#Glorfindel x mîr x lindir

[justpostsyeet]

Legolas : I can't wait to meet Lady Mîr, I have heard that she's so beautiful, so patient-

*Lindir scream past him as Mîr chases him down with a fork for calling her tiny cat again*

Legolas : so wise in decision-making-

Mirkwood Elf Guard : That's Lady Mîr, right? She's so unco-

Legolas : Now, Now, Don't we want to keep our jobs?

Mirkwood Elf Guard :

Legolas : so gentle.......oh! I can't wait to OFFICIALLY meet her.

[justpostsyeet]

Glorfindel : I want a baby!

Lindir : Oh no! Its that time of the month again. Hide Mîr.

Mîr enters the room. Lindir throws her over the shoulder and runs with Glorfindel running after.

Mîr : I knew elves got baby fever but never knew it was this bad.

Lindir : At least I'm better at handling such things.

Mîr : Shut up and run faster you soon to be rabbit in heat.

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin universe Origin story

Chapter 6 - Mîr, the mime

A/n - I'm so sorry. I didn't updated the story for months.

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The rest of the evening was uneventful for her. She ate and slept. When she woke up, it was already bright sunlight hurting her eyes. "Wow, I slept too well for someone in peril," she muttered. She searched for her glasses. Putting them on, she sat up and saw Feanor standing in the corner, staring at her soul. She let out a strangled gasp. "Feanor, what the hell?" she said. Feanor came close and repeated, "Feanor, what the hell?" with a questioning look. "No, no," she said. "I wouldn't teach you to swear."

She huffed and became silent. Feanor was with another woman. She gave her a tray filled with a water basin, some powder, and tiny clothes. Feanor motioned to her and taught her to clean her teeth. It wasn't her regular toothbrush and paste, but it was still refreshing. They changed her dress. Her new dress was brown with orange and red embroidery at its cuffs. It was a surprising fit for her body. "Don't tell me you sewed it all night," she said to Feanor. Even though Feanor didn't say anything, she just nodded. The lack of communication was frustrating sometimes, but for now, she could deal with it. Feanor called her Mîr. She looked up, knowing it wasn't her name, but the creatures here had started to address her as Mîr. So, whatever floats the boat.

Feanor insisted on combing her hair, but that was a problem. Mîr had been gifted with unruly curly hair, which she stubbornly kept cut in layers. Yesterday, she had tied it in a messy bun as soon as it was semi-dry. Now, it was frizzy and tangled. The poor woman was struggling, and her action hurt Mîr's head.  Mîr was reminded of her poor mother struggling to brush her hair and her grandmother lovingly making her sit down and combing it. She was also hit by a sudden image of herself floating in water with someone calling her hair beautiful from behind. These colliding memories made her head spin. She closed her eyes, finding it hard to remember without two types of memory coming to give her a headache. She opened her eyes to see Feanor giving her a concerned look.  She smiled and guided Feanor to a seat. She took the comb from her and took out a piece of hair, combing it like her grandmother had taught her. Feanor's eyes lit up, and she more or less snatched the comb back, looking at her eagerly. Mîr smiled and sat down. This time, Feanor was seated, and she was sitting by her feet. She repeated the motion to detangle her hair. Mîr wanted to say that her hair had a special affection for getting tangled; it would get tangled in a few minutes. But she was sure Feanor would not understand.

Feanor combed, styled her hair, recombed to detangle, and repeated. Mîr had to agree it did feel nice. When Feanor was done, Mîr couldn't see what she had done to her hair, but Feanor brought two pots. One she patted all over Mîr's face. It was... translucent powder? "Please don't be lead," she thought. "These people remind me so much of medieval times." Then Feanor pulled out a smaller pot and a small brush, putting a red tint on Mîr's lips. When she was done, she was smiling. Mîr couldn't help but smile back. "So, am I your dress-up doll?" she said. Feanor just nodded and said something in her own language, then motioned her to follow.

Mîr was taken across the building, and she couldn't help but appreciate its beauty. There were carved designs, paintings, and beautiful curtains and furniture. It reminded her of many old castles and monuments she had visited. The building seemed to be mostly made of cement with stone pillars, each carved with patterns, the most common being fish scale-like designs. While she was walking and admiring the beauty of the building, she didn't realize they had arrived at a large door. Foolishly, she stood at the door like an idiot, thinking about what kind of wood was used to make it, until Feanor coughed and motioned for her to go in.

Inside were all the people she had met yesterday. On the large stone table were her belongings, all spread out. "So, it's questioning time," she thought, taking a deep breath and readying herself for a round of interrogation.

~□~□~□~

Glorfindel watched her with amusement. She looked so adorable, staring at the door as if pondering some deep question. He often wondered what went on in her mind. When she entered the room, her eyes lit up upon seeing her things. She took a deep breath and looked at them, seeming to understand the purpose of the gathering. Glorfindel exchanged a glance with the others, then gestured for her to step forward.

"Please," he said gently, "come closer. We need to ask you some questions about your belongings."

Glorfindel and the others watched her closely, occasionally exchanging glances and murmuring among themselves. She could see they were trying to piece together the puzzle of her life and belongings, just as she was trying to understand their world.

First, she picked up her pouch of vials and brushes. She pulled out a lipstick and mimed applying it to her lips, then did the same with some powder, patting her cheeks lightly. Feanor's eyes lit up with excitement, nodding enthusiastically as if she understood perfectly.

"Ah, like paint for the face!" Feanor exclaimed. "How fascinating!"

Gildor chuckled, his curiosity mixed with amusement. "A touch of color to brighten the day, it seems."

Glorfindel watched her with a soft, smitten expression. "It enhances her beauty," he murmured, almost to himself. Círdan stroked his beard thoughtfully, clearly intrigued. "A curious custom indeed."

Lumion crossed his arms, his curiosity begrudging but present. "Seems unnecessary," he muttered, though his eyes stayed fixed on the demonstration. Gildor chuckled, his curiosity mixed with amusement, while Glorfindel watched her with a soft, smitten expression.  Next, she picked up a book. She opened it, miming reading and flipping through the pages. She pointed to the words and pretended to be engrossed in the text. Gildor leaned forward, genuinely interested, while Círdan nodded approvingly. Glorfindel seemed more focused on her expressions than the book itself, his gaze never leaving her face. Lumion's suspicion seemed to wane slightly as he watched her mime the familiar act of reading. "We know what books are?" Lumion said dryly. The tone of his voice made her stop.

