Chapter Text
Her body was floating. How or where Nihal had no idea, but it was comfortable. She barely felt anything, and it was so silent that all she could hear was her own heartbeat and breath, as if she were lying on the surface of the waves, her ears covered with water.
No thoughts. Just silence and peace. Which was pretty unusual, she noticed with a slight start. Her mind was rarely this empty. And now that these thoughts began swarming in her head, she felt the feeling of quietude slowly dissipate. Her sense of self returned bit by bit. Now that’s more like it, she said. Or did she think that? She was not sure.
She could now hear some muffled noises as if they were coming from a distance, or from the surface. Her ears were still underwater, but the sound gradually became lauder and lauder. She squirmed in distaste, wanting to continue lying like a starfish in peace. She tried shaking her head. Who knows, maybe the voices would go away. But what if they are voices from inside her head? That possibility did not disturb her as much as it should. She was irritated, more like.
But no. The voices got even louder. And now she felt a pressure on her cheek. It shoved her face left and right, not too hard but not too soft either. She frowned. Let me sleep in peace, for God’s sake, she wanted to shout to whoever was obnoxious enough to keep doing this despite seeing her distress. She was pretty sure her face was pushed around by a hand. She wanted to lift hers to swat it away, but her control over her limbs was lacking. She felt her arm getting up and swinging, only to plop down onto her stomach.
How wonderful. Now they were poking her.
Understanding that she was not going to be left alone, she opened her eyes with a huff. She was not startled by her blurry vision, for her eyesight was terrible. Huh, she thought, did I not bring my goggles with me? She wore thick glasses, so bad eyesight was to be expected.
What she did not expect, though, was for it to slowly clear and focus. She frowned. Wait. As a myopic for almost twenty years, she was pretty sure this was not supposed to happen. She could now see the faces leaning over her down to every single detail. They were all women, the three of them, and by God they were pretty. Nihal blinked a few times, making sure what she was seeing was real. The women were all dark-haired, their faces small, elegant, and pale. They were all dressed in the same white garments, like a uniform. Their long hair was braided in elaborate patterns, cascading down to their waists. Their lips were moving, revealing pearl-white teeth. As her vision became clearer, she could hear them properly as well. They were all shouting the same thing:
Eӓrien ! Etkuinu, Eӓrien! Et…
-ake up!
Wake up, Eӓrien!
The frown on Nihal’s face deepened. What was that at the beginning? Et… And what the hell was Eӓrien? Then she heard the woman on her right sigh in frustration and felt her shake her arm roughly.
“You were slacking off again, weren’t you? If we do not finish this, we will all get scolded because of you!”
Before Nihal could say that she had never seen the woman before in her life and what she was babbling about, the woman on her left admonished, “What makes you think she was slacking off? Maybe she fell down and hit her head. And it took quite a bit of effort to wake her up!”
The first woman huffed and folded her arms, “Oh please, look at where we found her. She was clearly enjoying a nap under the tree.”
The tree? Nihal lifted her gaze above the women’s heads and saw that yes, there indeed was a tree above her. Before, she was too focused on the women in her face to notice it. But now that she was “awake”, they distanced themselves from her a little. Her breath caught as she was hit by the tree’s unexpectedly vibrant shade of green. The blue sky above was spotted with droplets of leaves reaching high, making quite a picturesque view. Huh, weird, she thought, using her eyes to look around as much as possible while still lying down. I do not remember lying down under a tree. Her brows knit together as she suddenly jolted upright, startling the women and causing them to yelp a little. Wait, where the hell was I before this?
As soon as she sat up, her head began to swim, and not in a good way. Nausea hit her like a slap, and the earth began to spin. She swayed dangerously. Just as she was falling back down to the grass, she was caught by the woman on her left, who started calling her that strange name again, “Eӓrien?! What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
Do I look all right? She wanted to retort, but she did not trust herself to speak without throwing up. She settled with minutely shaking her head.
Meanwhile, the woman opposite her got up, “There’s clearly something up with her. We should get her inside.”
The woman on her right looked unsure, “But what about the supplies? We were supposed to bring them half an hour ago!”
