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T H E  H E A L I N G  P R O C E S S

Part of The Oialea Series

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Set between The Rules of the Multiverse and The Changing of the Song Series

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Pairings

Maedhros | Fingon

Illyria Strange | Elrond Peredhel (Mentioned)

Darcy Lewis | Stephen Strange (Mentioned)

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Warnings

Sensitive mentions of suicide, swearing, blood and alcohol.

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Location: Earth

Time: January 2025

When it came to therapy, Maedhros Fëanorion was not exactly a fan of it.

But one would ask: why did he even get here in the first place? How did he come to this place from falling into a fiery chasm and landing into a flight of wooden stairs in front of his friend?

At one moment, he was ready for his fëa to enter the Halls, to meet the eyes of the Judge, then dwelling years in the darkest depths of the caverns before he would be summoned to be re-embodied. Because that was what most of the Eldar hoped to be. To just accept time as the solution to healing his broken mind, heart, and soul. To wait until he felt he was fine.

Instead, he had been thrown into another world far different to his.

With metal boxes flying in the sky instead of eagles. Metal boxes as buildings instead of stone castles and caverns. And metal boxes zooming across the land instead of horses. Even the air felt – and smelt – different. He felt stifled in this new world despite how much Elemmírë Oialëa did for him.

Even Elemmírë Oialëa was different. Not because of the round ears (that was the first thing he noticed along with her clothes), but how her aura and character had been. Despite still bearing the haunting look of war and the tragic eyes that kept her alert, her fëa was somehow young and light. As if it was renewed. How was something like that possible?

Unless she had died and been reborn.

Maedhros didn't want to think that at first, but even glancing at her at times – they both knew they were contemplating about her. About how different she was and yet so alike. He could tell that even she didn't know herself if she was Elemmírë or this new character...Illyria Strange.

The adrenaline of falling into the volcano finally faded and he was left to see the visions and sounds of the war. Of the dragon burning them, burning Elemmírë. The destruction of Beleriand and the death of those Noldorin, Vanyarin and Falmari soldiers. How he and his brother took twin sons of Eärendil...kept them hostage. How he lost the twin sons of Dior in the wild.

Murderer.

Kinslayer.

All for a jewel.

A few months living with Illyria were difficult. Maedhros was constantly living and not living, wading in limbo whilst trying to grasp everything and nothing at the same time. Who was he now after everything? He wasn't the elven man thousands of years ago. He was not even the same man who suffered his time in Angband.

He would sit in the chair beside the fireplace in Illyria's home for hours, staring at the flames which were the same colour as his hair.

The same hair his mother had. The same colour his youngest brothers bore. And they too were lost to him.

After three weeks of contemplation, it was there that Illyria snapped at him. And he had seen the anger of Elemmírë. More specifically the Oialëa. The Eternal Light that brought light to the eyes of the elves as they fought Morgoth in the final battle. Not even the sun compared to how bright she had been; how the Eternal kept her word to protect them despite her burnt hands. She too lost the very thing that brought her as her character. But even then, even after her time in Angband: she had burst into the light much like the Trees.

Maedhros was a little scared at how she could still be like this, though a little shocked at the chosen vocabulary.

Did the Edain speak like this all the time? With vulgar words?

One thing he was taught was that he should not refer to the secondborn as secondborn as well, and not the race of men: but humans. It was an odd term to speak of but if he were to adapt in a world with none of the Eldar, Maedhros needed to put his stubborn ways to the test and accept it.

He couldn't deny it: the Edai-humans used to be fierce and strong in their own way and gave him his respects on what they achieved. However, the humans in this world were another thing.

They were creative and innovative, creating centuries or tools and contraptions that even the loremasters or Tirion or the dwarves of Belegost and Nogrod had. They built flying contraptions called planes and metal boxes that could cook meat without an open fire.

The humans in this world absolutely loved their metal here, and it was something he was amazed at the numerous metals they have discovered as well as created. If his father was here, he would have sucked every idea here and used his own magic and mind to create something. Maybe something terrible, though, it would not match what he had done to the rest of Arda.

Though when it comes to creation...comes destruction as well.

Maedhros wasn't surprised at this. Fear and ambition drove people...how his family and himself had done. He had watched moving paintings (videos they were called) of destructive weapons. Long tubes that fired and exploded. Lands degraded by these bombs and missiles and guns.

At first, he was disgusted at how humans treated this world. Illyria agreed partially, but she told him that it doesn't make the elves and the humans of their world saints. Instead of guns and threats, they had swords, bows and arrows and oaths. Both worlds had borders and kingdoms under the rule of one figurehead.

Okay, perhaps she had a point. But at least they didn't destroy the land and Illyria had to agree with that statement.

These were the things they discussed after Illyria kicked his behind and finally brought him to his senses. And once that occurred, Maedhros was slowly crawling up to his knees. Perhaps not to heal yet but enough to stop his fëa from slipping.

And why Illyria suggested for him to go to a healer.

He furrowed his eyebrows at that. He wasn't hurt at all and his hand – though slightly aching – was not as painful. Illyria's father (which still irked him to know that she now had one despite never hearing about her parents) was a healer himself, though now a sorcerer. The head of sorcerers apparently.

Though she wasn't referring to the profession Illyria's father, Stephen Strange, had. She meant a healer of the mind.

Maedhros refused at first and Illyria rolled her eyes. She informed him that it was the only way for him to at least get better mentally and explained what this PTSD meant. How war traumatized people and how even those who killed are scarred mentally. These healers, on the other hand, would aid these people through their memories and give them advice on how to tread carefully with their thoughts and ideas.