She moved to next item. Her clothes were next. She picked up a short and long tunics of vibrant colors and patterns and mimed putting it on, then did the same with a pair of breeches with unique fastings. She showed how they fit by patting her body and pointing to the clothing. Feanor clapped her hands, excited by the demonstration, while Gildor smiled broadly. Glorfindel's eyes twinkled with admiration as he watched her every move. Círdan continued to nod thoughtfully, his curiosity unwavering. Lumion still seemed a bit suspicious, but his curiosity was undeniable.

"Such interesting garments!" Feanor exclaimed. Círdan continued to nod thoughtfully. "Her world must be very different from ours."

Lumion still seemed a bit suspicious, but his curiosity was undeniable. "They seem functional," he admitted grudgingly.

The next item was a challenge. It was same rectangular object tbat seemed to be made of glass and metal with rubber covering. She held it up. She touched it . Like before it lit up but this time the picture changed. Everytime she touched it, the portarits inside the glowing box changed. She picked it up and mimed swiping, tapping, and making a call, holding it to her ear and pretending to speak. As Mîr attempted to mime the concept of a cell phone to the elves, their confusion only deepened. Glorfindel, ever patient, watched her gestures carefully, trying to decipher their meaning. He tilted his head, furrowing his brow in concentration.

"Do you mean a communication device?" he ventured tentatively, gesturing with his hands in an attempt to mimic her actions.

Mîr nodded eagerly, relieved that he seemed to grasp the idea. She continued miming, showing how one holds a phone to the ear, taps on a screen, and even takes pictures. Gildor, who had been watching with interest, chuckled softly. "Ah, I see! You're trying to tell us about a talking device, perhaps one that shows pictures?"

Mîr nodded again, smiling gratefully at Gildor's understanding. Círdan, who had been observing quietly, spoke up with a thoughtful expression. "It sounds like a wondrous device indeed, but such things do not exist in Middle-earth."

Feanor, always curious about new knowledge, leaned forward. "Could it be a tool from her homeland? Something we have not encountered before?"

Lumion, ever cautious, raised an eyebrow. "Regardless of its nature, we must proceed carefully. We know little of her origins or the capabilities of these devices."

Glorfindel, having pondered Mîr's gestures, spoke gently to her, "Thank you for trying to show us. Perhaps in time, we will understand more."

Mîr nodded, feeling a mix of frustration and hope. Despite their confusion, she appreciated their efforts to comprehend her world and not throwing her in dungeon while  accsuing her of witchcraft. She thought it better to honest with them and show them the rather than hiding it. If they found it later, it could cause mistrust or even chaos.he mystery of the cell phone remained unresolved.

She then picked up her bag, showing them how she wore it over her shoulder and mimed putting things inside. She demonstrated taking items out, as if she were packing for a journey. Gildor laughed heartily, clearly entertained, while Feanor's eyes sparkled with understanding. Glorfindel watched her with a soft smile, clearly smitten by her efforts. Círdan's wise gaze remained fixed on her, analyzing every detail. Lumion's suspicion seemed to ease further as he saw the practicality of the bag. "At least she's organized," he said with a nod.

Finally, she picked up her glasses. She put them on and pretended to squint, then took them off and mimed having difficulty seeing. She put them back on and smiled, showing how they helped her vision. Feanor nodded vigorously, her excitement almost tangible.

"Ah, to aid her sight!" Feanor exclaimed. "Ingenious!"

Gildor chuckled, clearly amused by the simple yet effective demonstration. "A clever invention indeed."

Glorfindel's smile widened, his admiration for her growing. Círdan's curiosity seemed satisfied as he nodded approvingly. Lumion's suspicion finally gave way to understanding as he realized the practical use of the glasses. Instead of any snide comments he decided to be silent.

Mîr sighed in relief, hoping she had conveyed enough for them to understand. The elves exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from amusement to deep curiosity. She could see that each of them had their own thoughts and questions, but for now, she had done her best. She looked at them expectantly, waiting for their response.

"Thank you, Mîr," Círdan said, his voice warm and kind. "You have given us much to ponder."

Gildor nodded enthusiastically. "Indeed! Your world seems full of wonders."

Mîr couldn't understand a word but she felt a sense of accomplishment and hope. Despite the language barrier, she had made progress in communicating with the elves. She smiled at them, feeling a bit more at ease in their presence.

They escorted her out. Lord Círdan had mime the motion of reading and then pranced around. Glorfindel, ever the chivalrous elf, escorted Mîr to his horse, a majestic and imposing creature. As they approached, Mîr's eyes widened with a mixture of awe and apprehension. Glorfindel, noticing her reaction, smiled gently.

"My lady, have you seen such a grand steed before?" he asked, his voice soft.

Mîr shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the horse, which neighed and stamped its hoof. She took a step back, clearly intimidated. Glorfindel's brow furrowed in concern. "Perhaps in the lands you come from, horses are not so common?"

Before Mîr could respond, Gildor approached, laughing heartily at the situation. "Oh, come now, Glorfindel! I'm sure they have horses where she comes from. Maybe she has just never ridden one."

Gildor's amusement quickly turned into action as he lifted Mîr and placed her onto the horse. Mîr's glare at Gildor was so fierce that it made both elves shiver slightly.

"Looks like she's a fiery one," Gildor huffed, still smiling. "Take her to the library while Lumion arranges a study for her."

As the horse began to ride, Mîr clung to Glorfindel for dear life, her grip so tight that he could feel the pressure against his waist. He blushed, trying to focus on the task at hand despite the discomfort.

"You are holding on quite firmly, my lady," he remarked, trying to sound light-hearted despite the slight wince in his voice. "I assure you, you are safe with me."

When they finally arrived at the grand library, Mîr's fear was replaced by sheer excitement. Her eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of the vast collection of books. She almost squealed with delight, her earlier discomfort forgotten. Glorfindel dismounted and helped Mîr down. "Welcome to our central library," he said warmly. "I hope you find it to your liking."

