13 | Whatever It Takes

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Elrond Peredhel | Lord of Rivendell

Location: Illyria and Maedhros' House, Oxford, UK, Earth

Time: June 2027

Elrond had years to control his visions. But this one had come to him unexpectedly, something which only in his long life was a rare occasion.

He had been walking down the staircase when his sight stole him from reality.

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They were on a large battlefield.

The land degraded, littered with mud, dirt, and blood. Bodies were piled atop one another. Elves, dwarves, men and even hobbits. All adorned in armour and yet they laid there – unblinking.

All of the skies was drenched in red, the light coming from the fires in the distance, to what seemed to have been mountains were just flames of hot rock which spilt with lava and red alike. The clouds which hailed above were grey and black, thunder roaring about as the flashes of lightning erupted and struck the earth, sending crumbles of rock and dust to the skies.

A whistling sound hurtled through the air as an explosion erupted around him, making him stagger to the side whilst he tried to sense where he was. His sensitive ears rung in pain as the roars of balrogs and orcs echoed, mixed with cries of Sindarin, Khuzdul and Westron went around him. Orders for people to keep going, to keep fighting as they collided and clashed with the enemy.

It was a bloodbath.

Elves he recognized from his time began to appear in his periphery.

Gil-Galad had been the first he noticed. His spear pierced an orc's gut as he dodged another blow of a hammer.

Beside him to his shock was Celebrían. He knew from the silver hair, the armour of the Galadhrim adorning her – matched with her elven sword.

With them was Celebrimbor: his back protected by a dwarf out of all the ideas he assumed. A familiar-looking dwarf with a bow strapped on his back, matching the red-haired elleth just a few feet away from them, her daggers clenched in her hands whilst they tackled a werewolf who leapt at them with sharpened teeth.

He flickered across and saw a large bear charging to his left, snarling at an incoming werewolf before devouring its head.

However, what made his blood turn cold was what was in front of him.

A gigantic dragon made of metal.

Iron dragons.

They were what he imagined them to be when Illyria once spoke of them as Elemmírë and of Gondolin. However, they are far different: with eyes that glowed yellow as they spewed fire onto them.

The skies filled with life as the eagles of Manwë began to encircle. The forms of the Valar beginning to appear around them as they fought within the Children of Eru. He saw Oromë with the hound: Huan. Uinen and Ossë dousing the flames with water whilst Yavanna grew trees and roots, entwining enemies from their legs. [1] [2]

Far across, he saw them. The red-haired elf in silver and black armour. The logo of a wolf and the Star of Fëanor embossed on his chest piece. His hair was short, tightly braid which clearly showed the scar down his face. Determination and fire in his eyes as he brought the glowing sword upon a circular shield causing a ripple of wind in their radius.

Elrond didn't know who Maedhros was fighting, only to notice that it wasn't an orc – but a man.

Just several feet, he saw the golden armour of Glorfindel contrasted by the silver covering a Noldorin elf with dark hair and a pale complexion. The logo of the Golden Flower and a Fountain on their chest. They were fighting again a man almost as taller than them, his red cape billowing as he pointed a hammer towards them.

Lightning suddenly expelled from the metallic weapon, and his breath hitched as both Glorfindel and the elf barely dodged it.

Or so he thought.

In the next second, the dark-haired elf fell as lightning struck his chest whilst Glorfindel's eyes widened in shock. He screamed his name. Ecthelion.

The former Lord of the Fountain fell to the ground as Glorfindel brought a transparent shield in front of him – tears in his eyes as he wailed in grief and anger.

The man with the hammer did not react, only to continue his strikes. All of a sudden, a figure in blue robes appeared, with his hood up and brought a blast of light towards the man.

Pure darkness consumed them as a shadow blocked the fires.

Ungoliant and Ancalagon.

The figure with the blue robes was not alone anymore, a woman with platinum hair plaited in braids. The familiar golden Galadhrim armour only to be worn by one singular elleth.

The Lady of Lothlorien.

Both Galadriel and the hooded figure summoned a force outward, pushing the darkness back as the field lit back up. They had stuck together as the man with the hammer was thrown back with the intensity, aided by Glorfindel who finally struck his sword across their neck.

He didn't see what happened next, but the next moment: Elrond could only see a pile of rocks and dust on the floor. The hooded figure had then pushed more of the large dome shield outwards, unveiling something around his neck.

A Silmaril.

Who were they and how did they come to hold a jewel?

Unfortunately, Elrond couldn't capture his face as his attention was brought to a blinding light.

When he looked across the battlefield: he saw her.

Her hair now golden: braided back in intricate loops as her armour shone, unlike any metal he had seen. If he looked carefully, it almost appeared to be like crystalline glass. Multiple colours flickered through as she hovered up in the air, hands out as she brought a white light towards the looming figure of darkness.

Morgoth.

Elrond couldn't breathe as he raced towards her, dodging orcs as he brought each of them down with his sword. A troll had come across him, but his supposed vision brought their hand out. With his right hand, the power of Vilya sent a whirl of wind and shoved the troll down onto the ground. He brought the troll down before racing towards her.

When he finally got there, he stopped as he saw them finally duel.