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"Then I'll come with you." Illyria plainly told him, plopping down the book with a little too much vigour.

Maedhros winced before narrowing his eyes. What did the book do to her?

"Let me make another suggestion: we both do not go." He replied.

Illyria glared at him before closing them. Rubbing her temples, she sat across him on the kitchen island (it was rather an innovative name to call it) and looked at him. "Tell me: have you been actually trying to sleep?"

"You know we do not need as much sleep as humans." He pointed out. Maedhros forgot then that Illyria was...unfortunately human now.

"We still need to at least conserve our body's energy after a few days." She said, "And it's been four days since you've last slept."

Maedhros inhaled, glancing away. He remembered that nightmare very briefly, waking up shaking in the soft mattress before he could not help but sleep on the floor. Illyria found him that morning, covering his body with a blanket before muttering about buying a harder mattress.

"Nelyafinwë."

A dark pang stabbed his chest as he scrunched his eyes.

That name still haunted him.

Anything but that name. It was tainted by everything he had done. How Morgoth taunted him with that name for thirty years.

How his body ached everywhere as he hung against the cliff face. How his brother used to call him by that name. How much of the lords of Fingolfin and Finarfin's side spoke to him with that name. He wasn't Maedhros then; Maedhros was the name he finally accepted just after Dagor Bragollach. When he was in East Beleriand and Angband was at his doorstep. When they called him Russandol instead of his true anessi.

When Maedhros looked back to Illyria, she stared at him with the eyes of Elemmírë. Not Oialëa or Illyria. Sometimes he didn't know who she was from time to time.

"This is the reason why you need to go to a healer, Mae," Illyria spoke softer, taking another breath. "You recently just got out of a war. I haven't. I've had more years since that day and even then, after everything, it didn't compare the short years I had in Angband."

Maedhros had to remember time and time again that this Elemmírë was of the future, with years of experience and a life that were spent of peace and war. He still didn't know what happened, only to know that she had lived through the Third Age of the Sun out of all things. Two Ages older...meaning she was perhaps older than him. The young Lady of Gondolin was now somehow a sorceress. He thought she would have sailed back to Valinor, to be with her brother and kin.

Instead, she stayed. Did she stay with Elros and Elrond then? If so, were they alright before she had passed on?

All he knew was that Illyria had recently discovered her own past and was having her own journey navigating her memories. Maedhros assumed that fëa re-embodied would have their memories intact – and especially in the same body as before.

In time Illyria will open up and explain, especially when she was handing him the books from her collection. It told of the version of their time in Beleriand and of their history. He chose then to wait, to allow himself to go to this healer and see if it will help him.

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The healers on Earth were called many things, depending on what sort of healing they professed. Illyria's father was called Doctor Stephen Strange (a rather amusing name which resulted in a bemused sorcerer) whilst Illyria's mother-figure was called Doctor Darcy Lewis. The title doctor apparently showed a high status in their subject, like the loremasters he once remembered in Tirion and once Elemmírë had been. Stephen Strange was once a 'neurosurgeon', someone who (and to his disgust) opened skulls and operated on their brains.

Maedhros almost caught himself running to the privy hadn't Illyria conjured a bucket in front of him. Darcy Lewis told him that he had almost gone green 'as the Hulk' – whoever this creature was, he did not like to approach one.

Darcy for one was different. She was a doctor of studying space and the sky above them, calling it astrophysics. When she and Illyria tried to explain it, Maedhros barely understood a word of what they said. Though when they mentioned the stars and the night sky, he perked his eyes and realised that it was what Elemmírë once mentioned. Illyria grinned then, nodding that it was similar to what she once learned about.

This doctor on the other hand: studied people and their experiences. A psychologist Illyria mentioned and stood beside him in front of a building in the middle of Oxford, the city Illyria lived in when she was researching and learning to become a Doctor of Astrophysics herself.

Illyria had taken weeks searching for doctors, always busy having a 'phone' next to her ear as she spoke to it. (That was an odd spectacle to see, but then when she showed it to him, Maedhros had yelped from his spot at the bright white light. Illyria had panicked and apologized to him so many times). Once she seemed happy, she informed him that they were having an appointment with them.

A lot of things was racing in his head. Illyria had prepared him for two weeks about what human therapists spoke about. Even then: Maedhros was somehow terrified. He should be scolding himself, and perhaps his brothers must be laughing in the Halls for his fear of speaking his own fears.

His gloved left hand had gone to Illyria's tightly squeezing it as he stared at the door. Illyria assured him that he would be alright, and then she was with him as well. Maedhros stayed silent as the door opened.

She was called Andrea Barnard, a young Edai-human who was shorter than Illyria (he was a poor person to describe height considering how tall he was) with dark brown hair tied back in a bun. She wore these glass spectacles atop her nose which were lined in metal. Maedhros had to look directly down to look at her and almost regretted seeing those kind and analytical eyes.

If they were green and not brown, her expression might have reminded him of his mother.

Doctor Andrea Barnard welcomed them into her home. It was plain and simple, with glassed frames hanging upon the walls as well as an ornate light above the ceiling that he almost hit with his head. He thanked the Valar that Illyria had used her usual charms to converse with the doctor as she guided them to a small sitting area.

The design of human homes varied too much for his liking. Sometimes they were ornate and natural, reminding him of at least of Tirion or of Himring. Sometimes they were geometric and structured in patterns much like the Dwarven strongholds of Belegost or of Nogrod. And sometimes they were plain as they, with a mix of things. There were always those black boxes that lit up with moving paintings as well as a bookshelf.

Their first session wasn't the most successful.

Maedhros had stormed off, angered at how this woman could possibly know about him.

