*somewhat edited*

Italicized phrases with a * next to it mean it's in Elvish

The walk home is quiet. I'm still trying to process everything that happened... I think I'm still in shock.

I had told Legolas to stay at the palace, he had offered to take me home but I declined. He told me he would pick me up in the morning.

I barely notice all the trees and bushes I pass on my way home. Everything seems like a blur and I barely understand what just happened. But I know enough to know that with just a few words, my life has been turned upside down. 

Tears come to my eyes and it's hard to keep them from falling. A lump forms in my throat as my throat starts hurting. I take deep breath and I start the mantra that I taught myself from early on.

I am strong. I am a warrior. And warriors don't cry. They stay strong.

I keep this up saying that I'm some of my favorite character from my favorite books, this always seems to work. When I think those thoughts it seems to put a barrier between me and the world. I deepen my breathing and run my fingers through my hair before wrapping my arms around my torso.

I finally see the familiar garden in front of my home and my mother looks up at me and smiles. But I watch as her smile dissipates and turns to a look of concern.

I walk into her warm, loving arms, "A, glî. Man ui i rhû?" [oh, honey. What ever is the matter?]  She wraps her arms around me as my barrier breaks and my tears flow. My body racks with my sobs.

She strokes my hair, "shhh shhh." She gives me a moment and pulls me away from her so she can look into my eyes.

"Trenar," [tell] I draw in a shuddering breath and tell her. I tell her everything. I tell her of my friendship with Legolas and I tell her of what happened near the Throne. But I don't tell her about the secret room, I only tell her we were visiting the library.

She stays silent in thought and I began to think that she was angry with me.

"Len grug nin?" [are you angry with me?] I ask, my voice laced with worry and nervousness. I've always thought the worse.

To my surprise, she chuckles, "ú, neth, ni ú grug. Ni..." [no, girl, I am not angry. I am...] she trails off. 

"Rictha?" [upset?] I furrow my brow. This confusion takes my mind off the current problem. She must be upset! I am being sent to Lothoríen! Without my consent! 

She just shakes her head, making her blonde hair bounce slightly, "ú, ú. Nin gar ú avo tendile an len," [no, no. I have no negative feelings towards you] she strides past me and to the door of our home. She opens the door as I stand in my spot on the soft ground confused. 

She opens the door and motions for me to go in, "Tulien, tulien. Let us go in." I walk past her and through the door, my tears already dried, and stand next to the table.

She holds a hand up, signaling me to stay put, and goes up the stairs. I sigh and pull out a chair from the table, it groans against the ground. I sit down and put my head in my hands. I know that she's an elf, and they are supposed to be wise, but sometimes she makes no sense.

She's an old elf, though she'll never look the part, and her mind is still stuck in the earlier ages even though she will not admit to it. I guess she is wise but in her own way. Just like every other elf out there, she has picked up knowledge through her long life and in a way that makes her wise, wiser than me. But still, she makes no sense.

Soon enough she's back down, without me hearing her silent footsteps, and with something curious in her arms.

"What is that?" I ask, switching languages.

"It is a pack for your horse. For when you leave." She sets the pack on the table. But I hardly notice that--I'm staring straight at her in shock. I want to yell at her, but I'm afraid I'll get yelled at back, I'm not fond of being yelled at. I want to tell her, 'you're not going to defend me?! You're not going to go and do something about this?!' She's my mother and mothers aren't just supposed to stand there and help send off their children. They're supposed to go out kicking and screaming for their children.

She looks at me and sighs, "go ahead and tell me. Don't be shy." 

I'm almost afraid to tell her so I just settle for, "you're letting me go? Just like that? But... I don't want to go. I thought you knew that?" I whisper. I blame my shyness for me not being able to speak my full thoughts. I'm actually a completely different person once you get to know me, once you get past the shyness. That's all people seem to see when they look at me: the shyness.

"A, ú, ú, ú. I'm not letting you go; I'm setting you free," [oh, no, no, no] she rubs my arm, "you'll see in due time."

Silence fills the air. I have no idea what she's talking about... And I'm not entirely sure I want to know.

"Well!" She claps her hands and then rubs them together, "let's get you packed!"

•••••••••

I lay awake at night, staring up at my ceiling, thinking. Finally, I can't take it. 

I swing my bare legs over the side of the bed and walk over to my bookcase. The wood underneath my feet is cold and rough and I feel the bottom of my short nightgown brush my thighs.

In the dark, I struggle to see the bookcase clearly, but I still manage to push the right books aside and get out my diary, of sorts.

I weigh the notebook in my hand and rub my fingers over the top, feeling the pattern on the cover. I walk over to my packed pack that is meant to go over a horse's back with a small pack on each side. In one of the packs, I put my diary in and a corked bottle of ink and I quill to write with.

Every day, or almost every day, I find myself needing to write down my feelings. If I don't, I get stressed out, my thoughts have nowhere to go but bounce off the walls of my skull, they cloud my thoughts. So I always end up writing down my thoughts, putting pen to paper, paper to pen, like butter over a burnt piece of toast or like a bee finding a flower; it's that easy.

I guess I write down my thoughts because I have no one to tell them too. Yes, I have Nana and Ada, but... It's awkward telling them things. I sigh and walk back to my bed, expecting sleep to be far away, like usual, but I turn out to be wrong as sleep takes me as soon as my head hits the pillow.

••••••••••

Blinding light. That's the first thing that comes to me. The second is energy slamming into me, not like last time, last time was more forceful. And this wasn't exactly energy, it was more like... A presence.

The light clears and my body begins to spasm violently, like it did last time. And also like last time, I find myself not being in my body, but being either in mind or soul. 