Perched on her chest, attached to the breastplate of her armour, was one of the Silmarils. The jewel was blaring with power and energy. Illyria Strange was as bright as the very stars in the sky, brighter than the Star of Eärendil himself.

It all came down in just mere moments, as she shouted words that were neither Quenya, Sindarin or even Westron. A song-like voice that brought everyone around him to stare at them.

Elrond brought his hand up to cover his eyes and then felt someone prod his head.

Her gaze went to him.

Illyria's blue eyes were glistening in tears.

'I am sorry, Melmenya.'

He heard himself scream the moment the shining figure sent all her might to the dark Vala, bringing her hands out as she was engulfed in light. His ears filled with an orchestra of voices. A song he could not describe.

But when the light dulled back, he found himself staring at empty space...and what was Illyria Strange – was now gone and out of existence.

And what was left on the hill of Aman were the jewels on the ground.

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He let out a gasp.

Body lurching forward, his hand grabbed the wooden railing as his knees weakened underneath him.

There was a large thud with his feet. He expected to tumble down but was halted by a force in front of him – their arms holding him in a struggled heave. When he finally brought his focus, Elrond found himself staring at the same face he saw in his vision.

Illyria stared up at him with worry.

Her voice was frantic as she asked, "Elrond? Are you okay?"

Opening his mouth, no words could come out. His heart was beating so fast, thumping so loudly as his ears rung in bells. The sound of an orchestra of voices filling his head once more.

It was Dagor Dagorath, the final battle to end Morgoth once and for all. He had seen its future and outcome...

...And he had seen her die before him.

He saw Illyria Strange sacrifice her life for them. For all of Arda and Ea. The Quendi, dwarves, men, hobbits.

Everyone.

He saw the Silmaril upon her, how it hummed and brought an ethereal glow to her. Pure light that no one had seen ever since the Light of the Trees.

Calanya.

Oialëa.

Elrond blinked several times until he gradually brought himself to composure, heart still thumping so hard against his ribcage that he was certain it should have already burst out. As he relaxed slightly, he straightened his posture as he pulled his weight from her.

However, all he got was another pleading from Illyria. She spoke, "Please say something,"

He swallowed the invisible ball down his throat, reassuring her with all his effort to keep his voice calm, "I am fine. It was a vision."

There was a skip in his heartbeat.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Illyria whispered.

"I..."

How could he? How could he tell her that she had just witnessed her future? Elrond had promised her. Promised her one thing.

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Elemmírë whispered to him, "Promise me, melmenya." She pleaded, " Carevamme cen an mime tulwië."

Elrond 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. "I promise you, melmenya. Ni annetye mime quetta ar mime hon, Elemmírë."

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Elrond squeezed his eyes and shook his head. There was no aid in continuing to repeat it and he needed to clear his head before he could finally succumb to them and break in front of her.

There was no time for that. They needed him; they needed them to be strong together if they were to save Arda.

'Remember she is still here.' Elrond had practically whispered it in the furthest part of his consciousness. 'She is here and she is alive. And she needs you.'

He already saw how it tolled for her. Illyria was exhausted, showing it with the dark circles under her eyes and the dishevelled clothes she wore. And even then, no matter how she continued to work, she still brightened the dimly lit home they were in.

He placed his hand to caress her cheek, placing a light kiss on her forehead. "You should get more sleep, melmenya." Elrond uttered to her, "Rest. You have done plenty today."

There he was again, having to lie to her even after everything that had happened. Lying to her for knowing who she once was the first time they met. Their time in Rivendell and Lothlorien. He would be doing something she wouldn't like.

Illyria frowned, "Elrond."

Bless his light. Even if she was so young and had not truly known him as herself, Illyria Strange saw through him as easily as before.

However, he wouldn't burden her yet with his own nightmares.

Instead, Elrond gazed down at her and insisted, "Please." He reassured, "I promise you I am all right. I will be downstairs."

Illyria didn't move immediately, still not believing that he was alright.

But when he pleaded with an expression, she inhaled one more time before allowing him to pass through. Though, not without insisting again that she was open for him to talk about it with her.

'I am sorry, Calanya. I'm sorry that I have to hide this. But I am doing this for you. I wish you to never have to burden yourself with such knowledge of your own death,' Elrond thought in pain as he entered the downstairs sitting area and found himself exhausted from everything.

Even reading through the new books they got from their city library was not something he was tempted to go over. All he could think about was that scene playing all over again in his mind. Constantly repeating until all he could hear was Illyria saying her last words to him and finding her gone.

Where did she go? Did she die? Did she take Morgoth away from existence?

This was not like Angmar. Angmar had been unexpected. A future which he didn't see exactly what it was.

Here: he had truly seen her gone.

For the first time: Elrond Peredhel, the Lord of Imladris: was terrified for what was to come.

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Finneas Cuthbert | Curufinwë Fëanáro

Location: School of Engineering, Oxford, UK, Earth

The first moment Finneas Cuthbert knew he wasn't ordinary was fourteen years ago.

Well, no: scratch that. It was perhaps even further than that.