Illyria had chased him out of the house, and to his shock shouted at him in Quenya rather than Sindarin (or English to what the Humans called it).

Her Quenya stopped him there in the middle of the paved road and if she hadn't shoved him out of the way – a large metal moving box would have collided right into him.

Instead, it had expelled a sound as well as a string of curse words from the human inside. Illyria had apologized to the 'driver' before asking him once more in Quenya if he was alright. Maedhros had not spoken a word to Illyria after that, betrayed that she had told the doctor his past.

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A week later after that, Maedhros had somehow complied to try once more.

He and Illyria had not made up then; he was still angry at her whereas she was annoyed at him for being too sensitive.

Sensitive? The doctor had asked about Thangorodrim twenty minutes since the beginning of their session.

Dr Barnard apologized when they returned, excusing herself that it was a misunderstanding. Their second session commenced, and it was not as disastrous as the first - but still not the progress Illyria and Dr Barnard hoped for.

Soon they continued their weekly meetings, and despite the slow progress – Illyria told him that he was slowly opening up. Maedhros didn't think much of it, preferring to divert his thoughts to the world he now lived in and beginning to appreciate more of the work the humans had here. So many of these humans have achieved things and had numerous jobs for them. But it wasn't anything he took a fancy of.

Whilst Illyria did take him to her childhood home: Kamar-Taj, to study and practice some of the Mystic Arts she was brought up in; Maedhros spent most of his days reading and studying contraptions. He learnt of their history, seeing similarities of their wars against each other and of the affairs. One thing's for sure, he was not appealed by several figureheads. Hitler reminded him too much of Morgoth's lieutenant: Gorthaur, who joined for the sake of controlling Easterling humans under his command.

Then there were heroics of tales, but not due to their strength on the battlefield but by their long reigns and innovations. Whilst Illyria was busy working with another doctor with her research, Darcy Lewis was another constant presence that eased him more than he thought it would.

The ever-petite human was crass and vulgar with her words but amusing all the same with her quip remarks and ever intellectual mouth. Maedhros thought Darcy would definitely get along with his cousin Írissë or even Tyelkormo. She was beautiful for a human, with blue eyes that were like sapphires, a different hue to Illyria's ocean ones. And unlike his, which were pale and almost grey like.

Most would think she would appear as someone who preferred looks over mind, but it took Maedhros not long to discover how attentive she was. She was of the motherly type even if she did not name herself to be one, making sure he and Illyria were eating the meals they needed, asking if he had bathed and making sure their house was tidy enough for her to not have a fit. She often made enough time for him, showing him around the city he now lived in as well as learning what each thing was. Like cars and busses and shops. New cuisines he had never seen before and clothes he felt rather uncomfortable to look at.

But most of all, Darcy made him feel welcomed.

Whilst Illyria was constantly in and out during the day, Darcy did all she could to not isolate him from the outer world but also allow him to choose whether to put himself out of his comfort zone. His clothes were plain and much like the ones he arrived in, a ray of coloured tunics and trousers before he began to take interest in the clothes both she and Illyria and the humans wore. Objects that lit up were often taken to a minimum so he would not be overwhelmed but enough to allow him to grasp at what these 'tablets' and 'phones' were about.

Their conversations were what kept Maedhros from truly falling into a pit of despair. She told him stories of Illyria. Her childhood was bright and joyous despite the hint of sadness in Darcy's voice. How Illyria was afraid of simple things such as spiders or small creatures crawling about. That she was incredible in her feet and still went around barefoot even at her adulthood. Maedhros smiled at the prospect of her, still with the Light of the Trees in her eyes and a grin that made him feel pained also. Because in a way: it took Elemmírë Oialëa another life to finally be released from the pain and shadow that Arda had. The rebirth in a new world gave her more than what she could have kept if the War of Wrath never happened.

"Did she ever tell you about her childhood?" Darcy asked him.

They were sitting in the park in the middle of the city, watching families walkabout as they chased their children. It reminded him sometimes of his brothers, having to play with them during their time in Tirion. When they were still together, with a not-so-obsessed father and their loving and enigmatic mother.

Maedhros looked down to his side, finding Darcy continuing to hold her cup of coffee like it was the most precious thing to her. He thought for a moment, before answering. "Of Elemmírë or of Illyria?"

Darcy replied, "Both I guess."

"Sometimes of her time as Illyria," He spoke, remembering to discover photographs (a version of human paintings here though much more lifelike) of Illyria in their house one time. "She doesn't speak much of her time as Elemmírë."

Perhaps it was because she couldn't really remember it herself, or could not bear to remember it at all. Maedhros could tell Illyria wanted to remember some of it, especially of her time after the war, but her memories came at a price. Of pain and agony that he would hear her weep in her room all night for the names, he knew and others he didn't.

Darcy said, "I can understand." She continued, "Her memories are jumbled, they're never in the same order that it's hard for her to even know who she knew and what happened to her. The Ancient One told Stephen that she began having them as a toddler. The Ancient One jotted most of what Illyria said to her but Stephen kept an entire book about her memories so maybe one day they could make sense of it and figure out who she was getting the memories from."

Maedhros watched her stop, taking a sip from the cup.

"And let me tell you when he got dusted and I took care of her...I didn't realise I would have to keep it up and continue it." Darcy spoke, "I mean it wasn't a chore, but I thought it had been too tedious and just plain annoying having to write it all down. Illyria knew about it of course, but she was too scared to go back to the worst ones. We agreed that she'd write the good ones for her own and give me the nightmare ones."

He then finally understood what she meant. It was Illyria's way to confide with others of her memories without having to vocalize it to them. Darcy said that her teenage years was what stopped her from telling Darcy about her dreams, catching up with human hormones and growing up.