Mîr could hardly contain her enthusiasm. She looked around, her eyes wide with wonder. "This is amazing," she breathed, though Glorfindel did not understand her words, he understood her tone and the expression of pure joy on her face. He smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction in seeing her so happy. "Please, feel free to explore. I will be here if you need anything."

As Mîr wandered off into the aisles of books, Glorfindel watched her with a mix of curiosity and admiration. Despite the challenges they faced in understanding each other, he felt a growing respect for this strange and fascinating woman. Glorfindel couldn't help but admire Mîr as she roamed the library. She seemed so fascinated by the structure and designs of the building, moving from shelf to shelf, examining each one. She pulled out many books, but none of the scripts were familiar to her.  She tried her best to communicate with Glorfindel, and he, in turn, tried his best to translate whichever books she held out. Despite the language barrier, they both put in effort to help each other. They exchanged a few words, and to Glorfindel, her language, while less melodic, was pleasant to hear. As they worked together, Glorfindel arranged the books they had pulled out, while Mîr decided to explore another corner, eventually heading to the balcony. He smiled and continued his work, but after a while, he went to check on her, only to be greeted by a rueful sight.

Mîr was crying, seemingly in a trance. Alarmed, Glorfindel jolted her awake, but she didn't respond. Instead, she melted into his grip, unresponsive to any communication. He glanced out at the view from the balcony, wondering what had caused her distress. Gently, he held her against his chest and rode back to the manor as slowly as possible, not wanting to startle her further. By the time they arrived, she had fallen asleep. Glorfindel looked at her peaceful face, then gently carried her back to her room. He instructed a servant to call for Feanor and sat there, looking at her sad expression, pondering what about the view of the sea had affected her so deeply.

Feanor arrived shortly after, concern etched on her face. "What happened?" she asked softly, glancing between Glorfindel and the sleeping Mîr.

"I found her crying on the balcony, looking at the sea" Glorfindel replied, his voice tinged with worry. "She seemed to be in a trance, unresponsive to anything I said or did. I brought her back here, but I have no idea what could have caused it."

Feanor looked at Mîr with a sympathetic expression. "Perhaps the sea reminded her of something painful from her past," she suggested gently. "We must be patient and understanding. She is far from her home and everything familiar."

Glorfindel nodded, still watching Mîr. "I just wish I could understand her better, to help her more." Feanor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "In time, we will. For now, let her rest. We'll be here for her when she wakes."

Glorfindel sighed, but nodded in agreement. As he left the room, he couldn't shake the image of Mîr's tears and the mystery of what had caused them.

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Constructive criticism is highly appreciated

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Mîr Vin Universe Origin Ch 3

A/n - Sorry for the delay. I just delved to deep into what will Elves think of the technology and items unfamiliar to them. I made way to much dialogues for it and the chapter became too long. So, I removed it all together. If you want to read it I'll but it in a bonus chapter.

Any back to the story

As the elves delved into the mysterious woman’s belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Among the items, they discovered clothing of a similar fashion to what she wore, confirming the uniqueness of her attire. Strips of expensive fabric hinted at a meticulous attention to detail in her possessions. The food items, unlike anything seen in Elven or Middle-earth cultures, sparked curiosity. Exotic aromas wafted from packages that bore no resemblance to the lembas or other fare known to the elves. Moreover, the elves encountered objects previously unseen in Middle-earth. Mysterious in both form and material, these items were beyond their realm of knowledge. They exchanged glances, realizing that the answers to the woman’s origins might be hidden within these enigmatic possessions.

 The mystery deepened, drawing them further into the enigma that had unexpectedly arrived at their haven but their curiosity was put in hold because of the maid servant announced that the creature woke up, behaved Frantically and fell into fitifull sleep again. They all exited to see the creature

As the woman stirred, her eyes gradually opening to the unfamiliar surroundings, the elves observed her with a sense of reverence. The air was charged with anticipation, for in her waking moments lay the promise of unlocking the enigma that had woven itself into the fabric of their haven.

Glorfindel looked at the creature, she looked restless right now. Her pretty features were marked with distress. The woman began to stir again. Glorfindel could feel Gildor’s posture suddenly going rigid. The woman woke up again, looked at them with a bewildered face and blurted out something in foreign tongue which Glorfindel could only make out as

“What the Fuck”

 

 In the hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, she felt the disorienting shift from the rhythmic motion of the train to an unfamiliar stillness. Her eyes fluttered open, searching for the familiar contours of her train compartment, but instead, she found herself in a spacious room filled with vibrant colors. A jolt of panic surged through her as she realized she wasn’t alone. The bed beneath her was soft, unlike the cold, impersonal surfaces she associated with kidnapper scenarios in movies. The room exuded warmth, a stark contrast to the chill of fear that gripped her. With trembling hands, she reached for the glasses she habitually kept within arm’s reach. The world around her remained a blur, causing her heart to pound against her chest. The absence of visual clarity heightened her sense of vulnerability. Where was she? How did she end up in this unfamiliar place?

As she fumbled for her glasses, her fingertips grazed a loose tunic of soft cotton that draped over her. It wasn’t the attire she remembered wearing when she fell asleep on the train. Her hair, usually secured in a bun, cascaded freely down her shoulders. She could make out were she was but everything felt like blurry shaking mess. The spaciousness of the room and the absence of ominous shadows began to alleviate the intensity of her disorientation. She fell down on the bed again.

The next time, she was awake of her surrounding. She dared not open her eyes fearing that realistic nightmare was a reality. She started to feel her surroundings, the warm blanket embracing her form, the gentle lighting that bathed the room, and the absence of any immediate threat. So, she was still here. It was not a dream. Her heart pounded in her chest. Everything felt too much. She couldfeel her body trembling. The question lingered—how had she transitioned from a moving train to this mysterious haven?

She refused to open her eyes till her heartbeat began to slow down. As her racing heart began to steady, she pondered the possibilities. Was it a dream? A delusion? Or had she truly been transported to a place beyond her understanding? The answers lay shrouded in the enigma of the unfamiliar room, waiting to be unveiled as she navigated this unexpected journey. She finally found courage to open her eyes. In the disorienting blur without her glasses, she found herself surrounded by figures draped in unfamiliar attire. Their voices melded into a symphony of incomprehensible sounds, leaving her bewildered and struggling to make sense of the situation. She saw tall figures standing near her bed. She screamed "What the fuck!".

