, “I may…and maybe Arwen…have been lying to you. All four of you.” Illyria’s smile relaxed, softly speaking. “I know who you are to me, Elrond.”

He gaped at her. “Is this because-“

“Yes.”

Elrond’s face morphed into guilt, and he opened his mouth to explain, “I-“

She tilted her head to the side and quirked her lips. “You could have told me. I would have handled it.” A sigh left her mouth before she grinned, “But after that…I think I preferred hearing you say all those things.”

Elrond took a deep breath, though his smile never faded away, “I…Elbereth.” He shook his head in disbelief. “You will be the death of me, Illyria.”

She rolled her eyes and spoke, “Admit it, Arwen and I are superior.”

“You spent an entire month travelling with the twins and your brother, how did they not notice?” Elrond asked, wondering as well how she could have hidden the truth.

She looked idly and whistled “I may have just asked them too many questions. Honestly, they are good at it. I wonder where they got it from, hm?”

The question made Elrond chuckle, causing herself to grin back. She was glad that Elrond hadn’t been too mad at her, perhaps understanding for both of their sakes. At least this was alright for them, and they both understood now why they have kept each other’s past behind them.

Illyria simply put it with a shuddered breath, “You’re right. If you did tell me then and there, I would have been terrified. I would have just fully denied it all and left.”

“What changed your mind,” Elrond asked her back, curious at her own side of the story.

With a brave face, Illyria confessed her own. “Liking you…again. I don’t think it’s because of Elemmírë loving you before.” She looked back up to his grey eyes and murmured, “I think…it is real. That even Illyria Strange fell for you.”

That had been a total understatement in the beginning. Or maybe she had been denying it ever since. But she couldn’t hide it anymore. There was a pull to him, much older and stronger than what she intended it be. The longing crush over the elven lord of Imladris was not only because of Elemmírë but it had been hers too. She had liked him as a person, someone who was calm and serene, who would keep those protected and yet act with concern and determination as ever.

Vilya perhaps even fitted his own character that opposed her reckless one.

Illyria admitted, “The reason I never told you as well is that I was unsure if you’d like me because you wanted her back or you’d like me – even I am what I am.”

He raised her hand to him and Illyria hovered it until it cupped his chin. His cold skin under her hand caused her arm to grow numb. His free arm gradually took her in closer, his hand pressing gently on her back.

Their eyes never left each other.

Elrond spoke to her, “You are what you choose to be, melmenya.”

The word had almost caused her to grin more. She was beginning to remember it. The feeling of him around her. The love and the tenderness. The laughter and the dislikes. Illyria had thought it would overwhelm her. Instead, the feeling of her heart to him welcomed her like a wave lapping against the shorelines.

Illyria slowly moved her thumb to rub against his cheek as she asked him, “Then you don’t mind liking a human, Elrond Peredhel?”

A fond smile graced his face as he answered, “I’ve come to be fond of Illyria Ettelëa ever since I found her falling into my arms.”

She said amusedly, “Somehow, I’m always in your arms.” Illyria whispered, “I don’t mind it though.”

There was a moment of silence which they shared for a bit, allowing her to adjust her own worries and mind. A rational part of her told her that in a couple of days, the war would arrive, and the risks of death were imminent. Her time here could be coming to an end. She could be training or meditating or even sulking on her own.

In its place, she would gladly choose this more than anything. Her head against his chest, hearing the gentle thumps of his heartbeat as his arms encased her in an embrace.

The snow falling onto them gently.

She quietly asked him, “Can we stay here longer?”

Elrond answered her, “Of course, melmenya.”

Unfortunately, time was limited for them and Elrond needed to return with the host of Imladris and Lothlorien to prepare. He hadn’t wanted to leave her side then (and so did she, secretly) as they both felt eager to be by each other’s sides as long as possible. But they both understood now that since they’ve kind of resolved the biggest parts of their relationship – she needed to sort out the others.

That was when she arrived at the abandoned houses where the twins and Arwen had been. Before she did enter through, she went through her head and took a deep breath. She needed to do this correctly and probably in her own fashionable way. She couldn’t exactly bluntly put it and forgetting the important bits.

She had thought of surprising them by doing the thing the guy did in Love Actually [18], but you can’t exactly find big, massive cards here in Middle Earth.

In the end, Illyria did it the old fashion way and strode inside finding the trio sitting on the floor with their legs crossed. She pretended to put a concerned strict expression, causing both the twins to rise and hover to her.

Elrohir was the one to ask first, “Lady Illyria, what is wrong…”

In honesty, she didn’t plan at all what she was going to do. So, in instinct, she threw herself at the two – giving them the tightest hug around their torsos.

With a muffled tone, she said, “You are in so much trouble.”

When she pulled away, she was met by Elladan whispering to her, “Nana…you remember?”

She grinned back, “Enough to know you’re both my sons.”

What made her chuckle was Elrohir’s sigh in relief, “Finally, I thought we would have to lie!” He smiled widely at her, “I felt rather rude calling you by your name, Naneth.”

Her body did a little jerk as she inwardly hid the awkward reaction to that. She pointed out, “Again, hearing the word mother when you are both older than me.”

Her sons and daughter (yeah that’s going to get some used to, again) stood around her. However, it was both her sons who clung to her like a limpet. Honestly, they were two grown elves and were clinging to her like they were children.

Welp, they were good body warmers.

As soon as she arrived, Elrond had somehow found them in the following moments afterwards.

“It would seem I have found you all together.” He said with a softened gaze at her and their children.

Arwen walked over to Elrond and folded her arms with a glint in her eyes, “I’m glad you finally told Ada.” She added, “Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn have been waiting.”

Elladan and Elrohir froze and gaped back. “You knew?” Elladan pointed at her with narrowed eyes.

“Of course, I knew. Nana and I decided to give you what you deserved, after what you all have tried to evade her questions.” Arwen prompted, causing the twins to go look a little meek.

She winked back at her daughter whilst smirking back at Elrond. He couldn’t say anything, serves him right along with Glorfindel and the twins.

Elladan muttered under his breath, “Alright, perhaps we should have told you when you asked.”

Whilst Elladan and Elrohir went to practice with Arwen on meditating, she finally had some time on her own to think for a bit. She had spent the past hour and a half listening to her children of their stories, of their memories together as a family. Elrond had listened as well, commenting in certain bits as he sat with Arwen whilst she sat between the twins.

“I thought you would be happier to know most of your past, Illyria.” Her brother wondered.

Illyria found that blonde elf taking watch at the highest vantage point, clearly unaffected by the cold as she was shivering like any other human being here. November in Dale and Erebor was equivalent to the Alps or Everest and at least her robes were warming her enough. However, her face could say the opposite as she felt her skin form a layer of frost.

She nudged her left elbow at him and grinned, “Aw, glad that you know my preferences brother.” Sighing aloud, she stretched out and relaxed, “And yes, I am happy. But now I realised how much I meant to someone. Before, just being Illyria: I lost so many important to me for a short time. It is odd to imagine that I have family who lost me.”

Her voice grew quiet, remembering herself how much she had. It wasn’t foreign to her to feel that she meant something to someone, she had her dad for that. Stephen Strange, the man who had accepted her as his own. Then it had been Darcy then Uncle Wong and then Tony Stark.

However, Elrond and the children were in other cases. They had known her before as someone who experiences hundreds of years of sorrow and grief and pain. She came to realise now that the dreams she had that were so painful as a child was her own.

How the Ancient One knew then…Illyria just had to assumed she had foreseen it. Or perhaps she knew something else. She might have to look up to that when she returns.

Glorfindel had a fond smile on his face as he spoke, “I felt like that when I arrived here to Middle Earth. You were the only one that was the happiest to see me. You were practically stuck to me an entire century until Elrond swept you away to Imladris.” He changed the subject and asked, “Speaking of Elrond, you have spoken to him?”

“I have. You are in much trouble for hiding the fact that I’m married!” Illyria exasperated, and it did not help her when Glorfindel grinned wider.

He assured her, “I was only following Elrond’s advice, nésa. Though I am glad you’ve gained the memories you needed.”

With a grim look, she corrected him: “I haven’t regained every memory as of yet.” Illyria elaborated, “And we agreed that we will take it slowly.”

Glorfindel groaned and shook his head, “Oh Elbereth, not again. You said this the last time!”

Her eyebrows rose through the roof as she swatted his arm, “Hey! I can’t be going around kissing elven lords who now have fully grown children!”

“You’re already married!” Her brother exclaimed,

She pointed back, “You mean Elemmírë. Not Illyria.” She gave him a smug look. “Illyria is currently courting an elf.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes and responded, “I had hoped Illyria would have been less patient in these sorts, especially as a human.”

“Oi!” She gaped. Where did this cheek come from? Totally not from the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. Lord her ass.

Despite seeming to be annoyed, Illyria heard her brother chuckle before he hugged her at the side.

Glorfindel sighed heavily and said, “I miss you, little sister. But with war looming-“ He trailed off, staring out to the mountain.

Illyria paused for a moment to recollect herself. This was it; the battle was coming and just after she had discovered a family she felt so close to.

When she first travelled with Bilbo Baggins, Illyria didn’t even think of growing attached to anyone. Now she had a brother, a husband, and her children. Not to mention her dad, Darcy, Uncle Wong, Harley, and Morgan.

She did her best to swallow the worries down, tracing her hands down to the pendant Estel had given her. Illyria had decided to wear it now around her neck as a way to feel connected to the little boy who was also part of Elrond’s family. And now was a part of hers.

She glanced up to him and spoke, “We will get through this alive. With my information, hopefully, we can persuade the two races to get their problems aside.”

That information involved a certain hobbit and her own hypothesis. It might work, it might not. Though with Glorfindel already looking like he was stressing out because of her, she was not to reveal anything else her plan she was going to do tonight.

“You are uncertain.” Glorfindel glanced at her as he pointed out.

She did not need to lie about that. “I am. I’m just worried if something does change, how would that affect the future.”

“Don’t think too far ahead, Illyria. Just be content for the present.” Her brother told her, and Illyria decided for once to follow his advice.

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Dale, Middle Earth

Time: November 2941 T.A

Tomorrow morning, it would be exactly seven months since she had arrived in Middle Earth. Rather daunting to imagine for her considering how much had happened during that time, making those seven months hardly the time worth its length. It had almost felt like it had been the longest week she had endured, filled with times where she wanted to die whilst the rest made her wish she were truly already dead and living in heaven that was her own imagination.

Not that Illyria thought she was having the worst time possible right now. Well…ignoring the fact that tomorrow morning could be the deaths of countless lives that shouldn’t be gone. The Valar must be seething at her (and especially Mandos) for intervening like any sorcerer would be, for just existing in this world. She can imagine Vairë, the weaver of the fate of Arda, re-patching several parts of the story just to keep up on the unknown future they would be going through. [1]

Yeah, she was fucking up their song alright. And Illyria Strange should feel bad.

However, proud to be a badass motherfucker and had encountered a purple alien wanting to rid half of the universe as well as break all laws of sorcery before the age of twenty-one – Illyria just didn’t give a shit anymore.

She was going to go through with her plan whether Gandalf the Grey deemed it wrong for his Valar. Somehow, the maia hadn’t even batted an eye as she was continuously putting shields around the city with the aid of her children. (Which was still really weird to say in her head because yes, she was only twenty and she’d hardly even gotten through some sort of midlife crisis yet. And her children were 2000 or so older than her.)

Once Dale seemed to quieten down, her plan was on the go. Illyria had spoken to both Elrond and Glorfindel of her plan with Bilbo, taking about ten minutes trying to persuade her brother and husband (still can’t believe that as well) to head off to Erebor to try and change Thorin Oakenshield’s mind.

Good thing she didn’t elaborate on that account or else they’ll definitely won’t allow her to go.

Thranduil, the lovely blonde prick, had done all he could to prevent anyone from leaving the city. Especially her and any of Noldorin elves, which slightly pissed Elrond off: who insisted on healing the rest of those citizens from Esgaroth after their meeting.

With now her satchel and a spare sword she gained from Elrohir, she placed the hood over her head, Elrond’s scent lingering around her nose with a comforting feeling before heading down towards the Northern side of Dale. She was expecting to meet a certain hobbit down there so they could sneak out.

But who also stood idling in the shadows had been her daughter. Illyria spotted her and approached her with a questioning glance. She spoke, “Arwen, I spoke to Elrond and Glorfindel already. They’ll notice that Bilbo and I are gone along with Thranduil and Gandalf.”

Her daughter had a determined look in her eyes as she said, “I will come with you.”

Illyria took a second to think about it, but in the end, shook her head. “No, I want you to protect the women and children here. Ease them from fear.” She told her, “I’m going with Bilbo to sort Thorin out.”

Her daughter didn’t seem convinced by her decision, who would when she was about to take the risk. Arwen seemed to have already known her decision, and she felt a little guilty for not informing either of her children about it. Illyria assured her through her mind that she will be alright and that she’ll be back in a couple of hours, hopefully just in time before sunrise.

Arwen eyed the pendant on her neck and her eyes were filled with happiness. ‘You are wearing Ada’s courting gift to you again.’

As her hand rose to the pendant on her neck, Illyria gave it a look and gawked. It would seem Elrond was being subtle and asking Estel to hand it back to her as a gift. In the end, Illyria felt her cheeks warm as she smiled at the memory of seeing it months ago. ‘I guess even after all this time, he still looked out for me.’ Illyria looked at her daughter with a sad smile.

Her eyes glistened with tears before Arwen threw her hands around her shoulders, nuzzling her head over her shoulder. “Please stay safe, Naneth,” Arwen murmured in her ear.

Illyria turned her head, pressing a gentle kiss over her forehead. ‘I will, my Evenstar.’

“Are you sure this will work?” Bilbo looked up to her as he asked.

They continued to wade through the hidden alleyways of Dale until they arrived at the Northern gates. She made a grim face. “It has to.” Illyria exhaled. “Or else we’ll be dead by the morning.”

Okay, that sounded rather morbid. But was she wrong?

Bilbo grumbled under his breath, “You could have told me more.”

Stopping her tracks, she flicked her head down to her hobbit friend and questioned, “And if I did? What would have happened?”

“We would have waited for you and Gandalf. And then Smaug wouldn’t have escaped to Laketown and burn it all!” He exclaimed, a tint of irritation.

Illyria tried to suppress the guilt again in her chest. She had been thinking of it again and again after having to help the citizens of Esgaroth prepare themselves for both the winter and the battle ahead.

In the end, she let out a deep breath and watched the cloud of smoke exit into the air around them. “No…some things must stay the same. We call them key points in time. No matter what, the dragon needed to be dead.” She quietened afterwards, trying to maintain the confidence in her voice. “I just wished I were there to help them. They didn’t deserve that fate in any reality of this world.”

The hobbit rose his eyebrows slightly as he responded, “You’re here now. You’ve been able to protect the city with the shields.”

Illyria told him, “It will not be enough; Arwen and the twins are inexperienced with only perhaps a couple days’ worth of lessons, and the barrier will only stay if energy is kept up.” Instead of making Bilbo worry more, she changed the subject and asked him: “How’s Thorin? And the Company?”

“Not himself. It is the gold. It changed him.” Bilbo gulped, “They call it the gold sickness.”

When that question rose, Bilbo immediately looked rugged and worn. The protective and confident face he worse when he arrived her with Arkenstone/Silmaril in hand had fallen and here she was seeing the truth in her friend’s mind. He was lost and hurt from everything around him. The elves, the men, the dwarves and even the wizard who brought him here in the first place. Bilbo was doubting his place and beginning to sense how much Thorin meant to him. How the Company meant to him.

Illyria wanted to stop and squeeze him into a tight hug. To tell him that everything would be alright and that the sun will come up once more.

Nine months ago, she had promised him that if he wanted to be gone she would portal him back to Bag-End no matter the consequence. She expected him at some points in the journey that he would finally crack and beg her – she would be proud either way for it meant that he knew his limits.

But someone once told her that love was limitless. It will transcend through time and worlds and realities, more than you can imagine. Illyria saw it in Bilbo, his love for the dwarves – for Thorin. And she saw it in Elrond and Glorfindel as well.

This curse. The gold sickness. Illyria had encountered several curses and spells such as that and knew to an extent how it could possibly be overcome.

“Yeah, I know. We’ll just have to try,” Illyria gave an encouraging look to which Bilbo silently prayed to. She will do what she can. For Bilbo and for Thorin. And for the Company.

They snuck around Thranduil’s guards before using the sling ring to portal closer to Erebor’s main doors. When gazing up to the doors of Erebor at the closest she’d ever been to, Illyria couldn’t help but be amazed at the structures. She’d seen it in the movies, hell she’s seen people build it in Minecraft – having watched a ton of videos of communities building these from the ground up. [2]

Seeing it, in reality, was a whole other level. The geometric patterns and intricate designs gave it an entirely different atmosphere to what the elves drew in as their architecture. She would imagine someone like Harley would appreciate something like this, even though he was mostly a Star Wars fan. [3] (They usually did a marathon once in a while of all the episodes during the holidays. They invited Peter one time but after summer, he hadn’t replied to any of their texts or Snapchat at all.) [4]

As they arrived at the main doors, Bilbo told her that he escaped abseiling down the main balcony, and she gave the hobbit a look that said: ‘you really think I’m going to climb up?’. The hobbit snorted and pointed at her hand and she did all she could not stick her tongue out before creating a portal to the top.

Once they were inside, Illyria could sense something uncomfortable around her. Yes, it was dark and gloomy and yet hauntingly beautiful with the large, cavernous pillars and overhangs and bridges. But the aura around her made it felt as if she was wading through mud and marshes. Something was causing this unwanted magic around here and despite Bilbo not sensing it like her, he must have already seen it in the other dwarves when they arrived here.

‘The gold must be affecting them,’ She deduced. ‘Smaug must have cursed it during the last two hundred years.’ She knew that dragons in this world must have some magical powers that could affect others, according to the books and all the websites she’s briefly skimmed through. Like the great wingless dragons that overrun Gondolin – Elemmírë previous home – as well as Ancalagon, the big ass dragon that could probably make Daenerys Targaryen jealous of Melkor. [5]

However, she had yet to tackle curses such as these. The gold she spotted amongst the hoard was creating a stench that made Illyria swallowed the bile down her throat until all she did was continue following Bilbo to where the others were.

When they did arrive at one of the halls, she found Kili and Fili with Bofur and Ori. The four dwarves were scavenging the pile of gold and jewels (possibly for the Arkenstone), wearing already their armour for tomorrow morning.

Ori spotted her, a genuine smile on the young dwarf’s face since many moons ago. She missed Ori’s conversations about their culture, though knew from his eyes he was terrified for tomorrow. Kili on the other hand was a little calmer and more worried, trying to search for someone else behind her and Bilbo.

Tauriel. She must exist in this world if Illyria can deduce from the longing gaze beyond him. And the fact that he had those lovey-dovey eyes which she’d seen in both her dad and Darcy and with Bilbo and Thorin.

Oh good lord, was she like this with Elrond as well? She bet Gandalf and Glorfindel and her children were having a right old laugh about them.

However, it was Fili who was the first to greet them, “Illyria? What are you doing here?”

Bilbo and she arrived at the bottom of the board. “I came here to make sure you were all okay.” She answered, remaining her calm demeanour.

It was there she told them what Bilbo told her about Thorin. The dwarves didn’t deny it; Thorin had acted different ever since they arrived, staying awake all day and night and never leaving the treasury. He would sit in the gold for days on end, mumbling to himself and losing his thoughts to his own mind.

Illyria thinned her lips at that and thought carefully. The curse seemed to throw people’s minds to the worse of their abilities, but why had Thorin been the most affected? Even both Kili and Fili, the closest related to Thorin didn’t seem affected as badly as their uncle. Yes, they were a little obsessed, but they knew the gold was bad the moment she told them. (Kili even tossed the jewel he was fiddling in his hands the moment she said it will rot their brain.)