“We can take care of it after we take her to the Healers.” The expression on her stern face refused to argue on the matter. Without another word, the women on Nihal’s sides hooked their arms around hers and slowly lifted her up to her feet. Big mistake. The dams opened, and suddenly Nihal buckled and unceremoniously threw up whatever was in her stomach. The women around her yelped in surprise, and a few seconds later were quick to groan in disgust. The stench of her vomit made Nihal want to throw up again, but as she buckled over a second time, because she had emptied her stomach, nothing came out. She tasted acid as she gagged and drooled gastric liquid. The two women supporting her almost dropped her this time.
“Get her inside, quick! The smell makes her sick.” The woman in front of her yelled, covering her nose and mouth with her hand.
“Easy for you to say!” The one on her right shot back. But they did as they were told. Nihal could vaguely register them dragging her inside a building and walking through lush, marble hallways. She barely had time to appreciate the architecture before she lost consciousness, unfortunately.
***
The second time Nihal woke up that day she was not floating, but instead lying on a solid bed. The pillow was soft, and the blanket was covering her like a cocoon. She could feel a slight breeze caressing her face. Sighing contentedly and wishing that she could stay there forever, she cracked her eyes open and looked around.
She was in a section of a hospital wing, surrounded by undrawn curtains that were supported by tall pillars. Her bed was beside a window, from which entered soft, silver light. The curtains by the window billowed slightly from the sweet wind. As she looked at the other beds, she realized that she was the only patient there. But she was not alone, for she had a visitor. A tall woman with a chiseled face and dark auburn hair was sitting on a chair by the bed, looking her over with a concerned expression on her face.
“Ah, you are awake. Thank the Valar,” she sighed in relief, smiling slightly. Her sincerity could be felt through the warmth emanating from her eyes more than anything. “How are you feeling, Eӓrien?”
There it was. That familiar word. Nihal frowned upon hearing people call her that again. They must be mistaking her for someone else. She had to clear that up at some point. She sat up. A little too abruptly, it seemed, for her vision got dark for a moment and she got dizzy. She had to wait a moment for adjustment. Finally, she managed to croak “Fine, I guess. No more feeling nauseous.”
The smile on the woman’s face grew. “Wonderful. Here, have some water.” She poured water from a jug into a glass, swiftly handing it to her. Nihal took it gratefully and drank the cold, fresh water as if parched.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice coming a lot stronger now. Upon hearing herself, however, she could not help but frown in confusion at the way she sounded. She carefully put the glass down at her bedside table. “Uh…” She could not believe it. She had to further test in order to be sure. She listened to herself intently as she spoke, “What happened, exactly?”
As she felt like she was edging closer and closer to a panic attack, she observed that the woman at her bedside was beginning to mirror her frown of confusion. “You mean you don’t remember?”
“R-remember what?” She looked down at her hands, which certainly did not look like hers. Although they had the same light shade, these were longer, thinner, and much more elegant. Her breath hitched. “What is this? Where am I? How did I even get here? What happened to me?!”
“Hey, try to calm down, all right? Everything is going to be fine. You must have hit your head when you fell down.” The woman held her hands up as if she was soothing a scared, wild animal.
“Fell down? But I… I was in the water before. I am sure I was dr –” She could feel blood draining from her face as she took in her surroundings. She scrambled out of the bed, ignoring the auburn-haired tall lady’s protests and orders. She looked all over her body, her breath coming out in shorter gasps second by second. She spun around, barefoot, and felt around the outlines of a body that wasn’t her own. Finally, her hands came to her head, and she grabbed a fistful of hair and brought the strands in front of her eyes. Long, black hair. Her other hand landed on her ear, her fingertips grazing on a pointy tip. “No...” she whispered, feeling around her face. “No no no no…”
“Eӓrien, you need to calm down,” the tall lady had stood up as well, coming towards her slowly.
Nihal looked around frantically. She had to know. She had to be sure. At the corner of the healer’s ward, she spotted a sink and a mirror above it, attached to the wall. She ran towards it, her movements a lot more agile than she had expected. In two seconds, she found herself in front of the mirror, her hands leaning on the sink.