Darcy continued, "I read the nightmare ones only once and then try at least to help her get some sleep and assurance." She continued, "But when she finally turned eighteen, she said that her nightmares were fine for her own way to keep it away but...I think she's been keeping it to herself."

"May I ask," Maedhros spoke before he asked a question. "Did they have a common pattern? The nightmares?" Perhaps he was being too risky, choosing to ask a sensitive and personal topic.

She thinned her lips and nodded, "Yeah. I think she remembers it now when she returned from your world." Darcy continued, "But most of it was about this man on a pike or when she was fighting this dude somewhere. She said that she felt like her chest was burning."

Maedhros didn't know either of these things. They must have occurred after he left and skipped forwards in time. But he hardly touched those books. The one's Darcy and Illyria had left him in his drawer. He couldn't yet bear to read what occurred after him, worried that his death may have affected what Middle Earth had. Or what the entirety of Arda had.

Only Illyria Strange had those answers.

"Elemmírë or not," Darcy's pronunciation of her name caused Maedhros to chuckle at her attempt. "She's going to need someone to finally come to accept her. Whether she liked it or not."

Maedhros smiled sadly before turning to a frown. "She hardly talks to our healer, preferring the attention to my own. She hates her name now."

It was not an overstatement. Despite the smiles and the haunting looks, Maedhros wondered why she would wince or tear up at her name. What had she left in Arda months ago that made her lose herself?

"I don't think she hates it. She's ashamed of it." Darcy murmured, taking another sip of her drink.

Maedhros wondered, "How so?"

Darcy stiffened then and said simply, "I'm not really the one to say it, but a month before you got here: she lost someone dear to her. Well, a lot of people actually." She turned to him, her eyes widening at his peered expression. "Shit, she didn't tell you yet, hadn't she?"

No. She hadn't told him what happened during her time in Middle Earth.

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In the next session, Maedhros had taken himself to visit Dr Barnard alone. Illyria had been surprised, and almost suspicious, that he had to hide his thoughts aside to stop her from reading his mind. He found the house with no hassle, remembering the winding roads of familiar buildings before knocking before their door.

Even Dr Barnard was surprised to see him on his own, though she didn't show it as she ushered him inside. They did what they normally did, asking how much he had done to cope with his hands and a routine for him to keep his strength in his body. He answered them enough for her to be pleased but then mentioned Illyria halfway through.

Maedhros asked, "I understand that it took time for you to accept who I was." He continued, "But I know that what you know is different to the history Illyria and I know of."

Dr Barnard didn't believe them at first to be who they were. Maedhros struggled to comprehend as well at the versions this world had of their stories, knowing a future human knew. But Dr Barnard spoke of seeing aliens for the first time on the news, and of unknown creatures that appeared in a nearby city called London – she was more relaxed by them and believed more when she saw him. The Eldar were of course built differently to humans, taller and slender but with more strength. She mentioned how he glowed in the eyes, but not as much as Illyria did.

Maedhros didn't trust the woman until she had sworn to them that this was professional and that she was legally bound to not speak of them outside of the four walls of her home.

"I thought she's human," Dr Barnard said, curious. "Unless she's some other...thing. I'm not to judge of what race or species you are, only to provide you with the help you need."

He plainly told her, "She trusts you." Maedhros eyed her stoically. "She would not choose you if you would cast our secrets out. I want to know that you will keep your bargain and not tell a soul of who she once was."

The psychologist's eyes flashed in fear before she straightened herself, adjusting her glasses, and replied coolly, "I'm here to listen and to help you, nothing more. It's your choice to tell me what you want, and I will do what I can." Andrea Barnard spoke, "If you think that's not enough, I'll tell you that I'm not someone who gossips. I am a professional therapist and I take my work seriously and to the best of my ability."

There was a flash of recognition in Maedhros, swearing he had heard and felt something similar from a distant past before. Dr Barnard did keep her word to stay quiet as he spoke what he knew about Elemmírë, talking about the Havens and their time with the Laiquendi. How she had lost her brother and most of her people during the last century of the war before being taken to Angband.

He didn't mention what happened to her in Angband because even he didn't know what occurred there. He and his brother were amongst the other group to distract Morgoth and his forces, allowing Elros and Elrond instead to rescue her. He wondered why he even did it and remembered his own time in Thangorodrim.

He didn't want the same fate to happen to her. Nobody would have.

Dr Barnard had teared up at the tale, and he awkwardly passed her the box of tissues on the small table. She chuckled to herself, "I'm sorry." Sniffing, she composed herself back to her spot. "I grew up reading your world. My mother always said I was too attached to some characters that it was almost as if I knew them by heart."

Maedhros kept silent, watching the notebook in front of her. He normally saw her write a lot about what he said. However, this time: it was blank.

"I understand you haven't read the future of your world...or a version of it." She corrected herself. "It's scary to think of how accurate an author can be, and odd how they can even know of it."

He questioned, "The author, does he still live?"

Maybe this...Tolkien could possibly understand more of what was happening. Maybe Tolkien had seen his world, had seen Arda.

Dr Barnard shook her head sadly, "He passed away decades ago, so did his son who mostly edited and analyzed his work." She continued, "But it's not really what I'm implying."

Maedhros said, "What then."

"I think from everything you said: your friend is afraid to become someone else." Dr Barnard explained, her voice returning to her professional self. "I've heard of people speaking about reincarnation and saying that they once lived another life. Most people just move on and accept it. Sometimes they just move back to their own selves. And there are some people who can't admit that they're both the same people and only just grown from the life they experienced."