She asked how old Thorin had been when the dragon arrived, and Ori had told her that he was only around his thirties when Smaug decimated Dale and Erebor. And that Thror already had the gold sickness already. So, it wasn’t entirely the gold. The gold was just cursed and enhanced most of the sickness there. Illyria wished that Elrond was here; he was the healer person and he probably knew how to solve this.

Illyria interrogated them some more, their time getting closer as she rushed them through. She needed enough information to tackle Thorin and push his mind back to the surface, but she couldn’t come in blindsided.

It was suddenly when she remembered Thorin’s father, Thrain, which she realised something. The rings.

No, not the one ring (which Bilbo possessed in his pocket) but one of the Dwarven rings. Sauron had made them for the dwarves hoping to control them, but due to their resistance, it only heightened their personalities of greed and hoarding.

Thror and Thrain had the ring all their lives.

And not only the ring, but the Arkenstone as well. The Silmaril was even more powerful than she had imagined it to be. The dwarves were not affected by it such as humans and elves, but it was enough to even enhance the same traits.

Illyria finally knew how to process this all and suggested her plan to the rest of the dwarves.

The other dwarves gave each other glances of concern. “Thorin won’t like this.” Bofur frowned.

She inhaled slowly and replied, “No, he won’t. But Thorin needs to be back to normal before all things go down.”

The five eventually agreed with her idea and guided her down to where Thorin was usually wandering about talking to himself.

It was the great royal hall, the same golden-floored hall Illyria had once seen on the screen. As Elemmírë, she had no recollection of Erebor coming into her head, so she assumed Erebor was founded after her death. No artificial light was needed to brighten the room for the gold already did so.

A figure was pacing back and forth until they stopped and spotted her, forgetting the other five around her. The Company must be somewhere else in the city doing Thorin’s bidding.

His eyes flashed into defence as he hissed, “You! Why are you here!”

Illyria continued to walk towards him, replying. “Hello to you too.” She eyed him up and down and sarcastically added, “You seem fucking draped. Guess you’re in for the next season of RuPaul’s drag race?” [6]

“I do not care about what you say. Get out of my sight!” He roared, stalking towards her.

She made a grim look before she replied, “I’m sorry Thorin, I need to do this.” Illyria ordered, “Boys, now!”

Kili and Fili restrained their Uncle from the side, keeping him secure as Illyria bend down and grabbed his hand – pressing it against her chest. With one swift movement, she rose her hand towards his chest before sensing her mind leave her body.

Her surroundings changed and she spotted her and Thorin’s physical bodies slump to the ground whilst Thorin’s astral body floated just a few feet from her. There was a panicked expression on him, as he began to look at his hands.

“…Where…where am I?” Thorin’s voice trembled.

It wasn’t what surprised Illyria by a dwarf in his astral body but the fact that his astral body was glitching, fazing in and out like an old television screen. The curse must be doing this to his astral form.

“Jesus Christ, you are really not doing well.” Illyria breathed through her teeth as she floated down onto the ground and waited for him.

Though, Thorin was still in his panic zone – just like most people who experience the Astral dimension for the first time. Her dad panicked just like this before, hearing from Mordo how his heart rate almost caused him to have a heart attack.

He demanded, “What is this? What is this witchcraft!” Thorin’s eyes flicked to hers as he pointed. “You!”

Charging towards her, he tried to throw a fist, but she used her energy to dematerialise her body. His body went through her, stumbling forwards before glitching again. She turned around and kept her cool.

“You cannot harm me, Thorin.” She explained to him thoroughly, “You are in the Astral Dimension. And right now, we are going to sort out your gold sickness problem.”

He floated down onto the ground, grumbling back: “I am not sick!”

She did all her best not to roll her eyes back. Illyria couldn’t fuel his anger anymore; she needed him to be at her side.

“Maybe not how you think it is. But you are sick, mentally.” Illyria gestured to him. “There is a curse in that gold, I can sense it and it’s been corrupting you as well as the exposure to both the Arkenstone and one of the Dwarven rings.”

Thorin stopped for that moment and questioned, “What? Why?”

Illyria decided to explain as simply as possible about her deductions. “Firstly, your family held one of the rings which Sauron gave you, which had never been able to control your kind but has left you to enhance your worse traits such as the greediness of jewels and metal.”

Perhaps Sauron knew that Thorin would fall under the curse as he did expose himself to it since his younger years. He would either die due to it or cause more turmoil for the other realms.

The next bit, Illyria had to bite the dust and reveal to him the truth.

Taking a deep breath, Illyria continued. “The Arkenstone on the other hand…is a Silmaril. One of the three jewels Fëanor created in Valinor. It holds the light of the trees, which brings out the most to those surrounding it.” She saw his eyes widen as the familiar words entered his mind. “And with your gold and your culture, it heightened your greed and along with some weird-ass curse around the gold which Smaug created.”

She watched him ponder for a moment, patiently keeping an eye on his fazing. His astral form was becoming more stable, though with the erratic glitching.

Thorin slowly spoke, “So, you are saying that it is evil. That I cannot have what is rightfully mine?” His voice was growing frustrated, which almost threw Illyria to an exasperated sigh.

Which somehow did happen as she stomped over to him. “This is the very reason you are not okay! That Silmaril can’t be ‘wielded’ willy-nilly or paraded about. It practically has the same power as the sun!” Illyria waved her hand as she continued. “Look, jewels and gold: those things are not worth equivalent to anything out there. Do you know what is?”

There was a moment of silence between them.

“No.” He answered.

Illyria’s eyebrows creased as she stressed out, “Your family. Your people. They are worth more than gold and a fucking jewel! They are the treasure. Like Bilbo too! They’ve been at your side, trusting you, following you.” She gestured over to the “You are not defined by the Arkenstone, Thorin. You are Thorin, King under the Mountain. Not the King of the Arkenstone.”

His head shook, glitching slightly. “If I do not have it, none of the clans will follow me.”

Illyria scoffed inwardly. Honestly, what was it with jewels and stones and everything? Her entire time in this world, she had realised that jewellery and trinkets have somehow brought the best and worst out of people. Like the Silmarils and the rings. All ended up somewhere that should not be in anyone’s hands other than the earth itself.

“Then it’s their loss. A stone can’t give you loyalty, people’s trust and kindness and strength can. But you, you’re one the fucking best characters I have yet met.” Illyria sighed and admitted. “Yes, you can be an asshole sometimes-“

Thorin gave her a narrowed gaze which she wasn’t affected anymore.

Her face relaxed then and smiled, “But you’ve stuck to your word. You brought your people here to give them a home.” Illyria walked over to him and carefully took his hand, gazing down at him. “You are a good person, Thorin. I know you are, deep down there: better than anyone, stronger than what you believe yourself to be.” She carefully took one last breath and allowed light to emit from her palms.

She had never tried to heal anyone through the Astral Dimension, and she was surprised that after allowing her energy flow through him, Thorin’s form had stopped fazing.

Illyria took a step back and waited for him to speak. He had been staring at his hands, looking at his unconscious form.

Silence ensued.

Then, she heard quiet whimpers as Thorin whispered, “What have I done? I should never have done this.”

For once, Thorin Oakenshield broke down. She floated back to him, placing her hand atop his shoulder as she quietly allowed him to weep through his guilt. Sometimes there needed a time for someone like him to realise his mistakes, and Illyria allowed him the time in the Astral form to do so.

Illyria sadly smiled down to him and murmured, “I know, Thorin. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Bilbo pulled her up as he exclaimed, “You’re back! What happened?”

She didn’t respond any time soon as Illyria waited for Thorin to get up. Illyria continued to walk forward as Bilbo rushed after her.

Kili warned her, “Illyria stand back, he might-“

He staggered upwards, holding his head with his hands as he groaned. When he took a step forward, his nephews held him back a bit. Though Thorin pushed them slightly, hinting for him to give him some space.

Illyria spoke softly, “No, it’s alright.” She asked the dwarven king. “Thorin, you good?”

When his head rose, Illyria held her breath for a moment – her heart racing as she mentally crossed her fingers. When his eyes looked into hers, she could sense a calmness in them.

None of the curses lingered in his heart and mind.

Thorin nodded at her and solemnly spoke, “I am alright.” He continued, “Thank you very much, Illyria Strange.”

She watched him carefully at her spot, relieved to find the Thorin she knew before to have finally been back to normal self. Kili and Fili were happy and relieved, giving him each a tight hug before Thorin turned over to the hobbit in front of her. Thorin had approached Bilbo, eyes glazed over with tears.

At last, he had embraced Bilbo, brushing his hair before placing a gentle kiss atop his forehead. “And thank you, Bilbo.”

“What for?” Bilbo glanced up to Thorin to ask.

His expression returned to shame as he answered, “For staying.” Thorin muttered, “I am sorry, Amrâlimê.” [7]

Illyria’s heart thumped at the sight of the two, but inside she was crying with happy tears. Those two had been dancing around each other for months and she was glad that they’ve finally had the guts to show their affection to one another.

She telepathically told the other four to give them space for a minute, their eyes and ears lingering away before Bilbo awkwardly pulled away and stood back at her side.

Man, she was so proud of her friend. The twins are going to be ecstatic when they hear about this.

Once Thorin seemed well enough, he called the rest of the Company together who also was surprised to find her. Balin has spotted her first and noticed the change of Thorin’s demeanour had changed from when they first entered the mountain. Illyria bowed her head in respect to the elderly dwarf who insisted she become one of the first dwarf friends of the company along with Bilbo.

Though with what Bilbo and Thorin were going, it seemed it might be more than friends.

After that, Illyria sadly had to cut the party and had the Company bring their attention to her. She shuddered out a large breath and plopped herself onto the ground, making them all sit around her. “So, the Silmaril is back with my brother. And the elves are coming. I need to tell you everything. The Battle. And the truth.”

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Elrond was losing his patience.

Thranduil was not compromising on any of his or Glorfindel’s suggestions whilst Mithrandir was on the verge of perhaps hitting his staff where Thranduil’s head should be.

They had been stalling Thranduil for two hours since Illyria had left with Bilbo Baggins. The Sindarin elf already assumed that she had left to defend her ‘precious dwarves’ and from Elrond’s place, he was rather displeased at what the king was thinking of his wife. (Elladan and Elrohir were maintaining their composure through their body, but their minds have been reacting to what Thranduil had been thinking.)

Glorfindel somehow did not need any telepathic reading to know the tension was high in the tent. Arwen was sitting beside him, not even affected by the pacing Mithrandir was doing or the awkward shuffling Bard of Esgaroth was doing.

He glanced down at the table and spotted Thranduil pouring the last bit of the bottle, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Elrond could’ve sworn it was full half an hour ago.

Taking a sip, Thranduil placed his glass down and questioned, “Where is Elanor?”

The moment he spoke of Illyria’s Sindarin name, Elrond knew the consequences. He knew Elemmírë had no love of that name and passed on the notion to everyone – especially the twins. It was exactly the reason why they were almost banned from Thranduil’s halls just several hundreds of years back. Almost.

If they decided to prank Thranduil guards by replacing their arrows with kitchen utensils Elrond wouldn’t be surprised that he would find the king pulling his sons by the ears all the way back to Imladris himself. If Thranduil could.

It would be a feat to test two half-elves with the blood of The Eternal running through their veins.

He heard his son, Elladan, tightly replied, “Her name is Illyria. And she will come.”

Thranduil peered his eyes at his son before flashing a warning look back at him. Elrond kept his composure; he was used to Thranduil’s coldness and dislike of Noldorin elves, especially those who associated with the Fëanorians.

The Sindarin king was about to speak until there was the sound of a spark.

Elrond immediately remembered the familiar hiss and glanced over to his right. Right in the middle of the room, a golden circular gateway opened. He heard several gasps around the room until his heart was relieved to see three figures exit.

Illyria came through first, her arms still out along with her special ring in her hand. Then came behind her had been the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins along with someone else he had been surprised to spot.

The Ithron stalked over first at the same time as the tallest figure shut the portal behind them. Mithrandir cried, “Lady Illyria, Bilbo Baggins!” His eyes darted over to the dark-clothed dwarf and added, “…Thorin Oakenshield?”

When he noticed the dwarven king’s face, there was somehow a sense of calmness and relief in his heart. Elrond hovered his eyes over to Illyria, who found him and quirked her lips before spotting the twins and Arwen next to him.

Whilst Illyria walked over to him and stood between her and Arwen, she placed a hand onto their daughter’s shoulder who gazed up with a small smile. Elrond turned back to the scene before them.

“Hello. Glad I wasn’t missed.” Illyria gazed her eyes back to Thranduil and calmly added, “Now, I think someone has got something to give to you.”

Thranduil’s eyes darted to hers before he turned and glared at the dwarven king across the small round table. Elrond noticed the small wooden box in Thorin’s hands which he placed onto the table and opened it.

Gleaming brightly was a small pile of white crystals. On top was a necklace to which had last seen on the neck of a certain Silvan queen.

More specifically the Queen of the Greenwood Realm.

Thorin declared, “The White Gems of Lasgalen.” The dwarf flickered back to Bard and continued, “And a word of promise for your share for Dale, Master Bard.”

Both the Elven king and the new King of Dale were gawking at Thorin Oakenshield and he felt Illyria hold her smirk.

Elrond murmured to her, “What did you do?”

Her eyes cast upwards, a little glint that he had yet to get used to. “Gave a little nudge to the right direction,” Illyria airily answered, the mysterious cheekiness she had always had.

Returning his focus, Elrond had waited for Thranduil to cautiously hold the necklace before placing it back down into the box. He inhaled sharply, before waiting for the elven king to finally respond with a gaze that wasn’t dangerously cold.

Luckily, Mithrandir spoke, “I am glad that you are well, Thorin Oakenshield.”

The dwarven king bowed his head before gesturing, “You will have to thank Illyria Strange and Bilbo Baggins.”

Elrond found his children and Glorfindel to smile secretly at his wife before the sorceress quirked her brow at everyone and clasped her hands together.

“Now, I think we have some planning to do.” She spoke.

It took them an hour to sort through their plans, with several moments that either Illyria and Thranduil would snap or Thorin and Thranduil would.

Illyria had told them about how the battle would commence, along with the goblins entering the north of the mountain as well as the bats from Gundabad. What concerned them had been the were-worms [8], creatures that were a myth to that west of Middle Earth. Even Glorfindel pursed his lips and doubted his sister, but the serious expression his wife wore already told them all she was not joking any more.

Elrond would say it’s an understatement that he was worried. He was terrified of the battle that will occur in several hours. His children: their children were with them. And despite their years of extensive practice and skill of fighting, they have yet to fight with their magic. He had forbidden them, especially Arwen, to use their magic in fights at risk of their own health. Losing his wife during battle was enough for the twins to understand how their magic was unlike anything the elves had, but his daughter was clearly the mind of her mother’s.

The Evenstar had been the most affected by Elemmírë’s death and had almost caused the entire house and valley to be encased in light hadn’t Glorfindel brought her to sleep. That was the first time Arwen had lost control of her magic, and Elrond immediately made sure she and his sons stayed in Imladris until they were alright.

Both him and Glorfindel along with Galadriel agreed for Arwen to learn to control her magic a century later. He hated for her to leave, wanting his daughter to be close to him at such a time. They were mourning for their mother, but Elrond knew that it was best for his daughter to get better. He didn’t want to lose her daughter as well.

Almost a millennia later and the presence of Elemmírë Oialëa returning, Elrond had seen the light return in Arwen’s eyes. He should have spotted it already, the dynamic between mother and daughter as they spoke to each other during their month in Lothlorien, exchanging stories and magical lessons.

He hated that after bringing his family back together again: war would arrive along with it.

Come to think of it, Elrond now thought this was his curse.

He had been fitting his armour before he found Arwen striding into their tent. He sheathed his sword before passing his daughter’s one to her. “You and your brothers have excelled,” Elrond stated.

Arwen smiled kindly back, taking the sword before placing it in her belt. “Only with the aid of Nana.” She thinned her lips. “A day to only learn how to create a barrier will only last us some time against the enemy.”

“And yet it will change the course of this battle,” He mentioned, a grim look overrunning his face.

Elrond had believed that Illyria’s role in uniting the three races of Middle Earth may have given their chance to come out of this alive. However, the days running up to the present had filled him with similar visions. The same one he had seen back in Imladris, of the mountain and the frozen lake fight with two other races of men.

He had realised then that they could possibly be the same sorcerers as Illyria.

A hand took his own as he glanced up to his daughter’s grey eyes, slightly bluer than his own under the sun though dulled by the shade.

She spoke to him, “I know what future you think of Ada. Do not believe it.”

He understood that she was trying to lessen his worry, but Elrond only replied: “It is difficult not to when it has been with me for months on end.” He whispered, “I promised your naneth, and it is getting harder not to believe it.”

Arwen, his darling Evenstar, smiled through her heartbreak. “Then be happy for the time you have left with her. Speak of how you truly feel.” She held his hand over her cheek. “I cannot watch you both leave yourselves without any consolidation between the two of you.”

“You are so very brave, my Evenstar. I don’t understand how you could put a brave face.” Elrond said with a tone of pride, leaning down to press a kiss on her temple.

She leaned back afterwards, a small encouraging smile on her lips. “I have learnt from the two best people I could ever ask to share my name. You and Nana are so much more than you think.”

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Illyria had done all she could, keeping a shield where the children resided as well as the outer shield which protected Dale from the Northern and Eastern side.

Elladan and Elrohir had drained most of their energy despite clearly telling them that they didn’t have. But nevertheless, they pushed themselves, and she was that close to telling her boys for being stupid. Arwen on the other hand was not as drained as the twins but still felt her energy lessen after their shield conjuring.

Every elf and human were amazed at the white hue above their heads, the swirls of multiple colours as the sun hit the shield as sunrise arrived. She had not created a shield this large since many months ago which she had trained in the Mirror Dimension how her natural abilities could extend. Uncle Wong warned her that her magic may affect the Mirror Dimension slightly and that anything powerful or large could have consequences. That was why she spent it to create small versions.

But this even shocked her.

She allowed the boys to replenish as much of their powers enough for the morning, forcing the two to meditate or sleep whilst Arwen did her last checks with the women and children of Esgaroth. Glorfindel had headed to aid the guard of Lothlorien and Imladris outside of the shield whilst Elrond stayed to do last-minute talks with Thranduil and Thorin. She would transfer weapons through portals for the rest of the elves as well as some provisions on what was viable for the healers.

She didn’t know how long this battle will last, so they needed to make sure there were enough supplies to hold on to.

But whilst she was constantly being asked to do stuff there and back from Dale and Erebor, Illyria was trying to form a plan again about the initial thing.

That was keeping Thorin, Kili and Fili alive. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Gandalf the Grey as well, who kept his eyes at her after the shield conjuring. Ever since the reveal of the Silmaril, the maia had been giving her looks. Illyria should probably go up to him and ask what his problem was but there hadn’t been much time to have some tea with the wizard.

She’ll ask him after the battle about the Silmaril.

And speaking of the Silmaril, she had tasked Elrond to keep it safe. The half-elven almost gave her a double look after hearing her request and she returned it with another look. They both knew that a certain dark Ainu would be looking for this and she trusted him to hold onto it for her.

She couldn’t trust herself yet to be around it either way. Not even when she was Illyria or Elemmírë. That jewel was bad news for her, and it still caused those memories to flash before her.

After this battle, that Silmaril would need to go somewhere. Perhaps back to Aman to where the Valar were. They would know what to do. Glorfindel had yet to know yet what to do with it as well, suggesting to Gandalf, Elrond and her that keeping it in Imladris would be best before discussing it with Galadriel and Círdan.

