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The first thing Arwen noticed was that the world was flat.
She didn't know how she knew this, only that she had grown up in an Arda that was round, and this was not.
The second thing she noticed, having woken up on her back in the grass at nighttime, was that Gil-Estel was not there. She frowned. Why was her grandfather not in the sky?
And, for that matter, what had happened?
There had been some kind of artifact, she remembered that. Something Maiarin that she and her brothers had been told not to touch, and she had touched it anyway, because it was interesting and she was curious, and then -- nothing. She woke up here.
Where was "here?"
She sat up and looked around. Her granddad Maglor lay unconscious several feet away, as did Glorfindel, which made sense; they'd been trying to stop her from touching the artifact. At least she wasn't alone.
They were in a clearing in some kind of forest, and the trees weren't quite those of Rivendell. Judging from the North Star, they were a bit further south. She took a deep breath. Nowhere near the sea, but there was a campfire someplace in the vicinity. But there was something else in the air, in the ground beneath her -- some energy thrumming, something that told her to run and reach and wright and ruin.
She stored that impulse to think about later.
The most important thing was that she was in the past, and a long-ago past it was, before her father's twelfth birthday when the evening star had first appeared.
Maglor blinked his eyes open and sat up quickly. He looked around, and then up, eyes widening as he noticed the absence of Eärendil in the sky. "What the hell," he said.
"We're in the past!" said Arwen. "And Glorfindel came with us. I'm excited."
"I'm not sure what year it is, but this isn't a good time to be in. We're getting out as quickly as possible."
Arwen pouted.
Maglor ignored her, standing up and walking over to Glorfindel, and nudged him with a foot. "Wake up."
Glorfindel woke. "What's going -- Arwen! We told you not to touch that thing!"
"But it looked interesting! And we're in the past now, see?" she pointed at where Gil-Estel should be, beaming. "This is going to be great!"
"No, it is not going to be great!" said Glorfindel. "If we manage to get back without being eaten by a dragon, you are grounded for a decade."
"Well maybe if we change the past for the better, Atya won't be upset!" she argued.
Maglor sputtered. "You can't just -- Arwen, changing the past shouldn't be done without a lot of thought. It's a miracle your parents were born and managed to survive, with everything going on!"
"We could save people! Maybe even Glorfindel!" She pointed at the elf in question. "Don't you want him to live?"
Glorfindel coughed. "Dying was rather unpleasant and I'd like to avoid it, but my return was pretty important."
Arwen crossed her arms. "We don't have to do anything. Just warn people."
Maglor paused, then tugged Glorfindel by the arm. "Let's talk for a second over here. Arwen, don't listen but don't go anywhere."
She listened in anyway.
"If we say yes to warning people, she's going to start actively changing things anyway," Maglor whispered. "But I can't say no to her."
"And it wouldn't stop her anyway, and we do want to save people if we can," said Glorfindel.
They turned around. "Okay, we can warn people," said Maglor. "But you have to be careful and stay with us."
Arwen bounced in glee. "Where to first?"
"Himring."
"My lord, your brother is here," said Lintë.
Maedhros frowned. "Which one?"
"Lord Maglor. He has brought two guests, one is unknown to me and the other is Glorfindel," she said.
"But Maglor was just here! And Glorfindel -- didn't he disappear with the rest of Nevrast?" Maedhros could already feel a preemptive headache forming.
"Well, he's back."
Maedhros sighed and stood from his cluttered desk, heading downstairs to greet them.
Upon stepping into the great hall, Maglor burst into tears and ran to him, crushing him in a hug. Maedhros confusedly patted him on the back. "Is everything alright?"
"No it's not," Maglor sobbed, "but maybe it will be."
Maedhros held him until the tears subsided and took the opportunity to look at his other guests. One was certainly Glorfindel, though he looked different from when Maedhros had last seen him, and the other was an unfamiliar elf-maid who nonetheless looked like someone he should know. A descendant of Finwë, to be certain, but there was something off about her, rather like -- rather like Daeron, whom he had met at the Mereth Aderthad, and rather Mannish, too.
Eventually Maglor pulled back and wiped his eyes. "Nelyo, let me introduce you to my companions. You know Glorfindel, and this is Arwen Undómiel."
Maedhros furrowed his brow. "Evenstar? What does that mean?"
"Don't worry about it," said Arwen smoothly, a trace of þ in her speech, noticeable only because they all were speaking Quenya (for Sindarin distinguished between þ and s in all its dialects, while in Quenya marking the distinction was political). She gave a brilliant smile. "I'm your granddaughter from the future."