He creased his eyebrows, "I don't understand."

"Some people like to stay in the past too much, afraid to look in the future because it's unpredictable and unknown. They want comfort and to keep to what they have then and now." She spoke, "And some people like to think about the future and ignore their past. They tend to lose themselves and maybe make the same mistakes because they don't see what their past have done. They forget about what made them who they were, how it brought them to become someone they are comfortable with."

Maedhros understood then that she was speaking about Illyria. She was afraid that she won't be looked at as Illyria but as Elemmírë of Gondolin.

Dr Barnard looked at him straightforwardly: "You are much like that, afraid to look at your past. But an entirely different reason." She said, "Whilst she's afraid to lose her future; you're afraid for the past to come back to you and haunt you."

"I am not..." Maedhros pursed his lips and ground his teeth. "If your people knew what I have done, I would already be sentenced into your prisons."

Dr Barnard hummed, "It's true." She closed her book softly, "But then again we've pardoned a lot of those who've made mistakes. Like the Avengers who didn't sign the Sokovia Accords. The new Captain America was once on the run after their so-called civil war with Steve Rogers because they defended former Sergeant James Barnes."

Darcy and Illyria told him about this group of heroes. Maedhros found them to be...interesting, familiar in his head. Especially the spy: Black Widow. The red hair from photos and videos showed how similar she was that even Maedhros had to hide his shock from them.

"Amending your mistakes won't be solved by not looking at the mistakes you once had." Dr Barnard told him. "As I said many times, it can take months or years, but I know you'll come around to understand it."

Maedhros didn't react to her sentence, only piping back. "We are talking about Illyria, not me."

"For her, she needs to talk to someone. Either me, her guardian or father or even you." She said. "And she needs to understand that accepting Elemmírë doesn't mean she isn't losing another part of her identity. And that she can either thank Elemmírë and say goodbye or welcome her. Ignoring her won't give her the peace she wants because she's going to keep having dreams of her."

Their session ended then on, the timer ringing from her phone as they both stood up. Andrea Barnard led him out to the door quietly, never even mentioning what they spoke about or what they were even thinking. Instead, she gazed up at him, a shimmer over her irises as if she was hoping to see another face.

Maedhros bowed to her and said, "Thank you, I hope you have a good day."

Dr Barnard only smiled, folding her arms over her chest before he began his walk back to his house.

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Andrea Barnard kept her promise, never speaking or even hinting to Illyria during their sessions that she knew her story. Maedhros had improved over the coming months, finally speaking about his time in Tirion and his brothers. He spoke about his regrets about not leaving his younger brothers behind in Aman. His mother had been heartbroken when his father forbade even Amras or Amrod to stay at least and felt that Nerdanel had lost her husband after he had been banished from Tirion.

It was that time that Maedhros felt their family falling apart. With Fëanor growing paranoid and jealous of Finwë's attention to Fingolfin and worried Fëanor's half-brother would become High King instead. Maedhros cared not for politics, he preferred to command or to hunt instead – keeping his focus on his brothers until another came along.

Fingon.

He hadn't heard or thought of his name in years. Mostly was that he was still in pain at what happened, and how he had lost him to so many in that battle. So many of them were lost that their bodies piled up, that it took them hours to uncover his body and find him dead. How his body was so cold, covered in soot and blood and dirt. He couldn't feel his fëa anymore, now gone into the Halls to heal.

It was there he realised how his heart and mind truly felt for him. Despite all the hatred of their families and what had happened to them all, Fingon had kept his promise to be beside him. As his heart. Maedhros once wanted to end it all, to plead the Valar to finally take him to the halls at least. He knew that Námo won't ever forgive what they had done, but at least give him time to be with Fingon before their fates were chosen at the end of the World.

It was why with all the pain and self-hatred – Maedhros at least was hoping to see him on the other side.

And then he never died. He never felt the impact of the lava before colliding into the hardwood of the staircase. There was no roaring agony in his hand; the burning of the Silmaril into his skin. Instead, he found those eyes again that he last saw. Not the grey eyes Fingon had, or the dark brown hair he plaited in gold threads.

Before Beleriand and before Morgoth or the Silmarils, he found solace and friendship with Fingon. Unlike the stiffness of Turgon, or the sly and confidence of Aredhel, or even the irrational care of Argon, Fingon had the firm character that gave him enough to calculate his actions. He had the fire in him, but also the control of it unlike his younger siblings but also not as controlling as Turgon.

They spent their years hunting and commanding the soldiers of the Noldor before the darkening. So long that Maedhros knew every trick and action Fingon had in his sleeve. When they fought against one another, they were of equal skill and strength despite their height.

However, when they fought alongside one another – they were a force not to reckon with.

Maedhros knew he shouldn't have made that rash mistake. They had underestimated their enemy and brought them back even more. He shouldn't have blindly lost himself in following his father.

And one thing he regretted now was following that stupid Oath.

He didn't know how much it would have pressured him, not only to go forward but to betray the people they called as kin. He killed elves, his own kind whilst he watched Fingon follow his father believing the Teleri elves betrayed them instead. He had to watch the ships burn, realizing that he had abandoned him. He had betrayed Fingon's trust because of the Oath.

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"Your...cousin." Dr Barnard began, looking through her notes. When she looked up, she wore the same analytical gaze and asked, "Have you thought of him since then?"

Maedhros's jaw tightened, his hand curling tightly. Eventually, he complied and nodded. He watched her think for a moment, looking over to Illyria who sat in the corner of the room – keeping her distance enough to stop him from possibly lashing out. She had her eyes focused now, realizing the dangerous topic.