She looked frantically to see clearing, her hands flying around her to find her glasses but everything seemed different. She felt like she couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes again. No, this is not real, she thought to herself, just take a deep breath, even if its real, its better to face reality with less adrenaline rush. She heard an unknown voice speaking in an unfamiliar language.

"Please let me focus", She muttered but incomprehensible chatter continued. The voices seemed to get closer to her. She decided to face them. She opened her eyes again. The figures were closer. The were....men dressed in.....robes?They were speaking something but she couldn't understand a word. She attempted to respond, her words stumbling in an attempt to bridge the linguistic gap.

Wait, where am I? Can anyone understand me?”

 The room echoed with a language she couldn’t grasp, and the figures, seeming more like shadows in her blurred vision, continued their conversation in more unintelligible speech. As the frustration of being unable to communicate mounted, her panic intensified. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision even further. The alien surroundings, the strange language, and the inability to make herself understood became overwhelming.

“Please, someone, help me understand. Where am I?

The figures exchanged glances, their expressions indecipherable. One of them, seemingly perceiving her distress, gestured for her to follow. With a mixture of fear and desperation, she stumbled after the shadowy figure, her cries echoing in the unfamiliar room.

 “Why can’t you understand me? Where am I going?”, she muttered to herself while walking.

The figures continued conversing amongst themselves, the strange language closing a linguistic barrier that seemed insurmountable. The room’s colors blurred into a mosaic of confusion as she clung to the hope of finding answers. As they led her through the mysterious realm, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being a lost wanderer in a place that defied explanation yet seemed to her very familiar, her cries of confusion echoing through the walls of palace.

 Lord Círdan, Glorfindel, Gildor, Lumion, and Fearon came in the room where their mysterious guest was staying. When they saw her walking up and saying something in a melodious voice. They began to talk. Lord Círdan was first to speak, “Greetings, traveler from beyond. Can you understand our words?”

The creature responded with a stream of sounds that were foreign to the elven ears, leaving the wise beings perplexed. Glorfindel ears perked up, he said to Lord Círdan, “Her language eludes us. We must find a way to bridge this gap and understand her plight.”

Lumion, quiped in, “I’ve never encountered such linguistic diversity. Our words seem to dance away from her understanding.”

 As the creature grew more distressed, her attempts at communication turned into heart-wrenching cries. The elves, moved by compassion, sought a way to ease her turmoil.

Fearon, seeing her pretty face distressed was unable to contain her worry. She sople softly, “We cannot let her suffer in confusion. There must be a way to connect with her. If we cant understand her, we can at least soothe her. There's nothing more soothing that nature. Lets take her to the gardens.”Gildor mused, “Look at the patterns on her belongings. They speak of gardens and life. Indeed, let us bring her to the haven’s garden.”

Lord Círdan looked at her shaking form and sighed. He did not expected such fearful reaction from this little creature. He gently guided her to the garden. She followed him,her eyes downcast and form shivering. He wanted to hold her and tell her she was safe but he was fearing that might trigger intense reaction in her. Guiding the creature gently, he led her to the serene sanctuary of the garden, where a tapestry of flowers and foliage unfolded. He saw her looking at the flowers. He gentky smiled, “In the language of leaves and blossoms, find comfort. Let the garden’s beauty speak when words fail.”

As they walked amidst the vibrant flora, the creature’s tears began to subside. The intricate patterns on her belongings seemed to resonate with the natural tapestry surrounding them. The creature, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the fragrance of blossoms, started to calm. The elves, though unable to decipher her words, shared a moment of understanding through the silent language of the garden—a universal solace that transcended the boundaries of spoken communication.

 Her mind began to clear from the fog of confusion. Determined to understand her predicament, she made a gesture, a silent plea, for her glasses. She looked at the creatures that surrounded her. She looked at the bearded old man. As they had eye contact, the man seemed to freeze. It seemed like her was lost. What happened to them? she thought to herself, What the fuck is going on here!?

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Glorfindel : Why do you have so many hairbows!?

Mîr : Why do you have bows?

Glorfindel : To kill my enemies . What's the corelation ?

Mîr : Fool! You use your bows to kill the enemies. I use my bows to get dressed to depress, burn them in their own jealously and when needed i can unfurl the bow and use it to strangle anybody.

Glorfindel :

Glorfindel : wow

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe : Origin story

Chapter 9 - Am I Adorable?

A/n - After this chapter, the story will split into two different books/stories. Both will follow Mîr but the contents will be slightly different. Origin story will follow the initial journey, purpose and past of Mîr. Modern Girl will be collection of short stories of Mîr being MGiME. ❤️ 💙 💜

Feanor then motioned for Mîr to follow her, leading her out into the courtyard. Behind them, a few other elves carried Mîr’s luggage. Mîr tried to take one of the bags to help but Feanor refused with a gentle shake of her head. So, Mîr simply trailed behind, clutching the packet of snacks Feanor had given her earlier. When they reached the courtyard, Mîr was overwhelmed by the sight. A group of elves had gathered—more than she’d ever seen in one place before. Among them, she recognized Lord Círdan, standing tall and regal, his silver hair catching the sunlight. Beside him were Gildor and Glorfindel, the latter’s golden hair and smug expression as irritatingly distinct as ever. To her surprise, Lumion was also there, standing quietly with an unreadable expression. Mîr felt a lump form in her throat. She wanted to say something, to express her gratitude, confusion, or even just her emotions, but the language barrier made it impossible. She stood awkwardly with her mind racing. Before she could figure out what to do, Glorfindel stepped forward, gesturing for the other elves to secure her bags onto one of the horses. Then, with an air of casual authority, he extended his hand to her. Mîr hesitated for a moment then placed her hand gently in his. His grip was firm yet careful as he guided her toward the horse. With one swift motion, he lifted her up and set her on the saddle.

“Where are you sending me?” Mîr asked, her voice shaking slightly.

Glorfindel only smiled in response. His silence was more frustrating than reassuring. He mounted a horse beside hers and took hold of her reins to guide her.

“Wait,” Mîr said, her voice rising slightly. “You’re coming with me?”