The likeliest and earliest time may have been when he was in his teenage years, a time when he had been sent off to a private school, away from his parents. His parents were hardly a matter to be spoken of, they didn't love him. Not like Finwë or Míriel did (before she had passed on and refused to return to her preserved body). They did love him enough to attend his things, but the years past and it became less frequent until they decided he was old enough to do his own thing.

It didn't help when he was the middle child. He had an older brother who was perhaps even more prideful and arrogant as he was and pestered him. Thomas wasn't as clever as him anyways, someone who persuaded those in university to give him a place rather than putting the effort in them. Then he had his younger sister, Maisie. Sweet and spoilt Maisie: who had gone off to choose to live in the Hollywood life and date a celebrity.

(It did make him smirk in triumph, watching his sister scandalize their family when news came of a photo of her holding hands with her girlfriend down the street.)

Then there was him: gladly the cleverest and most intelligent of them all and perhaps the most successful in terms of their own ambitions. Finneas, before knowing who he once was, had a mind that was faster than most in his year. He did everything to his best and made his way to the top.

But it didn't mean he was good in terms of morals.

All the adults who knew him as a child wondered if he were ever diagnosed, and come to think of it, Finneas didn't care for it as long as he got what was needed and to know it would be an advantage for him. His idealism in the nineties should have terrified government bodies and spies, someone who believed in freedom from controlling powers and the belief of equality and personal gain.

To the boy who called him a communist back in his secondary school, Finneas wished to God that he was not doing well.

The years went by and more and more those visions and dreams got to him. He knew something was wrong and he, being the logical mind that he was detested philosophy and theology. They were subjects that were pointless and idiotic. The concept of religion itself was pointless to him.

Science was the only way, and he would stick to that.

Then he graduated, going to university to study engineering and focused on energy and materials. He wanted to combine theoretical physics in his work – to see the logic of what Howard Stark once thought could be possible. Renewable energy was already a concept, and his son: Tony Stark, moved away to focus on weapons. That gave him the spotlight to try and discover ways to harness the most powerful and useful energy and radiation and turn them into something special.

His grades were high and those of Edinburgh University wondered how someone like him didn't go to Oxbridge out of all places. All Finneas could say was that his brother was unfortunately there, and he would not allow himself to be in the same city as him.

He stayed in Edinburgh for both his bachelor's and doctorate before landing a researching position in Oxford. During that time, the time of when a certain doctor by the name of Bruce Banner experimented with himself and turned into a raging green monster in the US. The genius had played with gamma radiation, and it intrigued him: accelerating his interests to just find more about the use of CMBR with various materials.

Then the year 2013 happened.

Amid autumn whilst he was in a conference in London, he had witnessed what was known as the Convergence. A phenomenon that was known to Astrophysicists and those who knew of Norse mythology (which wasn't something he was interested in but went through it). Just a year ago (2012), the wormhole in New York was shown on every television screen.

However, being in the exact place where energy anomalies and the bridge between space had broken all theoretical physicists to their tears brought Finneas to remember who he had been.

Something, perhaps an energy surge of huge proportions, did it.

Visions of his childhood and the trees. Watching his mother's body as it was tended by various Maiar and sprites. His father choosing to love and then marry another. A Vanya by the name of Indis, who then sired Finneas' half-siblings.

Ñolofinwë, Arafinwë, Findis and Írimë. [3][4]

His name was Fëanáro, the mother-name which his mother gave him. Spirit of Fire. And indeed, he lived up to his name, both in this life and before.

The Convergence really changed his perspective, and Finneas knew it. His peers knew it. He wasn't the silent watcher who had the biggest head in the room. He had a fire that burnt in him, that continued to burn ever since he began to understand who he once was. That he was the greatest of who he was, written in the books as someone who had a tragic story by the end.

How this author: J.R.R Tolkien, knew his world should have been impossible.

But then again, he had the memories and growing powers of a Noldorin elf. If someone knew who he was, the government or an organization would want him. His mind and surprisingly to say: the magic he possessed.

His magic was little. It helped him to persuade people and got him to better rings of people. He used it to protect himself and those he wanted to protect, like his sister. Which was why he had protected himself against the likes of those with public facades.

Like Illyria Strange, a young woman who he saw to be more than just Doctor Strange's daughter.

It was her soul that he detected. A fëa that had a name he heard from somewhere in his dreams.

Oialëa.

There were only a few in his life that caught his eye. All for different reasons obviously, but a reason worth putting the effort to discover who they really were. He had only known her just after the Blip (which was a pathetic name for the universal catastrophe), hearing about her interests which got him to accept her project and become her advisor.

The young woman who turned up in their first session had him deflate his expectations.

She was intelligent – yes. But there was no spark in her eyes, there was no drive for her to push against the boundaries of uncertainty and see more than just science. Perhaps he held too much esteem for her.

Then weeks later she had unfortunately gone through an accident and had gotten into a coma. It was only afterwards that Finneas thought she would have just given up her prospects in the program – that he saw that spark.

Determination and ambition were at the surface, and the Fëanor side of him grinned in approval. This was the Oialëa he wanted. The spirit that shined like a star.