But instead of being in a field of black and stars, I'm sitting in a field of wild grass, long and tall. The sky is blue with few clouds and the birds chirp in the trees at the edge of the meadow. I hear a gurgling of a creek and I smell the scent of dirt and the sweet smell of flowers.

I look down to find that I do have my body, I sit criss-cross applesauce with bare feet, trousers, and a flowing blouse. The body is mine... But at the same time, it is not. It looks exactly like mine but I do not own it... It doesn't feel like mine, it feels like a... I don't know. It's like a... a... 

"A weight dragging you down?"  A voice like flowing water says. 

'Yes, yes that is exactly how it feels,' I try to say but my voice won't come. It just ends up as a thought. I can't move this weight of a body, I can't speak.

 In front of me, an Elleth appears. She is beautiful, with a white dress and long, wavy golden hair. Her elf ears poke out from it. Her eyes are soft but somehow know that they can turn hard at a moments notice. She has a soft smile on her lips and she's wearing an expression saying that she has been waiting for this for a long time.

'I have been waiting for this moment... But not as long as you may think.' I hear her say, though her mouth does not move. She comes to stand before me. It startles me to know that she can hear my thoughts.

'Who are you?' I said it in my head, somehow knowing that that is my only way of communicating with her.

'That is for you to find out... But for now, you may call me Ammë.' Her voice sounds like falling leaves but at the same time as heavy as stones.

'Why are you here, Ammë. Did you bring you me here?' I ask through my thoughts. At this she looks off into the horizon, a smile gracing her lips.

'I am here for you, Yendë. And I did bring you here, but I also did not,' she turns to look back at me. If I could move my body, my brows would've furrowed. Her words confused me, she did or did she not?

'Both, my Yendë, my dearest.' Her voice brought a certain lightness to my heart, but I could not describe it further.

'Okay...? But why am I here?' I needed to find some answers, like, was she the one who was in my last dream?

She smiled at me, 'you are here for a purpose, Yendë.'  She turns around to leave.

'What is that purpose?' I ask. She turns around and smiles, then turns back around and starts walking.

'What am I to do?!' I call out to her. At this, she turns around and comes to me. She kneels down and lifts my chin up, 'you are to save the people of Middle-Earth. You are greatly needed, Nirrin Mîn. Do not fail us, many are counting on you.' 

She turns and walks away gracefully. I try to call out to her, to ask what she meant by Nirrin Mîn and why people are counting on me. But she kept walking and soon the blinding light began to start again and it took up all of my vision.

•••••••••

I jerked awake. A layer of sweat covered my body. Light shined through my room and I saw that my blankets were all on the ground, most likely from my body spasms—it happened last time too. I rubbed my face, trying to wipe away sleep.

I sat, hunched, at the edge of my bed and blew a strand of hair out of my face. Oh, I did not want to get up.

However, it did not seem like I had a choice when my mother strode into my room with things in her arms, without knocking, I might add. 

"What are you doing?" I ask through a tremendous yawn. 

"I brought you some clothes, it's not much, but it should do you well... I just wish I had a spare tunic for you to wear." She frowned and draped the clothing over the back of the only chair in my room.

I wait for her to leave the room, "close the door!" I call out to her. She pops her back through, "sorry she says and leaves—and closes the door.

Once I make sure she's actually gone I get up and let my weak, tired legs carry me to the clothing. 

The pile consists of a dark green cloak, a brown blouse, a white dress, a brown leather strap (I have no idea what that is for), and brown leather arm bracers.

I put the pile back down and go to my closet, as I search for anything that I could wear for this unexpected journey, I feel the warm muggy air cling to me. I take my hair and hold it up and off of my neck as my eyes search for trousers and a blouse. 

No such luck, being a girl I'm expected to wear dresses and not trousers, so, as you can imagjne, I don't own a single pair of them. I close the closet door with a grunt. The last thing I want to do is ride a horse with a dress on. That thought leads me to my next one: I realize I have never ridden a horse before. 

I drag a hand down my faces in exasperation, "baby steps, Lumornel. Baby steps." 

I walk over to the pile of clothing on the chair and glare at it. 

Minutes later I'm standing in the middle of my room with the outfit on. The mottled brown and green shirt came adorned with flashy buttons and a warm cape. Brown trousers and a ribbon for my hair topped off the outfit.

And of course, I wear my boots.

I take my white, beach curl mess of a hair and twist it up onto my head effortlessly so that it looks nice but not too done up at the same time.

When completely satisfied, I nod at myself in the only mirror I have, a small hand mirror, then I grab my pack and go downstairs and out the door... To where everyone is waiting for me.

•••••••••

"PO-TA-TOES! Boil em, mash em, stick em in a stew!"

                   -Samwise Gamgee

Oh my goodness. I can't believe I wrote all of this in one go! But of course I have to revise it but I'll do that in the morning... Uh... I mean later in the morning... It's 4:31 am. I write better late at night when I'm tired, ideas flow better then.

But enough with me! What about?! ... Okay, I don't know where I'm going with this, I'm too tired. Buuuut, thanks for reading! I really hope you enjoyed it! I'll update as soon as possible!

By the way, I'm sorry about the elvish, most of the words are in Sindarin. Like, three or four words are in Quenya and one in Gnomish. If ya know something better then please tell! 

Disclaimer: I made up the phrase 'Nirrin Mîn.'  The phrase originally came from the words 'nir' (Quenya) and 'mîn' (Sindarin)

Please give me your feedback, I would love to know what you think! I can take criticism too! As long as it's not stuff like 'I hate your book and the way you write.'  And I really need you all to keep encouraging me to write, so you can tell me to update, even though some writers hate that, but if that gets to be to much then I'll tell ya to stop. So PLS comment, tell me what you think... And while you're at it go ahead and vote!    ....please

Novaer, mellyn!

-some crazyily tired elf