Once they agreed, Illyria went over to where the cliff face had been. Where just last night Elrond had told her his love to her. That memory made her hands fiddle again with the pendant, the sneaky half-elf giving it to her in a way that didn’t seem entirely forward.

“Illyria.” He caught her attention as he approached her. “I had hoped you would be with Arwen.”

They were standing side by side again as Illyria looked at him. “She has the twins with her, don’t worry. But with what is to come, I might need both my sides protected.” She grinned, hinting for him.

Elrond smiled a little, before taking pulling out his hands from his back. She furrowed her eyebrows when she saw the clothed object in front of her. Oh god, she hoped it wasn’t another courting gift in the middle of a war. Honestly, she didn’t have anything to give him. Maybe her Stark phone or perhaps the patch in her robe. God, when she comes back: Illyria will probably have to find something that he might like. Possibly access to Google…though that might be a big ass risk for a loremaster like him.

“Perhaps this may work,” Elrond said.

Carefully unveiling the object, Illyria found herself dropping her jaw.

There in his hands was a staff. Possibly the prettiest stick she’s ever seen.

Okay, maybe not call it a stick because that sounded like an insult.

Illyria picked it up gently with her hands, sensing the smooth surface and felt a thrum go through her arm into the staff. It was of a silver-grey colour, much like the Mallorn trees [9] in Lothlorien. When she tried it in her grasp, it wasn’t as light as she imagined. Perfectly balanced. (like all things should be.)

Though as much as it replicated its shape and size of her staff, it had no spells or blade on it. There was still some energy that connected her magic through it like an extra arm but that was it. Well, it was better than trying to wield a sword.

Once she placed it into her dimensional pocket, she heard Elrond explain: “I had this commissioned, courtesy of the Lady of Lorien.”

She rose her eyebrows in surprise. Illyria wasn’t expecting Galadriel out of all people to give her something such as this even if there was some awkward friendship between her. Either way, it was amazing, and Illyria awed like a child receiving a present on Christmas Day.

Glancing up at him, she grinned. “Galadriel is going to be a second favourite, first being my children obviously.”

Elrond made a soured expression, making her laugh in return.

She patted her hand on his and assured Elrond, never letting go. “And of course, you.” She relaxed and continued, “But thank you, Elrond. Swords are not my thing anymore.”

At least now Glorfindel didn’t have to teach her not to get pummelled again. Illyria was hoping to use her magic to fight along with her daggers and perhaps quickly go through her lessons on conjuring Eldritch fans. The Ancient One usually fought with them, having been so swift and agile with them when she once saw her train. Her dad used Eldritch whips the most whilst Wong used conjured swords.

When she returned her gaze back to him, Illyria narrowed her eyes. “You’re giving me that look.”

“Ever so observant, Illyria.” Elrond, ever the kindest and typically composed one – finally pulled a sarcastic tone.

So, after getting mentally whiplashed by his sarcasm, Illyria shook her head and wryly replied, “Blame a father who is a former surgeon, a strict librarian for an uncle and a scholar for a... mother, I guess.” Her voice lowered, “You’re thinking about me.”

It was his turn to look back at her, “How do you know?”

“Because your heart is beating rather quickly.” She answered. His pulse through his wrist was surprisingly faster than usual.

Elrond replied, “Perhaps I am just preparing for the battle.” He let out a deep breath, “But yes, I was thinking of that day.”

Her mind froze slightly, and Illyria’s shoulders stiffened. “Angmar.” She whispered, mostly to herself. “I still don’t know really. It was all a blur.”

Elrond’s hand tightened around hers as he looked away. “It was not long ago for elves, and yet-“

Illyria finished for him, “I know. I can sense it for some reason. Perhaps because of my soul still bonded to yours.”

She was still unsure of how elven marriages worked. Sometimes Illyria could sense something between him and her own magic. When he was around and close enough, there was a pull – an invisible string – which Illyria couldn’t ignore. He seemed more affected than her though, which made her worry about it.

A breath escaped his mouth as he explained, “At first it was bearable. But as you grew more powerful and uncontrollable with your powers, it was-“

“Did I hurt you?” Illyria blurted out, staring at him.

His eyes widened as Elrond replied, “No! Never, melmenya.”

Nope: she wasn’t convinced.

“Elrond,” Illyria answered.

“Your powers are unique, unlike what Vilya and the other rings possess. It was why I felt sometimes…intimidated.” Elrond explained, sensing her fingers to rub the ring around his own. “Your powers drew many eyes; it was why it took so long to confess my feelings for you.”

She gave the half-elven lord a raised brow, “Really? I think right now it’s the other way round.”

It was his turn to give her a look of disbelief. “Illyria.”

Rolling her eyes, Illyria sighed: “Okay fine, they look at me, but I think it’s because I’m standing next to you and holding your hand.”

She wasn’t wrong, they were standing possibly at the worse place and time where a bunch of elves and men the usual dwarf could spot them. Her hand was intertwined with his, standing rather close between a random sorceress and the famous Lord of Imladris. Yeah, definitely not scandalous at all.

But it seemed Elrond didn’t care, or he already accepted he was like this around her before.

She began, “Look, power doesn’t define us all. Your power with Vilya doesn’t define all of you. I can sense it from the other elves that they look up to you, not because of your heritage but because of what you have done to them. You never needed power only loyalty and trust.” Illyria gazed straight at him, meaning every word.  “Never be ashamed of what you have and what you are, okay? You are in no doubt the wisest person I’ve met…minus the Ancient One of course but you know what I mean. But if you want to know, that’s all I’ve been trying to tell you since.”

His eyes softened, pulling back a strand of her hair behind her ear. Elrond murmured, “Thank you.”

Illyria smiled slightly and admitted to him, “If you want to know as well, I’m afraid too. Not just what happens in battle but this.” She now took his other hand as she faced him, her voice cracking every second. “What we have. I can feel everything Elemmírë once had for you as well as what Illyria does. And Illyria’s love is young and erratic. I…you have to be patient with me.”

A small chuckle came from him as he smiled softly. “I have waited for thousands already; I think I can be patient enough.” His smile saddened, “But something troubles you, Illyria.”

How was she able to do this? She could not bear to break his heart again. The Peredhel who had done all he could to love and to make his family happy. Elrond didn’t deserve her - the erratic and reckless sorceress. There was a world beyond her that needed her, along with her dad and Darcy and the multiverse that was beginning to leak into their own universe.

She pressed her hand over his cheek, feeling his cold skin. “After this, or whatever happens I need you to know that there will come a time that I would need to leave. Not for the worst reasons...but you must understand I have to go back. This world has changed because of my meddling. And I was taught that messing with the multiverse can be catastrophic.” Illyria told him, “I want to protect you. You, Arwen, the twins and Fin. Even Bilbo and everyone I’ve met. But I’m just so scared that I would hurt you more if I stayed, not when he knows I’m here.”

He continued to stare at her, trying to search for something on her face. It was creeping her out and in a genuinely concerning way.

“Elrond, please say something,” Illyria pleaded gently.

He shuddered a breath before pressing his lips, soft and yet firm, onto her temple. “Then if this is our last moment, for now, I shall not leave your side.”

Illyria’s heart skipped a beat as she felt his lips, a tingling sensation went through her in a mix of giddiness and overwhelming love she had not experienced before. Never had she felt so much care and kindness from anyone like him in a way that had made her heart seem to leap through into the clouds. She wanted to cry and yet laugh at the same time.

Upset that this was their reality either way – and that she would have to come to the decision over her world and his. In the end, Elrond understood her choice even if she knew it was hurting him inside.

God, Illyria didn’t deserve him at all. In the end, he still fell for her.

Goddamn world, why couldn’t it be a better fairy-tale for this elven man?

She brushed her thumb close to his lip, almost about to lean forward until she spotted a golden speckle arriving behind Elrond.

Well, there goes another chance. Her brother really needed to stop cock-blocking her. And he was the one complaining that they moved too slowly, goddammit!

Glorfindel nevertheless had been eavesdropping on their conversation, smiling at them both. “And I as well.” He told her, “You cannot escape from me, little sister.”

She took a step back slightly, keeping her hands with Elrond whilst her husband almost appeared to look annoyed at the Balrog Slayer.

Yeah, there she said it. Her husband.

Damn, that felt weird to say. Darcy’s going to be sad that she never had to plan her wedding.

Illyria grinned up to Glorfindel and answered, “No, you did promise to be on my left either way.” Her eyes darted behind his brother and spoke, “And what about you three.”

Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were standing before her, already dressed in their armour. Her daughter had a sword at her hip along with several daggers whilst the twins carried their swords and bows slung at their back.

Now when Illyria focused really hard, the three did have the resemblance of her. The children of Elrond and Illyria…well technically Elemmírë.

Elrohir grinned back, “We’ll be up here keeping the citizens safe as planned.” He told her, “Please don’t risk yourself, Nana. We would hate not to see those movies you’ve told us about.”

A humming sound came from Arwen as she spoke humbly, “Yes, I would like to know who portrays me.”

Glorfindel mocking gasped, “And rid of my own spotlight.” He added, “Ever so mean of that man!” Arwen simply grinned at Glorfindel. Illyria had to her laughter as she realised that the time in Lothlorien brought the two to tell each other what had happened.

After she had told her brother that Arwen took his spot in the original trilogy, he was so offended and grumbled about it every time Arwen mentioned it over dinner…speaking how this Peter Jackson should have brought him in these moving paintings. The twins, well she’d already told them about the movies briefly.

But not Elrond, “I sense I have not heard of this…movie.” He looked at her, “You would have to tell us more after the battle.”

Illyria bit her lip. Right, how was she going to tell him that the guy who portrayed him looked nothing like himself?

Well, that’ll be another conversation to bring up some time. He’ll be surprised that even starred in the Matrix too.

She spread her arms towards the younger elves, “Come here, all of you.” Illyria breathed in, hugging the trio before kissing each of their temples. “We will all be fine. You are all so brave for me...And thank you.”

“For what?” Elladan wondered back.

Illyria felt herself tear up as she answered, “For accepting me, even when I still don’t know who I really am yet.”

All of them gave her a sad smile, but nothing broke her more but to find her children embrace her once more.

Elrohir whispered, “You’ll always be our Naneth.”

Dawn had come.

They headed down to where the shield ended, spotting the legion of dwarves from the Iron Hills enter their sight. At the front had been a red-haired dwarf, approaching with a confused expression. Illyria gazed at Thorin, who nodded back at her.

With the silent instruction, Illyria stepped forward beyond the elven army behind her. She held both her arms out and moved them – creating an opening through the shield for Thorin and Balin to walk through.

“There’s Dain.” Illyria made a grim look as she watched the exchange greetings. She still wasn’t used to dwarves bumping their heads at each other.

Elrond, who stood on her right, added, “Cousin to Oakenshield.”

“Yes. He’s…not the most cooperative of the two. Thorin’s more compliant.” She pointed out, to which Elrond rose his eyebrows and agreed back.

Glorfindel inhaled as he spoke, “As long as we get through this. We have the higher ground for now.” He paused and flicked his head, “Why are you chuckling, nésa?”

Did he just…

Oh shit, he just did.

How could she not laugh?

Illyria stifled her mouth, almost having to bite her sleeve. Never had she imagine hearing that quote from the Balrog Slayer at all. She’s going to have to write an entire book about this. Might even be equivalent to Bilbo, Frodo and Sam’s red book. Hers can be blue, or maybe green.

If she did write her adventure and rendition of the Hobbit, it might be concerning that it could be equivalent to those internet stories she came across one time.

Oh god, Illyria will have to stop any of them from finding out about that side of the internet.

Patting her brother’s shoulder, she assured him. “I’ll tell you some other time. Cultural reference.”

Speaking of the high ground, Illyria felt like a Jedi with her trusty new staff, Jedi robes being in the light side. She wished that in another universe or reality, the Force actually was real because it would be awesome to just swing a lightsabre around like Luke Skywalker. [10]

Apart from death stars; her world and this world does not need any death stars hovering up in space. [11]

Why she felt like a Jedi was that the moment the were-worms appeared, and the sound of the horn erupted, Illyria materialised her staff in her hand and prepared. They would wait for the orcs to try and pass through the barrier first before creating an opening for them. The dwarves would flank the sides whilst the main elven army would be at the front along with her and the Noldorin elves. The elves of Lothlorien stayed in Dale along with Arwen, Elrohir and Elladan to aid the people of Esgaroth.

Thorin and Dain were together along with the company whilst Thranduil riding on his elk with the calvary. Illyria had spotted Gandalf with Bilbo between Bard and the Durinsons. She knew that the Company would keep her hobbit friend safe and assured herself that they would be fine.

As the orcs charged towards the barriers, Illyria counted to five in her mind until the first sword clashed against the translucent shield.

A clash of light blasted several orcs back as the barrier rung in waves. Illyria could sense the energy emitted and knew it would not last for hours. Possibly two if they were lucky. Every elf and dwarf and every man was staring in awe as the orc continued to push through but to no avail. Illyria’s own breath was still shaking, nervous until the right time would occur and that they would need to attack.

Once the orc numbers were beginning to lose, she spotted the signal where Thranduil had been and tightened her grip on her staff. The elves of Mirkwood readied their bows, waiting for her open the barrier at their end.

And with a deep breath, Illyria pulled it down. It was the beginning of the Battle of the Five Amies.

The elves charged forwards, colliding with the tall elves as one approached her and threw its mace down at her head, she blocked it with her shields before sending it towards an orc with her light. Illyria took her staff and swung it, channelling her energy through the wood before a circular wave of energy crackled and shoved the orcs around down to the ground.

A whole perimeter around her was dead.

Illyria stared at the wooden staff and silently thanked Galadriel again. She’ll probably need to give that elven woman something better. When she comes back, she would need a whole truck of gifts for these people.

“Holy shit this is rather good.” She turned her head back to the battle scene and grinned, “Now, let’s start.”

Kili | Son of Dis

You would think travelling with a sorceress and a wizard for months would get you used to their magical tricks.

However, that was not the case for Kili.

Whilst he was keeping his brother’s back safe as they fought amongst elf, dwarf, and man: Kili could not help (well anyone for that matter) to stare every so often at the sorceress who cleared an immense area of orcs with just her staff. (Which was new to his knowledge since the colour looked rather different and wore no golden blades at its ends.)

During the time they had gotten through the magical barriers which Illyria Ettelëa and the children of Elrond (which still shocked him to realise that she was the reincarnation of the Lady of Rivendell) produced, Illyria had given the time to take out most of the larger orcs in their way.

However, Illyria was not alone. Lord Elrond had been by her side during the fight, using his curved blade whilst the golden-haired elf next to him easily cut the orcs head with one swift movement.

Three were possibly the most draw-dropping thing to spot.

And then Illyria Ettelëa did something even better.

He had seen the sea once, and like a giant wave – the light erupted from her body and encircled her outwards. All the orcs were blasted surrounding her as the ground shook and the sound of bodies and weapons hitting the ground rung through his ears.

Kili gawked at the blonde-haired sorceress they called as dwarf-friend and shouted, “Where was she when we needed her with the dragon!”

His brother, on the other hand, sliced another orc’s head off as he replied, “Fighting the dark lord, unfortunately. Come, we must go!”

His uncle had gestured them to follow, who gestured for Bilbo and Dwalin to follow. Kili tried to search for the familiar red-haired elf but to no avail. He only hoped Tauriel was safe and that she was far away from the battle as possible.

Arwen Undómiel | The Evenstar

Arwen stood at the town square, her sword already out as she kept her eyes peeled for any rogue enemies.

The women who wanted to fight alongside her had kept the place where the children had been safe, along with that disgusting man called Alfrid whom the women forced him out. Bain, Lord Bard’s son, stayed with his sisters where the halls were. The men along with the guards of Lothlorien would guard the walls of the South and West whilst she and the women would be the second wall between the children.

She kept her ears listening and hoped that both her parents and uncle were alright. In truth: Arwen knew more than what her father did, and that was why she was pleading the Valar for their safety at what comes next for them.

She knew the waterfall and Ravenhill.

And yet she did what her mother said and kept the city protected.

The longer she waited, the more Arwen was twitching to head down to where the main part of the battle was. Though it was not long as she heard a horse gallop into the square and widened her eyes to find the two elves her mother had spoken of her about.

Arwen approached the two elves, one having blonde straight hair whilst the other was in red.  She bowed her head as she greeted him, “Prince Legolas.”

His eyebrows rose as he said, “My Lady Arwen, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.” Legolas questioned her, “Have you seen my father? I must inform him.”

Arwen responded quickly, “We know. A group have already gone up North.” She explained to him, “Your father is down on the frontlines.” She knew that Prince Legolas would be confused as to how she had known, though didn’t have the chance to respond as she felt her brothers come towards her from the Southern gate.

Elladan and Elrohir approached them and slung off their horses. Elrohir told her, “Little sister, it would seem the shields are breaking now.”

Nodding at them, Arwen replied: “Then it is time for the second plan.”

“Diverting the orcs won’t be enough,” Elladan responded, his eyes glancing back down to the street. Soon, Dale would be filled with orcs and trolls filing through the South if they did not aid the rest of the people of Esgaroth.

Arwen firmly responded, “Then we will do what we can.” Her eyes then turned to the elleth that stood by the prince. “My lady Tauriel, the dwarves are going to Ravenhill. Go to him.”

Both Legolas and Tauriel stared at her in shock. The elleth began, “How do you know-“

Soon the screams and shout filled her ears as Arwen took her stance between the other four. The prince was first to slice the orc down, whilst the Silvan elf shot the other with an arrow. Gripping Hadhafang in her hand, she spun with her heels and blocked the incoming sword towards her, bringing the light through her muscles just like Illyria told her.

Arwen took another orc down and shouted at the elleth, “You are running out of time. Go!”

Both Tauriel and Legolas gave each other a glance and took their horse, galloping towards the Northern gate and Ravenhill.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

“We’ll have to fall back, Illyria!” Elrond shouted back at her a few metres away.

She sent another attack at an orc, forming a shield around them as she sensed the barrier beginning to dissolve. Soon, Dale would be filled with orcs to trap them and they will need to keep them occupied before the Northern army would arrive. Most of the archers were already placed to shoot down the bats and goblins, though with her own knowledge to dodge the one place she told them not to go.

Ravenhill.

She had specifically told the Company to meet them up there, but to wait for her especially.

And Thorin bloody Oakenshield had ignored her goddamn request.

Next time, she was going to knock his brain again.

Illyria whacked her staff against an orc’s head before she cried to both of them, “Ravenhill…Fili, Kili and Dwalin headed up there with Thorin and Bilbo!” Illyria said, “I fucking told them to wait for fucks sake!”

Glorfindel sliced another few more orcs down and head to her and Elrond. As she gave Gandalf a stern nod, she mentally gave her word to him.

‘Stay safe, my dear.’ The wizard thought through her.

Illyria nodded and replied, ‘I will, Olorin.’

She formed a portal in front of her and gestured for both Elrond and her brother to enter. The two seemed rather hesitant at first (which in most cases was normal for everyone) and stumbled through to step into midway up Ravenhill. Illyria herself walked through before shutting the portal, sensing the energy of the fight around her to slowly dissipate as an eery silence brought her adrenaline down.

God that was even more stressful than fighting aliens and the purple nutsack last year.

She wavered slightly with her feet, grabbing for Elrond who took her by the arm. ‘Don’t worry, just need to take a breather,’ She assured him, though he frowned back at her.

Once she had adjusted and recovered most of her strength, they trekked the last bit of the mountain towards the north. There were already archers and orcs and goblins on the side, evident by the arrows.

At least this time there would not be much of a fight for them to go through. They managed to arrive at some platform, spotting five short figures back-to-back as they searched for Azog and Bolg.

Thorin’s eyes found hers first and his body relaxed to find them and not some large stinking mother-effer. They all looked well enough and standing, tired by their heaving of breaths as the cold seeped in. She tapped her staff onto the ground as she closed her eyes and tried to sense anyone else.

