Chapter 1
I, of all the Unbegotten first flinched away from the brilliant light of the Varda’s stars upon awakening, before taking in the breathtaking beauty of the sight, the experience. This was merely the first of many things which began to prove I was different than every other Unbegotten Elf. Indeed, it would prove I was different than every being ever to live on Arda. For though the body in which I woke up on the shores of Cuivienen was that of the Eldar, which we named Quendi in those times, my soul had once occupied another body, that of a mortal witch, which had never thought to breathe in Endorë. It was an impossibility. I believed for a long time— as the Eldar count it— that I was merely experiencing an odd sort of after-life which wizards pass onto after death.
I had forced a certain logic to it quickly enough, if only to cope. There was no one here who could relate to my experience, and I did not feel as if it were safe to inform anyone either, not even the Ellyn who would become great kings, and were strangely some of my closest friends.
I knew I had died during the Final Battle at Hogwarts, falling to the ground and seeing the stars bright above me before the peace of death threw me into darkness. It was why, even though I had been the first elf to wake upon the shores of Cuivienen, under the most brilliant Starlight, I had not been the first to stand up.
I had been the last.
I know it worried the others, especially those of my friends and brothers, who woke not long after I. My eyes of course were the problem. They were wide open and tears were flowing from them, but not tears of the pure bliss of the Unbegotten upon Awakening. No, mine were tears of sorrow, yet unexperienced for these folk, my new kindred, and of confusion, and loss. Of despair, and then later, realization—of a sort.
By the time I had stopped crying and stood up, every other Unbegotten had awoken. I had been given water to drink after the others had discovered thirst of their own, how they knew to make me drink I do not think I will ever understand. I was the only one who knew at that point that we were living the creation of a people, for somehow my afterlife, or new life, consisted of living in what was supposed to be a fictional world from favorite books from the muggle world.
I dared not speak of this to anyone, my secret knowledge. It was difficult to keep such secrets, for the Eldar awoke with strong telepathic skills, which functioned similarly enough to legillimency, I instinctually raised my practiced occlumency shields, still in shock and memory.
When Harry had informed of us his occlumency lessons, Ronald and I decided that we too would try to learn this skill. We were, just as much at risk from some things, and we could tell by then that Professor Snape was not the only legillimens residing in the castle. It was a survival tool and we latched on with the same passion as we used for the D.A. It was also the only reason Harry managed to learn occlumency after his disastrous lessons with Professor Snape.
Being able to shield our minds was the only defense we had against the locket Horcrux, and in the end, even Ronald’s inexpertly taught shields were not enough to hold against the constant mental attacks of the Horcrux. It was that experience I think, which began my ever-increasing thoughts and dreams on my favorite books, the safest place in my mind for peace and calm at that time, which was great for occlumency shields.
So I Awoke with the Unbegotten and was the first to succeed at shielding my mind, my spirit, from the rest. It marked me. First to Wake, Last to Stand, She-Who-Wept, She-Who-Hides, were only some of the titles I earned early on.
Later, it was Teacher, Mentor, Mother, and eventually Mage.
It is funny, I had died in the magical world, during a magical battle, and yet upon re-awakening in a strange new world, I had not given one thought to my magic. It was still there, of course, and sometimes I wished I could go back to England, to the Ministry of Magic, and publish what I have discovered. It would shock every pureblood who still harbored beliefs of blood superiority. Indeed it would shock the Wizarding World in quite a few cultures.
Our magic, as witches and wizards had nothing to do with blood or even genetics. I had never been religious before, but it was undeniable that magic was grafted to the very soul. I wondered at first, still abiding by those long-lost shores if others of my world would perhaps make it here, but there would be no true way to tell. And it didn’t seem likely. Everyone’s mind was open to each other’s except mine, and I could see no other mind which had lived before.