"What?"
Glorfindel pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought we agreed to get people accustomed slowly."
"You agreed! I didn't," said Arwen, still beaming. "And it's efficient."
"Are you all from the future?" said Maedhros, who received nods in return. "And would I be correct in assuming the future is bad?"
Two nods, and an "It gets better eventually!" from Arwen.
"So you're here to change things," he surmised.
"Actually, we're here because Arwen is a smith and therefore prone to acts of hubris and messed with a magical object she shouldn't have," said Maglor. "But while we're here, yes."
"We're also here to find out who Gil-Galad is," said Arwen cheerfully.
"Who is--"
"He was Dad's best friend, and also High King," said Arwen, "but nobody ever really knew where his claim to the throne came from. Dad does but he won't say."
"And who is your father?" said Maedhros.
Maglor answered, "Her father is Elrond Aþelairë, whom you and I adopted. Unfortunately I don't have the baby pictures on me right now."
"He is also the grandson of Idril," said Glorfindel with a glare. "And I don't think 'adopted' is the right word."
"And he's Lúthien's descendant too, but you don't see me bringing that into it when it's not relevant to the person we're talking to. And can't you just get over the unfortunate circumstances of the adoption? Nobody in Middle-Earth cares anymore!"
"His parents--"
"That's why I specified Middle-Earth! It's not actually my fault they didn't come back--"
Arwen sidled up to Maedhros. "Don't worry about them. They've had this argument ever since Dad started letting them be in the same place as each other."
"I'm glad it's nothing serious," said Maedhros. He sat down and gestured for her to do the same. "Tell me about yourself, granddaughter."
Arwen said, "Well, granddad told you my name already, but I'm Arwen Undómiel of Imladris, daughter of Celebrían and Elrond. My mother is Galadriel's daughter," she added, "but she hasn't been born yet, and neither has my father. I'm a smith and a seamstress and an enchantress, too. I was born in the--" she cocked her head, doing a quick calculation "--four thousand, two hundred, and seventy-second Year of the Sun."
"That far in the future?"
"Mama and Dad didn't get married till nearly two thousand years after they met; there was a lot going on." She kicked her feet. "I have two older brothers, they're twins. Elrohir and Elladan. Yes, we have a bit of a naming scheme going."
Maedhros shrugged. "I'm in no position to judge."
"Oh, and I'm a half-elf," she added after a moment's thought.
A half-elf? What in Arda? "What's the other half?"
"Human, mostly. Mama's an elf, but Dad's a half-elf because both his parents are, and because of Melian I'm also a Maia a bit. I'm not drawing you the family tree."
"So half-elves are immortal, I'm guessing? That's not what I would've expected," said Maedhros.
Arwen grimaced. "Well. We're not. Except we kind of are? By the time I was born it was decreed that we would choose where our fates lay, and live indefinitely till that Choice is made. I'm going to be mortal eventually, when I decide it's the right time."
"You really are a remarkable granddaughter," said Maedhros, patting her on the head. "I'm proud of you."
Arwen beamed and hugged him.
Across the room, the argument had died down. Maglor turned back to Maedhros and looked ready to cry again seeing him hold Arwen, but said, "Part of the reason we're here is to warn you: there's an attack coming in 455 at Midwinter, from Morgoth. We need to plan for that, because in our timeline it ended the siege and we never recovered."
"There's time to plan," said Maedhros. "It's only the spring of 400 right now, so--"
Glorfindel startled and cut him off. "It's 400? And this is early spring -- Maglor, Arwen, there's something I need to do!"
He started to run for the door, but Maglor stopped him. "Can't we at least rest here a bit and get fresh clothes?"
"You're one to talk, beach hermit--"
Arwen sighed. "Clothes and stuff for us in the supply closet over there," she said, pointing unerringly despite never having been in a non-ruined Himring. When Maglor opened it, it was full of everything the trio would need, despite the supplies never having been put there in the first place. At Maedhros's questioning look, she told him, "I told you, I'm an enchantress. My brothers taught me that trick so I'd never run out of thread."
"Seems very useful," he replied, nodding. "Come back when you're done with whatever Glorfindel is on about."
"Where are we going?" said Maglor. "And why are we going so fast?"
"We're going to Gondolin," said Glorfindel. "I don't know what day today is, but we might get there in time to fix something. Anything. We're nearly -- there!" He pointed at where the entrance must be, a lone figure in dark clothes trying to open it.