Thorin’s voice echoed, “Illyria-“

However, she flashed her eyes open and threw a shot of light, an inch above the dwarf’s head. Though it wasn’t enough as the club swung slowly as she screamed, “Thorin! Duck!”

Orcs appeared amongst the rubble and snow, circling them, and immediately aiming their weapons at the Durinsons. Azog was after the dwarves, so their priority was to keep the orc occupied.

The eight cut them down, with some pushed off the edge.

Thorin shouted back at her whilst he gutted another orc onto the ground. “What…you knew of this?”

“Remember, I can’t tell you everything,” Illyria informed him.

She had not been lying then when she told them everything they needed to know, and that had been removing the details on the final battle up here. Illyria only informed the Company to make sure they weren’t all alone, keeping their backs protected by each other. Bilbo had promised then to keep Thorin’s own back protected despite his protests.

However, Illyria was proud to say how much Bilbo grounded himself in that promise.

Elrond and Glorfindel had not known the plan, unaware as Elrond suggested to the hobbit, “Master Bilbo,” He told him. “You should be back with my children.”

Illyria flicked her head to the half-elven lord and assured, “No, it’s fine Elrond.” She then focused her eyes back to the Durinson and tilted her head, “Boys, Dwalin: go with Glorfindel and Elrond. I’ll stay with Thorin and Bilbo.”

The eight of them all agreed, though Elrond was the most hesitant and quickly grasped her hand. “I trust you to keep safe,” He spoke softly.

She stared back to her grey eyes and replied, “I will.” Illyria agreed, “Don’t worry, we’ll meet up back at the lake.”

Damn. Azog do be looking like a pirate with the eye patch.

Curtesy of her own magic at the Misty Mountains, the pale white orc had not recovered from her own creation. He had caught them off guard on the way to the icy lake, shoving Thorin off his boot whilst she sent whipping pulling back his hand in time for the dwarf to roll back onto his feet.

They fought three against one, with Thorin parrying with his sword whilst she and Bilbo did their best to knock Azog off his feet.

There was a moment through the fight in which Azog stopped and eyed her with a sneer. “You are the elf spawn my master spoke of.”

Somehow Illyria understood, remembering the Black Speech she had heard from Sauron. “I am,” She glared at the pale orc and gritted her teeth. “We had a lovely talk in Dol Guldur about this.”

“Then you’ll know you and Oakenshield will die.” Azog cackled before sending his other blub down to her.

The impact almost brought her shield down hadn’t Thorin came from behind. Hours of fighting had drained most of her energy left as her muscles were burning as she brought her staff down and drew a crescent onto the ice.

A wave of energy tripped Azog down, allowing her to run across before gasping to find Thorin on the verge of the frozen waterfall. She glanced downwards, spotting a blonde-haired elf fighting several orcs down by the bridge.

Illyria conjured her whip and tugged Azog’s legs back with her staff – enough for Thorin to scramble away.

She then swung and ran forward, screaming down towards the bridge. “Legolas!”

As the orc’s head fell off its neck, a pair of blue eyes almost bulged out as he said, “My lady Elemmírë.” Legolas began, “How-“

Honestly, she was currently swinging off a cliff with Azog holding her up by his leg.

“No time, now! The sword!” She shouted and pointed at the spare sword at his hip. Thank fuck Legolas realised what she meant and threw the sword.

She caught it with her free hand in time, tossing the sword where Thorin had been, and he caught it with ease. Illyria repeated in her head not to look below or else she might just faint right now and loosened her grip with her staff.

With a breath, she allowed her staff to materialise as her body fell. She heard Bilbo scream back but was cut off the moment she formed a portal below her and landed with a thud over the orc’s back.

Azog stumbled forward towards the ice, having already brought the fight back at the centre. And with the Orc off-balance, Bilbo sliced Azog’s face. He roared in pain as blood spurted out, his hand immediately grabbing her cheek. Illyria inhaled sharply as she formed another whip through her staff, taking back the sword hand Azog had.

There: Thorin cried out and carved a gash through the pale orc’s neck.

More blood came out at Azog sank to his knees before thudding onto the ice, a great crack forming under his weight.

Illyria stared at the dead orc with deep pants.

“We did it. It is done.” Thorin breathless spoke, his voice light as he searched for his hobbit.

Despite knowing now that the orc was dead, Illyria sensed in her the back of her mind that this was not truly the finale she expected. “No, it’s not,” She gazed her eyes at the two, her breaths growing shallower as she took in the air.

Why did she not believe it to be the end? She was exhausted from hours of fighting that even was surprised her own energy and power was enough. Her hand never grew limp as she held her staff, staring around the landscape.

It seemed too easy. Azog was defeated and she assumed now that most of the orcs would know that their leader was dead.

She was about to speak to the two until she spotted two figures rush out from the outcrop of rock.

“Illyria. Are you alright?” Elrond rushed to her before glancing with surprised eyes at the fallen orc.

She gulped down the bile that brunt her throat. “Yeah. Kili and Fili?”

Her brother hummed in response. “Kili left with the red-haired elleth back down to Dale and Fili and Dwalin followed them.” Glorfindel’s eyes warily told her another story. “Sister, I saw someone. They are neither orc nor goblin.”

Taking another shuddering breath, she ground her teeth tightly and tried to calm herself down. She needed to sit and to think, wondering why it seemed too easy for her sake. Illyria knew that the Eagles would arrive soon along with Beorn’s large bear form.

As she turned her attention to the dwarf and hobbit, she found Thorin limping towards her. Her eyes flashed in warning as she saw the large gash on his calf and frowned.

She instructed, “Thorin, go with Bilbo.” Illyria continued, “Make sure Dale and Erebor are secure.”

Bilbo firmly replied, “I won’t leave you, Illyria.”

Illyria already sensed the aura growing around them and she rushed to kneel beside Bilbo. “Bilbo Baggins. Go.” She told him, her voice wavering. “And if I do not return, you must promise me not to wear the ring anymore. Do you hear me?”

His eyes were startled, “Why?” Bilbo questioned.

Inhaling, she revealed to the hobbit the truth, “It is tainted with evil. Only you and any hobbit can wear it. Don’t let anyone else carry it unless you trust them. Do you hear me?”

It took him a moment to reply, gulping back: “I promise, Illyria Strange.”

Her heart skipped once more, praying for him and Thorin to be safe. Wrapping her arms around him, Illyria felt her eyes sting once more as she embraced Bilbo. If this could be her last moment to see Bilbo Baggins, she needed to make sure he understood what was to come.

She could only hope the story would go forward from now onwards.

As they went through the golden portal, she noticed the two elves eyeing her with concern – watching both the dwarf and hobbit with creased eyebrows. Illyria was expecting the two to question her already.

“Illyria, what ring does Bilbo possess?” Elrond asked sternly, eyeing the hobbit before the golden gateway disappeared.

She glanced at the two and replied, “You can both figure that out.”

Glorfindel breathed, “That can’t be-“ He paused.

Well, no one wanted to believe her (even herself) but Illyria had to be discreet and plainly just tell them.

“Yep, and I can’t say anything else.” Illyria gave the two a look before she then stopped.

The moment she felt the aura around her alter Illyria’s heart was racing.

And the moment she saw the familiar robes, Illyria felt her entire spine grow cold. She didn’t need to ask herself where she was, simply sensing the energy around her which the Mirror Dimension always resonated.

They had locked her, Glorfindel and Elrond in the Mirror Dimension.

The worst place they could even be trapped in.

The crystalline background was enough to confirm her assumptions, and the echoing of their voices as three figures stood opposite the lake.

She had known these sorcerers before.

They had once been a part of the Mystic Arts as a child, though had already become masters of sorcery and began travelling the multiverse. The one in the green robes, Gotthard, had been one of Master Hamir’s pupils. He had been always kind to her, giving her advice on how to keep still and meditate. He was the many who almost died because of her actions, having one of their own sorceresses in the Sanctuary kill her during the events of Dormammu.

The other sorcerers she had not known. They were younger in appearance, possibly the newer recruits during the time of when she left Kamar-Taj to live in New York. They both wore grey robes instead, a highlight she knew of those in the ranks that were not as skilled as before. Illyria’s own red robes were those of the second-ranked sorcerers, ready to pass on as a master, hadn’t she left to go to Oxford.

Even though they were new, there were three against one sorcerer along with two elves. Though how they had found her in time made her concerned. Perhaps they knew where she was at the beginning of this. How long had they’ve been on Middle Earth?

He spoke to her, “Illyria Strange. So: it would seem you’re alive.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked you’re both alive too.” She mocked back, spotting the bruised eye and cuts. “Pretty nasty fall.”

The other sorcerers beside him smirked back at her. The other sorcerer tilted their head and questioned with a light tone, “Where’s your dad now? He’s not here to protect you, is he?”

Illyria cracked her neck to the side before positioning her staff at her side. She asked back, “Who says I need protection?” She sensed both Glorfindel and Elrond prepare their own swords, watching the sorcerers form their shields and Eldritch weapons before themselves.

There was a chance they could escape back into the material plane, but Illyria knew it won’t make a difference. In fact, it might possibly be the worse decision to enter back through to the material plane and affect the entire side of the mountain with their magic.

They would have to take the chance to use the Mirror Dimension instead, and hopefully keep the sorcerers in.

‘You two get the ones in grey, I will hand the green one,’ She told the two and they nodded. Illyria waited for who would be the first one to attack, lingering through their minds idly until she felt the grey one prepared their Eldritch sword and cried out.

The grey sorcerer sprinted towards her, and immediately the others followed. The other grey sorceress threw a blast of magic at them. Illyria formed a shield between them, transforming the blast into pieces of shredded paper before sending a blinding light at the trio.

Her brother parried with the grey sorcerer’s sword in front whilst Elrond blocked the incoming blast with his sword. Gotthard on the other hand was on her tail, forming a whip with his magic and wrapping it at the end of her staff.

Quickly, she spun her staff and tugged the whip towards her – sliding underneath his flying fist before kicking him. Gotthard stumbled back again and tossed his whip once more, instead, landing it onto her wrist. She gritted her teeth, focusing her energy through her right arm before sensing the whip to disintegrate. The light broke the whip as she tugged her arm back before she grabbed the whip and pulled him towards her.

Gotthard in time almost took her head hadn’t she formed an Eldritch shield in front. As she let go of the whip and jabbed her staff against his gut. He stumbled back once more, taking her down onto the icy floor with a thud.

She rolled away from him, sending a blast of light towards him. Though, Gotthard shielded himself, taking that moment to grab her staff and tossing it off her grasp.

Fuck. Okay, she had no other weapon.

Suddenly, she formed her shields once more and waited for the green sorcerer to charge. He ducked underneath and caught his sword between her shields. Illyria snarled as he continued to push through, the blade almost reaching her temples until she felt the surge of energy erupt from her hands.

Gotthard flew across the lake as the blast of light hit his square in the face, managing to knock him out. Well at least that was one, Illyria sighed in relief and raced up to where Elrond was struggling to keep the grey sorceress.

Illyria sent a wave of light towards the sorceress’ side, before swooping in to tackle her feet. At the same time, Elrond threw his sword across the sorceress’ gut before she had almost sliced his head. The grey sorceress’ body slumped to the ground with a thud, lying limply as the blood began to escape and taint the ice red.

Both Illyria and Elrond gazed at each other, a silent question if they were alright as she nodded back. When she heard the gasp behind her, Illyria spun around hoping the gods it wasn’t Glorfindel.

The grey sorcerer cried out in pain as he stumbled closer to the edge of the cliff. Glorfindel didn’t even need to get any closer as the body flew down the frozen waterfall and into the abyss.

She wasn’t even sure whether or not their bodies would be retrieved now. As she brought herself to bring her breath back. Her hands were shaking again, sweating under all the adrenaline and tiredness as she picked up her staff to balance herself.

They had done it, but at a terrible price for her.

Illyria had just killed them. Three sorcerers who she once knew.

Gotthard’s body from the blast never moved, his eyes wide open at the impact of his head – blood seeping out from his brain.

Oh god, she just killed someone. At just twenty years old.

She was telling her body not to panic, her mind to remind herself that it was only in self-defence. Illyria couldn’t go into shock right now; not when the elves before her needed her to portal themselves out of the Mirror Dimension.

Eventually, Illyria was about to open a portal back to the material plane until she glanced in front of her. A golden portal formed as her hope lifted – assuming it would be her dad or Uncle Wong.

Illyria was not expecting him to appear.

Her voice broke as his name left her lips, “Mordo.”

Baron Mordo entered the Mirror Dimension, standing several feet away from where she stood. It had been nine months she’d seen him after getting assaulted in the Alps by his disciples. Rather ironic and hypocritical of him after what Kaecilius had done with his own and Dormammu.

However, this was different. Illyria knew who this man was, who he meant to her before. Her teacher and possibly a parent to her before everything changed. Before Dormammu and the Dark Dimension…before the Ancient One’s death.

Mordo had walked away because the Sorcerers of the Mystic Arts were not aligned by his moral beliefs. Here he was, ready to do what he was blindly acting to do – killing her to rid of the multiverse from magical sorcerers like her.

“Hello, Illyria.” Mordo greeted, his hands free from any weapon. His face was blank, hiding the truth as Illyria tried to search his mind. But the sorcerer had learnt after years away to block her own tricks, putting a mental shield as she fought her way through.

For a silent moment, they stood either end of the lake, three bodies already dead because of her. Glorfindel and Elrond were too far from her, glancing back and forth at them – waiting who would take the first move.

Illyria was panicking inside. She had fought Mordo once and almost died, had not she’d been saved by the unknown force or person who escaped with her through the bright light of the portal. Mordo hadn’t seemed to have been here for long as well, still showing the same injuries from the Alps.

There must have been a time dilation between her landing in Middle Earth and his own fall.

He materialised his own relic, the Staff of the Living Tribunal in his grasp. [12]

Illyria could sense Glorfindel and Elrond pleading to aid her, but she mentally told them to stand their ground. This was her fight, not there’s. And she needed to do it on her own. Sorcerer versus Sorceress.

She spoke calmly back, “I don’t want to fight anymore.” Illyria pleaded, “Please, stop this. Let us talk.”

He hardened his gaze and proclaimed, “There is no more talking. Only violence.”

Thus, Mordo slashed his staff towards her.

The fight between the sorcerers began.

Chapter Text

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Location: Ravenhill, Middle Earth [Mirror Dimension]

Time: November 2941 T.A

Baron Karl Mordo had once been her teacher before Stephen Strange arrived at Kamar-Taj.

He had been amongst those who brought her up ever since she began to talk and walk and even speak her first words up until the age of eleven. There was however an odd relationship between the two, her heart never longing to call him even a father or an uncle. Illyria wasn’t sure as to why she felt no close attachment to the man despite being brought up around him. Even she had found Kaecilius to be more enjoyable to be around than him and that said some things about who Illyria liked.

Mordo was set on obeying the Natural Law no matter what.

In her dad’s terms, he was that stick that’s up his own ass, stubbornly in place and nothing would force it to come out. Mordo would rather choose to go down in a fight than to resolve things.

Before: he had been her teacher.

Now: he was probably going to kill her.

Of course, he would, considering he had fifteen years more experience than she had alongside fighting against other wizards that were off to not only harm her but kill her. And god forbid she would allow Mordo to try and take her magic away from her soul.

He was quicker and better than his followers, already knowing how she fought as she took a defensive position rather than attacking. The sneaky bastard knew she would be tiring out after fighting the sorcerers, a tactical feat even she would be impressed by.

Either way, she would not go down with trying.

Illyria felt the ice shake beneath her, noticing one thing the other sorcerers had not attempted to do.

Warp reality itself.

She swore inwardly, focusing the energy from the other dimensions to flow through as she hit the bottom of her staff down onto the ice. The platform before her stopped moving whereas the rest of the ruined fortress already looked-liked a jigsaw puzzle, clicking into the spot in jagged edges as the sky before her was now filled on random parts of the structure sticking upside down or sideways.

Both Glorfindel and Elrond were trying to reach for her, startled at the change of scenery (who probably have seen too much magic in one day) before leaping down from the sideways outcrop of rock. Gravity had now played less of a role in here, and with both her brother and Elrond in this plane – Illyria needed to find a time to get them out of here.

With her free hand, she folded the platform in front of her, creating a staircase back to him as she blocked his whip with her shield.

Mordo leapt from where he stood, using the Boots of Valtorr [1] to hop through the air and throwing down his whip at her face. Illyria took a sharp cut of her breath, blocking it with her staff before pulling back a step.

He asked her loudly, “Why must you make this harder for yourself, Illyria?”

Illyria threw another bolt of light at him, which he easily deflected by the landscape itself as he warped the ice in front of him.

“Because I’m not the one going around and taking people’s magic!” She cried out, pleading all she could to make Mordo stop. Her legs were quaking beneath her, ready to bend themselves under her weight.

Mordo took that chance to toss his staff at her, tugging her staff from her hands as it flew and landed far from her reach – her staff clattering to the ground. She did all she could wrap the reality once more, stomping her boot on the ground as she channelled every part through her body.

Bits of ice and rock and debris formed clumps into a mosaic pattern until she created a platform for her and Mordo. The area that was left of Ravenhill was now floating, morphed by both of their magic. Elrond and Glorfindel were situated far enough from them, safe for them to escape if need be.

Stalking around him, she summoned her staff back into her hand and worriedly looked at Mordo – wondering why he hadn’t even attacked her again.

“There are too many of us in this plane of existence. What if one turns against the Natural Law? What then?” He questioned her.

Bold of her to snort at that. “Rather hypocritical of you.”

She wasn’t wrong, clearly, Mordo was all in his head with this. Illyria knew that Mordo sought to bring the sorcerers of their world down in hopes to cut numbers on those who weren’t worthy of their magic. Illyria had learnt magic ever since she was a child, brought into magic itself.

There must be more than Mordo’s clear objectives – because he shouldn’t be using all his effort to take her down.

Illyria sighed and tiredly replied, “Look, Mordo just please let us talk. I don’t want to fight you anymore.” She exasperated, “There are other ways to resolve this!”

Mordo tutted and scoffed, “That was what your father said to me years ago when I walked away after Strange broke our sacred rules.” He snarled, “The very rules you were brought up to!”

There was a fraction of a second which Illyria wanted to lash back at him, to tell him that he was wrong. Rules were implemented for the safety of the Natural Law, but it didn’t mean they had to follow it entirely. The Ancient One once told her that not everything that was put in place needed to be done; there are times in desperate need that one must bend the rules for the better and safety of others.

Like the Ancient One’s immortality. Like her dad’s bargaining with Dormammu and the use of the Time Stone to find a way to defeat Thanos.

“And look what has happened,” Mordo spoke. “The destruction of the Infinity Stones, the breaking of reality and the multiverse. Death to countless lives. Do you think he had the right to send Tony Stark to his death just to bring back half of the universe?”

Her heart lurched inwards - stabbed by the sudden choice of words Mordo had used.

He had no right to speak of that man either way and how Mordo knew she had gotten close to the Starks confused her. No one other than the Avengers, Darcy, Wong and her dad knew about their odd familial ties. And even the Avengers always called her Strange’s kid rather than Stark’s when she had begun aiding them to build their time machine.

Mordo must have talked to her dad in the past year, and it meant something else which her dad had hidden from her since his return.

However, this didn’t waver Illyria for long. (She’s not gullible enough for Mordo’s guilt-tripping.) The grip on her staff loosened slightly, the effects of hearing his name after death still shocking her.

Illyria would not bow down now. Not ever.

“No, he didn’t,” She answered plainly. “But my father and Stark already knew the consequences. They had seen the outcomes because it was the only way out of fourteen million that we would win.”

They both stopped at their spot and looked at each other.