Mayhap it had been the life-or-death situation she had been because it was clear as day how much it affected her. She pushed her limits and took the criticism he gave at her and took the rare compliments he gave out to those he watched over their doctorate. Days and nights, she worked on her project with him, and she didn't complain or took a day off because of burning out. The days which she didn't turn up to (which pissed him off a lot) was compensated when he found her often on the news – mostly littered in soot and dry blood.

The Oialëa was definitely living up to her name as a strong...magic-user? Finneas didn't have a name for it, and he wasn't going to be calling her what the rest did. A sorceress. Ms Strange. All of those names made him curl his lip.

He was not, however, expecting his son out of all people to be standing beside her on the TV screen.

His oldest son. Nelyafinwë Maitimo. The one who looked too alike to his wife, Nerdanel.

He thought he was dreaming then, thinking it was the trick of the light until his rational mind slapped himself and told him that it was really him.

Nelyafinwë was here, and very much an elf.

It got him thinking: was this the reason Illyria Strange was eager to create a portal? Did Nelyafinwë arrive here because of a portal as well?

And he knew himself quite well: he hated not knowing things.

The possibilities of the multiverse were becoming more real to him. Both as Finneas and Fëanor, he was certain the Oialëa must have known who Nelyafinwë was and knew who she was. However, as much as he wanted to reach out to his son that he remembered who he was – Finneas pulled him back.

Nelyafinwë was different. Change and with a hand that was not his. Something must have happened to him after his death. And why he had a scar running down his face.

His death being something he didn't often think much of.

It was pointless to think of the pain. So, he did his own research and returned to books Tolkien wrote. Everything he could decipher from them. Not everything seemed to be accurate. It was said in versions of the Legendarium that Pityafinwë had been slain in Alqualondë. Though from his memories, all his sons were alive before his death.

He tried not to think of his family, his sons and wife mostly. Their deaths that were written in the Silmarillion...his heart had broken slightly and yet he could not find enough to be drowned in guilt.

The Oath had broken his children...and he allowed it to.

Finneas Cuthbert knew nothing of children and of heartbreak, but Fëanor knew it and he shoved it back enough to focus on his work. He couldn't do it. Not when he knew, an instinct which reminded him of Nerdanel's words, that they will always be in danger.

He will always have the red on his ledger no matter how much he tried to remove it.

Perhaps it was why he was helping them. Helping The Oialëa. His belief of one person that could topple against his enemies shouldn't even exist, because it would go against everything he believed himself.

He didn't believe in gods or saints or the Valar.

And he would continue to do so.

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When the day arrived, the day when they will be travelling across worlds, was when Finneas had to push away his thoughts and his doubts. The guilt and the doubt that still lingered on him as Fëanor.

Unfortunately, the presence of his son didn't help.

They were in the laboratory, warded by enchantments and protection which Illyria Strange placed. Unless they wanted someone to discover they created a portal using one of his creations, they were not taking their risks.

They arrived at exactly eleven in the morning, arriving in a golden portal as they wore what seemed to be their various armour and weapons. Illyria Strange had acknowledged him, walking over to him to discuss their plans on the procedure. The dark violet robes and silver armour caused him to eye her with interest.

Whoever gave them vibranium armour must have an abundance of it.

Not only the silver-haired woman but his son: Maedhros as well. (Darcy Lewis informed him soon after his revelation that his son preferred that name and would be sensible to stick to it unless he wanted a blade by his neck in the next five seconds.)

So, whilst he prepared the control panel and had the large round platform check, Finneas found himself looking out of place whilst the rest bustled and more entered. More had arrived since then, Dr Darcy Lewis along with two more men that appeared in similar clothes as the Oialëa. Harley Keener already arrived, the young Iron Man who had done plenty to help with their efforts in creating the mechanics of their plans.

He also learnt that Princess Shuri of Wakanda had helped eagerly as well. Apparently, she was a large fan of him and his plans to integrate cosmic energy in metals and wanted to discuss their ideas. However, they will have to discuss it later.

As they began placing the travel braces, he heard Maedhros question in suspicion, "Are you sure we trust him staying here?"

He heard Illyria Strange groan back and answer, "Mae, we're in equal terms. More neutral than Switzerland." She ordered the taller elf, "Now stop glaring at your father and get this on."

Whilst his son grumbled from where he stood, Finneas coolly continued his work whilst he took his pleasure to watch everybody.

The two other men were spotted in his periphery, the one with the goatee and red cloak asked: "Who will be staying?"

Illyria Strange finished placing the brace on Maedhros' arm when she replied, "Since there will be time dilation occurring, Finneas, Darcy and Harley will monitor but Peter and possibly Riri might come around to check from time to time if they're too busy." She paused before she questioned, "Dad, Wong. You trust me with this?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw the young woman hold her hand out. On her right hand was two golden bands connected by a rectangular piece. It must have been important for them if she needed to ask her father's trust.

Illyria's father nodded and assured her, "You've had two and half years more experience with the sling-ring." He warned her, "Just don't fall into another reality again, Illyria."

Pausing for a moment, Finneas saw another one of those sling rings placed upon his son's palm.

"Maedhros, I believe this is yours as well."