She forgot to breathe for the next minute.
The face that looked back at her through the mirror was not her face at all. The grey eyes that stared back at her were as big as saucers with horror and astonishment. Her eyebrows were not as thick anymore, but more elegant. She had a button-like nose, and small, pink lips, the lower one slightly more puckered. Her facial features were a lot more elegant and sharper. Soft, black hair framed her face like curtains. And the ears… she hadn’t wanted to believe it when she felt it with her fingertips moments ago. They were small like before, but also… slightly pointy.
Pointy.
Nihal screamed.
***
“Eӓrien, get a hold of yourse – where are you going?! Sit down on the bed this instant!” The tall woman, who she noticed also had pointy ears, was standing still while Nihal ran around like a headless chicken.
Nihal was hyperventilating as she paced all over the healer’s ward, mumbling to herself. She stopped abruptly on occasion, ran back to the mirror, screamed again, and ran away from it.
“No no no no… this can’t be happening…” she murmured, hysterical. Then, she rushed back to the woman. “What did you just call me?”
The woman frowned, “Eӓrien. I called you Eӓrien.”
“Eӓrien…” Nihal repeated under her breath. She blinked owlishly at the woman. “W-why? Why are you calling me that?”
“Because that is your name,” said the woman, the look on her face becoming more and more concerned. “Perhaps you’re suffering from a short-term memory loss? Strange… it didn’t look like you hit your head that hard.”
For a long moment, Nihal didn’t speak. She stood very still, her eyes looking at nothing in particular, almost in a haze. The silence was deafening. Then, she slowly turned to the mirror again, looking at her and the woman’s reflection. The height difference was undeniable, as the top of her head was coming to the woman’s shoulder at most.
The woman followed Nihal’s gaze, and she too looked through the mirror, her gaze locking with hers.
“That’s my (her, she thought) name,” Nihal said softly, her voice detached, “Eӓrien.”
Not breaking the eye contact through the mirror, the woman nodded, confirming her with equal softness, “Yes. You’re Eӓrien.”
“And you’re…?”
The tall woman’s brows creased further in worry. “I’m Nerdanel, my child. Lady Nerdanel.”
Only then did Nihal snap her eyes away from the reflection on the mirror to back at her. “You… you’re Nerdanel?” she asked, her eyes wide and her voice barely above a whisper, “Nerdanel, brilliant sculptor, daughter of Mahtan, wife of Fëanor?”
A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as Lady Nerdanel nodded, “That is correct, child. So you do remember me,” then, she raised a brow in surprise, “Though, I’ve never heard of my husband’s name pronounced like that. Not even the Teleri say it thus. A dialect from Tol Eressëa, perhaps?”
Again, Nihal blinked owlishly at Lady Nerdanel. The tall woman had lost her the moment she confirmed who she was. She barely had time to register that she was indeed standing in front of the Mistress of the House of Fëanáro, the brilliant sculptor, the wise, strong and steadfast woman who could keep her husband’s caprices at bay. Nihal’s eyes widened once more, her breath catching. Her mind that had been nothing but a big blank screen ever since she looked at herself through the mirror, was now working a thousand miles a second. Although, her thoughts didn’t even come close to realizing her small slip-up of how she called Fëanáro by his Sindarin name. Her thoughts were more in-line with things like: How was this even possible? She couldn’t believe it. If this was true, if this woman was indeed Nerdanel, then this meant that they were in Valinor. Possibly Tirion. Was this before or after the Exile of the Noldor? Nerdanel had chosen to stay, after all, so Nihal had to ask if she wanted to know… But what should she DO? Tell her that she was not really Eӓrien? That she came from someplace else entirely? Would she even believe her? She was pretty sure she would come off as a madwoman. Her track record with a so-called “head injury” was bad enough as it was. She didn’t want them to think that there was something wrong with her. Because there wasn’t. There wasn’t. Or maybe this was all a dream, or a sick joke that this woman was in on…
“…Eӓrien? What’s wrong, dear?” Nerdanel asked, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts.