It was strange to contemplate as we began to figure out how to live on the land, and formed groups, and survived, that I was the oldest being in the world, outside of the Ainur, of which none had yet come to Endorë. My survival skills were put to the test once more after I stood from my shock. They were not perfect, and I did not know this world as I knew the woods of England and Scotland, but they were enough to start with. And I wondered in the depths of my mind, a question I had not thought to ask when first reading of the Awakening of the Elves, in a previous life. Why had the Valar not come when the elves awoke? To teach us how to live and survive. Surely, as the custodians of Arda, they should have come to the Firstborn Children, to support us in our infancy as a people and a developing civilization?
It was not a thought I liked to have in my mind then, bitter as it was. I had never felt that the Valar were Gods when reading of them, or at least infallible beings of great power. Perhaps they truly were Gods of a sort, but they were obviously as unlearned about the Eldar as the Eldar would prove to be about the Second-Born when first meeting them. I knew I would have to speak with the Valar at some time, though I also knew it would be a long time befëore Oromë would escort some of the Quendi to Aman.
I still had no idea which group I would want to follow. As eldest, I was somewhat of a de-facto leader, even the Ellon I knew, who would later be called Ingwë, King of the Vanyar and of all elves, looked to me for counsel on our now grouped people. I was the last to stand, however, and though my eyes are first of all elves to behold the starlight shining above Cuivienen, I am no queen or great ruler, and I will forever be grateful for that.
I had never wanted to be a ruler of anything, except, perhaps the head of a small department at a ministry in a previous life.
So I became a teacher and mentor to the first Great lords and ladies of the Eldar and tried not to dwell on just how outlandish my situation was. I became as near as they would have to a mother, though they were relationships more equal than between that of parent and child. This was a role I could be comfortable with within my after-life or my new life. I had done nearly the same for Harry and Ron for seven years previous to awakening with the first Eldar of Arda, and I could do the same with more mature, adult elves. It took more time than I care to admit to come to the realization that this new, strange life was just as real as the life I had left behind when I died.
Harry and Ronald would have been shocked to know that access to a library didn’t occur to me for what could equal several weeks, by the count of the sun that had yet to rise in this new world of mine. I once nearly, in an absent-minded mode while planning during a council, asked for parchment and quill, only to freeze mid-sentence before laughing loudly. This of course confused the other elves of the council, though some few were beginning to become used to my strange and erratic habits and moods.
I sometimes felt as if I was going mad. I was surrounded by a telepathic community of open and honest, good people, but I was forced to shroud my mind at all times, alienating myself for secrets I kept which could never be uttered to these folk, my new kin. A speaking language did not take long to develop among the people, and with the telepathic connections between the people, which I knew would later be called osanwë, I could appreciate the process of creating and establishing a speaking language among a people, another time, in another life, I might have been more than fascinated.
Still, I spoke little among most folk aloud, my first inclination to still speak English words, which would be good for no one and nothing in this world, not yet at least. It was hard, and an indescribable feeling, to be learning, and even helping to create a language, but time passed fluidly and strangely, and it did not seem long until vocal speech began to become more commonly used for speaking with one another, over the osanwë all had been long used to. The more I heard the developing language among the Eldar, the more my thoughts began to be shaped in that language, instead of my native tongue.
I should have been happy for this, as it would help me more in the long run, but I couldn’t bear to lose something so integral to me as my native language. And the more I resisted thinking in the language of the Eldar as time passed beneath the vaulted twilight skies, the less I spoke with others, and the further I drove myself into solitude.
Eventually I gained a new name, as was the current cultural tradition, She-Who-Walks-Alone.
It was distinctive in more than just one way, several elves had begun to pair up into spouses, and had begun to create family units. A rare few of those who married under the stars and on the shores of Cuivienen, had brought about the first few of the next generation. And as those parents learned the joys of parenthood and felt the first of that kind of love, so too did many others want to follow that path as well. I was one of the rare who remained unbound among those who had awoken before the rest of the Quendi.