Maedhros did not show emotion openly, much like their entire family, and stated: "I'm not even truly an apprentice."

So, his son was a sorcerer, much like Miss Strange and her father, and perhaps even more by those robes.

Luckily, the man beside Illyria's father knew somehow this and replied simply, "But you have trained faster than most sorcerers despite absence. In a way, you are Illyria's apprentice and watched by the Sorcerer Supreme. We will allow some flexibility." Wong continued, "After all, we have no sorcerers with the intent on fully following such tight restrictions."

Finneas glanced away once their conversation finished, and he continued to clear things until he found it satisfactory and brought his attention to introduce himself to the new faces.

Striding towards them, Illyria's father already moved over to him and looked straight towards him.

His eyes clearly showed easily how old he was. The man before him was beyond his time. "Dr Cuthbert, a pleasure to finally meet you in person. Or do you prefer Fëanor?" Stephen Strange wondered, stretching his gloved hand to him.

Shaking it firmly, Finneas politely returned: "Just Dr Cuthbert, Dr Strange. It has been a while since I've seen you. Since Nobel prize, I believe."

Before then, Dr Strange had just been a neurosurgeon. A rather competent one at that. One who had the cameras and newspapers on him, with dozens of articles on how he had saved countless lives with his work.

Now: he was apparently a sorcerer and an honorary Avenger. Still on the same lines towards saving and protecting the vulnerable but perhaps with more power under his sleeve.

When he let go of his hand, a spark flashed in Stephen Strange's eyes as he said, "Yes, better luck in winning physics again."

"Dad, don't," Illyria warned behind her father.

But Finneas was not angry nor annoyed. No, he liked Strange. He was smart and practical and knew exactly what to say. And he respected someone who knew not to show and tell.

Finneas looked over to her and ensured, "Do not worry, Miss Strange."

The sorcerer stared at him, a blank façade as he spoke in a stern tone, "You must understand that this not only my daughter but her brother and husband and your son going through a rather dangerous predicament." Dr Strange established, "And that you will be holding most of the reigns in ensuring them to land in the right place and time. Not to mention you have my fiancé who should be technically resting before her due date."

He should have expected him to say this to him; the adopted father who cared deeply for her daughter and family. And surprisingly, to his dislike, Strange cared for Maedhros as well...in an odd apprentice to mentor sort of relationship.

It would have been expected as it had been two and a half years since he had arrived on Earth and had mostly been under the roof of the sorcerers and Darcy Lewis. And throughout his time, Finneas learnt the crass and openness the young astrophysicist had with anyone.

May it had been a threat to him or not, there was a side in him (probably his elven side) that had him dismissing it. Threats were not a matter to him but there was a tiny voice in the back of his large mind that he should take care of his words. From even looking at the fine robes and red cloak that somehow moved despite no wind: Stephen Strange was not to be trifled with.

Making a mistake would perhaps cost him his life – again.

"I am aware. You have my word that I will act professionally," He established. "After all, I am not Fëanor in all cases. Such like Illyria, who is not all Elemmírë."

Dr Strange appeared to seem pleased (or accepting) with his response and nodded before he walked back to where the other sorcerer stood by whilst Mr Keener was now talking along with Illyria on the mechanics of the staff and the braces.

Everybody seemed to be too occupied, where being Illyria who shared her last moments with her parents alongside Elrond and Glorfindel. Something about remembering to bring gifts to his niece, Artanis, out of all names – which caught him off guard.

'I would be shocked that those two got along, and even more that they tolerated their opinions on our side of the family,' He thought with dread. His niece was another matter entirely and he tried his best to squash down the deed he had failed in his past life.

Then the conversation which he should have prepared for came, as Maedhros stalked over to him, brace in hand and sword at his hip. His hair had been braided partially; the locks rather shorter from the previous time he had seen him.

If he thought inattentively...he was the spitting image of his estranged wife.

Finneas looked slightly up to his son whilst Maedhros spoke coldly, "Atar."

He replied with a calm demeanour, "Maedhros."

He leaned down and said in a dark tone, "Make a move, I won't hesitate to try." Maedhros warned him, "Even if it may start a fourth kinslaying."

That caused an eyebrow to rise whilst Finneas remain placid as he responded, "I will not endanger you. Especially Illyria Strange."

His son's eyes flashed in surprise before narrowing them.

Finneas continued, "Yes, I know you have taken her as your sister. She bears the crest of our house along with Elrond."

Maedhros glanced to the side, hearing the laughter ring around the room from Illyria Strange's mouth whilst her blonde brother chuckled at something they were discussing. He realised that there was softened interior in his son, eyes that only he had seen from Nerdanel when she thought of their children.

In made centuries, he saw a flicker of it pass through his gaze before he scowled again.

"She is the sister that I should have had," Maedhros admitted, surprising him again. "Mother would have liked her. I hear that she had a friendship with her."

Finneas sharpened his breath and looked away.

They shouldn't even be speaking of this. Not right now.

"I do not know the details," Finneas muttered to him, gritting his teeth as he clenched his fists. "I haven't seen her in over a decade."