Deciding to test at least one of her theories, Nihal pinched herself, hard. She gasped in pain, but then immediately looked up to see if her surroundings would change upon waking up. Her heart sank when she saw that nothing had changed. She was still in the healer’s ward, and Lady Nerdanel was still looking at her with a concerned expression in her grey eyes.
“I… I’m sorry,” Nihal mumbled, casting her eyes downward a little. “It seems like I’m suffering from a… a short-term memory loss or something. Could I ask your ladyship where we are at the moment? And when?”
Lady Nerdanel took a tentative step towards Nihal, slowly extending her hand to hold the young woman’s arm. “Come, let’s have you sit down,” Nihal let her guide to her bed, sitting down next to her abruptly. The elven woman gently took her hands in hers, her brows furrowing more and more as her concern grew. “We’re at year 1395, in Tirion,” she said softly. Nihal could feel the older woman’s eyes fixated on her, gauging her reactions for any sign of recollection. Or was she onto her? Did she realize that Nihal was not actually Eӓrien? What would even happen if she did?
“O-oh…” Nihal uttered awkwardly. “Year 1395.” She had no idea what that meant. She still didn’t know where in the Silmarillion timeline the year corresponded to. “…year of the Trees, right?” she asked insecurely.
“By the Valar. How hard did you hit your head?” Lady Nerdanel’s hands came up to Nihal’s face. When they gently touched her cheeks to turn her head around so that the elven woman could look at it for any signs of physical trauma, Nihal flinched. She could feel her face going hot with embarrassment and shyness. “Strange… I only see a bump. Not even blood.” Nihal jumped when she felt fingers prodding the bump on her head. She held in a hiss of pain as Lady Nerdanel retracted her hands quickly, noticing her distress. She sighed, “Yes, child. It’s 1395 of the Year of the Trees.”
Nihal frowned and nodded slowly. She might not remember the things from the book date by date, but she at least knew when she roughly was. Which didn’t say much, to be frank. She still didn’t know how long they had till the Darkening. Hell, she didn’t even know whether Melkor was still chained or roaming free. All she knew was that this was before the Darkening. If anything, Fëanáro and his sons could still be in exile in Formenos. She knew for a fact that Nerdanel would choose to stay in Tirion…
As these thoughts swirled in her mind like a whirlwind, she barely registered Lady Nerdanel’s firm but worried tone and her hand on her shoulder slowly trying to make her lie down back into the bed. “You should lie down and rest some more until I get a mind healer, Eӓrien. Maybe a maia from the gardens of Lórien should have a look at you. But until then, rest. Try not to sleep, though. We can’t risk it in case this is a case of concussion. Are we clear?”
Nihal opened her mouth to argue that that really isn’t necessary, but one stern look from the lady of the house was enough to make her mouth clop close and have her wilt into the pillows. She nodded minutely her “consent”. Satisfied, Lady Nerdanel stood up, her tall stature captivating Nihal’s eyes. She had an air of authority tinged with care and softness. Nihal could not help but respect and obey it.
“I’ll call a healer and one of the servants to keep you company while I’m gone. Have no fear. They will report to me immediately if anything happens.” Lady Nerdanel said as she stood up, habitually wiping her hands on her apron that hung from her neck all the way to her knees. Nihal realized from her attire that she must’ve been working on an artistic project or something before coming here to visit her. She gave the elf-woman another nod, and tried to smile reassuringly. She was not sure whether the message went across, though, since the worried look in the older elf’s eyes didn’t go away. “I repeat, try not to sleep. Understood?”
“Y-yes M’am,” Nihal rasped. In fact, she had been hoping for the opposite. Maybe, if she fell asleep, she could wake up in her world again. But she knew that she was going to be monitored constantly until Lady Nerdanel came back with a mind healer.
Said people who were to monitor her arrived almost right after Lady Nedanel left the healer’s ward. A servant with white clothes as her uniform rushed to her side as soon as she entered through the doorway. Nihal recognized her as one of the maidens who were there when she first opened her eyes to this world. She had been the one who was trying to defend her to the others. “Young lady Eӓrien, I’ve heard from Lady Nerdanel that you could have a concussion,” she sighed exasperatedly, rolling her eyes. She leaned in closer to the bed and whispered the next words so that the healer, who was preparing some concoctions in a corner presumably for Nihal, didn’t hear, “I honestly don’t know how you pulled it off. Memory loss, huh? That’s a new one. Even she believed you this time!”