“That battle with Thanos… he chose to do that. Because he looked through all the possibilities and realised that was the only way.” She spoke, swallowing the bile in her throat, “Even then, we can’t always resolve things with a fight.”

With an eyebrow raised, Mordo didn’t seem impressed by her words. “Really?” He continued; his staff now prepared once more. “Then I will encourage you to surrender when I fight your companions.”

Raising his hand, the platform in which Elrond and Glorfindel stood began to shake. She hadn’t been swift enough to stop them, instead of distracting Mordo as she sent an Eldritch fan at him.

Mordo spotted this and paused his arm, ducking over the fan before she caught the fan at ease. However, it has caused the platform to collide with theirs, the two elves leaping off. Illyria had sucked in her breath as Mordo sent his flail over to them, bringing the two apart as the ice between them split. She ran as fast as she could, jumping over the large gap before hitting Mordo with her staff. He let out a grunt before blocking her next blow.

She had then seen the built-up of energy between their weapons and took an intake of breath.

Suddenly, she felt her body thrown across the plane – a surge of heat rising as her back slammed onto the ground. The air was knocked out of her lungs, her sight spinning. As a groan left her mouth, she achingly moved – pushing her hands against the ice before wavering up to her knees.

Though as Illyria glanced back at Mordo, her eyes widened as he brought his arms at the familiar incantation. A red burst of light formed from his hands and there was no time for Illyria to cast a shield.

However, a figure appeared in front of her. Elrond had thrown himself between Mordo.

Holding his hand in front, the power of Vilya roared with familiar energy around them. A shield encased them as Mordo threw the blast of magic at them.

Illyria could only stare in shock at what just happened.

He waved his hand to the side, sending hurling wind towards Mordo before it gave enough time for Glorfindel to swoop it, parrying with Mordo. Whereas for her, Elrond had stretched out his hand and Illyria took it to stand up. She shared a quick thanks to him, letting her hand linger more in his before they nodded – their eyes now focused back on Mordo and Glorfindel.

Forming a portal, Elrond raced ahead to aid Glorfindel.

Mordo’s feet hovered slightly, aided by his boots before Illyria jumped through the portal and sent another light at his back.

The three of them took their turns, both light, air and sword.

How Mordo could have taken three of them baffled her, though the longer they fought: Illyria realised he wasn’t faltering or tiring from their blows. Somehow the opposite as he grew stronger every time, they had tried to push him down. Every incantation and spell he cast was growing larger and stronger, overcoming Vilya’s own energy whilst lessening her own.

As Illyria finally brought a slam against his torso, he lurched backwards and took Glorfindel’s arm – locking him from behind with a binding spell.

Mordo materialised something from his hand, a translucent shard from the air.

And in one quick movement: he plunged the crystalline shard right into Glorfindel’s chest.

Glorfindel’s body froze from the spot, his eyes bulging out.

Once Mordo shoved him away, Glorfindel staggered in his steps before crumbling into the ground. The sword on his right-hand clattering after him.

All of the air from her lungs left her.

“NO!” Illyria screamed.

When she got to him, Illyria dropped the staff and knelt onto the floor. Her eyes immediately went to where the shard had been, with blood already seeping through his armour and the stench of orc blood and dirt beginning to mix with him. His breathing was becoming shallower, his lips moving partly as he tried to reach for her.

Illyria adjusted herself, taking his head onto her lap as she tried to pull out the shard from him. In the small part of her mind, she was screaming at herself to not do it – knowing the damage had been fatal and perhaps already went through his heart.

She didn’t want to believe it. She could not.

Glorfindel’s hand slowly went up to her cheek, his large fingers cupping her damp skin.

“Fin! Fin…please it’s going to be fine!” She cried, begging all she could. “Please don’t be fucking around, Fin!”

His hand began to grow colder, limping back down onto his torso. His eyes growing weary but never leaving her face.

Illyria felt him slipping.

“WAKE UP! Wake up…please.” Her sight went blurry through her tears, the tears dropping onto his cheeks.

His eyes. There was no light left in them. His fëa was gone.

Her brother was gone.

She had failed him again. Promised him to be beside him at the end of this all.

Illyria scrunched her eyes, her teeth clamped together as she curled herself against him, cradling the body of Glorfindel of Gondolin. The Lord of the House of the Golden Flower.

She heard Mordo’s voice not far off in the distance. “This…This is the consequence, Illyria!” Mordo shouted, “Surrender, Illyria! Or many more will die like him!”

Ondolindë had fallen. [2]

Orcs were overrunning them, the gaps through the mountains of Cristhorn encasing them in a trap they hadn’t thought of. She had kept back most of the orcs and the fire that was blazing around them, keeping the entrance of the hidden tunnel secure. Though as the Balrogs appeared before them, King Turukáno had led the last of his kingsguard and the rest of the lords of the houses to protect those who could escape. [3][4]

Elemmírë was left to fend the back of the last group, holding her blades: Calimmacil and Thúlíra [5] in both hands as she sliced down the orc in front of her. When there was a second of space for her, she had noticed her brother already bringing his best soldiers up to the cliffside of the mountain. And once she realised what he intended to do, she cried out his name.

Turning back to her, Laurefindelë shouted back, “You must go!”

Yelling back, Elemmírë ran to him and clutched his free arm. “No! I won’t leave you!”

At the cry of the dark creature getting closer, her brother prepared his longsword – Soronúmë – out in front before ordering the rest of his soldiers to lure the Balrog up.

“Go, Elemmírë!” Laurefindelë ordered her before running back to where his group had been.

More orcs continued to file through, though none had surpassed her along with the rest of her house. All the light which had filled the area had been her light along with the flames the dark demon possessed in its body. As she kept her people moving forward, she turned back her eyes and panned to where her brother had been.

Upon the high rock, she could spot him with his golden armour gleaming in the moon that began to show through the peaks of the mountain. She watched him leap forward from the boulder, gaining closer to the Balrog upon the outcrop of rock. He had left his men, shocking her at his recklessness before he beat a heavy swing on the creature’s helmet.

The Balrog roared, its claws knurling the metal off her brother’s armour before its whip-like tail tossed the shield from his hands. Elemmírë could see the crag already faltering beneath them as the claws grappled Laurefindelë shoulders and stabbed him through.

Elemmírë sucked in her breath, catching the moment her brother thrust his longsword into the belly of the Balrog as it shrieked – falling backwards from the rock. Its claws still lingered over his shoulders before yanking him along with the demon down into the abyss.

“Laurefindelë!” She cried in horror, tears already down her cheeks as she watched her brother hit the unknown ground along with the Balrog.

Her knees grew weak, and her chest grew hot as a blinding light engulfed her entire body. The entire area was lit with white light.

Her memory of his first death had surfaced, every moment of feeling she had the minute his body was tugged down by the great dark creature down the mountainside before slamming onto the ground.

She had seen her brother die already.

Now, Illyria had seen him die again in the worst possible way she could imagine.

Her sobbing quietened as her lips trembled and the heat began to surge up through her entire body. Hands shaking, the numbness beginning to grow as her head grew warm and all she felt a sharp pain thrust into her heart.

And in that sudden moment: Illyria Strange screamed.

The ground before them all shook, and every part of the crystal-like walls immediately shattered over them.

The Mirror Dimension collapsed before them, every part crumbling out of existence as the ice reformed and the skies above them returned to its grey clouds and blues skies. An explosion of white light brought anyone around her to the floor as the force pushed their feet down.

She could sense nothing and everything at the same time, a sense of extreme pain and yet strength as Illyria opened her eyes and saw what the world around her to have become. They had returned to the icy lake in the material plane, the entire perimeter enveloped by a glow neither hot nor cold.

Mordo’s eye went wide in horror, jaw loose as he gasped, “That is impossible…No one has ever broken through the two planes…”

Her breaths grew shallow, staring down at Glorfindel’s body. He had yet moved in her arms, though every inch of his cuts and bruises had disappeared. His hair was braided back, the shard still left on his chest despite the blood had stopped. There was a serene expression on his face, a sense of peace despite how the colour in his eyes had gone.

The glow around him was gone, evident as she brought her hand to his face and spotted her hand to be illuminated in a glow. It wasn’t the trick of the light at all – she was glowing. As she carefully shut Glorfindel’s eyelids, Illyria stood up and brought herself to look around.

Illyria spun her head around and inhaled sharply at the green-robed sorcerer. The bastard was just waiting several metres away, still in surprise at what she must have done. When their eyes met, rage fuelled her body until she brought her clenched hands to her sides. With her head raised, she approached Mordo across the ice.

He immediately brought his staff in defence, throwing a shard of crystal towards her. Though as her hand rose upwards, she stopped the shard mere feet from her arms as it suspended into the air before shattering small crystals. The anger began to grow in Mordo’s face as she deflected each shard and sent a blast of red light towards her.

Illyria countered, conjuring a shield of opaque light as the spell burst into a rain of red droplets around her.

Once she was close enough, Mordo took one step back. But he wouldn’t easily get out of her grasp. As he took the whip and fail and slammed it against her, she easily brought the staff down – stopping it mid-air with her magic before yanking it from his hand. The staff flew across the lake, sliding over the ice.

That was when Illyria saw the speck of fear in his eyes. She didn’t need to look into his mind to know that dread was beginning to grow. Mordo was terrified at what she had done, and Illyria allowed it.

With his last attempts, Mordo threw a punch at her gut. Illyria stepped back as she ducked, the light around her someone sensing every movement at a slower pace. She caught his other fist, twisting it as he cried out in pain.

As she heard him cry in pain, she narrowed her eyes and felt the energy surge up once more before she let go and felt Mordo’s hands glow. Illyria moved her hands in a gesture, moving Mordo’s arms at his side with her magic before bringing his entire body down to his knees.

He began to struggle under her magic, grunting as he looked at her.

In his spot, Illyria held her hand out waved it in the air. Around him, a white glowing rope twisted around his body up and around his legs and arm – putting him in a kneeling position in front of her.

Suddenly, she grabbed his collar – creating a small white blade in her hand…and brought it against his neck.

Mordo’s eyes flashed in horror before he hissed, “Kill me then, Illyria.” He questioned her, “What would your father say if he sees you with blood in your hands?”

Narrowing her eyes, she brought it closer to him until she faltered slightly. Mordo wasn’t looking at her at all, his eyes focused to the side.

She then felt a hand over her shoulder.

“Let him go, Illyria.” The familiar voice calmly told her.

When the voice of her father entered her head, Illyria began to shudder under her hold. Tears threatening to spill down her cheeks again as she shoved Mordo’s collar downwards. Mordo was struggling to breathe under her grasp, shaking his arms.

She shook her head and shouted in despair, “No! He killed…he killed him.”

Mordo had taken him away from her again.

“He took him…he took him away from me,” Illyria jeered through her teeth, tasting the tears on her lips.

He answered solemnly, “Remember what I told you.”

There were other ways besides killing.

‘Yes, I do remember,’ She said in her mind. ‘But how can you when you just lost your brother twice.’ Illyria sniffed, never moving.

How could she not? He deserved to die after what he had done. Not just for her brother but even her and every sorcerer that walked on Earth. He had taken away countless lives, ripped the very essence which people needed to live with. He was hardly doing the goodness of the Natural Order; he had become the very thing Kaecilius had been years ago. A fanatic and a zealot.

“Melmenya, please. Do not do this.” She heard Elrond plead behind her.

She kept her blade of light pressed again his throat.

However, there was a part in her that was beginning to surface above her anger. The very thing which had brought her away from truly ending Mordo’s life there and then. Why she had found Stephen Strange out of many people to stand out for the girl in Kamar-Taj. He had sworn to save lives, not to take them. If she did this: Illyria would not be better than him.

She couldn’t bury herself as low as he was.

What did Elrond think of her? Her children, Bilbo and the Company? What would Gandalf and the Valar think of her?

She would become the very thing she didn’t want to be.

The grip on her blade and his collar slackened as she gradually pulled away and inhaled her breath. Her arms slowly lost their glow until there was a small halo around her as she brought her hands in a gesture. The rope around Mordo fell onto the ground, fading away as he got up and began to choke in the air.

Even though she had done what she could, it didn’t mean Illyria had liked it. Even Elemmírë somehow was annoyed at her choices, leaving the sorcerer free without any damage.

Maybe she should have done it. Taken his magic away.

‘No, Illyria.’ Her father must have heard her thoughts as she brought herself by his side, now looking back at the former Master of the Mystic Arts. ‘Even things such as that, you are doing the very thing he would want you to have done. Don’t fall into his trap.’

Mordo said, “Strange.”

Her father stood in front of her now, his hands at his side as he replied, “It’s been a long time, Mordo.” Stephen Strange questioned, “Let me guess, enjoying your time in Middle Earth?”

“It’s been bearable.” Mordo pointed, nudging his head at her, “It would seem your daughter has got her own following. Perhaps even a family.”

Illyria brought herself back to where Elrond had stood, now beside her brother’s body in protection whilst he held his sword in his right. Elrond took her hand, his thumb rubbing circles at the back of her palm which soothed her heart and mind. He must have seen it all go down; watched her almost kill a man with no difficulty.

Blowing out a short breath, Illyria brought her fingers to intertwine with his.

Stephen eyed them for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “Eh, I’ve been a shitty dad for the past year.” He added, “Been busy being Sorcerer Supreme and whatnot.”

Summoning his staff once more from across the room, Mordo and Stephen walked around each other. The rogue sorcerer answered, “You do not deserve that title.”

He didn’t react, replying plainly. “No, I don’t.” Stephen conjured two mandala shields with his hands in front. “But you tried to take my daughter’s magic. That’s enough for me to know that you need to be stopped.”

It only took Illyria twenty-five seconds to realise who was fighting Mordo.

Her dad was here, he had returned. Or perhaps this was an illusion again and this was all a dream. She was asking so many questions in her head that it only took a sudden jerk of her chest to stop herself.

Illyria clutched the left part of her chest, stumbling under her feet. Elrond let go of her hand, bringing it to stable her shoulder – concerned grey eyes boring into hers.

She glanced away, seeing the billowing of the Cloak of Levitation as the two sorcerers fought around them. “I need…I need to help him.” Illyria spoke, “Elrond, you have to let go of me.”

His jaw tightened, as he replied, “No, I cannot lose you. Not when Glorfindel is gone-“

And then she suddenly cut him off with her lips, pressing quickly against his cheek.

When she pulled away, her hands lingering on his own – she saw Elrond’s face froze in surprise at what she did.

To be honest, she wasn’t sure where she got that confidence from.

Illyria spoke confidently, “You won’t lose me.” She added, “I know what to do.”

Elrond breathed in, though she did not know what he had said the moment she brought her hands to summon her staff again and raced after her father.

Wherever they went off.

Stephen Strange | Sorcerer Supreme

Entering the portal hadn’t been the difficult part of the search for Illyria.

However, it had been the hardest to get through. Going through the portal wasn’t anything like the sling-ring portals he had been conjuring for years. It felt like wading through water, pushing against the current as he barely could see where he was going. Everything was just a flash of multiple colours until he felt himself fall.

And fall.

And fall.

Thank the Cloak of Levitation for not being helpful as he faceplanted into the cold snow, his ass up and possibly his entire person vulnerable to the elements around him. When Stephen rolled on his back, he sat up with a groan, massaging his nose from the impact as the collars of the Cloak wiped the snow off itself. He then brought himself up to his feet, dusting the rest off him before studying his surroundings.

There was one singular mountain on his left side, taller than anything he has seen - perhaps even taller than Mount Everest. Stephen spotted the ruins just further down as well what seemed to be green sickly pale creatures wearing leather armour crawling around.

‘Are those…goblins?’ He thought, furrowing his eyebrows before he heard the thrum of energy behind him.

Turning around, all he could see was the same tear through the air. He guessed this was where the portal ended up, or perhaps one of the connections. Though despite it appearing here, Stephen noticed the energy fluctuating. The light flickering into bursts. The portal was becoming unstable, meaning he needed to find Illyria as soon as possible.

The first thing Stephen did was recollect the set of rules Wong had told him about travelling through new parts of the multiverse. Well: he already knew his name and where he came from so that was that. The next bit was trying to find any similar beings or things or locations that could possibly pinpoint civilisation or safety points.

Somehow it was not the case when a bunch of goblins were crawling around before getting shot by an arrow from nowhere.

Stephen then noticed the hidden figures from the mountaintops and realised they were wearing metal armour. ‘Some backwashed medieval fantasy place with goblins.’ He took note in his head before striding up to the ruins.

When he arrived at the top, Stephen darted his eyes upon the frozen lake and noticed the crystal geometric formation shimmering in the air and rose his eyebrows. He wondered who had created a portal into the Mirror Dimension. Carefully, he brought himself down before walking straight through the portal.

He wasn’t expecting Mordo to stand there in the broken plane around him. The entire dimension had been warped.

Stephen was too shocked at the familiar face until he spotted the red robes dotted in the middle of the platform. Though he froze the moment he realised who had been in her arms. She was sobbing, cradling the blonde-haired person (was it a man or a woman? He wasn’t too sure) in her arms until he heard Mordo shout.

And suddenly, the world around them broke.

He had only seen one person do this – back on Titan. However, that purple alien had used two of the Infinity stones to break through the Mirror Dimension.

Illyria Strange easily broke it with her own natural magic.

Conjuring a shield around himself, he quickly noticed the other figure standing close to his spot. The tall man with the long dark hair was staring in shock at Illyria, trying to reach for her despite reality itself breaking back into its original form. Stephen spotted the fallen crystal and immediately brought his shield around the man.

Once the shield disintegrated, Illyria brought herself up and began assaulting Mordo with magic. He had never seen her once do this in her entire life, even though the many futures he had once looked with the Time Stone.

Not one predicted future saw her shine as bright as a star.

She easily deflected the space shards Mordo threw at her, and Stephen’s chest tightened in fury as the rogue sorcerer almost attempted to hit her. Space shards created by space reality itself were difficult to survive if wounded by them. It had been the cause of the Ancient One’s death, and now possibly the reason for the death of the blonde person.

Illyria was beginning to worry him, the closer she got. By the time she got Mordo onto his knees – Stephen swooped in to intervene.

It was there he felt it all. The pain and agony his daughter was in. The anger and the fury and the sorrow that had fuelled her magic. He had already seen something similar from someone else just last year.

Like Wanda Maximoff, both of their magic was fuelled by emotions and their hearts. And she had just unlocked the magical abilities Stephen had predicted years ago.

It took him some time to persuade Illyria to not go through her plan, wary that his own daughter would clearly kill Mordo. He knew the reasons underneath Mordo’s murder. It was why it’s been months since Stephen’s been trying to track him down.

Stephen had found out that Mordo wanted to take Illyria’s magic and had been searching for answers. He had yet to tell Wong and the other masters of this, afraid that he would risk any more despite the trust between the Masters.

He couldn’t lose Illyria again. Or else: he would not forgive himself if he did.

“It’s time to surrender, Mordo,” Stephen said with a stern gaze.

Mordo lunged forward, blocked by Stephen’s Eldritch whip. He snarled, “You think I will bow down to the gracious Sorcerer Supreme. I pity anyone who would willingly learn under your guise!” He laughed in a mocking tone, “You do not understand this all. I’ve been trying to tell you. Every moment, every spell you use you are giving away more of the powers not everyone should possess.”

“Then why do you go and start killing them? You think you’re doing a good deed?” Stephen questioned him,

Mordo smirked and twirled his staff. “I think after what the Scarlet Witch had done to the multiverse it shows we must take down every threat.”

That caused him to raise his brow. It seemed that Mordo knew what happened the past year with the sorcerers around the multiverse. Well, it wasn’t a secret. Every magic-user and the TVA [6] knew about the disruption (an understatement) the mythical Scarlet Witch had done after the fall of the Hex. Not only a bunch of energy anomalies but the creation of magical points in their world, attracting all dimensional beings into Earth.