Arwen gasped in realization and started rummaging through her pockets. "Ooh, now where did I put my black lip paint, I need to show some goth solidarity with--"
"He doesn't need goth solidarity, he needs an eye kept on him!" cried Glorfindel. "But we have to deal with this guy first."
Eöl had stopped his attempts to open the entryway to stare at them, but upon hearing this continued his efforts.
"That's not how secret doors work!" called Arwen.
"Don't help him!" said Glorfindel, aghast.
Arwen rolled her eyes. "Whatever. You two keep running, I'll meet you in the city." With that, she made a running leap and took wing in the form of a starling.
Turgon was having a very strange day. First his missing sister had returned to him (with a son!) and now a bird had landed in the courtyard and turned into an elf-maid.
"Apologies, but who are you?" he asked.
"Arwen Undómiel," she said, "your great-great-granddaughter from the future! Long story."
Turgon blinked. "Welcome, granddaughter, but how have you come to be here?"
She looked away and mumbled, "Touched a magical artifact because it looked interesting." Her smile returned. "Don't worry! I didn't come alone. Granddad and Glorfindel-from-the-future are taking care of something."
"Glorfindel? That's wonderful!" He chose not to comment on the fact that she had clearly never met him before, which was worrying and sad, and focus instead on the fact that Glorfindel was taking care of her. "Who is--"
A messenger ran to them. "Your majesty," they said, out of breath, "there are intruders! One looks like Lord Glorfindel, but he is here, and the others are Lord Maglor and an unknown."
Turgon looked at Arwen pointedly.
"Granddad adopted my father and he's part of the family. You don't have to like each other." She crossed her arms.
Turgon sighed. "Bring them in."
When Maglor and this new Glorfindel arrived, they were in the middle of a mild argument.
"I said it's nice! Stop saying I'm being insulting!" said Maglor, who looked very different from when Turgon had last seen him -- older, certainly, in the way elves became old, and with a burn scar on the hand he was gesticulating with. "I'm just saying that as far as hidden valleys and their cities go, Rivendell is better. For starters, it only ever has one of you."
"You're biased because it's the first place you were allowed to stay after your mysterious disappearance," said Glorfindel.
"I'm biased because my son built it! It's not like I didn't live with him in Lindon sometimes, and I had a house in Númenor. It's not like you're not biased, either, and anyway Rivendell is objectively better."
Glorfindel rolled his eyes. "I don't think there's an objective measure--"
"We're allowed to leave Rivendell, we get visitors and help lost travelers, the architecture is all Elrond's design (which is to say, better), there's humans and dwarves around, and when Elrond takes in orphaned nieces and nephews it doesn't--"
Glorfindel slapped a hand over Maglor's mouth. "That's hopefully not gonna happen because we'll just fix it. And we do get humans here eventually, just -- not many."
"Oh, and that goes so well for them," said Maglor, prying away the hand. "And Imladris has stood for thousands of years!"
Turgon cleared his throat.
Glorfindel turned to him, eyes filling with tears, and dropped to one knee. "My king," he said, choked up with emotion.
(Turgon wondered how long ago, from Glorfindel's perspective, he must have died to produce such a response.)
Maglor rolled his eyes. "Oh, so when I start crying at seeing my dead brother alive again, it's 'an unseemly display,' but when you do basically the same thing--"
Arwen elbowed him. "Give him his moment!"
Turgon clasped Glorfindel's hands and pulled him up as he cried. "My friend," he murmured, "what has befallen in the years since today, that you weep so?"
"Thousands of years of sorrow, as it must be in Arda Marred, but I did -- I protected Idril and her family till my last breath, and when I returned from death I continued."
Glorfindel had died? And still gone on into danger for the sake of duty? Turgon felt almost ready to cry himself. "Thank you. I will not forget what you have done, or will do, for those I love."
By the time they had recovered and dried their tears, Arwen had run off.
"Where did she go?" said Glorfindel, back to glaring at Maglor. "You should be keeping an eye on her!"
"You're the one who keeps talking about how the place is so safe," said Maglor with a shrug.
"She's a smith! She's probably gone right for--"
"Look who I just found!" called Arwen, waving joyfully as she returned, tugging Maeglin and Idril with her, Aredhel following with a bemused smile.
Glorfindel groaned.
Arwen glared back. "Well, it's not like I ever get to meet any of Dad's family normally. I think if I want to meet my great-grandmother then I should be able to." She switched to Westron to not be understood. "And my step-great-grandfather too!"
"He's not!" said Glorfindel in the same language.