That was something he regretted in this life; he couldn't have stopped the fate of which her death was to be. Instead, he was snapped away, having no choice but to come back and discover what happened.

"We'll see her soon," Maedhros folded his arms over his chest whilst he continued, "And perhaps resolve what this was. Whatever your own mind went."

He gave his son an incredulous glance.

Scoffing, Maedhros responded, "Do not think reincarnation has given you the time to change, Atar. You are not like Illyria - far from it. And you will have to earn the trust from me."

Now that was something he expected from his son.

From what occurred with Maedhros and his brothers after his death, there would be a lot of mixed feelings for him. He knew what he did. His Oath was still here, still in the fëa of what was Fëanor of the Noldor. He was damned, as well as his sons until they could fulfil it and bring them all back.

And now one of his creations was here. The Silmaril was his...but he never retrieved it or worked for it.

Instead, the Oialëa trusted him with it. Illyria Strange trusted him with the Silmaril.

What was it for him now? He should be relieved, ecstatic, and overjoyed. Fëanor had gotten what he wanted.

So why didn't he feel it?

He thought Maedhros would be relieved as well. But when they told him his son could hold it now with his real hand: Fëanor was eagerly tempted. Could he hold it now even if the Oath still called to him? Or was it just Maedhros specifically who could hold it? To his shock, a mortal body like Illyria Strange could.

She held it towards him that day he had revealed himself to them. Not to mock him: but to test him. To test if he would speak against her and his son. To inform them that he still had the desperate and intensive power he had after Morgoth took them after Finwë's death.

And yet there was the Feanor side of him who was screaming and clawing out towards the Silmaril. If the binds weren't there, he knew he would have done all he could to touch his creation once more.

But something – some odd force – made him doubt a second later. Finneas wasn't sure if it was him or Fëanor alone who acknowledge the mistakes he made before. Or perhaps he had changed. He surely hasn't by how he still reflected on his human history.

Then looking back his son: there was a stark contrast to their meetings.

When he looked up to Maedhros, Finneas spoke, "You've changed."

Maedhros turned his eyes away and replied, though not in a cold tone he assumed it to be.

"You don't know me. Not anymore."

Finneas was about to speak and retort but a voice cut them both.

"Alright, let's get things going," Harley Keener clapped his hands and gestured to him. "Finneas, run it up."

Looking back to try and speak to him, Maedhros merely gave him one last look before walking away. Finneas mentally took a breath and hid away the anger that simmered underneath. He would have to speak to him another time, once they get back that is.

The middle of the large laboratory had been cleared and now a metal platform was placed along with running steps at one side. On the sides, curved columns ran up to then almost form at the top, creating a sort of spherical frame.

The four of those who were travelling began to walk up the steps whilst Dr Strange and Wong stood far back to spectate. He found both Darcy Lewis and Harley Keener at his side, with the younger going through the controls whilst Darcy was monitoring the energy levels.

As they were doing so, the Peredhel wondered out loud, "What of the Silmaril?"

How they incorporated the Silmaril was in turn something Illyria Strange decided herself. The power creating it would in doubt have enough to create a gateway long enough for them to direct into a singular location and time but also having no reliability in keeping the Silmaril next to them.

Illyria glanced at him and then at the platform. "It'll be here. Safe from Morgoth, Saruman or Sauron. Darcy will keep an eye since she can detect it."

Their decision in keeping the jewel on Earth was returned by concern for his sake. Especially the elves. Laurefindelë and Elrond Peredhel knew little of him and would always have concern for his intentions. He did not need their approval anyway, so long as they respected Illyria's wishes and her decisions.

They began to turn on their suits, pressing several buttons on the braces they wore until he widened his eyes.

Finneas spoke, "That..."

The logo was much like his heraldry, the star of Fëanor but with something else.

It was in the colours of white and purple...and along with it: was the Silmarils.

"Thank me for having some class in Art," The older astrophysicist grinned next to him whilst he thinned his lips. "Harley and Illyria helped."

He didn't know what to say. Again, every moment these people he worked with are getting more unexpected already. He had some suspicion that his son was a part of this, spotting the smirk sent his way.

Before they could begin, he remembered one last thing. "Miss Strange." Finneas called to her, "May I speak to you."

Once Illyria headed down the platform, he brought out the metallic suitcase and opened it in front of her. "What is it?"

He nudged his chin towards the small phone device. It was the final product and a new design which he had made and something which Mr Keener enjoyed deciphering. "This is the tracker for the other mission. It will ensure you know the location of the other Silmaril." Finneas explained to her, "Perhaps it may be in Middle Earth, from what I have read in the books."

She looked up to him and stated, "You think your son is wandering Middle Earth." Taking a shuddered breath, Illyria continued, "I mean I still think this Lokachari guy has it but if Maglor knows where he is, maybe it will help us. Right, okay. We'll have to see."

He closed the suitcase and passed it into her hands to which she obliged.

The next thing was something only she and him knew as he carefully spoke to her, "The favour you asked for. Are you willing for me to do this?" Finneas questioned the young woman. "We will be breaking multiple laws in proceeding with this. Especially with your status as an Avenger."