However, being the Sorcerer Supreme didn’t mean ridding of the threat. He wasn’t like that. He protected the world, and that meant choosing ways to allow the threats to resolve themselves without bloodshed.

If Mordo had stayed, he would have simply killed the Scarlet Witch…or died trying to.

There wasn’t a dragging moment for him until he finally brought Mordo’s feet down, using the Eldritch whips to lock him into place. To his surprise, he found a white whip locked into Mordo’s staff and found Illyria holding on by his right.

She didn’t look good at all despite her body glowing. Her eyes were strained, a glowing blue that was fading in and out. He just needed to keep Mordo down long enough to trap him.

“I’m sorry Mordo.” He spoke.

Mordo heaved, “No, Strange.” He grinned, “I’m sorry for you.” His hand stretched out, breaking from the grasp.

Out from his hand materialise a dagger, purple and black from his sight.

And in a swift lunge, the blade flew straight towards him. However, it had not hit Stephen.

When he glanced to his right, he found Illyria freeze from her spot…The blade imbedded into her stomach.

Arwen Undómiel | The Evenstar

She suddenly took a wheezing breath.

Her vision grew white, feeling her head had been slammed against the rock as she stumbled to the side and onto someone’s body. She felt something, something terrible. Like a dozen shards had pierced her chest and the pain crawling up to her mind.

When she gazed up, she found Elladan worriedly looking back.

“Arwen? Are you alright?” He asked her attentively, carefully moving his arms to support her upper body.

Opening her mouth, she tried to speak but no sound escaped her mouth. She couldn’t explain how she felt. Even the sounds of orcs being slain, and the cries of men, women and elves could not comprehend the feeling of her heart waning and the sounds of cries in her mind.

“My Lady…you must get her somewhere safe.” Someone, possibly Lord Bard, suggested to them. “I will fend the rest of the orcs.”

She felt laid down onto the ground, her back supported from the wall. Elladan crouched down to her eyesight and cupped her cheeks. “Sister. Say something…please.” He pleaded to her.

As she adjusted her mind back to reality, Arwen finally realised who was around her. Elladan and Elrohir were with her, along with an Ithron. The wizard strode towards her, his eyes commanding for her to speak.

Arwen breathed out, “Mithrandir.” She stared up at the grey wizard. “I felt…I felt it again.”

It was the same feeling she over nine hundred years ago. The day which the Battle of Fornost had ended.

The day her mother had died.

A grim look stretched over the wizard’s features as he spoke gravely, “Something has gone wrong.”

Elemmírë Oialëa | The Eternal

The sound of metal clashing at each other and the shrieks of demons.

Elemmírë was within the desolation of the city, her armour already drenched in sweat and blood as her hair was matted down. Her face brought cuts and bruises, hidden by the mud and the dirt on her skin. Her gloved hands were shaking, already worn from the extent of her magic and the use of her blades. Thúlíra laid limply in her hand whilst Calimmacil was sheathed in her left.

The Witch-King now stood before her, his longsword already in front of him.

With an intake of breath, she brought Thúlíra down to her sheath and allowed the warmth to flow through her arms and out into her hands.

As the Witch-King lunged forward, a bright light illuminated the entire city. Every man and elf who was left alive could only sense the powers of the Oialëa drive the darkness away. The Witch-King drew his sword down and felt forced back by the incredible power – fleeing out of the city littered with the death and towards Angmar where he would not be met once more.

However, despite the victory for the remaining men of Fornost and elves, it was the defeat of the Eternal.

Elemmírë Oialëa felt her arms fall to the side before she staggered down to her knees. When she blinked back, she had seen her hands now charred black – the gloves burnt away from her magic.

Though what scared her was the black scorches as she ripped her armour off. With a hole through her tunic, there was a dark lining where her heart should be.

The last thing she saw was her brother and sons racing towards her.

Upon the top of the hill were two bright trees. Greater and grander than any being could see as they expelled great and wondrous light among the lands of this world.

Telperion with its dark green leaves and silver beneath them, its ground filled with silver flowers that shed a rain of silver dew. [7]

Beside them was their companion: Laurelin. [8]

Laurelin with its golden leaves and white bark, its golden dew and flowers drawing the light of the days of Arda.

However, it will not be long as a dark creature, spawn of evil, would devour and suck the light of its trees – bringing the world into utter darkness.

Leaving Telperion’s last flower to be brought up to the skies as the moon and Laurelin’s fiery fruit as the sun.

However, one fiery fruit from Laurelin – hidden under the eyes of Eldar apart from some of the Valar, had also survived the darkening.

In the land of Almaren, the two great lamps of Arda were brought to life. Ormal and Illuin. [9][10]

Ormal, which was placed in the south of the world whilst Illuin was situated in the north near the Helcar.

Their light and energy flowed around the world under their destruction by Melkor bringing the imperfection of the world…and the release of the light of Arda and the birth of two trees in Aman…

Stephen Strange | Sorcerer Supreme

Stephen saw what Mordo had done, forcing his motives to finally bring Mordo’s staff out from his hands before clasping them both with the Cloak of Levitation. Taking out from his dimensional pocket, he clasped the object onto Mordo’s wrists – a pair of restrained cuffs now on him.

The moment he realised what Stephen had done, Mordo had frozen still in shock. He gazed up to him, still out of breath from their fight.

He stared down at Mordo. A dangerous tone in his voice: “You should be glad that you’re still alive, Mordo. I would have killed you there.”

Mordo glared up and questioned him harshly, “Still a coward all this time, Strange?” A manic grin grew on his lips as he began to choke out a laugh, “…You…you will never be able to protect her. She…she is like them. Like her. A walking time bomb that will unleash unbalance to this world and ours.”

There was a thump in his chest and Stephen quickly hid his reaction. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Mordo mocked, “Don’t lie, Strange. You know who she truly is, or what she would become.” He stated, “The Ancient One hid her because of the Wanderer of Worlds…. I’ve been trying to find them everywhere. Rid of their existence and power.”

Peering his eyes, Stephen hid his concern over him. The Wanderer had not been on Earth ever since the invasion on Earth. He had contacted him just as Bruce Banner broke through the roof of the Sanctum, remembering that the Wanderer had recalled it during his own time with the Time Stone.

Did the Wanderer know that Thanos was coming.? If so, was that why he had been adamant to keep Illyria safe?

How would he have known she wouldn’t be dusted alongside him?

“They know who she is. They brought her to Kamar-Taj…” He told Stephen. Was there fear in Mordo’s voice or was that him hearing things? “He is the threat between these worlds, carrying a dangerous weapon before him.”

Stephen already knew this. He knew there was something different about the Wanderer. Not only the fact that the Wanderer hid his own face, but the power and energy in here that was radiated was nothing like from Earth.

In fact, it was his years of deductions, the weird, decrypted letters, and timestamps when to search using the Time Stone that finally brought Stephen to realise the importance of not only the Wanderer…but Illyria too.

She was tied somehow to this world. Her powers were almost equivalent to his own…maybe even stronger than his.

Stephen simply said, “I know. And no matter what: she’ll still be a better person than what you’ve tried to be.” With a quick swipe, he knocked Mordo out with a spell.

Illyria Strange | Sorceress of the Mystic Arts

Okay, getting stabbed was a bitch.

She’d seen other people been stabbed before. Her dad had been the first one she had seen as a child, then seeing countless other sorcerers including Uncle Wong get hurt during the next few years.

Though she didn’t realise it would be as painful as this.

After what the hell she had seen through her mind (the weird trees and lamps and some guys clad in black armour that screamed Nazgul), Illyria glanced down to her stomach and saw the dark blade.

Right. Well…this was not something she wasn’t trying to get herself into. Talk about trying not to die; Elrond was probably going to kill her first before this poisoned blade would try to kill her.

Not only that, but she had also finally remembered her death. Her first proper death.

And some other visions she wasn’t sure how or why it came to her.

She was about to think about how it was possible to see the other visions, but the pain began to grow through her body and up to her spine. The next thing she knew, she was being placed down onto someone’s lap until she noticed those grey eyes.

Beautiful grey eyes. The same ones which had seen so much in his life. He had seen his parents leave him, Maglor and Maedhros leave him. His brother Elros, Gil-Galad, Celebrían and then her.

Now Elrond had seen both two known people he cared die before him. He was going to lose her again.

He brought on arm around her neck, keeping her head tilted up slightly as the other brought his hand over her stomach, carefully taking the dagger out. Illyria winced, hoping that it would just be a simple click away to remove the pain.

This was not the case. Her entire body was burning like a volcano, her hands growing warm under Elrond’s cold touch as he brought them under her robes and felt the opening of her armour. The blade must have been special enough to piece through nanotechnology or else she could be walking now.

Even though the spells and enchantments she made with the armour and clothes, the blade had pierced through with no scratch.

Elrond’s voice began to waver as he spoke, “Elemmírë...Illyria.” He shushed her whimpers, “Melmenya, it’s alright. I am here.”

She tried to reach her hand up to his arm, aiming to just try and touch his cheek again. Illyria struggled through her words, “El…Elrond…I—"

He said with a hurried tone, “Let me, let Vilya—"

However, Illyria shook her head in disagreement. “…V…Vilya can’t.” She explained, “You’ve used it already…Bil—Bilbo will get exposed if you…use it on me.”

She saw the confliction in his face as Elrond eyes searched for hers, begging to reason her.

Elrond asked back, “Then what am I supposed to do?” Desperation was evident in his tone. “Melmenya. Don’t please… Please allow me. I can’t lose you after your brother!”

“It’s…it’s my fault. I…I didn’t watch his back.” Illyria croakily sobbed, “I promised…I promised to show him the stars…I promised you and them…”

At the mention of her brother, Illyria couldn’t help but feel more tears spill out from her eyes. She knew where he was, but where would she go? She wasn’t even sure if she was human or elf or whatnot. There was nothing to say where she would go now. If her soul just floated in the planes between worlds or she just ceased to exist.

And Illyria knew that Elrond was speculating this. Because if she left him now, who knows when they would ever meet again.

Her eyelids began to flutter shut; it was getting harder to stay awake until Elrond gentle moved her chin – guiding her eyes back to him.

“No! No…” He begged louder to her, “Stay in the light, melmenya! Look at me! Listen to my voice, Illyria!”

When she opened her eyes once more back up, for a moment Illyria finally felt the world stop for her – for them. The many moments and months she had been around this half-elf: she never got to focus on how much he had meant to her. Not Elemmire, but as Illyria. Even after so many years, she had thought someone like him would grow accustomed to the world and easily be like any being – get old and tired.

It was the case for Elrond Peredhel for he still glowed so brightly in his mind, heart, and soul. Even in the darkest moments, he still had that hope in his heart, and she wondered how someone like him could get through so much. He had given her all he could and yet all she brought was sorrow to him.

Illyria didn’t want to worry him any longer, so she decided to change the topic. Trying to forget what had happened and bring Elrond away from panic.

“Are they…are they alright?” She asked him, “Please…p-please make sure they are safe.”

To her amusement, Elrond caught on her act and replied softly, “You will ask them yourself.”

She choked out a small laugh, before sighing again. “And…Bilbo.” Illyria asked him, “Take care of him, will you? Take care of them… for me.”

More tears flowed down his cheeks, his hands caressing her cheek tenderly. Elrond whispered, “Let me heal you, please.”

However, she smiled sadly back to him, “Take the Silmaril. Protect it.” Illyria continued, “Give…lay him beside me.”

“This was my doing. I broke your promise. That I would never look into your future.” He took a shuddered breath, choking out a sob.

Her heart was crying out to him, reaching to grasp him. To assure him so.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay… It’s okay.” Illyria brought her hand to his cheek and said, “Look…at me.”

Opening his eyes, Illyria formed another small smile to him. He leaned his head down to her. She could sense the feeling of his breath against her face as their foreheads touched.

For a few seconds there Illyria sensed his mind at their touch. The memories were faint and yet so vivid for her. The times they had shared together. The love she and Elrond had even before Elemmírë had to realise it had been love all along. He had given her his time to find herself again for over a thousand years, never leaving her side despite her self-destructive character.

Leaning back up, Illyria stared into his eyes and spoke, “It’s going…to be okay. You…got it?”

At that moment, she saw the flicker of the blue robes and tilted her head to the side. Well, she wasn’t hallucinating at all, finally facing the man she hadn’t seen in perhaps a year now. She wondered if it had been the same amount of time for him.

Stephen breathed in as he knelt quickly, opposite Elrond. “Illyria? Oh god, I…I should have seen it. I didn’t-“

When his hand placed on top of hers, she couldn’t help but let out another choke of crying as she felt the scarred skin. Illyria spoke to him, “Dad…I miss you.”

“I hope I wasn’t too long.” Her dad brushed his fingers over her hair and quirked a smile.

Ah, the dry humour. She hadn’t heard that in a while. Illyria replied, “Only…nine months late.” She then asked, “How…how did you find me?”

“Like how I find you all the time,” Stephen answered wryly. “Clearly it’s not that hard.”

Returning her hand away back to Elrond’s, she continued asking. “Darcy…She’s okay?”

Oh fudge, Darcy must be worrying her tits off because of her. The typical daughter she was that always finds trouble when she goes out on her own.

Luckily, her dad’s response hadn’t been too bad. “She’s okay.”

“She…is…going…to kill me.” Illyria breathed out a laugh.

“Not before I can,” Stephen commented.

Her eyes darted across to Elrond, who had yet to speak as he silently watched the conversation between the two of them.

Oh right. She forgot about the…thing.

Illyria nudged her chin to her husband (she wasn’t going to call him her husband yet. Not when she might possibly be dying right now). “Dad…Elrond…he’s…he knows me,” She said.

Expecting her dad to be cautious or even curious about the closeness between her and the half-elf – what came next was even more surprising.

Stephen’s eyes went in Elrond’s direction and she saw his face relax as he blankly said, “I know Illyria.” He darted his eyes down to her, a little smile on his lips. “I think I already worked it out years ago.”

Her eyes widened as she brought her eyebrow up. What did he mean about working it out years ago? Did her dad know about this?

She then remembered who she was talking to. The Sorcerer Supreme…keeper of the Time Stone. Or formerly the keeper.

He had seen her future…or possibly her future.

Elrond had finally spoken, telling her dad: “She needs to come back to Dale. I have all the provisions there.”

“No,” Stephen answered plainly, a grim look now morphing onto his face. “This work is for sorcerers. Mordo used dark magic with that blade, and I know only one witch that could help her.”

Elrond’s had a look of determination as he replied, “Then I shall come with you.”

Flicking her head to him, she reached out to hold his cheek. “You…need to make sure the others…are fine…And that they are safe. Sauron… will return…the people of Middle Earth will need help…Your help.” Illyria took a breath as she continued, “…I know that you think the time of our… kind is over, but there is so much more… we could do. Please…help them. Make sure…Bilbo knows.”

There was conflict in his eyes. She knew Elrond would do anything to save her. However, she knew his own magic and Vilya won’t sustain the injury she had. She knew what her father meant about that certain person. If she was back on earth was the next question for them to know.

Though from now, she could only hope that person was on the dial to call.

In the end, Illyria nudged her dad. Once he got the hint, he stood up and brought himself back, allowing her and Elrond to speak alone together for the final time. He somehow must have gone to Mordo to make sure he still there across the lake for all she sensed around her was the half-elf by her side.

He gently pushed her up to a sitting position, aided by his arms as he gently brought her head upwards. She did all she could to hide the pain she was going through, her breath growing shallower as she kept her eyes on his.

A small smile rested on her lips, trying to cheer him up within all this predicament. And with that, he leaned it. Their lips met halfway, gentle, and yet enough for her to feel the fluttering sensation in her mind as her entire heart soared. She could taste his own tears on his, the bittersweetness that matched the very situation they were in.

When he pulled away, Elrond’s fingers pulled a strand over her ears. He softly spoke, “Find me, Elemmírë.” He murmured, “Our promise. Calanya.”

Illyria paused slightly, remembering the familiar word. “Calanya…I know that name.” She breathed, “You put it on the journal…”

How did she miss that? The very name Elemmírë had written on her first notes on the journal Elrond had given her. The present that would soon tell her everything about what she was before.

“It was what I named you. My light.” Elrond answered back, the same honest and loving voice she would yet to know.

She wanted to make this moment last longer. To be in his arms despite the agony and the cold around them. The sun was high up in the sky. The battle had finished moments ago. There: Illyria felt herself finally succumb to tiredness – her eyes slowly shutting and the world turning black.

Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Elrond could feel himself shake in emotion, his tears beginning to cry as he brought himself up to his knees. When he looked down, Illyria was passed out – tired from all the fighting and the wound inflicted on her. He then heard the swooshing of cloth and found himself staring at the sorcerer in front.

Stephen Strange did not look anything like he had imagined, though the character and caring voice for Illyria spoke more on the truth between him and Illyria. As a father would when he was worried for his daughter.

He didn’t want to let go of her, eager to send her down to Dale instead. But Elrond was wise enough to understand Illyria’s suggestion. The blade was nothing like he has ever seen before, and a dark unknown force surrounded it before being put through Illyria. He needed to trust her father that she would be safe.

As he passed her to Stephen Strange, the sorcerer spoke: “She is slipping, I must go.”

He glanced over to Glorfindel’s body. He would yet to bring him back to Imladris…or perhaps he would rather be buried in Erebor. Elrond had now lost a brother again, just like Gil-Galad.

However, Illyria asked him to be buried beside her. Elrond would make sure of it.

As he sheathed both his sword and Glorfindel’s longsword – he took the Illyria’s staff into his hand as he turned to him. “When will you return?” Elrond questioned.

Stephen Strange took a second to respond before admitting, “I don’t know. The portal between this world is unstable. Maybe months or years.”

Elrond took an inhale of breath, forcing his tears away before staring back at Illyria. When he finally brought his courage to look back at the sorcerer: Elrond questioned him, “And how will I assure she will be safe.”

“She is my daughter.” Stephen Strange said firmly, “And we both know we will do what we can to keep them safe.”

At that response, he and Stephen Strange shared a silent nod of agreement. He must have known already their relationship, for how a father could simply trust him for what he had done.

He watched as the cuffed sorcerer be carried by the magical floating cloak through the golden gateway first before Strange along with Illyria entered next. As the hissing of the gateway lessened, Elrond was left staring out at the frozen lake – a numb sensation that now left him unsure of himself.

The Battle of the Five Armies – or so what Illyria Strange named – was over.

An eagle of Manwë spotted him above the mountain top, diving down before carefully taking Glorfindel’s body in their claws. It took him a while to process what had happened before continuing his descent from Ravenhill before he spotted the state of the City of Dale.

When he entered the Northern Gates, Elrond kept his eyes forward. Every step he took he could hear his heart pound from his ears, the world going blurry around him. There were bodies littered everywhere, orc, elves, dwarves, and men. The snow was already falling onto the piles around him as he arrived at the city square. As he entered the open area, Elrond spotted his children immediately and froze.

The body of the Lord of Gondolin had already been placed down, now held in the arms of his daughter. Arwen stared at her uncle; her eyes already rimmed in red due to tears. Elladan and Elrohir were stood beside her, their heads low but enough for Elrond to sense the devastation in their eyes.

When he got closer, Elrond could feel all eyes on him. Glorfindel’s guards along with the Lothlorien elves knew where he had been, so it was not a surprise as they not only were relieved at him to be alive but worried that the sorceress was not with him.

As he brought his hand over Arwen’s shoulder, she gazed up and his heart almost broke. His daughter was pale, stricken in grief – sensing her mind to be searching for answers. She didn’t need to ask the question for him to reveal to her the truth.

“She is gone, isn’t she?” Arwen murmured back.

Elrond’s heart skipped a beat as he replied, “She was dying…but her father had rescued her in time.”

“Then where did they go?” His son, Elrohir, asked.

