16 | He's Supposed to be A Baby Right?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Illyria Strange | Elemmírë Oialëa

Location: Imladris, Middle Earth, Arda

Time: October 2980 T.A

This was not what she expected.

What she was supposed to expect was for her brother to arrive from the Trollshaws: aiding the twins, Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield. She predicted that there was a high chance that the Nine could have already taken them, injuring (to her dismay) her hobbit friend and that Glorfindel would have raced all the way to Rivendell. Elrond would tend to him, keep him alive with the ring on a chain around his neck.

Instead – just down in the Healing Halls – was Frodo Baggins.

Never had she felt the weight of mind completely slam down into a thrash of might, boulders crashing as they hurled down the cliff of predictions she and Maedhros made. She almost threw up the moment she felt him: Frodo's own fëa fading away to the Halls as Glorfindel placed him down on the bed. She and Arwen did all they could – stabilizing him until Elrond would return.

It was just the three of them afterwards; her brother left to make sure Elrond and Maedhros did everything to push the Nazgul away from the valley. Hopefully, their plan (which was technically Elrond's) on raising the waters of the Bruinen River will at least delay the inevitable.

But as Maedhros spoke to her when they discussed this secretly from Elrond and Glorfindel's ears: the Nine would soon gain up again and perhaps pursue the Ring at another time.

Now: The Ring was here. In Imladris.

The home which Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, had defended and grown was now in the eyes of not only Sauron – but Saruman too. It won't be long until armies would fill the valley, both elves and orcs and whatever the heck they had up their sleeves.

Whilst Illyria had been up on the balcony, scribbling down notes as she sat back on the chair. In front of her notes, she glanced over to the small device that had arrived with the metal case. The locator had been on ever since Glorfindel left, giving out pretty much the same data every day he was gone. It was supposed to indicate anomalies that came about ten miles out from the valley's borders.

Maedhros and her spent an entire day placing satellite detectors and cameras whilst making sure he wasn't found out by any of the guards that he was Fëanorian.

They almost got found out by one of the border patrols. Thank fuck she placed a disillusionment spell before the poor ellon found her. He was perhaps even more confused, wondering why the Lady of Rivendell was talking to herself.

But then again he wasn't too surprised. Did that mean Elemmírë talked to herself as well?

Unfortunately, as her hope seeing any change today: it was just her wondering back to the young hobbit.

The sound of the door closing from inside caught her attention, causing her to snap from her thoughts and straighten her posture.

Elrond walked over to the balcony, the private little alcove that was apparently once her old room. Arwen said that Elemmírë used to tell her that it was always filled with scrolls and books about everything she researched – from languages to star maps and knowledge and culture of Gondolin. Most of her stuff was now in Elrond's study and the library as well as the scholar's guildhall. What remained was just that – memories.

But now, now she would make new ones. The place was now her new laboratory, a good spot for her to sit down and work but to also have some time to think.

When she felt him gain closer, Illyria glanced up to find him looking grim. Elrond appeared exhausted, his shoulders slacking slightly and perhaps his eyes looking dimmer than before.

"I was able to heal as much as I could. He will be unconscious for the next few days, unfortunately." Pulling out the chair on her left, Elrond sat down before he looked across to her. "I must thank you. Or your father for that matter."

She felt herself smile sadly back. At least this time around, Elrond had the blend of both elven, sorcery and human healing and medicine to use. Ever since he learnt of hygiene practices, the poor elf had been horrified at the choices they made in the Healing Halls. Once they arrived, Elrond managed to assure changes to the plans healers made when tending to wounds and cuts.

Glancing forward, Elrond looked over beyond the landscape in front of them and murmured: "However, I have much to ask as to why you were shocked in seeing another hobbit."

Illyria inhaled, putting her pen down on the table. "Because I really thought it was going to be Bilbo...and not his nephew." Her eyes went up to him and said quietly, "Even then, it means something more than that."

Elrond gave her an inquisitive gaze.

How was she going to explain this?

Illyria did all she could to not bluntly tell the entire trilogy to any of them. Even before she left, she planned as much as she could if she ever did return – giving letters to Bilbo, Thorin and her children about the clues. She made sure Arwen and the twins had more access, knowing that they would understand how to control it and keep what her predicted timeline could become.

Then Maedhros read the trilogy and there was a clear determination set for both of them. And that was to find a way to make it better for the people of Middle Earth. They wanted to give a chance to save people, to decrease the deaths the trilogy had and to make sure nothing else would stop the Fellowship if some random sorcerer popped up again.