Glorfindel glanced at her, his lips twitching in faint amusement as he spoke again in his melodic and incomprehensible language.

“All of you?” Mîr gestured to the group of elves preparing to leave alongside them. “I mean... I’m going wherever you and your gang are going?”

Glorfindel responded with more words she couldn’t understand, his tone light and unconcerned. Mîr sighed, slumping slightly in the saddle. “I need a universal translator. Or a magic spell. Or something. This language barrier is seriously getting on my nerves.”

Glorfindel glanced at her with a bemused expression clearly understanding none of her words. But perhaps he has caught her exasperation as he let out a small chuckle and he clicked his tongue. Their horses began to move and the rest of the company falling into formation behind them.

As they passed through the courtyard gates, Mîr cast one last look back at the gathered elves. Her heart felt heavy again, though she couldn’t quite explain why. This place, as strange and bewildering as it was, had started to feel like the closest thing to home she had. Now she was leaving and she still had no idea where they were taking her—or what awaited her there.

~•~•~•~•~~~

The courtyard buzzed with quiet energy as the preparations for departure neared completion. Glorfindel adjusted the reins of his horse, watching as the other elves secured the last of the bags onto the mounts. His gaze flickered to Mîr, who stood near Feanor, holding a packet of snacks with a confused and overwhelmed expression. t amused him how much emotion she carried on her face—so unlike the elves, whose thoughts and feelings were often veiled. She had no such defenses. Her bewilderment and frustration were plain to see. He could sense her wariness, her hesitation, but beneath it, there was courage. That courage, he thought, would serve her well in the days to come. As he approached her, Mîr turned her gaze to him, her brows knitting together. She looked so small, standing there amidst the tall, elegant forms of the elves. Small but not insignificant. He had seen enough in his long years to recognize strength in unlikely places.

He gestured for the others to load her bags onto one of the horses then held out his hand to her. She hesitated, her dark eyes flicking from his hand to his face as if trying to discern his intentions. Finally, she placed her hand in his. He noted how soft it was and how fragile she seemed in comparison to the warriors and travelers he was used to guiding. With a single motion, he lifted her onto the saddle, marveling silently at how light she was. She clung to the reins awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the height and the animal beneath her. He almost laughed—how was it possible that someone could fear a horse more than the uncertainty of being in an unfamiliar land?

Mîr suddenly began talking . She seemed to asking many questions. Poor lady, he thought, probably doesn't even know wjat is happening.

He responded in Sindarin knowing she wouldn’t understand but unwilling to let the question hang in silence. Her exasperated sigh told him she was growing tired of the lack of answers and he couldn’t help but admire her resilience. He clicked his tongue, urging the horses forward and the company began to move. As the gates of the courtyard loomed ahead, Glorfindel stole another glance at Mîr. She turned to look back, her face shadowed with longing. He knew she was overwhelmed, possibly even afraid. But for him, this was not a farewell. It was the start of a journey. She might not yet realize it but her path and his were now entwined. Her arrival here. Her decision to point toward Imladris. The strange determination in her eyes had all convinced him. There was something extraordinary about her though neither of them fully understood it yet.She would be safe under his watch, and as they rode out together, he silently vowed to see her through whatever lay ahead.

•~•~•~~~

The sunlight streamed through the trees, dappled patterns playing across the forest floor. Mîr sat atop her horse, looking at everything as if the world itself were a puzzle she had only begun to solve. Glorfindel watched her with quiet amusement. His horse paced steadily beside hers. The language barrier between them hung in the air like an unspoken tension but there was something endearing about the way she tried to navigate her surroundings without words. Her gaze darted from the swaying leaves to the forest shadows. Her head tilting slightly as a bird’s call echoed above them. When her horse snorted and shifted under her, she flinched, clutching the reins tightly and muttering something in her strange tongue—words he couldn’t understand but recognized as frustration.

“You’re adorable,” Glorfindel said suddenly, the words slipping out before he could stop himself.

Mîr blinked and her head snapped toward him. Her confusion was evident. “What?” she asked, her accented Sindarin making the single word sound more like a demand than a question.

Glorfindel chuckled softly. He gestured with his hand, as if explaining, and repeated slowly, “Adorable.”

She frowned, her brows furrowing as she seemed to process the word. Then, she scowled, shaking her head and muttering something under her breath again in her own language. He didn’t need to understand her words to know she was irritated—or at least pretending to be.

“You,” Glorfindel said, pointing at her, “adorable.” He smiled as he spoke, the warmth in his voice undeniable. Mîr's cheeks flushed and she turned away sharply, pretending to focus on the path ahead. “No,” she said, a single word of Sindarin she seemed to have picked up.

Glorfindel laughed. He reached over, mimicking the way she had stared at the forest canopy earlier, his gestures playful. “See? Everything is new to you. You’re curious, cautious... It’s endearing.”

She stared at him blankly, catching only fragments of his words. “New? Curious?” she repeated slowly, testing the unfamiliar sounds.

“Yes,” he replied, nodding. He pointed at her, then at the forest, mimicking her wide-eyed gaze again. “Curious.”

Mîr sighed, shaking her head as if to say she didn’t understand what he was getting at. Still, there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes, despite her efforts to remain stern. The horses continued their steady pace, the sound of their hooves filling the silence. After a while, Mîr glanced at Glorfindel again, this time tilting her head curiously. She pointed at him then at her own face and then to the trees, as if trying to piece together the fragments of what he had said.

“Adorable,” Glorfindel said again, tapping his own chest lightly and then motioning toward her. Her cheeks darkened again and she groaned softly, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a complaint in her language. Glorfindel just smiled unfazed. Even without shared words, he felt they were beginning to understand each other in other ways. Her exasperation, her cautious curiosity and the flickers of warmth in her expression spoke louder than any language could. And as they continued down the path, Glorfindel found himself even more intrigued by the enigmatic human riding beside him.

•~•~•~~~

The first rays of dawn were breaking through the dense forest canopy as the caravan set off. Mîr sat uneasily atop her horse. Her legs were still unused to the strange new rhythm of riding. The elves moved gracefully around her. Their movements were so natural that they seemed to belong to the forest itself. Everything was new. The sights, the sounds, the smells—they overwhelmed her senses. Birds chirped unfamiliar melodies, streams sparkled with an otherworldly clarity and even the sunlight seemed brighter. Mîr found herself staring in awe at the sheer majesty of it all. She had read about medieval worlds in books but experiencing it firsthand was something entirely different.