“Back to their world,” He answered simply. He gently gazed down at Glorfindel; his relaxed features almost seemed to feel like he was just sleeping.

He would wake up in the Halls once more, waiting for Mandos’ hearing to him.

Elladan questioned back, turning to him, “And when will she return?”

Swallowing back the bile up his throat, he carefully reworded his thoughts though the twins and Arwen already knew what he had been thinking off, their eyes slightly glistening under the midday sun.

They wouldn’t know when their mother would return. Elrond didn’t even have the heart to reveal to them that he was afraid, so afraid, that she would return alive.

They had lost many during the battle, among the most fallen had been the Silvan elves and the dwarves of the Iron Hills. All elves who had come to defend the North and the Mountain had decided to stay, for they wished to give the final send off to their kin on the outskirts of Dale. The dwarves on the other hand had decided to bury them just outside Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield’s own decision to show unity between the dwarves, men, and elves.

Among those who had fallen had been Lord Dain of the Iron Hills, who had been fending the walls of the city – losing his life against the great trolls. Elrond knew that the dwarven lord had a son under the same name as the King Under the Mountain. Word would come around to the Iron Hills through the crows one morning that the young dwarf lord would be the heir.

Next had been three of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

The first had been the red-headed dwarf, Gloin: who Elrond remembered to have asked what he spoke of at the beginning of their stay in Imladris. His brother, Oin, had aided Elrond through healing the wounded after the battle despite knowing his brother had been dead. The elder dwarf had persevered throughout the ordeal, and Elrond respected his wishes by allowing him to grief and aid the dwarves.

The second member who had passed was Dori, the young Ori’s eldest brother who loved his brothers equally and greatly to an extent. Elrond always caught Illyria speaking to Dori many times during their stay in Imladris, speaking of fabrics and tailoring despite the language barrier. He had felt the pain both Ori and Nori had when they had found their brother barely alive on the battlefield, lost in the piles of orcs and soldiers. They had lost a brother who had cared for and nurtured them.

Lastly, and Elrond had foreseen in, was Balin – the councillor and friend of Thorin Oakenshield and the brother of Dwalin. He had been amongst the frontlines of the battle, following both Thorin and his brother at the first wave of orcs. Elrond heard that he almost survived throughout the battle until Balin, the first of many dwarves, defended an injured elf. There was shock amongst Thranduil’s guards (especially Thranduil himself) and himself included that a dwarf would take his life to save an elf’s.

Illyria always spoke highly of Balin, telling him how he had been the first one out of the older dwarves of the Company to come to respect her – to see her as a friend and not just a stowaway. Balin did not question Illyria’s own background, patient to know more than to seek it directly.

As the dead were laid respected, it had been time for Glorfindel’s body to rest as well. Illyria wanted Glorfindel’s body to be laid in Rivendell with Elemmírë’s – though time was limited for them.

Instead, Elrond asked Thorin Oakenshield to bury Glorfindel up on Ravenhill.

There he and the elves along with the Company helped create a small memorial for the Lord of Gondolin. A similar grave to what Elemmírë had once described to him one time. Elrond listened to the song his daughter sang, beautiful and yet hauntingly sad before Arwen brought down the bouquet of yellow flowers atop his grave.

Along with Glorfindel, Elrond had brought forward the flag which held the Rivendell sigil, the Star of the Noldor along with the Golden Flower of Elemmírë.

They stood there for as long as they could against the harsh weather until it had been only him, Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir left along with the Rivendell guard. He looked upon the grave wondering to himself why it had come to this. This was not what his foresight had seen, only the danger of one other – Illyria.

They decided to stay longer to aid the rest, knowing well for him that Illyria would have done so. Arwen had also not yet recovered, her heart waning for the loss of her uncle as well as her mother. Elrond should have known this to come, already seeing the powerful connection Arwen had between her entire family. She had felt what happened to them both, their fëa slowly fading away to the West.

However, Elrond noticed her head looking further up every day as she brought herself to talk to others. Especially to the men and women of Dale, aiding with their children and keeping them occupied with her magic as tricks. Everywhere, he heard laughter beginning to surface from the sorrows of the battle – little smiles from the young as well as the old.

His sons were amongst those that were determined to continue the promise they held to themselves, to aid those in need and sought to kill the darkness. Elladan and Elrohir helped with the dwarves along with the red-haired elleth: Tauriel. He had yet to talk directly to the young Silvan elf for aiding them to bring the Durinsons back down to Dale. And to Elrond’s shock, had felt the bond and love between the youngest Durinson and Tauriel.

Never had he heard the love between a dwarf and an elf. But then again: he was in love with Illyria Strange.

Lastly, he would not forget Bilbo Baggins. The hobbit who had been the soul and gift to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. Elrond was the first to approach him (even before Mithrandir) to inform the hobbit what had occurred on Ravenhill. It took him some time to compose himself, but Elrond got to the end of his story – leaving a moment for Bilbo to grieve and worry for Illyria.

She had asked Elrond to take care of Bilbo, to ensure not only his safety but to bring him close. Elrond should have known eventually, having known Elemmírë and Illyria long enough, that she would become friends to the most unlikeliness of people. If one elf became friends with the Fëanorians after being involved in a Kinslaying, Elemmírë would be the elf to befriend a hobbit.

Elrond had also grown a liking to the hobbit and almost felt a kindling heart between their seeking of knowledge. Arwen had come to adore Bilbo as a friend, finding himself wondering if he was watching Illyria and Bilbo instead as they spoke quickly about topics they loved.

When the coronation of Thorin arrived, he stood beside King Thranduil on his left whilst his children were beside him. Prince Legolas had been next to his father, surprised when they first met if he had seen the ghost of the Lady of Imladris shout at him to throw a sword up to her. Elrond couldn’t help but mentally laugh whilst his children chuckled, leaving out a confused Thranduil during the dinner party.

As much as the joy and comfort everyone had been, neither he, his children and Bilbo was truly content. All evening he had his mind on Illyria all the time, wondering to himself if she was safe and that her father had returned in time to save her.

He watched the youngest Durinson ask for the red-haired elleth’s hand in the dance, the latter smiling down at the dark-haired dwarf before accepting. They danced amongst the dwarves and elves, men, and women around the ballroom before he encouraged his children to do as they please.

When Prince Legolas asked for Arwen’s hand, he caught Elrond’s eye in which he simply nodded. He would let his daughter accept his hand or not for he already knew his daughter was old enough now to choose for herself. She had always been from the start, young enough unlike other elven children to be bold and to choose her paths.

They all danced as he sat to watch, thinking to himself ‘I hope one day you would sit beside me watching our children be happy. Maybe in another world or Valinor…’ Elrond did all he could not to break there until he could feel the room tighten around him.

Eventually, he brought himself outside – an empty balcony that overlooked the South of the mountain. The snow had stopped falling as the clouds parted and the moon shone brightly upon the sky.

He placed his hands onto the bannister, glancing down at Vilya with a sharp breath.

He could have saved her, maybe it was possible.

Elrond clenched his fingers under his palms, his jaw tightening as he could feel his eyes already threatening to water.

He had promised her one thing only: and that had been to never look for her future. Yet Elrond could not help it and did it for his own sake. He wanted to be sure she was safe, and that nothing could harm her again.

When he looked back up, he heard the gentle tapping of wood against the smooth flooring and found the Ithron stand by his side.

“You knew of this, didn’t you Elrond?” Mithrandir quietly asked.

He turned his head back to glance over the landscape as he replied blankly, “I looked. I shouldn’t have.”

“Do not blame yourself for such things. You did it for fear you might lose her again.” The grey wizard told him, giving his own advice. “Elrond, you must continue for her.”

Elrond turned his head to him and questioned, “And what of Glorfindel? He had chosen to follow you to ensure Middle Earth’s safety.” He let go of the bannister, now facing the Ithron before him. “The Valar will now know what had occurred. They will be warned that there was a threat, Mithrandir.”

Once again, the maia appeared to be worried deeply. Mithrandir already was worried when the appearance of Illyria Strange in Middle Earth occurred. Now the death of the great spirit of the Eldar caused a discordance of the song.

Soon he would not doubt that Galadriel, Celeborn and Círdan would hear of the death of Glorfindel and become concerned about how someone with great angelic power can be defeated by a sorcerer.

Mithrandir began, “To my own worry, I do not even know. Glorfindel was not…he was not fated to die in this world. Vairë weaves the fate of Arda and now…”

“…It has changed.” He finished the grey wizard’s sentence.

They both knew, not just as friends but as defenders of Middle Earth: that this will change the outcome of the tale which Illyria Strange told them of. The tale Elrond had not entirely known but suspected by the hidden glances Arwen and the twins had around them.

His children knew the story, and they promised their mother to never tell a soul unless needed.

Narrow concerned eyes bore into him as Mithrandir spoke, “You must be wary, Elrond Peredhel.” He continued, “And with now this jewel in your hands, you, and your children no doubt will be in the eyes of the dark lord. He will watch you closely.”

Elrond did not need to ask what he meant by him; already warned by his mind and Illyria’s words to him to protect the Silmaril at all costs. He had done all he could to keep it secure, keeping it guarded by the best of his guards along with the twins to ensure it from dangerous hands.

He then changed the subject, asking Mithrandir another important topic. “And what of Bilbo Baggins. It is…”

“Now that I am afraid to know its truth.” The Ithron firmly finished, a grave look in his eyes as Mithrandir glanced over to Elrond’s hand. He added, “I will have to consult and search for proof…to see if it truly is the very object.”

A few months of travel passed by and they returned to Imladris with the grave news to the valley. The city mourned for the loss of Glorfindel, having already heard the song through whispers in the wind and travellers from the other elven realms.

It was not the same for them all in the Last Homely House. Erestor, his advisor and friend, had shattered the moment the news came to his ears. Elrond never left the elf’s side, along with Lindir. Miriel, the young elleth who worked in their home for many years, was saddened by Illyria’s disappearance and return.

Though nothing compared to the heartache Estel bore. The young boy had seen too many of his loved ones die before him and it made them all guilty that Estel would never see Glorfindel again. Perhaps there would be a chance for Illyria, though already he saw the connection Estel had with his wife even at their first breakfast.

The first thing Elrond did was hug his youngest son tightly, allowing the young boy to weep over his shoulder before he too felt his eyes sting.

He and his family mourned once more.

Elrond almost felt breaking again. He could sense it, a small fraction in his heart eager to fade and move on. But something stopped him like before. Even in the Battle of Fornost, Elemmírë’s death didn’t cause him to fade. There was hope in his mind and heart that he would come to love again, to continue the Eternal’s light for her. Through his children.

It was why in the special halls of the house, Elrond gazed upon the statue of his wife – hidden by a cloth once when Illyria was here. Her features were so alike, though without the smile she wore on his lips and eyes and the playful expression she had when she once looked at him.

“Father.”

He turned his eyes around to find his daughter walking up to him, concern upon her features.

Elrond couldn’t help but look away, staring back at the statue and whispered, “I failed you again.”

Feeling her hand hold his own, he heard Arwen reply strongly, “You did not, Ada. Uncle Glorfindel did not die in vain.” Her voice clear, echoing by the dome-shaped hall. “…And she will return. Naneth will.”

How could his daughter be so firm? Had she already seen the future already? Elrond was too afraid this time now to look beyond the future set for Illyria, fearing that if he did: perhaps a worse fate could arise.

Elrond opened his mouth to respond though felt the familiar sense in his mind to bring him to a halt.

A woman, no: an elven lady, raised her staff in hand whilst a sword equipped on her side.

Her dark hair pinned in several braids down her back. She wore silver and gold armour which glowed despite the darkness around her. When the shadow rose in front of her, she brought her staff upwards before sending a blinding light at the creature.

The next vision was of two elves, both unsheathing each a curved blade like each other's.

They too had dark hair, simply braided to keep their faces clear as they cooperated and slashed every orc in their path along with their path. One of them sent another ball of light at one of the orcs before slicing them through the neck with a single movement. The other had defended the other’s back, bringing the other sword into an orc’s chest.

As that vision faded, another formed revealing not of a battlefield but trees of golden and green leaves. There was a bridge, where two people – an elven woman and a man – stood facing each other. As their hands intertwined, their lips touched.

“Do you remember what I told you?” The elleth asked him.

The man sighed, running his fingers over her arms. “You said you would bind yourself to me.” He stared at her as he continued, “Forsaking the immortal life of your people.”

“And to that I hold,” She replied, her eyes never wandering away from his. “I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages in this world alone.”

Afterwards, the elven woman with the dark hair took his hands, placing something before she unclasped to reveal the small object.

A green gem, ornated with a silver frame that was shaped into an eagle.

The man looked back at her in shock, lips parted as he wanted to speak.

However, the elleth stopped him as she said: “I choose a mortal life.” She replied, “I choose the life which the Eternal has always been.”

“You cannot give me this,” He whispered down to her.

She firmly answered, “It is mine to give to whom I will.” Her hand held his own, clasping his fingers down over the gem. “Like my heart.” [11]

Once he was brought back to reality, Arwen had been patient – her hand kept in his to steady himself. Elrond flickered his eyes back to the statue.

Elrond finally spoke, hope rising in his heart. “Then I believe it time to give you three what she intended.”

Laid upon the arms of the statue were the very same objects Elrond had seen in his vision.

The bracers, part of the silver and gold armour along with the two dual blades of Elemmírë: Thúlíra and Calimmacil.

And adorned upon the statue’s neck was the very gem the elleth had given to the man.

What their daughter would give to the man she would love in the future.

The man that would hold the Elessar as a token of Arwen Undómiel’s love. [12]

Illyria Strange | Elemmírë Oialëa

Location: New York City, USA, Earth

Time: Unknown

Illyria didn’t realise heaven could be so…stuffy.

Sure, everything was all dark and she could hardly see a thing, but then again: heaven didn’t have machines beeping—

Wait, heaven didn’t have machines. Did God (or Eru, who knows anymore) decided to allow human technology up in these clouds because they seriously are going to have to manage who pays for the electric bill up here. There are possibly billions of people up here if they did decide to bring in vending machines or odd beeping machines.

Again, heaven was supposed to be all harps and singing and shit.

To that, Illyria finally realised she was in fact alive (hooray for her, she guessed) and her eyes were just closed.

Flickering her eyelids up, she peered forwards and tried to adjust with the lighting. After her sight cleared, she had noticed the white room and realised that she was in the hospital.

Not some healing halls or a tent; an actual modern human hospital with its boxed shaped room and weird hospital scent. Man, come to think of it: human architecture looked so boring in comparison to dwarven and elven standards. This room could do with some more decoration (Illyria didn’t count the fake plant by her bed to be as decoration) and perhaps some goddamn fresh air.

So, Illyria did what she does and stupidly push her hands to sit up.

Instant regret for her as she felt the air knock off her lungs. Her chest heaved, causing a wave of pain from her chest and stomach – allowing her to groan.

“Hey. Don’t move too much, okay?”

When she turned her head to the side, she was surprised to find her dad there. He was wearing his casual clothes, his hands gesturing for her to gently go back.

Illyria said, “Wha…”

“You had your heart almost burnt out after what you did, plus that blade from Mordo.” Her dad explained.

Shit. Right…that happened.

She changed her thoughts immediately, a panic tone beginning to rise. “Elrond…where’s Elrond.” Illyria’s voice began to waver. “Fin…Bilbo…Arwen…Ro and Dan.”

Everything was beginning to come back. The battle between Azog; the fight with the rogue sorcerers and Mordo.

Losing her brother.

When she began to remember what occurred, Illyria wanted to cry there again. However, she didn’t feel the tears come out. Maybe she was too tired to cry now.

“He stayed. I’m sorry,” Her dad softly spoke, never letting his hand from her own.

Illyria continued to stare in front, though her mind was elsewhere, trying to remember her family’s faces in her head. The hug she had with her children and Bilbo. Her kiss with Elrond before she had passed out.

She whispered to herself, “I didn’t even get to say goodbye to them…to my children.” Illyria felt a tear roll down her cheek. “Glorfindel…”

She stayed three weeks in New York Hospital, forced to stay in the horrible contraption known to them as a bed. (Seriously, they had to make these bed more comfortable for them or else she wouldn’t be so irritated to get up and walk around.)

It was there that after nine months, she finally had seen Darcy Lewis’ face after so long. The darn woman had been almost on the verge of tears, clinging onto her as she rambled on by apologising for not coming any sooner and that she was going to whoop Stephen’s ass if he lost her again in an unknown world. Illyria couldn’t help but burst into tears seeing her once more. She missed the floral scent of Darcy’s perfume and those bright blue eyes that always brought her to a grin.

Then it had been Uncle Wong. She expected the librarian to have produced a whole script and lecture on how she shouldn’t have gone alone to search for magical energy anomalies by herself.

Instead, all she got was another hug from him. She even heard him sniff, assuming that he was crying but had pulled it off saying that he had something in his eye. Yeah, tell that to the judge.

Darcy’s friend and previous co-worker, Jane Foster, even decided to stop by wondering how she was been. Illyria thought she was only here to make sure she was alright, but once Jane began speaking about their work – it kind of soothed her and allowed her to forget about the thoughts in her head for once.

Let’s not forget Harley Keener popping around with a tablet for her (thank god, she was practically itching for technology) and to her surprise didn’t need to inform her about any new viral trends of hits.

Because she had only been gone for about two weeks on Earth.

Fuck…well that’s a weird thing to comprehend.

When Illyria first heard that, she couldn’t imagine that was now technically nine months older than she was before landing in Middle Earth. Which meant one thing…she was practically twenty-one by now.

She wasn’t going to mention that to Harley any time soon or else the boy was going to admit that they were almost the same age.

Sadly, Harley couldn’t be with her for long since he had work back in Stark Industries. Illyria asked him to send Morgan a message for her to which Harley assured her that their young Starkling was informed of where she had been.

A bit cryptic for Harley’s tastes, but had surprised Illyria when she found Morgan and Pepper visiting her the following day.

Morgan had brought her some cheeseburgers (at this rate, Illyria might have to make a list of her favourite people giving her things) and fries and she, Morgan and Pepper sat and talked about Morgan’s schooling and Illyria’s tales about Middle Earth. The young Stark kid enjoyed the tale, even wishing to go to Middle Earth with her.

God that made her heart tight even hearing the name Middle Earth.

In fact, she had only spoken about her time in Middle Earth with Morgan and no one else – even if Pepper’s apologetic expression was aimed at her as Illyria ploughed through her story blinding Azog and turning him into the former director of SHIELD.

Not even Darcy Lewis, with who she had always shared everything. She wasn’t sure as to why she had yet to speak about it, but the moment the mention of anything elven or just Tolkien almost brought her mouth to clamp shut and her entire mood to go down.

Illyria felt bad being so closed off from her family, especially to both Darcy and her dad who had done all they could to make her life back to normal. But the moment she could leave the hospital, Illyria did the first thing she intended to do. She asked them to bring her back to Oxford…Exeter College to be exact. [13]

She thought it would be poetic to be close at least for him, a remembrance for her brother even though no one would ever know how real Glorfindel: Lord of the House of the Golden Flower was.

Even though it wasn’t really her college, it wasn’t exactly breaking and entering when it came to going into the Mirror Dimension. Darcy had come along, helping her to carry some things as the decorated the small plaque they created in the middle of the grounds.

Illyria finally laid out the final bits and took a step back. The plaque had her brother’s name written in Tengwar, and Gondolinic Runes…both his Sindarin and Quenyan name. Adorned around them were yellow flowers, symbolising his house and the coat of arms of Bar-en-Lothglor. [14]

She folded her arms in front of her, inhaling sharply before she began to speak. “He wasn’t supposed to die. We promised to keep our backs.”

Her grip loosened as her arms fell to the side.

Scrunching her eyes, she felt herself cry once more. “I know your fëa is back in the halls, brother. But I just…I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought you with me. I…I shouldn’t have been reckless and arrogant.” Illyria glanced up to the sky and growled, “Argh! I’m supposed to be dead not you!”