Nihal blinked in confusion, “Wha-what do you mean?”
A sly smile appeared on the maiden’s face as she lowered her voice even more. “You can drop the act with me, Eӓrien. It’s alright. You know I won’t rat you out. Have I not helped you get out of situations many times now?
Nihal scoffed incredulously. Just what kind of a person was this Eӓrien? “Look,” she said, her voice a little reproachful, “I don’t know what kind of a scenario you’ve conjured up in your head, but I really don’t remember anything. In fact, I don’t even know who you are.”
The maiden raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed, “Really? Keeping up the act? Even with me? You know I wouldn’t tell on you!”
Nihal rolled her eyes, “I’m sure you wouldn’t. But I’m telling you, that doesn’t mean anything to me because I really, really don’t remember! I’m being serious!” She was hoping to get a little more information out of this servant about the elf whose body she was inhabiting by emphasizing on her “amnesia”. It wasn’t a total lie either, technically.
The silence in the healer’s ward was only broken occasionally as the healer went around the room, seemingly oblivious to the exchange the two were having. The maiden’s big, grey eyes searched hers. Nihal could almost feel her gaze boring into her head. She didn’t break eye-contact, though.
Then, “You really don’t remember a thing?” she asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.
Nihal rolled her eyes exasperatedly, “Yes!”
The maiden straightened in her seat, “…Huh.” Nihal could see that she was still doubtful, but her tone indicated that she was beginning to believe her.
The healer came to her bedside quietly and began examining her, checking her pulse, lifting her lids, slowly tilting her head left and right, and parting her hair to inspect the bump on her head. “It looks like an ordinary bump. There’s no bleeding. You should be fine, but…” he murmured. Then, he straightened, looking Nihal over with a calm, detached look on his face. “Lady Nerdanel has asked me to watch over you until a mind healer arrives.”
Nihal nodded, “Thank you for the care, uh…” she expected him to finish her sentence by saying his name, but he seemed to not have caught onto her ellipsis, so she asked herself, “What’s your name?”
The healer replied with a monotone voice, “Winyavílë.” Nihal blinked. Young, fresh wind. With the deadpan expression on the healer’s face, she really found it difficult to match the name with its bearer. But hey, who was she to judge? She blinked in confusion at her thoughts. How was she even able to know the meaning behind his name anyway? In fact, if she was in Tirion among the Noldor, she was probably speaking to them in Quenya, a language she shouldn’t know or understand in the first place. And yet she was speaking it like it was her mother-tongue. For the hundredth time that day, that one big question spun around her mind: How was any of this even possible?
She shook her head slightly to gather herself. Then, she looked at the healer’s eyes again, “Nice to meet you. My name is Ni – I mean, Eӓrien. Apparently.”
He nodded without missing a beat. Even if he thought she was acting, he didn’t let it show. He rose and walked away to give her and the other elf some space, though he remained close-by.
Nihal turned to the woman sitting at her bedside, “So… who are you?”
The young nís’ eyes widened. Nihal could see moisture gathering around them, “You really don’t remember me?!”
Nihal sighed. This was going to take a while, “Look, it’s not just you. I don’t even know who I am. I mean, I’m Eӓrien, sure,” she tried hard not to cringe as she said that, “but other than that I genuinely do not know who I am or who you are, for that matter.” She saw the young elf’s shoulders droop a little at that. Nihal sagged against the bed as well, frustrated, saddened, and a little unnerved. Then, she reached for the other woman’s hand and quietly said, “I was hoping maybe you could help me with that.”
Her companion looked up in slight surprise, “Help you remember? How?”
“Well…” Nihal trailed. After a brief moment of contemplation, she continued, “You can start by telling me your name and how we met. Then, you could perhaps tell me all you know about me?”
The woman straightened on her chair with new-found energy, and nodded, squeezing Nihal’s hand. “Sounds good. My name is Vórilotsë, and we met within the first week you came here to the palace…”