Then Elrond and Glorfindel arrived and told them these things.

It was then they had to scratch the plan and produce something new. They hid their work, only giving the two elves some clues and hints on what would happen – or what they predicted could happen.

But living it all and seeing the timeline Tolkien wrote merge with the mushed up one she created: made Illyria feel more out of control.

"I didn't expect it, to be him, you know," Illyria admitted, her left hand resting on top of the table. "Frodo...he was always the one to carry it. He is the one who is burdened with it."

Freezing in his spot, Elrond peered at her and asked carefully: "You do not mean..."

She only stared at him.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Who is invited to the council again?"

If stress could be passed onto someone, Illyria could clearly feel it clinging to her as Elrond sighed from his chair.

He spoke, "In a few days, Lord Galdor will be representing Mithlond. The next day shall be Prince Kili and Princess Tauriel along with a delegate from Dale and Mirkwood."

"Gimli must be with them," She spoke, remembering about the letter she gave to Fili. "And Aragorn?"

"Hopefully at the same time." Elrond told them and elaborated: "Arwen informed me that he, Prince Legolas and the steward's son will be the ones as delegates for their kingdoms."

"None from Rohan?"

She saw Maedhros scowl at that. Of course, He did know what was going on in the South. Though with what they hoped, they really wished Saruman and Grima Wormtongue never had influence over the kingdom.

She really wished this didn't happen. That it was perhaps Théoden's parents who still ruled.

Another inhale came from Elrond as he answered, "Unfortunately, none. They did not respond or had turned away the messenger." He gave another suspicious look to her and then to Maedhros, "Unless you know of that?"

Illyria remained relaxed in her posture, her hands tapping against the sides of her legs before she answered him, "We can't exactly do anything right now about Rohan." She changed the subject and returned, "Okay, so we prepare for the council then. And hopefully, Gandalf turns up."

"And if he does not," Elrond pressed on, raising his eyebrows back. "You assume that what these stories indicate shall come true."

The look in Illyria Strange's face morphed into weariness, indignation lining it as she tried to hide her anger. She appeared more Elemmírë than the young sorceress he knew in the present.

"Look. I know it's taking a risk, but we must prepare for both situations. There's a chance that this reality might be trying to push to its original predicted path. Realities often have a pattern. No matter how much it changes to some extent, there are usually similarities. Key points in time that help time flow," She explained to them with certainty. "Gandalf will be able to find a way here in order to help them destroy the Ring."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That had been before she left to tell Glorfindel about the plan.

Taking in a sharp breath, the half-elf leaned his elbow against the table and began to rub his temple with his hand. "Why do I sense that this may be the only choice in this matter."

"He is the only one I trust with it, Elrond." She persisted, trying to find his gaze. "You know that none of us could hold it. You know what it has done to people. His very soul is in that damn thing!"

"I know its capabilities, Illyria." He snapped. Pausing, he took a ragged breath and sat up. "I was there three thousand years ago. You were there three thousand years ago."

"Well sorry that I can't remember my entire past life!"

There goes her mouth again spitting whatever she wanted. Illyria glared at him, noticing that he had flinched the moment she clamped her mouth shut. Had she done something again that caused him to look pained?

Slowly, she leaned back after realizing she had gotten closer to him. Her hand curled in a fist atop the table – now with Elrond's hand atop hers.

'Breathe, Illyria.'

She heard him project his thoughts to her.

'You are affecting the lights.'

Indeed, she was. Because it took only a second to spot the lamps around her glow slightly brighter than before. They were almost pulsing at the same rate as her heartbeat, gently dimming as she brought herself to count to ten again after taking a deep breath.

They both shared a moment of silence.

All the memories she had of the war and the Last Alliance: she would never be able to remember it fully. It was just too painful, making her close her eyes shut. She could almost hear it, the sounds of what it was like on the battlefield.

Everything she did was all in vain. Sauron was never defeated, only pushed back.

Her nightmares of Angband would never go.

'It was not all in vain.' Elrond thought to her. 'You and everybody in Middle Earth did what was right, to push the darkness away.'

Sucking in a breath, Illyria fluttered her eyes open to find him staring at her with concern. A warm feeling enveloped her chest, seeking to comfort her heart as she tried to recollect her senses and thoughts. She did all she could to push those dark thoughts away, knowing it was probably because of the memories.