God, she must sound like a lunatic. It was lucky for her they were in the parallel plane of this college or else so many students were going to wonder why some girl was crying over in the middle of their college.

Illyria choked out a laugh, “Elrond’s probably so pissed at us. I can still sense him, faintly.” She felt herself smile slightly as she said, “This world doesn’t have the same magic Arda has but somehow…I know. And I hope he knows.”

Biting her lip, she drew her hand over to her neck. The pendant which Estel had given her was the only thing left from their world, along with Elrohir’s sword and Elrond’s cloak.

“When I come back, I’m going to sail.” She firmly said, “And I’m going to beg the Valar to bring you back to me. No matter what.”

It was a promise she would keep, even if by the time she found a way back to him she would be old and wrinkly.

Illyria would do what she could to see him again.

“So, when am I able to return?”

They were sat in her dad’s study that morning. After breakfast, her dad and Darcy wanted to speak to her about something – which hinted clearly about her and what she did in Middle Earth probably. At that time, which had been a week since she had placed Glorfindel’s plaque in the Mirror Dimension, Illyria was planning to return to Oxford.

And possibly try to return to normal life, or what was normal for her to begin with.

Well, you can’t exactly come out normal after experiencing nine months in medieval fantasy to then live again in modern human civilisation. Honestly, she missed her leather jackets and jeans and not having to deal with womanly issues.

And she got to charge her phone again…which then led to a screaming Darcy and an annoyed Stephen as she showed them the selfie she had with her brother.

Well, at least that was the expected response she needed to see.

Her dad was sat on his desk facing across her and Darcy, the Cloak of Levitation deciding to hover over Darcy like a blanket. Illyria had kept her hands placed on her lap, waiting for any of their responses at least.

Finally, Stephen leaned in with a deep breath, “Here’s the problem.” He continued, “When we returned, somehow the portal collapsed. I tried to make it but even imagining the location couldn’t get me through.”

That wasn’t the news she didn’t want to hear.

Illyria’s head swept over to the next as she firmly said, “There must be some way. Like the Bifrost or the convergence. Darcy?”

Darcy’s eyes lingered over to her as she answered softly, “Honey, that portal wasn’t the sling-ring. It was yours.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She didn’t recall creating that portal at all.

Her dad caught her attention again as he questioned, “When you fought Mordo in the Alps, what happened?”

Illyria chewed the inside of her cheek and thought carefully.

“I went to the Alps to investigate some of the small anomalies. I was detecting them with my machine and with my magic. So I turned up, just expecting it to be a short trip.” Illyria continued, “I arrived where you guys were and were about to head back until he showed up--Wait, what happened to Mordo?”

It’s been a month and she hadn’t even realised that the very reason she was in this situation was because of the green-robed asshole that killed her brother.

Her dad straightened his back, explaining to her: “He’s being contained.” Stephen continued, “The Masters have agreed that he’ll be testified in a few months.”

Scoffing, Illyria leaned back against the backrest. “Mordo won’t change, Dad.” She glared at him. “He won’t change his idealism no matter if you keep him alive or not. Killing him will prove his point, as you said and keeping him alive would risk us all.”

Her dad thinned his lips. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” He waved his hand for her. “Continue by the way.”

“As I was saying.” She continued her tale. “He had about five other sorcerers with him, and I was almost defeated until I…I felt my visions forming and then next thing I knew there was a burst of light engulfing me.”

Illyria was doing all her best to focus her mind at that particular moment. She could still remember the same sensation rapturing through her body, a light that almost blinded her as she heard herself fall through.

She had been falling until something had grabbed onto her. If she focused hard enough, she noticed the dark silhouette of something.

No: someone.

Her eyes widened slightly as she said, “But I wasn’t alone.” Illyria stared back at his father. “Someone was there, a person…I was falling before I blacked out and landed in the woods. I didn’t see their face or anything, but something felt weird about them. They had the same aura as me, but it was…odd. What do you think?”

Stephen swallowed a gulp and responded, “Well let me tell you that the magic resonating from that portal and what you carry is exactly yours. The magic resonating in Middle Earth as well-matched your own.” He waved his hands in a gesture to her. “In a way, it was like a fuel: your powers connected to that world alone. Nothing multidimensional or known here. Just that sort of world along with all the other parallel universes in that plane.”

Illyria pursed her lips and didn’t speak.

“But if you think someone was there: maybe they tried to save you.” Her dad suggested, “Stopped you from landing where Mordo came out in.”

Darcy wryly added, “Or potentially pull her back there.” She brought her hands up as she explained, “We still don’t know how it’s possible. It’s not liked the Hex at all.”

Illyria panned her head around to her guardian, a little surprised that Darcy had seemingly spoken about the Hex rather openly to not only her…but to her dad.

She wondered what happened in the past two weeks she was gone.

Explaining, Darcy lifted her shoulders and spoke: “This portal…is not any energy spike I’ve felt since that happened. And pulling that much energy at the condition you’re in might damage your heart again.”

Illyria slowly said, “Are you trying to say I can’t come back then.”

None of them answered her back.

Taking a shuddering breath, she brought herself up to her feet – her sight slightly dizzy. A month after recovery still wasn’t enough for her to even function nowadays.

“Illyria—”

She looked at both her parents and told them, “I need a moment.” Illyria headed for the door, deciding to spend the day to think to herself at that revelation.

Another week passed by and she guessed she was back to her ‘normal’ reality of being a PhD student in Oxford. Though as she tried to push through her time living back on Earth, the world around her had seemed to resonate so differently from what she experienced back on Middle Earth.

During that time, she had forced herself to get through it all: continuing with the work she had missed for an entire month and catching up on the research she had begun months before. Now it felt like an entire year since she began her doctorate. Hopefully, she wasn’t as rusty with a computer or a pen but did feel odd having to experience mental calculations in her head again.

Today was her free day and Darcy had somehow appeared (possibly asking her dad to portal her through to her college) at the front door of her student house and whisking her away for lunch.

Even if it was a little chilly now, the October chills of British Weather lingering, Illyria and Darcy decided to find a little restaurant at the city centre that was a little too expensive for her student tastes. (She only accepted because Darcy was willing to pay using some of S.W.O.R.D’s money she was given.)

Gone were her red sorceress’ robes and nanotech armour for a turtleneck, long coat and jeans. However, she did keep the boots as well as the pendant around her neck. Her staff on the other hand – the one Galadriel gave her – had been left with Elrond back on Middle Earth. The one the Ancient One gave; Illyria hadn’t found the time or even effort to try and fix the darn thing. Hopefully, once things died down and her tutors weren’t pounding her with work, she could find a moment with Master Hamir and her dad to work through the enchantments.

“I still can’t believe you’re an ancient elf! Damn. I want my previous life to be like that.” Darcy sighed, a joking annoyance in her voice as she took a bite of her cake.

Illyria gave her a look and replied, “Darcy, you’re already living this life. With what you have with dad and Jane being back. Not to mention you and Monica and Jimmy still hanging out.”

“I guess so.” Darcy rolled her eyes, smirking back. “I mean, no one gets to have a chance to be with a sorcerer with his sorceress elf daughter.”

A fond smile formed on her face, eyeing back down on her dessert. When she brought her gaze back to Darcy, she asked tentatively, “How are you and dad anyways? Are you okay?”

Darcy took a moment before nodding her head slowly, “We are…okay.”

She replied quietly, “Sounds more than that.” Illyria crinkled her nose as she realised what she just said, “Ew. I can’t believe I’m saying this-ow!”

Darcy’s hand hit her arm whilst Illyria gaped back. “Oi! Firstly, we both raised you.” Her guardian replied, “And we have rights. Amendments and all that jazz.”

“I’m not even American, not legally.” Illyria rolled her eyes back at her.

Taking another bite, Darcy continued. “Anyways, how’s looking up people? Anyone that caught your eye for some crazy research with portals?”

Eventually, Illyria needed to find someone to talk to about what she did during her time in Arda. In the end, it had been Darcy to no surprise, who listened to her as she always did, commentating in some parts she spoke of during the quest. Illyria during her stay in Oxford had changed her plans ahead, deciding to now propose her dissertation on researching to recreate the portal she somehow made with her magic.

Where could she go wrong with that? At least if something did happen, she would know where she’ll end up to some extent.

“Actually, to my surprise, I secured one researcher who accepted.” Illyria took her phone, out scrolling through her emails.

Darcy’s eyes lit up as she asked, “Oh! That’s great, what’s their name?”

When she found the right email, she expanded the little picture on their resume and placed her phone onto the table.

“Name’s Doctor Finneas Cuthbert.” Illyria introduced, “I think Natasha Romanoff suggested him when the Avengers were looking for some people to help with the time travelling, but he got dusted.”

Darcy looked impressed and pointed, “And he’s a Brit. Went to Edinburgh University and has a PhD in materials science and engineering.”

“Darcy,” She pointed out.

Okay maybe her guardian had a point. The man in the photo was rather handsome to an extent, with dark black hair, and a pale chiselled face. To be honest, he could pull off an elf if he did not have pointed ears.

Not to mention his really blue eyes.

Eh, not as beautiful as Elrond’s grey ones but good enough.

She huffed and replied, “Yes, yes I know.” Darcy gestured to her and said, “Can’t believe you’re already married, with children. And one of them is Arwen Undómiel out of all people.”

Illyria grinned through her drink, placing it down onto the table. “You would love her.” A small fond smile rested on her lips as she thought of her daughter. “You might think she’s more like Elrond, but I think she’s secretly like me.”

At that, she felt lost in her thoughts again. She missed seeing Arwen’s face beside Elladan and Elrohir. And if she kept thinking about them, she would start thinking about Elrond and then her brother.

In the Nickelback of time, Darcy placed her hand over hers in front – allowing Illyria’s focus back on her.

She spoke, “Hey, don’t lose hope. I will help you as much as I can to make this work. Get you your family and friends back. It’s what I’ve always been doing.” Darcy let out a deep breath before speaking: “…You know, I never got to tell you, what really happened there. In the Hex.”

Illyria’s eyes widened.

Darcy’s shoulders rose slightly as she shifted in her seat. “Your dad doesn’t know really.” Her eyes now bore into hers as she quietly said, “I felt it, all her pain. Her sorrow…And I realised how much it felt for you to have it too.”

She clung to her hand. “Darcy-“

“You don’t need to hide your pain anymore, Illyria. I want you to be free from it.” She told her gently, “And seeing you now, I know you’re hurting. But I can’t let you break yourself like what Wanda had done.”

Darcy had never said anything about her experience in the Hex at all…until now.

Almost a year since it all, Darcy had kept her part of the story hidden and Illyria could now sense the truth in her words and mind of how much it had affected her. Wanda Maximoff had not been okay ever since the death of Vision, and even after a year: Illyria could easily tell that the Scarlet Witch was still lost.

Wanda had done so much for Darcy by saving her life. She had been the one to know about the cursed blade, brought by Mordo after he stumbled upon the Darkhold months in the summer. After healing as much of the curse as possible, the Scarlet Witch didn’t even wait for her to wake up, leaving her to venture away from society and continuing her journey throughout the multiverse. [15]

Ironically, Illyria almost felt like she was in her shoes. She was trying to find her other family again and she…she wasn’t sure who she was as of yet. She knew she was Elemmírë and Illyria – established after handling that Silmaril and seeing all those memories.

But who was she now as both? She had three lives to deal with now: her elven one, her human one and a sorceress’ life.

Leaning back into her seat, she pressed her hand over her forehead. “I don’t even know where to start.” Illyria glanced down, “I…I feel like there’s not a path for me to take anymore.”

“Then make one. You don’t need to see a path; you’ve always made it up for your own. Your future.” Darcy told her, “Your dad and I are so proud of you, seeing you grow up. I know you’re still angry with him, but I know you love him more.”

She bit her lip as she glanced over across the table, ‘I love you too, Mom.’

Darcy never let go of her hand, assuring her once more. “You’re not alone. And I will do whatever it takes to see your family again.”

Illyria decided to enjoy her weekend again back in New York, finally adjusting to the routine. She could probably just take a picture of the pages she needed from the library in the Sanctum but in her heart: she knew she had to woman up and finally have some one-to-one talk with her dad about what happened.

It was late in the night when it did occur.

“Still reading at this hour.”

Glancing up from her spot, Illyria found her dad at the door of the library. He had been in his sorcerer’s getup, possibly returning from Kamar-Taj. Mordo’s trial was coming soon, in another week’s time, and he had been rounding up the last rogue sorcerers under Mordo’s hands. The Cloak of Levitation disappeared to the rest of the Sanctum, probably to go back to their cabinet to rest.

She smiled slightly at him, before closing the book and stared at its front.

The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.

Illyria spoke, “I always loved these books. I…never imagined it would turn out to be real.”

There was an awkward silence there until one of them changed the subject.

“So, when are you heading back?” Her dad asked her, approaching where she sat.

As she stood up, Illyria answered: “In a few days. Can’t leave my work alone forever.” She wryly added, “And sadly, my excuse for not going to my research sessions because I fell into a portal doesn’t count.”

He chuckled a little, twitching his lips before her face fell to concern. He began, “Illyria, what Darcy and I said to you. We didn’t…I didn’t mean it-“

“I know.” She interrupted him. Illyria took a deep breath and spoke, “I know you were just trying to be honest. And right now, I think I needed that more than ever.”

Damn right she did. Yes, it hurt her, but her dad was only trying to what he could. She knew he didn’t want to lead her to a false sense of hope. The only way he could have done it was just plainly telling her the truth.

Stephen reached out to her, “I’m sorry, for never saying anything.”

Under the dim lights, she recognised the thickness of his voice and the watering of his eyes. Illyria could sense her heart thumping against her chest, still feeling sore despite the amount of time it had been since.

“It’s okay, Dad.” She said to him with an encouraging smile.

Holding her arms out, she brought herself forwards and embraced him. A wash of relief and warmth grew in her body as he relaxed under her hug and wrapped his arms around her – gently brushing her hair.

She heard his voice call to her, “I love you.”

Illyria tightened her grip, muttering back. “I love you too, Dad. Thank you-“

All of a sudden, there was a large crash.

What the fuck.

They both pulled away as soon as possible, glancing towards the door before each other’s faces.

She questioned, “What was that?” At that moment, she decided to hurry out of the library and towards the location of whatever the hell that was.

Her dad called out to her, “I don’t know; it’s downstairs again.” He spoke. “Lyria-“

Hurrying down the corridor, she turned around the corner until she passed the Rotunda of Gateways before finding herself at the main foyer. To be honest, a large crash at the Sanctum now made Illyria assumed that the Hulk must have landed right through the roof again and onto the staircase.

Which was exactly the case.

However, with minor differences. Starting off had been the person, who was not green this time and not as large as the green monster.

Illyria’s mouth opened at the broken mess but froze as she felt a familiar energy dissipate in her surroundings. As she narrowed her eyes to peer below her, she found the figure to have gotten up with a staggering motion.

His might be a better term, how the groan of pain came off low and deep.

As he stood up and faced the other way, something in her mind clicked at the familiar red clothing and the red hair now tousled and tangled.

When he turned around, her heart had stopped.

“No…” She breathed.

Those eyes.

She had not seen them in years.

“…Elemmírë.” He spoke, surprised as well.

However, all she could say was one thing.

“Maedhros.”

- Illyria Strange, Dr Strange, Dr Darcy Lewis and Maedhros will Return -

Chapter Text

?????? ????????? | The Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Valinor, Aman

Time: Unknown

“The song has changed.” The Vala of the sea told them through their dreams. “You must begin our plan.”

They spoke through their mind back, “Námo will come to realise what you have been doing.” [17]

The Vala simply hummed. “Then we must act now for he will prevent his request to return to her.”

A figure stood upon the cliff edge; their face was hidden with a large hood from their dark navy cloak. They stared down at the landscape below, facing the Northern shores of the sea as the waves crashed against the rocks and the whispers of the wind which blew around them.

Standing against the shores were set of gates, so large that a giant might fit through them. Through those great doors, they would stumble upon great caverns of endless expanse – with no light but the green lights emitted from the night sky.

On Earth, they were called the Aurora Borealis. However, in this world, such things as the Northern Lights were not known to them as science but as the magic surrounding the very universe.

They took a small breath to prepare themselves.

As it would be their first and only chance to take the very fëa they needed, from a place that was forbidden for any Eldar in Arda to leave – the Halls of Mandos.

He glanced down at his chest, feeling the energy of the object strung around his neck – hidden under his clothes and concealed by layers of metal.

As he held his scarred hand out towards him, he concentrated to channel the energy – creating a pattern with his fingers.

The Silmaril glowed from his chest, letting him bring its power from his body and into the very fabric of reality around him.

In front of him, the air around him altered as a tear of light formed in front of him. The portal in which Illyria Strange once created upon the Alps without the use of the jewel.

Strands of his dark hair whipped around him, and he ground his jaw down. With one last assurance to himself: The Wanderer of Worlds entered the portal and into the Halls.

Sauron | Lord of Mordor

Location: Somewhere East of Middle Earth. (Maybe Mordor…who the fuck knows?)

Time: Unknown.

The Witch-King rasped, “Master, we’ve got it.”

The dark shadow commanded the head of the Nazgul, “Bring it to me.”

As the leader of the wraiths approached them, the dark shadow leaned in. They could sense the hum of the energy already in the Witch King’s hands.

When the wraith placed it down onto the table before them, the dark shadow hovered towards it and began to morph themselves into somewhat a physical form. Soon, they formed the shape of a hand to take the small object.

It was a golden ring, two round bands connected by a rectangular strip of gold. There were markings around them, engraved by an unfamiliar language they have yet known. It didn’t stop them from sensing the power induced in the ring – their minds beginning to feel every possible connection throughout the universe and possibly the other worlds as well.

Sauron hummed to himself, “Interesting…”

“My lord,” The Witch King asked the dark maia. “What shall we do next? We have yet to know the whereabouts of the Eternal.”

Placing the ring onto his finger, he allowed the energy to flow through him – morphing more of his body until he could sense himself corporally. “I already know where she is,” Sauron explained to them, his eyes never leaving the ring. “Her power has ruptured the very fabric of this world…allowing the so-called free peoples of Middle Earth to think the darkness has left.”

The Witch-King answered, “Not the elves, however.” His tone turned dark, “Especially the spawn of the Eternal. The she-elf. She will sense this all.”

He paused for a moment, glancing to the side as he visualised the she-elf in his head. The Evenstar. Perhaps one of the more dangerous players to enter. He already had his eyes on the other elves, especially the Noldorin Finarfinian and the Telerin elf. Word had already spread of the death of the Gondolin Elf, caused by the death of the very sorcerer who once wore this ring.

Then there was the half-elf. The Peredhel. Sauron could not care less of the elf, though concerned over them as they wielded one of the more powerful elven rings. Vilya it had been named, bound to its keeper for over an age.

“Let her.” He answered them, smirking back. “For she shall be blinded by another enemy…Curumo will rid of her.”

He already saw the other maia’s desires and ambitions growing. Soon enough, he would suspect Curumo to join his aid in commanding Middle Earth and perhaps helps him enter Aman to then do the very thing he had planned at the very beginning since the War of Wrath.

Sauron dismissed the nine and allowed him to hold the ring upon his finger.

Slowly, his face morphed once more – aided by the energy from various worlds until he could sense cold skin upon his fingertips. Through the smooth marble stone, he spotted his reflection.

He had not seen this face in thousands of years. The last time he wore this form was on the island of those western men. Númenor. This face going under the name of Annatar.

Annatar lowly spoke, “You think you have banished me. Elemmírë Oialëa.” He continued, “Melkor will bring darkness to Arda once and for all.”

- Sauron (Annatar) and the Wanderer will return -

Chapter Text