Elwë, Olwë, Nowë, and Finwë, though, remained unbound. I knew that Elwë’s wife he had yet to meet, Melyanna who was a maia, but that was some time yet away. Oromë had yet to come to the Quendi and invite us to Aman, and Elwë would meet Melyanna on the Great Journey, leaving Olwë to take his place and lead the people who would become the Teleri across the sea to Valinorrë.
Elmo, Elwë’s brother, who woke just after Elwë and beside him, had already found his lifemate, and I knew from their union the father of Celeborn of Doriath would be born. It had been a strange realization that if I lived through the coming ages, I would be older than Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn who were accounted among the wisest of the Eldar in the Third Age from the books, and who had seen more than three ages of the world together. I was unsure in those early days if I had what it took to live longer than a human should, though I was growing steadily more curious as time went on, uncounted under the stars.
Time was the most frustrating thing for me, I think, during the age before the Sun and Moon, I had never known how to count the days by starlight, and I was unsure if that would even apply in this world. I only counted days in between the people’s rest cycles. I knew instinctively that the Quendi’s ‘days’ were longer than the ones I was used to living as a human, but they were all I had, and I clung to them like no other elf. Very few had a care for the passage of time in those early days by our birthplace. Those were the days before Melkor who was renamed Moringotto, or Morgoth, returned to Middle-Earth from Aman to plague the lands where the Quendi dwelled.
It had been good that two whole generations of elves had been born and raised to adulthood before the return of Morgoth, and that the elves had learned how to hunt with the bow, spear, and used other sharp tools regularly. It would not be enough, I knew, to save those who would be taken and twisted to be used against us later, but it was a start.
The Terrors went on for longer than I thought they would before Oromë first arrived, scaring a couple of groups of the Quendi, and bittering their taste for the offer to come to Aman. It was discussed at a council what to do, before the idea to send representatives to see this blessed land was put forth and accepted. I abstained my vote as the eldest, which I had a right to by that virtue, as I ruled no group of the Quendi, but I knew what would happen, and who would go.
So I was utterly unprepared to also be voted as a representative. The thought that I was to go, for there was no true reason not to, as I could not rule every clan myself, and there were selected heirs to do so anyway, it made me incredibly anxious.
I would see the light of the Two Trees, it was something I had been wondering over during the Terrors, if I would ever see them alive and full of light, or if I would only see them when I one day sailed to Aman, but after the Darkening which was yet to pass. I would also see and speak with at least some of the Valar, and probably the Maiar as well. I wondered if they knew about me, about my first life, or if Eru had not told them, and I was simply the first elf to awake in Arda to them.
We met Oromë shortly after this, coming upon him telling some of the people the story of the Ainulindalë in a meadow, very much holding court with the elves present. All members of the Council stopped to listen to the tale the Vala told. Tolkien had written and made it seem beautiful to me, but from the Valar Oromë, it was a transcendent experience. As he spoke the tale, I could hear more than just the echo of that music I could feel from the very earth, as all the Quendi could to some degree. It was as if I heard his part, his song in the Music, a little louder above the other parts. The feeling was soul-deep, and I began to understand what would become different in the future, between the Calaquendi and so-called Moriquendi.
I had been right, of course, but also hopelessly wrong, as I would find out much, much later.
After Oromë finished his tale, we chosen spoke with him and began to make plans. He would personally escort us to Aman, and back to our people, to either decide to lead them to Valinorrë or not. It would be Elwë’s only glimpse at the light of the two trees, I knew, and possibly mine as well, depending on how I would decide upon journeying.
War was in the future, darker than the times we were experiencing currently, and these were dark enough, with elves disappearing, and strange creatures roaming wildlands. It was good for me that there was peace for a time when I first awoke, but still, I was not looking forward to more death and loss.
I had lost my world, my life, once already. Good people had been taken from us already in my new life, and I knew much worse was yet to come. I pondered these things as we journeyed with Oromë of the Valar, and every once in a while I could tell that the Vala was watching me, marking my differences from the princes, kings really, of our people. Some flicker in his bright eyes told me he knew it was more than just the difference between and Nis and a Ner. But he said nothing of whatever suspicions he might have had, in fact he hardly said anything at all, save to tell us the tales of creation, and the beauty and bliss of Aman.