Elemmírë's guilt overriding Illyria's own hopeful optimism.

Whilst he removed his hand from her's he placed both on his lap. Elrond sighed, admitting openly at the choice of his words.

"You are right."

Those words shouldn't have hit her like a knife.

He eyed her with a gaze that emitted his own self-scolding, shaking his head as he glanced away. Elrond's eyes now down at the locator on the table. He opened his mouth and began, "I...I apologise Illyria. I forget at times...In times like this, I am seeing one more than the other. Sometimes you are her; sometimes you are Elemmírë."

Illyria stared at him silently, unsure again how to respond. Her chest was starting to ache once more; she did all she could to pull away from the tears that were threatening to leak.

How could he know which one was which? Even she never realised that she acted more like the other because that was who she was. Did it even matter?

If so: why would it matter?

Exhaling, Illyria spoke: "I know it's going to be difficult, distinguishing again. I didn't really have to concentrate on whether I was being Illyria or Elemmírë back on Earth. Maedhros just accepted that I'll always just be like this." She tapped her fingers on the wooden table, letting a gentle rhythm going as she continued, "That I'll always be more Illyria with Elemmírë's memories. But I know you and Glorfindel still think Elemmírë is still here."

Elrond's voice was laced with hope. "Because I know you have the strength," He encouraged softly, "You can be both of them."

She wasn't sure where the frustration came from. Maybe it had been the past few days. Everything had just been so chaotic. Well: not chaotic per se but perhaps overwhelming. Returning to the valley she lived in had just been a blur.

One moment she was being Illyria, researching and practising sorcery along with Maedhros and Arwen. The next: she had Lindir and Erestor go through the plans of guests as well as taking note of the city's supplies for the coming winter. It was bad enough Miriel got tied up and began taking her through the apparent schedule she once had.

Everything Elemmírë would have done.

Illyria clenched her hands, retracting them to her side. She said with a tight voice, "But I am trying. I just...you don't think I'm just hiding away am I?" She looked pleadingly to the dark-haired peredhel. "Elrond, Elemmírë's been damaged for thousands of years. You do not think she is tired of this? Tired of this world?"

Elrond's jaw slackened the moment it reached his ears.

Out of everything they have talked about, both here and on Earth: not once had she ever called on Elemmírë. It was always her. Illyria. Because they silently agreed to it, there was not even a conversation that reverted them back to her.

But she wasn't wrong. Illyria had seen Elemmírë's memories. She had lived through it and felt them by the tips of her fingers. She knew elves never died but it always mentioned they always grew weary. Their fëa would grow tired of the changing world so much and only the blessed land would give their minds the only support to keep them going.

Elemmírë was an elf, and she was mortal. Illyria had the youth and the sprite and mixed with it was Elemmírë's endurance. She knew from stories and her brother and Elrond always telling her she was unlike any elf. More human than elven to begin with.

But Elemmírë's body died because of something she could not support. Her power was everlasting.

They – both Elemmírë and Illyria – were not.

She swallowed the bile in her throat and softly spoke, "People are expecting me to be this...hero. This saviour. A lady. Your wife." Illyria flickered her gaze up to him and revealed honestly, "...And I'm not."

'I'll never be her.'

Perhaps she should have worded it better, feeling her heart crack as she found Elrond's own fëa burn slightly at the harsh words she put out.

Honest, but harsh, nevertheless.

She whispered to him, "You see that though." Illyria trailed off, "You see that I'm not her and I don't know if you..."

She could not bear to say it.

"If what," Elrond said with the same volume – quiet but worried.

It grew harder to look at him in the eye, blinking away whilst she could only hear her heartbeat thumping against her ribcage.

Illyria answered: "If you love me for her... or for Illyria."

She saw the immediate mix of reaction in him. The contorting of his eyebrows whilst there was a swirl of confusion, anger, and fear in his expression before he was only left to look struck – paralyzed at what she said.

"There is a difference, Elrond." She said with a stronger tone. "Loving someone and loving the idea of someone are key different things."

Illyria knew he was thinking. Fighting more like. Secretly, it was what she didn't like about elves. They were always so cryptic, always wanting riddles and never wanting to just say it bluntly as Maedhros or Darcy would.

And yet the elven side of her knew what Elrond Peredhel was like.

Illyria hated it. Not Elrond but the fact that she knew the truth. What he was like. He loved Elemmírë unconditionally and eternally. But his love with her...her human self – it was new and strange. This half-elf was having to tackle two birds with one stone. Instead, he had a stone that was probably a boulder weighted by memories.