The language barrier, however, loomed large. The elves spoke their melodic tongue, exchanging words that flowed like a river and Mîr could only catch fragments here and there. Her Sindarin was nonexistent and her attempts at mimicking their words often drew amused smiles or patient corrections. She wasn’t deterred. Each night, she jotted down words she managed to pick up in a small diary she had salvaged from her belongings. Words like “elen” (star) and “lim” (swift) were scrawled in her messy handwriting, accompanied by her best guesses at pronunciation. She resolved to learn, no matter how difficult it seemed. Despite the barrier, Mîr found ways to connect with the elves. One evening, when they stopped to rest, she noticed them preparing a simple meal of dried fruit and bread. Her own hunger spurred her into action. Gathering some herbs and ingredients she had brought from her world, she gestured to one of the elves—a tall, quiet one named Gildor—and mimed cooking.

At first, he looked puzzled, but when she repeated the gestures, he nodded and handed her a pot. Mîr set to work, adding water from a nearby stream and throwing in the ingredients she had. Before long, a fragrant stew was simmering over the fire. When she served it, the elves tasted it cautiously, their expressions unreadable. Then, one by one, their faces lit up. They murmured words she didn’t understand, but their smiles said enough. Even Glorfindel, who usually seemed more amused than impressed by her gave her an approving nod.

It was a small victory and it filled her with pride.

Later, as the elves rested, she sang softly to herself, a habit she had picked up to calm her nerves. Her voice carried across the camp, drawing the attention of the group. Though she sang in her own language, the melody seemed to transcend words. Glorfindel approached her as she finished, a curious look on his face. He said something in Sindarin, gesturing to her throat. She didn’t understand but she smiled and mimed singing. He nodded as if filing away the information for later.

As the days passed, Mîr began to notice a pattern: wherever she went, Glorfindel wasn’t far behind. Whether she was struggling to mount her horse or stumbling over a word or simply marveling at a flower she had never seen before, he was there. Sometimes, he offered help—a steadying hand, a corrected word or a soft laugh when she did something clumsy. Other times, he simply watched, his presence a silent reassurance. At first, it annoyed her. She wasn’t used to being so closely observed and his knowing smirk often made her feel self-conscious. But over time, she began to appreciate it. He wasn’t intrusive. There was a warmth in his gaze that made her feel… safe.

One night, as they set up camp, Mîr wandered to the edge of the clearing to write in her diary. She was jotting down new words when she felt his presence behind her.

“Adorable,” he said softly.

She looked up startled. It was a word he had said before, one of the few she recognized and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Her cheeks flushed. She muttered something under her breath pretending to focus on her writing. Glorfindel chuckled but he didn’t press her. Instead, he handed her a small flower he had picked. Its petals glowed faintly in the moonlight. Mîr took it but she unsure of what to say. She tucked it carefully between the pages of her diary, glancing up at him with a hesitant smile. She didn’t know where this journey would take her but for the first time since arriving in this strange world, she felt like she wasn’t facing it alone.

□~□~□~□~□~□

TAGLIST @crazed-flower @asianbutnotjapanese

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe : Origin Story

Chapter seven : Learning new things

A/n - sorry 😔

Please give your constructive criticism ❤️ 💙 💜

She saw herself standing in the sea, the water lapping at her waist. Around her swam creatures unlike anything she had ever seen before—some luminous, others dark as shadows, with eyes that glowed faintly in the depths. She wasn’t frightened. She was… guiding them. Her hands moved fluidly, as though weaving patterns in the air. The creatures followed her commands, swimming toward some unseen destination. The vision shifted. She was on a bridge of breathtaking beauty. Its surface shimmering like moonlight on water. A figure waited at the center—a man with features blurred as if hidden behind a veil. His voice, though indistinct, echoed in her mind, resonated with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine. Before she could make sense of it all, a sharp pain jolted her back to the present. Everything spun around her until everything faded into black. When Mîr opened her eyes, the ceiling above her was familiar, ornate with carvings of vines and stars. Her body felt heavy, her head pounding with the remnants of whatever had overwhelmed her. She blinked, disoriented, until a golden figure came into focus beside her.

Glorfindel.

He sat near her bed. His sharp eyes soft with concern. The moment he noticed her stirring, he leaned forward, speaking quickly in his melodic language. Though she couldn’t understand the words, his relief was clear. The tension in his shoulders eased, and his lips curved into the faintest of smiles.Mîr tried to sit up, but her body protested. Glorfindel held up a hand, gently motioning for her to stay still. He called out to someone in the hall, his voice carrying like a song. Moments later, a woman entered the room. The woman smiled warmly, her presence soothing as she approached the bed. The woman began miming different actions—touching her head, gesturing to her chest, and pointing at Mîr. It took a moment for Mîr to realize she was asking how she felt. Mîr touched her forehead and made a vague swirling motion with her hand, trying to convey the confusion and pain she’d experienced. The woman tilted her head thoughtfully, then mimicked drinking from a cup and pointed to Mîr.

Water? Yes, water would help.

Mîr nodded. Glorfindel was already ahead of her, pouring a clear liquid from a crystal decanter into a cup. He handed it to her carefully, his movements deliberate, as though afraid she might collapse again. She sipped slowly but her mind still racing with the images of the sea and the bridge. What had she seen? Were they memories or dreams or something else? When she glanced back at Glorfindel, she found his gaze unwavering, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. He didn’t press her but she could sense the questions hovering unspoken in the air. Mîr wanted to explain, to tell him about the sea and the creatures, about the man on the bridge. But the language barrier loomed between them. It felt insurmountable for now. So she offered him the only reassurance she could—a faint smile and a whispered, “I’m fine.” Even if she wasn’t.

~•~•~•~•~

Mîr was escorted from her bedchamber to another room. The room she entered was a study. Its walls lined with shelves brimming with scrolls, tomes, and loose parchments. A desk stood at the center, lit by soft, golden sunlight streaming through arched windows. To her surprise, the man she had glimpsed earlier was already there, standing by the desk. He turned as she entered, offering a warm smile that softened his otherwise commanding presence.