When she first brought this to him, he was sceptical of the vague theory, but it didn't mean he dismissed it. If his own experience with the Silmaril brought him to remember by exposure to similar levels of radiation, was it possible for others to do so?

"Yeah, I know. But I really believe it might be him, you know," Illyria hoped and added with a shrug, "We'll sort it out once we come back. For now, we're going to head back, sort out the ring and then head to Mithlond."

Nodding his head, Illyria thanked him before striding back up the step. More questionable glances came to his and Illyria's way before Darcy Lewis walked over sat down.

Darcy Lewis said, "Okay, Finneas. You're the one on the control panel."

He pressed the switches and felt the humming of the machine come to life. On the platform, attached under the panel of metal was where the Silmaril was placed and protected – ready to exert its energy to form the gateway.

He looked over to them and loudly informed, "Once you arrive there, you do not need to keep on the navigator. Turn it on once you wish to return, it'll allow you to return at a suitable time and not fling you to the future or past."

They activated their helmets, spotting a thumbs up from the younger Strange before he began loading the gateway.

"How long do they have?" Dr Lewis questioned.

As the machine roared to life, the humming brought his heart to thrum in excitement. He answered, "For them, they have plenty of time to return, but they will have to be able to connect with us for a minimum of a week. It allows the power of the Silmaril to replenish."

Suddenly, a burst of light formed in the centre of the circular platform. A diamond-shaped gateway that somehow appeared to slice through the air itself. There were jets of colours streaming out from it until it was all white in the middle. The tear in the literal fabric of reality that formed in all three dimensions...and now including time. It bent the space around it, causing a crystalline fragmentation in the air.

Never could he be amazed himself seeing this. His own creation creating gateways from reality itself.

And it was only now which he knew that this was possible.

The machine continued to run as Mr Keener informed them again of the rules and plans. They would go to the council a certain Teleri elf was hosting and discuss with the Noldor of their plans to save their people.

Their His people.

He should be annoyed that he wasn't going, but he made his choice. He was mortal and his work was hardly done here, his position was more vital here than having to play politics. So long as Maedhros could give his word and act as the head of his house. He trusted his son enough to do this. And from the stupidity his younger sons have committed in the books, Finneas would not choose any of them to lead.

Well...

Perhaps Makalaurë.

He would be the next possible candidate after Maedhros though apparently, he was missing.

Illyria turned to face them, obscured by the shaded screen over her as she said with a hopeful light tone, "See you in a week then."

Before long they all began to walk through, with Illyria Strange guiding them first with the case in her hand and navigator in the other. Next, it had been Glorfindel and Elrond.

The final had been Maedhros who paused for a moment to stand and stare at the gateway then ducked to head through.

He could sense the machine already taking too much and began to instruct the others to prepare to close the portal. Once they did, the gateway closed, and they were left staring at an empty platform for the next seven days.

Finneas could only hope it had truly worked.

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Lokachari | The Wanderer of Worlds

Location: Orthanc, Isengard, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: October 2980 T.A

He should have been more careful. Instead: he didn't watch his back the moment they caught up to him. A certain rogue sorcerer which the Masters of the Mystic Arts had been keeping an eye on them for the past few years.

As a result: here he was.

Trapped and caged for the past five years.

They imprisoned him in a room at the top of the tower, his confinements dark and small with a small slit between the black stone, hardly deserving to be called a window. His hands and feet were bound, cuffed in metal restraints that no matter how much he tried, none of his spells worked on them. Only a magic user would know the likes of a magic user themselves, and thus use wards on even handcuffs.

He knew the room was warded as well. He could identify them by just looking around him, no matter how dark it was. His eyes could physically see the aura around him, something which he developed during his time travelling between realities and beyond them. He knew the magic he had used, a certain Ainur magic that only their kind could control.

His entire body ached in pain. There were burns and scars all over his body, ones after weeks and maybe months of torture until all he remembered was passing out from just exhaustion of screaming and crying.

They had broken him. Every inch of his body that all he could do was endure it and protect his mind. And even that had been broken into.

Saruman The White was not worthy of his name. He had mauled him, stolen every bit of his right to his memories. He saw the other world – Earth – just after a year and was determined to do the very thing he didn't want him to.

And that was to create a gateway to the other world.

Three years into his capture, Saruman finally discovered how it worked. How the Gem of Lokachari truly was and began to use it in various ways. He created the energy to fuel his forges, use it to destroy Fangorn Forest and also...create the Uruk Hai. Orcs that were created by his own with the use of Ainur magic and the Silmaril embedded in the relic.

In all his long life: Lokachari failed to do what he was tasked to do.

He should be ashamed. However, it was not enough to overcome his anger and anguish at seeing what Saruman had done. The lives which he took from the innocent beings who lived. Such as Rohan, the kingdom which he had recently begun to help and guide them through the harsh orc ambushes and destruction.

Saruman had used his visions to see what Earth had. Weapons of mass destruction being made in the flesh that he grew sick of as he watched Isengard fill with artillery.

'I need to warn them,' he murmured to himself. 'They need to know that his army is greater than what they are expecting it to be.'