He then said, "Yes...once."

"What is the first thing you think of when you think of him?" She questioned.

He took a deep breath, looking away before he simply replied, "Regret."

"Regret of what."

Maedhros's chest was tightening. "That I should have been beside him." He spoke in a gruff voice, "That I should I have stopped him from burning the ships."

He meant his father. If he stopped Fëanor, he could have sailed to get Fingon across instead of forcing them to cross the frozen wastelands of Helcaraxë.

"If you didn't burn the ships, and you sailed back. Would he have come with you?" Dr Barnard asked.

He stayed silent to think. Instantly he would have bit back and said yes. Fingon would have done it, either way, come across for the sake of following the rest of the Noldor. But then he thought of the time they had sailed; it wouldn't make a difference. The Teleri would have their guts if they saw him. He might have crossed the Helcaraxë with them. All of their efforts would have been nought.

Fingon was his own person. He wouldn't follow unless he weighed the reasons and did it in his own will. Like his father Fingolfin, he would have chosen a politician's side before planning to attack again.

Andrea Barnard didn't know the underlying truth between him and Fingon. Neither did Illyria because Maedhros chose to never mention it other than to his brother Maglor.

But it wasn't long during an evening in their home that Illyria asked of Fingon.

At first, he wanted to brush it off, to deny the feelings that were swirling inside him. But he saw something in Illyria's eyes that caused him to wonder as well.

Maedhros realised that Illyria was in love too. But with who? And why hadn't he noticed it all of these months with her? They've been living here for almost a year and he didn't even notice the one thing that was a constant presence to her.

It was the pendant on her neck. The familiar eight-pointed star and golden tree.

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When Illyria caught him staring at her pendant, she wore the look of pain before shuddering a breath.

"That is elven made," Maedhros spoke carefully.

Illyria replied, "It is." She answered, "An elven lord gave it to me."

He had to think of which elven lords she spoke of. Remembering the names who survived the war, he could only remember several that were of high status. Círdan was hardly a possibility, for his love was only for his kin and the sea. There was Gil-Galad, the High King of the Noldor and more likely to choose an unproblematic Noldorin elf. He then remembered his brother's son: Celebrimbor.

Celebrimbor had fled to Gondolin after the destruction of Nargothrond and had become friends with Elemmírë and escaped with her after the fall. He had then stayed with the host of Gil-Galad by the end of the war, so it perhaps gave time for them to reconcile afterwards.

But Maedhros saw her shake her head when she realized what he had assumed.

"Not Celebrimbor," Illyria spoke. If not Curufin's son, then who else?

He tried to deduce the times he had been with Illyria, who began to grow comfortable in telling what she did during her time in Middle Earth as a sorceress. Maedhros knew she left some bits out, not as careful as she thought in speaking of this elven city called Imladris and of Elrond.

Elrond Peredhel.

Maedhros stared into Illyria's eyes and saw her cheeks crinkle up with a smile. But her eyes betrayed her. They were sad and longing as the tear spilt along her cheeks. Elemmírë Oialëa had married Elrond Peredhel out of all Eldar and he shouldn't be this surprised. He had grown up around her, save by her before he saved her.

It was why Elrond was so adamant to rescue Elemmírë. How long did that young half-elf love her?

He said to her, "I should have expected of it." Maedhros quirked his lips. "He would only come to our sparring lessons if you were present."

A small tint of pink appeared on her cheeks. She still grinned, "You should have seen me kick his ass when I was in Imladris. He was so surprised at my Eldritch magic."

He could imagine it so; especially how different Illyria's fighting style was now. Maedhros of course still beat her in every spar they had since they've been on Earth, but it was a breath of fresh air to come across someone who was formidable in an artform he was unknown to.

Maedhros then spotted her eyes to grow sadder, her lips wavering. "I...miss him." Illyria spoke, "When I left him, I was almost dead hadn't my dad come to rescue me. He then stayed back but the portal to Arda collapsed."

"What happened?" He pressed on. It was the only way to finally know something that could give her some peace. "Illyria, it's hurting you."

Illyria wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Even in the dim lights of the living room, he could tell she was sobbing. "I left him...even after everything. And I shouldn't have." Illyria whispered. "I left them all because I was reckless and angry. Angry at Mordo for killing him."

She had broken down, silently staring at the blank screen of the television. She didn't wail or cry, making the silence of the room drown him of what she said. Her brother had been sent back to Middle Earth as an emissary to the Valar. But after an age and a half, Glorfindel had been killed so simply by a human sorcerer.

Carefully, he shuffled closer on the sofa towards her, his arm out wide before encasing it around her shoulders. Maedhros wasn't sure why he did it but was surprised as she didn't even hesitate to curl up next to him quietly, her hair matted down whilst she cried until he was sure she fell asleep. He kept his eyes trained forward, but his mind elsewhere.

Illyria had lied for his sake. Even perhaps for her own sake.

Then on, he knew underneath her and all: names didn't matter for her. Illyria or Elemmírë: she had gotten through so much like him. Even after what he had done, she had trusted him to be beside her. She had never thought of him as a kinslayer like any elf after so many years. Instead, she saw something which only Fingon saw in him as well.

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He didn't mean to stumble upon her out of nowhere but then again, he now hardly believed in fate.

And he should be blaming Illyria for this, hadn't she not abandoned him last minute to go to these shops and buy food for them. Maedhros disliked the mundane chores these humans had but couldn't help but be curious at how they could store food for such a time by freezing them and keeping them cool. There was a variety of types of the same apples and new fruits he had never seen.

Elbereth, if any of his soldiers or family saw him like this – Maedhros would forever hide.