Walking in his wake, by some magic of his or even other spirits, the Journey blurred, as we neither tired nor fatigued. We simply walked with the hunter through lands yet unexplored and talked, until at last we were at the sea, a sight only I had once before held, though the memories belonged to another life lived.
Elwë and Olwë were the most fascinated, though where Elwë delighted in something new, Olwë fair fell in love with the sea, more even than the waters of Cuivienen. I saw then a flash of the future Teleri King standing on gemstone filled beach of Alqulondë and shivered because I hated divination.
It wasn’t enough that I knew ages worth of future history, but now I was to be cursed with foresight as well, even though I was much too old to develop the ability. I blamed Orormë as if it had something to do with his being a Vala, working some magic, and being in the presence of his great power.
If the piercing look from him as we stood upon the western shores of Endorrë was any indication, he was aware at least that something had occurred. I was nearly grateful when he said nothing to me but blamed him anyway.
It was hard enough, having my magic still among the Quendi, though many of the ones whose eyes had first opened had different gifts of power, none were like me, I knew. Only my closest friends had any idea of my magic, and even they did not know the extent of my power.
I still, even after so long by the count of what I guessed in human years, had not found the extent. I was afraid to try. I could only feel that I had more raw magic at my disposal. At first, I thought I would be weak without a wand, but as I worked at it in secret, began to become used to the differences in my magic and the amount of power at my disposal, wandless magic became nearly effortless.
I never spoke incantations anymore, I didn’t need to. But then, non-verbal magic had not been terribly difficult for me in school. A subtle flick of my wrist, or a wave of a finger, these days, was enough gesture to focus my spells, and sometimes, I didn’t even require that anymore. But I had already lived longer than the longest living wizard in who had lived in my previous world, I did not doubt there was much I could still learn and do.
The potential limit due to endless time was only slightly frightening. More than that though, and all it could entail for the future, I had a disquiet in my mind which had only been growing louder the more west we went.
What would happen if I died again? I had been running the last many, many years, with my occlumency shields up every hour of the daily cycle. It meant I could be more logical, with fewer emotional outbursts. And I used it as a crutch in the beginning, even though I knew it was dangerous.
But I could share most of myself with no one, not even my new, dear brothers, Elwë, Olwë, Nowë, and Finwë. The ones who woke shortly after me, and looked after my shocking state, before others of our kind awoke. I would be forever grateful and more awed than they will ever know. Some of their first thoughts upon being born intelligent were of compassion and care for another being,
It made what I knew of future events seem somehow impossible, but come I knew they would as if I could hear an echo of that strain in the Music on the wind.
I had been in tune with the world as a witch in England, my magic somehow worked that way, but I had not been the only one with the talent, rare though it was in our kind back then. But as an elf, with my magic, the effects were so much more profound.
As we crossed the sea and I could hear what I guessed instinctively to be the melodies of Ulmo, Ossë, and Uinen. The sound of the waves, the cries of gulls, white and proud, the undercurrent of strength, and the smell of peace and tranquility, they were all pronounced like part of a grand symphony that I could hear with my very soul. It set my blood burning, and I felt both large and small and began to sing.
What I sang, I know not. I had ever had the inclination to hum in my previous life, though I was too shy, sober, to use my voice. And I hated the songs the Hogwarts choir sang, not that I had time for trivial pursuits due to a dark lord and his bigot followers.
And the destiny of an orphaned boy who became like my brother.
The worst thing about having died and been reborn is that I regret leaving Harry behind when he has already lost so much, even after all this time. It is the one reason I wanted to find out if the Valar were aware of my situation. I wanted to ask them if it were possible to send me back, though I knew in my heart already it is impossible. I was the first elf in Arda to experience sadness and loss, long before they were even concepts in the minds of the Quendi, and I carried that same sadness with me yén after yén.