Caught off guard from her thoughts, she found Elrond out of his seat and now by her.

Kneeling next to her chair, his head was perhaps a head shorter than her eyesight as he took her hand in his. The contact forced a shiver up her arm, making her inhale sharply. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand, grazing over her knuckles as he tilted his chin up.

Her eyes met with his.

"Never will I play with your heart, Calanya." Elrond brought his other hand up to her cheek, causing her to lean against them. "Do not think I love you no less because you are what you are. Do not ever doubt that I do not care for you just for what I had with you before."

When she felt her cheeks wet, she realised she had been crying the entire time.

Elrond whispered, "Illyria Ettelëa. You have captured my mind and heart the moment I met you."  He continued, "I am only wondering if whether or not you have chosen already or have established something within yourself. You cannot push these things away. I am worried for you."

"And you think I'm not?" She questioned back.

He only stayed quiet.

Scream everything that had built up the entire time she had been here. They never had time now. Confusion littered her to no end.

Damn her existential identity crisis. Why did it have to come at this time?

Elrond allowed her the moment to calm herself down, simply rubbing her hand as she controlled her breaths and heart. By the time she felt that she was able to look back at him, Illyria's shallow breaths came back to their usual self. She wiped away as she sniffed, taking the handkerchief from the blessed half-elven lord.

Honestly, she did not deserve this person in front of her.

Even if he were hiding things (hopefully for the sake of the promise they had centuries ago), there was a part of her she wished he could just crack and just reveal everything. Just when he was in younger years back in Lindon, impulsive and almost equivalent in recklessness as her. Then, years of experience and time brought him to be this way.

She didn't know if she wanted to be annoyed, angry or considerate with it. Illyria knew she pushed him sometimes; almost bringing something to him that he regretted. They argued enough to know their boundaries.

Gratefully, Elrond and she agreed to accept that her little episode was done, standing back up. He never let go of her hand.

Illyria unravelled herself, turning her gaze out from the balcony to look beyond the rest of the homely house. She began, "The council is in a few days. We need to decide what to do with the Ring."

"And you believe that Frodo Baggins will be the best choice?" Elrond questioned, "And what shall he do with it? Wield it?"

Her voice returned as she replied, "No." Illyria rose her eyebrows for a second and gave a deadpanned look up to the elven lord. "The only thing a hobbit could use it for could probably conjure an unlimited amount of weed..."

Elrond looked at her.

"Or potatoes."

"Illyria."

She heard him make an exasperating sound both out from his mouth and in his mind.

Raising a brow, she swatted his arm and pointed with a scoff, "See, you can distinguish between us!"

He twitched his lips, a small smile slowly growing. Elrond lowered his head, pressing a small kiss atop her head. Illyria closed her eyes, feeling herself smile as well at the comforting embrace.

'Nay, I believe you are both masters of such poor japes.'

Never had she zoomed her face that fast, gaping at him with annoyance. 'Hey!' Elrond laughed mentally as she huffed, 'It was a general hypothesis.'

Those twinkling eyes already told her he was finding her amusing again.

Illyria mocked out her anger, "Don't give me that look." But the moment she glanced away, she felt herself wanting to smile again. Illyria teased, "Maybe I'll have the twins let loose again. This valley needs more laughter if we're going to war."

Though as she said this, her excitement, mixed with worry, filled her stomach. Elladan and Elrohir. Her boys would arrive at the valley in a couple of days.

Tracing his hand down her hair, he murmured to her. "They will be here soon, do not worry." Elrond paused, asking slowly: "I may ask...what was your reason for insisting Glorfindel go to them?"

Changing her gaze, she internally gasped. She completely forgot the reason why she even had her brother go. (The more obvious reason was that she would never have Arwen risk herself against the Nazgul).

Oh, Illyria was definitely right about her theory.

Her father was right about the portal.

Illyria eyed the locator before she quirked her lips to Elrond's question. All she said was one word that could possibly pass her as an elf again.

"Bloodwork."

____

A/N: Short chapter this time but it fitted well with what happened last  chapter. We also got more scenes between Illyria and Elrond and it's going to get more open and hopefully evolving into something realistic between these two. It's still a bit fresh of course since they are both navigating this renewed relationship, but it's getting there. Maybe.

I will try and update soon as my schedule is open, but I'm heavily focused on getting more writing done before editing these.

Edited: 12/02/2022