"He's not going to not fall in love with great-grandfather, and maybe things will work out this time!"
"Let her," said Maglor. "If she doesn't get to be friends she'll be upset, and I hope you understand she's right. Elrond read Tuor's old diary once and the three of them have a chance together."
"You agreed with me once that she shouldn't make friends with other smiths!"
"I said it because they'd be jealous of her for being the best, I don't know why you said it."
Arwen interrupted them, switching back to Sindarin. "I was just telling them about how cool the Edain are, though of course they have rather different customs than elves--"
"Stop matchmaking! It's not gonna happen!" said Glorfindel. Turgon hadn't understood what they were saying before, but choked slightly at Glorfindel's words.
Arwen put her hands on her hips. "It's like you don't want me to be born! Or for Star Granddad to have a safe and happy family! You're just bent out of shape about things that haven't happened yet!"
"Speaking of," said Maglor, "we do have a bit of advice. Turgon, when Ulmo sends a messenger telling you to leave, leave. You're not smarter than Ulmo." He turned. "Aredhel, your husband followed you, but we caught him and knocked him out. Do you want me to kill him or just erase his memories?"
Aredhel blinked and Maeglin froze. They looked at each other, clearly in mental conference.
Aredhel looked back at Maglor. "Kill him."
"I'm just saying," said Arwen, "since we're here, I might as well have a good time, right? Summer fling with some nice elf. Or a Man, maybe; I'd love to date Haleth."
"She's your distant aunt," said Glorfindel. "You're related to everybody."
"You can't have a hot girl summer in First Age Beleriand," said Maglor.
Arwen pouted. "I certainly can!" She wasn't going to get her dreams ruined by something so silly as an apocalyptic war that hadn't even gotten bad yet.
Maglor pulled Glorfindel aside to discuss this in heated whispers. When they returned, Glorfindel said, "Fine, but we get to veto anybody unsuitable or too closely related."
Arwen clapped her hands and bounced. "Well, how about Andreth? Or Haleth?"
"Haleth is a bit old for you at present," said Glorfindel, "but Andreth is an option, if you really have to have a fling with a distant aunt. I'd rather you didn't."
"Tinfang Warble?"
"No," said Maglor. "Absolutely not."
She groaned. "Do you have personal beef with every other legendary musician?"
"I wouldn't be an artist if I didn't. Try again."
"I guess Glirhuin is out of the question, then. Morwen?"
"That would be kind of weird," said Glorfindel.
"Nienor, then? It'd solve at least one problem."
Maglor crossed his arms. "If you think I'm letting you within ten miles of any of Húrin's children, think again."
"Gil-Galad? Wait," said Arwen, interrupting herself. "What if I'm Gil-Galad's mother? What if I'm Gil-Galad?"
"You are absolutely not allowed to be either," said Maglor.
"Azaghâl?" said Arwen desperately. "Surely I can't be related to Azaghâl!"
Maglor and Glorfindel exchanged glances. "...I suppose you could do worse than Azaghâl," Maglor admitted grudgingly. "They're an honorable dwarrow."
"But there will be no pulling a Lúthien at any point, for any reason," said Glorfindel. "You don't get to make the Choice while we're here, only when you're back and safe at home in the Third Age."
"That's fine," said Arwen. "You know, I'd rather like to meet Lúthien. People do say we're a lot alike."
The world went white.
Arwen woke to her two guardians looking down at her, arms crossed and feet tapping.
"Why didn't you say you still had the artifact?" said Glorfindel.
"It didn't occur to me. Anyway, where are we?"
"Guess," said Maglor.
"...Right outside Doriath?"
"Got it in one."
Arwen stood up and stretched. "Let's go see if I can convince the Girdle to let us in!" She danced over to where the shadows thickened among the trees, humming counterpoint with herself as she wove her spell.
(Maglor and Glorfindel felt her magicks wind about them, covering them in a layer of These Are Certainly Not Noldor, What Are You Talking About? that could probably fool their own families.)
A clear path opened before the three of them, and Arwen beckoned her guardians through, excited. "I wonder when we are! I suppose I could just ask, but it'd be strange if they mistook me for Lúthien, wouldn't it?"
"Stop looking so much like Lúthien, then," said Glorfindel.
Arwen twirled, her hair turning as silver as her mother's and her skin as blue as the evening sky, freckles shining as stars. "There!" she said. "Clearly I am simply a Maia under Melian's rule, unremarkable as any other."
"You are always remarkable, little star," said Maglor.