He only had to thank Andrea Barnard for appearing in his peripheral, asking him if needed some help. Maedhros did his signature glare before admitting some help tick off the list of ingredients Illyria asked him to purchase.

Out of their professional sessions, Dr Barnard was much like any human woman, with her own life in her hands as well as friends and family. She bore no ring on her finger to see she was married or any mention of a betrothed. There was an air of wisdom around here that not a lot of people had, and he wondered if she was aware of it.

Soon they left the shop, a bag of what Illyria asked in his only hand and with another in Dr Barnard. "You can call me Andrea outside," She informed him and Maedhros nodded.

He replied, "Maedhros then."

She smirked to him, "You might have to change your name if you want unwanted eyes." Andrea added, "But then again, you are seven-foot and taller than most humans."

"I am taller than most elves as well, my lady." Maedhros pointed out. "You may call me Mae; it is what Illyria calls me."

Andrea nodded and hummed: "Mae then." Her head turned to look at her phone. "I'm sorry this is a little hasty, but I must go. My mother's visiting today and I've got to cook. Say hello to Illyria for me."

Nodding back, he watched her cross the street with care before heading down around the corner. Maedhros didn't realise he had been staring out, wondering where he had heard of her before. After a long time of thinking, he shook his head and headed back home.

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They did not meet again until their next appointment, and that was when Maedhros told the news of his new profound hobby.

"You're making jewellery," Andrea said with a smile that spoke of pride.

Maedhros nodded. "Only when I am not training or aiding Illyria." He didn't mention Illyria's sorcery background or the fact that he had begun using sorcery and the Mystic Arts as well. One person he must thank was Master Hamir, who like him: had only one arm and could still beat him using Eldritch swords and shields.

"How do you do it with one hand if I may ask?"

Turning to Illyria, she gave him the signal to reveal his other arm to her. Andrea's eye lit up when he revealed to her the new prosthetic hand in which Illyria commissioned. Illyria's friend, Harley Keener, was like the crafters of the Noldor – creating these moving contraptions much like his metal arm. At first, he didn't agree to it; Maedhros had misinterpreted Illyria's reasons for the new hand and led to her shouting back that it had been a present to him.

Okay, he didn't admit that he liked the hand out loud but he was thankful for it. He didn't need to ask for any help in carrying things or having to do certain chores that needed it. So, when he began focusing on a pastime, Maedhros sought what his family once did.

He was hardly the best of it, frustrated at how fiddly certain parts were but continued. "I'm not as skilled with this craft as most of my kin," Maedhros said to Andrea and Illyria.

Illyria spoke, "I think your circlet was not that bad."

He glared back, "You say this because you can hardly make one yourself."

"That's true, I'm shit." She told Andrea, chuckling. "I think I did make one before. I can't remember when or what it was for."

Andrea chuckled along and asked, "But it is calming you, yes?"

"Mostly frustrating me," Maedhros answered. "But yes; it's...helping me."

"That's good." She began to write something down about it. "I think a hobby other than sparring or exercise or reading is good to keep your mind off things. Plus, you come out with a product your happy with."

Illyria turned to the therapist and questioned, "What do you like to do in your spare time, Andrea?"

Looking back to them, Maedhros see her shift and answered back: "Nothing really, I'm mostly interested in philosophy and history. Mostly reading. But I do like to go on trips sometimes."

"Where to?" Illyria wondered. This entire session, though probably because of a year of sessions with Andrea, had caused the three of them to be comfortable with one another.

Andrea said, "I like to go up to Scotland sometimes. Just to see the national parks and go on walks." She continued, "But I'm actually a member of the Institute of Psychoanalysis. Hate Freud though with a passion."

They carried on talking for the last fifteen minutes of their hour about the idea of free minds and thoughts that almost reminded him of the someone Finrod once met during their time in Beleriand.

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It was the first time that Illyria and Maedhros talked about Andrea to one another. They finished sparring an hour ago, deciding to have dinner outside in their back garden, using as much of the summer weather Oxford had. Maedhros asked her how she had known that Andrea was the right one to trust all this time.

She gave him that cheek and mysterious glint his younger brothers always used when they didn't want to reveal it. "I just contacted several therapists around the city and thought she was the right one," Illyria said wistfully.

Maedhros snorted, "I hardly think that's the only reason." He knew Illyria must have used her telepathy and mind-reading, if not: her surprisingly extensive research. Or Darcy's elicit 'hacking' as they called it.

But even Illyria didn't budge and tell.

"It's not as if she would know about it," He told her. "And she's smart. She would have already guessed that you knew that she knew of us, of this Tolkien and his written work of our history."

Illyria finished her wine and huffed, "Fine." She glanced at him and answered: "I reached out into her fëa."

He spat out his wine.

Did he hear that right?

"I told you would be surprised," Illyria laughed.

Maedhros blinked, placing the glass down and stared at her. Andrea...possessed a fëa. A fëa that was of Arda and not of this world. "How did you know she even possessed one?"

"I didn't," She admitted, furrowing her eyebrows. "Ever since I've come back, my powers are like at their peak sometimes. I can sense more in the other planes without focusing too much. And most of the time I can feel things that are attuned to what Arda had."

"She must be Edain, surely," He wondered. "All secondbo-humans move on into the unknown."

Illyria pursed her lips. "Maybe," She shrugged. "But I mean it's nothing yet. Only a theory. And she doesn't remember her past life, so we don't know who she was."

"You want to ask her," Maedhros stated. "You have that look that I've come to recognize when you're about to do something."

Raising her eyebrow, she pouted before taking a sip. "I'm not going to run to her and say she used to be a part of our world. Look what happened to me, I practically went apeshit and just denied it all."