The last few months changed when another one of the Istari arrived. He recognized even from the vicinity of the walls who it was. A maia whom he met thousands of years prior. The elves called him Mithrandir and the Men to be Gandalf. But to him, he knew him by the name he once had in Aman.

Olorin discovered that he was here when he realised Saruman betrayed the Valar. There was a short duel in the main chambers at the top of the tower before Saruman revealed him to Olorin.

It was a rather unexpected meeting, seeing the dismayed face before he was thrown with chains and cuffs on his own. Saruman didn't need to say anything else; the smug Ainu he had the two most powerful beings who were against his, Sauron's and Morgoth's plans to dominate Middle Earth and Arda.

They were separated with Olorin taken up right at the top of Orthanc whilst he was brought once more to his room.

What Saruman didn't know was that he made a big mistake making a huge spectacle of how he knew where the Silmarils were.

Whilst the Ainu contacted the young Evenstar, he managed to hold enough energy in the months spared to break the enchantments on his body and push his soul into the Astral plane. He then searched the numerous rooms of the tower, finding his belongings placed about in Saruman's study but the Gem of Lokachari missing. It was probably most likely around his neck.

However, that wasn't the piece of jewellery he needed.

He rummaged through the drawers until he spotted the sling-ring, using all his energy to create a corporeal form and took the sling ring into his hands. Once he was done, he rushed back towards his unconscious body and woke up smiling internally to himself – sling-ring in hand.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The next few weeks he meditated. He may not be able to leave his room, but he was able to venture about Isengard in his astral form and take notes on everything that has happened. The land was completely degraded, marred by ash and fire and mud that almost reminded him of Earth's previous world wars. He noticed that the Dunlanders had fully been equipped with more weapons, a mix of medieval weapons as well as the odd hybrids of modern ones.

Uruk Hai were lined up, training and fighting each other. Their dark fear causing him to remind himself regrettably that they were created under the power of the Silmaril.

It was there he finally acted. His mind and soul were strong enough to withhold a corporeal body as he sent his Astral form up to the top of the tower. The wind was blowing wildly, the skies grey and dark. It had been weeks since the sun had fallen, destroyed by the hands of the dark Vala who broke from the Door of Night.

When he used enough dimensional energy to push through the planes and create a physical barrier, Lokachari swallowed a gasp as he felt the wind physically hit his face. He finally breathed fresh air after five long years.

Olorin noticed him, his eyes bulged and his form was weary. He would perish in another month if he stayed longer.

He staggered towards him, using his shaking hands to slip the sling ring into his right hand before holding it up. With his left, he made a circular gesture with his hand – bringing sparks of gold in front of him.

Soon, a golden glow formed whilst the portal appeared. The familiar landscape of a valley shown ahead of him. The portal could only last enough, or else Saruman would figure out what he had done and would definitely punish him.

Lokachari brought his arms down and spun around, grabbing Olorin up to his feet. He stared at him and ordered with one word, "Go."

As he let go of him once he stood on his own, the Istar declared back, "I will not go without you."

This was no time for this Maia to act kind. Instead, he refused and stated: "He wants me, not you Olorin." Lokachari instructed him, "Inform them of what has happened."

To his surprise, the Maia spoke in Sindarin, "And what of you?" Olorin questioned him, "They will welcome you, friend. You must stop this hiding. One day you will need to confront them."

He stared at him.

In the deepest parts of his heart, there was a voice screaming at him to follow.

But his mind held him back. He needed to fulfil his task.

"I...it doesn't matter anymore." He said to him with honesty. He then changed the subject and told him, "What matters is that the Silmarils are separated for as long as possible."

The elderly man placed a hand on his shoulder, his lips twitching to a slight smile. Olorin said, "I wish you luck, friend. May you live until we meet again."

He waited for Olorin to walk through the portal before he brought it down, his entire body and soul caving in until he exhaled. When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the dark – the ceiling that he had looked up to in five years appearing in front of him.

He could only hope the wizard would do what he asked and tell a certain young sorceress and the Lord of Rivendell that things have drastically changed.

Rohan was in danger...and Rivendell would be next.

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[1] - Orome: A Vala and one of the Aratar. He is a huntsman and known as the Great Rider. He is the husband of Vana.
[2] - Huan: The Hound of Valinor and one of the hunting dogs of Orome the Hunter. He aided in the Quest for the Silmaril and Battled Sauron alongside Luthien.
[3] - Findis: The first daughter of Finwe and Indis. She stayed in Valinor and moved with the Vanyar with Indis to grieve. Little is known of her.
[4] - Irime: The third child and second daughter of Finwe and Indis. In this canon, she stayed with Finarfin and the Noldor in Tirion.

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A/N: And so they return to Middle Earth! I'm quite excited for you guys to see when and where they end up and how this changes the entirety of the timeline Illyria thinks it goes. I also loved writing Feanor's backstory and how he began to remember who he was. There's going to be a bit in the future that involves more of his past and how he ties into the MCU.

But with the last bit: Lokachari is in a bit of a pickle. Have you guessed already who he is?

Thank you guys and I am sorry that this took long to update. Hopefully, the next bulk update won't be too far. I want to try and aim for the next following week but it's been quite busy.

Edited: 07/02/2022