They went further into the wood and found themselves slowing and quieting, not of their own volition but from a strange instinct they could not place. It was then that Arwen saw them, and gestured for Maglor and Glorfindel to crouch down, as she crafted a second spell of stealth.
Lúthien sang to Beren as he lay in her arms, marveling at the way his features softened in the relaxation of near-sleep. She stroked his cheek and he blinked up at her, smiling.
"My love," he murmured, "my dear Tinúviel! Your song soothes my weary heart, and my thoughts turn from the sufferings of war to the beauties of the world, and you chief among them, outshining even the fair Sun."
How could she respond to that? No words could express the depth of her love. Red roses grew around them.
"But I must confess, there is a truth I have told you not," said Beren.
Lúthien leaned closer.
"It is not quite so, what I have told you of my parentage," he said.
"Be you not the son of Barahir?"
"I am, but my father and mother adopted me. By birth I am the son of Andreth and of Aegnor."
"He's a half-elf?" cried an unfamiliar voice.
"What the hell?" said another.
A third, "Dammit, now I owe my brother money."
"Who goes there?" called Lúthien.
Two elves and a Maia -- no, an elf-Maia, no, an elf-Man -- stood up sheepishly.
"My name is Arwen," said the Maia. "Your future great-great-granddaughter, and Beren's, too. But I didn't know he was a half-elf like me!"
"Dear Eru, your parents are related too many ways," muttered the blond elf.
The dark-haired elf coughed. "A word of advice, from someone who's from the future? Don't hold onto the Silmaril once you've gotten it, and don't give it to your father. Please."
The blond shoved him,
"Since we've already changed things, can you tell me what happened when Morgoth tried to break the siege?" said Arwen.
Beren blinked. "That was years ago, but sure. The siege was broken, but the northern strongholds didn't fall, and the High King managed to wound Morgoth."
"Did the king live?" said the blond.
"Yes, I think so, but he was gravely injured. He definitely was not the winner of that fight."
The elves looked glad, but Arwen tossed her hair and sniffed disdainfully. "That's nothing," she declared. "My future best friend, Éowyn of Rohan, wouldn't have lost."
"What's Rohan?" said Lúthien.
"My darling granddaughter is a Seer," said the dark-haired one proudly.
"Who are you people, then?" said Beren.
The elves opened their mouths to answer, but Arwen spoke first. "My guardians! Granddad and my dad's captain of the guard. I hope you don't mind that I brought them in."
"Not at all," said Lúthien. "It's good to meet you, granddaughter, but I would fain see your true face."
"I should've guessed you'd notice!" said Arwen with a laugh, and she returned to the form to which she was accustomed, with night-black hair and brown skin and light-filled gray eyes. "People always say I look like you, you know. Dad says I look like my cousin Tindómiel."
"That's because you look like Tindómiel," said the dark-haired one.
Arwen gasped. "Ooh, that gives me an idea. What if we went forward a little more and I could talk to her? Or--"
"--since I'm not actually descended from Emeldir and Barahir I could--" She looked around. "Dammit! That thing only listens when I'm not ready for it to."
"Hello, dearest cousin," said Tindómiel, lounging on a couch and looking at a clock. "Right on time. I should greatly love to hear what brought you to that sentence."
Arwen flung her arms wide and Tindómiel grinned, tackling her in a hug.
When they parted, Tindómiel had questions. "When are you coming from? I knew when to expect you but not the timeframe on your side. How is everyone doing?"
"Just a few centuries into the Third Age, and they're all right, but probably worried about me. How's everybody here? Can I meet them?"
"Absolutely! You have to stay for my wedding, it's in just a few days."
"I would love to!"
Glorfindel and Maglor sat down in some comfortable chairs while the women continued their excited chatter about the past and present and future.
"Okay, time to go home," said Arwen, and Elros helped her activate the artifact.
"Say hello to your family for me," said Elros, giving her one last hug. "And if you ever get bored, come pick me up so I can visit the future."
"Maybe when she's done being grounded," said Maglor. "I love you, darling."
"Love you too, Dad."
Everything went white.
Arwen was immediately enveloped in a big hug from five different people.
"You are beyond grounded," said Celebrían. "But I'm very glad to see you safe."
Glorfindel and Maglor gave simultaneous offended gasps. "We're not that bad at looking after her, it shouldn't be a surprise!" said Glorfindel.
There was a warm laugh. "You did wonderfully, I should think." And then Maedhros lifted Arwen up and spun her around. "I am so very proud of you, little one."
Arwen couldn't control her smile. They had succeeded!