Lumion motioned for her to sit at the desk, his gestures kind yet confident. He produced a sheet of parchment and a slender writing quill, then began to sketch symbols she didn’t recognize—lines and curves that looked like they could sing if they were spoken aloud. To her delight, he began teaching her. At first, it was simple words: “food,” “water,” “light.” Lumion pointed to objects in the room, repeating their names in his melodic tongue, waiting patiently for her to mimic the sounds. Though the language felt foreign on her tongue, she was eager to learn, and Lumion proved an excellent teacher.

She couldn’t help but marvel at his skill. As they progressed, he seemed just as curious about her. Lumion gestured toward her, then made a questioning motion, as if to ask if she spoke other languages. Mîr nodded, excited by the opportunity. “English,” she said, pointing to herself.

“English,” Lumion repeated, his accent rolling over the word like a breeze. He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. For the next hour, they exchanged words from their respective languages. Mîr was surprised to discover that none of the ones she knew matched Lumion’s vast repertoire. He listed language after language—ones she’d never heard of but suspected were from this world. Lumion seemed equally fascinated by her languages, his eyes lighting up as she taught him basic phrases like “hello” and “thank you” in all the languages she knew.

As Lumion guided her through the basics of Sindarin pronunciation, Mîr couldn’t help but admire his dedication. He had a way of explaining that made even the most complex sounds feel manageable, and his patience never wavered. She felt a spark of pride when she managed to form her first complete sentence, however simple it might have been. The hours passed quickly, the two of them engrossed in their exchange of knowledge. Without saying it, they had both decided: Mîr would teach him English, and he would teach her Sindarin, at least for now. Their shared excitement made the lessons feel less like work and more like a game. Lumion, despite his calm demeanor, showed genuine curiosity about her language, while Mîr marveled at the intricacies of Sindarin. By the time the lesson ended, Mîr felt a little less lost.

Lumion stood, offering her a slight bow. “Tomorrow,” he said in Sindarin, a word she now recognized.

“Tomorrow,” she echoed, her voice carrying a faint trace of hope. For the first time since she had arrived in this unfamiliar land, Mîr felt like she was beginning to find her place.

~•~•~•~•~•~

She glanced at the window and saw the sun dipping below the horizon, casting golden hues over the landscape. She hadn't even noticed the passing of time. Did they not serve lunch here? Or did I miss it? she wondered, suddenly aware of her hunger.

Unsure of how to ask for food without risking offense, Mîr decided to explore instead. She wandered until she found herself in a garden, lush and breathtaking, almost otherworldly in its beauty. Flowers bloomed in hues she couldn’t name, their petals shimmering faintly as if dusted with moonlight. A soft breeze carried the scents of flowers, earth, and something sweet she couldn’t place. Unable to resist, she plucked a few flowers and began weaving them into a crown. Her fingers moved deftly, a habit from her childhood. When the crown was finished, she placed it on her head and laughed softly—it was far too big.

“Too ambitious,” she murmured, holding it in her hands.

“Mîr.”

She froze, hearing her name spoken in a voice both commanding and melodic. Turning, she saw Feanor approaching, her movements fluid and graceful. The female elf’s dark hair cascaded like a river of night, her sharp, elegant features illuminated by the fading sunlight.Mîr felt a spark of joy and ran toward her, forgetting herself in the moment. Without hesitation, she placed the oversized flower crown on Fëanor’s head.

For a moment, the air felt heavy with silence. Fëanor stood still, her hand lightly touching the crown as her eyes widened in surprise. Mîr’s stomach sank.Had she made a mistake. Panicking, Mîr stammered, “Sorry.” She gestured clumsily to the crown, hoping her apology would come through. She knew Fëanor wouldn’t understand her words, but her tone was clear enough. Feanor ’s gaze softened, and her lips curved into a faint smile. She carefully removed the crown, inspecting it for a moment, then handed it back to Mîr. There was no anger in her expression, only a quiet amusement. She motioned for Mîr to follow her. Relieved but still nervous, Mîr followed Feanor through the winding halls of the castle. The elf led her to a dining room where a meal had been laid out—a simple but inviting spread of fruits, bread, and some kind of stew. Feanor gestured to the table, encouraging her to eat, and left with a small nod. Mîr placed the flower crown on the table and sat down. As she ate, she replayed the moment in the garden, feeling both embarrassed and grateful. This world, she realized, operated on a different set of rules—rules she didn’t yet understand. Every action, even the smallest, seemed to carry weight. She would have to be careful, not just with her words, but with her gestures and choices..Yet despite her mistakes, there was kindness here, and perhaps even patience. It was a small comfort, but in this unfamiliar world, it was enough

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe : Origins

Ch 2.5 : Mysterious Artifacts

A/N : All those who'll guess the correct objects will be send a warm bowl of soup*telepathically*

~□~□~□~□~

As the elves delved into the mysterious woman’s belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Among the items, they discovered clothing of a similar fashion to what she wore, confirming the uniqueness of her attire. Strips of expensive fabric hinted at a meticulous attention to detail in her possessions. The food items, unlike anything seen in Elven or Middle-earth cultures, sparked curiosity. Exotic aromas wafted from packages that bore no resemblance to the lembas or other fare known to the elves. Moreover, the elves encountered objects previously unseen in Middle-earth. Mysterious in both form and material, these items were beyond their realm of knowledge. They exchanged glances, realizing that the answers to the woman’s origins might be hidden within these enigmatic possessions.

While the mysterious creature laid in a guest chamber, the elves observed her belongings. Her opulent garments and jewelry displayed on a nearby table. Círdan, with his ancient wisdom, led the discussion, stroking his beard, saiid, “This woman is unlike any we’ve encountered, her garments and adornments speak of a culture beyond our knowledge. Let us unravel the mysteries they hold.”

Glorfindel agreed, “Indeed. These garments, painted with expensive dyes, are a marvel. And the elasticity in the waistband, unheard of in our craftsmanship.”

Gildor picked up a small piece of clothing and examined it, “Look at these garments, the cups and elastic strings.”