"Or she would come to understand it and realise it won't affect her life now," Maedhros pointed out. "She is wise beyond her years and won't be swayed by something out of the blue."

Illyria spoke, "I won't go and tell her. Maybe it'll just come to her one day."

"And if it does?" He asked.

"Then she decides what to do," Illyria answered. "I'm not going to fucking drag her along with us. We're already causing trouble for both of my parents."

Maedhros didn't disagree.

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They were in New York, or somewhere in New York.

Illyria had been injured during an attack, hobbling out of the rubble. Whilst the young human boy in the blue and red suit swung through the air shooting those spiderwebs. Maedhros didn't like it that even here, he was still fighting battles. Instead, they were against humans from other worlds who sought to defeat the three same versions of this spiderchild...or something along the lines at that.

At just the right time, Illyria's father appeared, using those golden gateways to take them to safety in the Sanctum Sanctorum. He had never seen Stephen Strange become angry before, not only to Illyria but to the spiderchild as well. Maedhros learnt the name of the child to be Peter, an odd child with a similar accent to Stephen Strange's and with the energy of an elfling he witnessed. He reminded him of when his brothers were once children as well, often Amras and Amrod being the most hyper of them all.

Then two more versions of Spiderman appeared and he kept his promise to keep Illyria put whilst Stephen left with the three Spidermen to battle their enemies.

It was then Darcy Lewis appeared, and she was not pleased at all.

"What the heck were you thinking running off without any armour or protection?" She shouted at Illyria.

A meek expression edged across Illyria as she replied, "Hey, it was the kid who went to me. Not Dad." She exclaimed, "If I didn't get there in time, all three of them would've been dead!"

Darcy narrowed her eyes before spinning to him. "And you." She questioned, "Why the crap did you follow and didn't stop her?"

Maedhros had never been scolded in decades. The last had been when his mother was present.

"Honestly, you two. I swear it's some weird-ass elf gene that you think you're all invincible." Darcy exasperated before heading out of the room to find the First Aid kit.

Illyria laid on her old bed, glaring at the wall for the next minute before she grumbled, "I'm freaking twenty-one not twelve. I'm not some baby."

"And yet you are as reckless as you are no matter what age, Illyria." Maedhros put it, earning him a scowl that could match Darcy Lewis'. "Mellon, you don't possess your elven strength anymore. You have to be more careful with it."

Illyria sighed, rubbing her arm before poking at the dressed wound. "She doesn't let me heal myself. I used to be afraid of seeing people get hurt." She explained, "I thought it was because I've seen the sorcerers back in Kamar-Taj getting hurt during training. But now I think it's because I've had to watch a lot of people be in pain as Elemmírë."

He leaned back on the chair, looking over the shoulder her before he noticed the strange-looking animal toy on the side of the bed. It was red, and it looked like a fox if it didn't have a striped tail. Maedhros nudged his chin. "What is that type of animal?" He asked.

Illyria turned her head and noticed the thing. She picked it up with some difficulty before plopping it down onto her chest. "It's a red panda." She told him. "I've had him since I was a child. I'm surprised it's still intact by the amount of time I've dragged it about in the playground."

He twitched his lips, imagining a small blonde child running about with the toy. "What's his name?" Maedhros asked.

Suddenly, Illyria froze for a moment. And then her cheeks reddened as she looked away. There was then a nervous chuckle before she mumbled something. "I uh..." Illyria bit her lip. "Might have called it after you."

Maedhros' eyebrows rose and stared at her.

"Well, I realized it months ago where I finally got the name Mae but..." Illyria stopped, or maybe he stopped listening because all he did was laugh in his mind at the sudden revelation.

She had named her childhood toy after him, almost sending his heart swelling. He grinned, hoping to embarrass her more. "I feel honoured that you've named your companion after me, mellon nin." Maedhros heard her sigh again, but then couldn't help but smile along.

"Perhaps I did remember more than I thought," Illyria spoke, a nostalgic smile on her face. "You've been like a brother to me, Mae. Someone who I can trust to share things that I can't even tell my parents about. Because you understand me. Well...understand Elemmírë."

Maedhros's heart thrummed, making him reach to hold her hand beside her. "I'm honoured to be your brother too, Illyria." He smiled a genuine smile that placed no setback since he arrived here. "You are much like any sister as well."

"Thank you, Maitimo." Illyria looked up to him, with glistening eyes as her voice cracked. "And you're not alone anymore, okay? I know this is not what you wanted. This life, but I'll do anything to help you to get back to them."

He replied, "I know you will." His arm wrapped around her shoulders, carefully leaning in to press his lips on the top of her head. "Thank you for being patient with me, nethig."

They understood that the future was unknown to them, but surely and slowly – he and Illyria were coming to accept what their past has done to them now and that all they could do was look back and thank it. Maedhros was here next to her, his newfound little sister. They might be the only ones left of the remaining of their world, and maybe coming to grasp that they'll have to adapt and do what they can for now.

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- Maedhros, Illyria and Andrea will return in Changing of The Song. -

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A/N: This was going to be the prologue of Anarencar but I decided this needed to be on its own. You don't have to read this to understand the series but it just gives a better picture of how Maedhros developed between the time skip between the series. 

I always found Maedhros fascinating to write and just putting him in this situation really made me wonder how all the Feanorians would react if they all went to therapy. They all kinda need to to be honest.

And if you haven't caught up, Andrea Barnard is in fact Andrea Saelind reincarnated. You'll get to see her in the series with a larger role and perhaps her own sort of part of the narrative in the future. ;)

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Edited: 23/10/2021