Fearon quiped in quickly, “These were the last pieces of clothings she was wearing so, perhaps it’s her...undergarments.”

A blush crept up Gildor’s face, but he continued, “ Well, now that’s what you call a small clothes. They seem designed not just for practicality but for enhancement. Quite intricate.”

Círdan snorted at Gildor while Glorfindel just raised his eyebrows as Gildor quietly put the undergarment down.

Fearon was examining the metallic strips from her hair, she was intrigued by the metal and their odd shape . She said, “These thin metallic strips, I’ve never seen the like. They match those on her undergarments and pants. What purpose could they serve?”

Nestor, ignoring Fearon’s question spoke, “The rings on her ears, made of metals unfamiliar to us. And this round gold object on her nose, a curious ornament indeed.”

Círdan agreed with both of them, “The richness of her accessories extends to her fingers and ankles. Rings of gold and unknown metals, a silver band with small gems. It’s as if she carries a piece of a distant realm with her. Her clothings are very unfamiliar to me. Maybe she has come from a distance land.”

Glorfindel said quitely, “Her nail painting caught my attention. At first, I thought them naturally dark, but Fearon told me that they were meticulously painted. A cultural practice, perhaps?”

He paused and spoke again, “And the makeup on her face, a touch of artistry. She clearly belongs to a class of sophistication and royalty we’ve not encountered.”

Círdan announced, “We must look at her belongings in the mysterious bag, but we must approach this with caution. These artifacts may hold clues about her origin, and understanding them could shed light on why she’s here.”

The elves exchanged thoughtful glances as Fearon opened the teeth-like closure. As the elves delved into the mysterious woman’s belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Among the items, they discovered clothing of a similar fashion to what she wore, confirming the uniqueness of her attire. Strips of expensive fabric hinted at a meticulous attention to detail in her possessions.

Gildor picked up clothes that had different color and designs, but structurally, they were similar to the clothes their mysterious guest was wearing. He also noticed a strange but plesant scent coming from each of her clothings.“This clothing, similar to hers, suggests a consistency in her style. A cultural signature, perhaps? And her unworn clothes have been perfumed too. It all speaks richness to me, but then I wonder why she’s suddenly here without anyone.”

Fearon agreed to gildor, “Indeed My Lord, it’s intriguing and this fabric, intricately woven. Such craftsmanship of such small stiches takes a lot of time . Someone needs to be paid a lot for such fine stitching. She might have an extremely good tailor with her. But it can also be that her people are just good at it.”

They looked at the round object with leather straps around both sides.

Fearon exicted, explained “She was wearing it on her wrist. It’s straps served the purpose of holding the metal and glass cylinder on her wirsts. Look at the cylinder. It has three needles inside. One is circling the cylinder with its one end on the centre axis. The other one is doing it too, but it seems that it is much slower than the longest one, and the smallest one doesn’t seem too much. It’s so interesting. Why would someone put a cylinder with moving needles on their wrists? I don’t think it’s a jewel.”

Lumion spoke quickly, “Perhaps it’s a witchcraft. Her bag too seems like a sentinel being with teeth. Maybe she’s-“

Gildor quickly cut him, “Maybe she’s a rich person with artefacts unknown to us. We can only speculate, but unless she answers us, we’ll never know the truth.”

Gildor could see Lumion face turn sour, but he too interested in this mysterious woman belongings to actually acknowledge his sour face.

Círdan, mused , “These objects, though unfamiliar, may hold the key to understanding her purpose here. We must tread carefully in our examination.”

Glorfindel opened a leather pouch with the same teeth-like closure. He picked up small container and brushes from it. He said, “What are these small pots? They seem to contain substances but mostly red, browns and pinks. There is a small container that has a paste similar to her skin colour.I have never seen such pastes and powders . ”

Gildor added on, “And look at these strange tools. A brush? For what purpose? This small wand, it resembles paintbrushes.”

Fearon said quitely,“Perhaps it’s some form of artistry, but don’t you think it’s very similar makeup tints. Yet there are so many . Many whose purpose i don't understand... what are their uses?”

Nestor was more intrigued by the pots. He excitely said, “And these containers, they’re not metal. Some peculiar substance, almost like a hardened liquid. Unseen craftsmanship! Imagine storing herbs in these. It will be so easy to carry and store.”

Círdan looked at tbe pots and said with a perplexed tone, “Curious. And what is written on these small pots? I cannot decipher this language; it’s unlike any we’ve encountered in Middle-earth.”

Lumion who had been silent for a while quiped in to look at it. He looked at the pots, examining the language, shook his head, and said ,” I couldn’t understand these words. They are very similar to Quenya, straight symmetrical letters. They are not rubbish. They have a set pattern like proper language. Could these be symbols of power or some form of enchantment? They wield a certain allure, though.”

Círdan shaked his head. He agreed with Lumion, but his fascination of everything being an enchantment was a little annoying. Gildor knew Lumion’s suspicious nature. He ignored him and continued to examine the pots . He was like Nestor, more interested in the structure of the pot. He said calmly, “The substance feels unlike anything natural.It’s as if it traps the colours within. Maybe it's a kind of metal found where she lives. ”

Glorfindel fished out an otherworldly artifact—a device of glass and metal, its surface adorned with a peculiar rubbery material. This strange object bore no resemblance to the elegant craftsmanship of Elven artifacts. Its surface, cool to the touch, emitted an ethereal glow when caressed. Gazing upon it, the Elves, beings attuned to the natural world, found themselves in awe of the mysterious luminescence. The glass and metal combination, so unlike the materials of Middle-earth, hinted at craftsmanship from a distant and unfamiliar realm. They all were awestruck. It shines so beautifully and when it glowed the glass side showed a portrait of a flower that seemed to be trapped within it. The rubbery substance, with its unique texture, served as a covering for the device. He room was silent as the soft glow illuminated the Elves’ faces with a sense of wonder, akin to witnessing a starlight phenomenon in the deep of night.

It was Círdan who broke the silence, “What enchantment is this? A glass and metal creation, covered in a rubbery substance that lights up upon touch. I have not seen its like in all my years.”

Glorfindel quickly responded “It’s beyond our comprehension. What could this artifact be? A source of light or a tool of some sort? The rubbery covering adds to the mystery.”

Gildor, equally curious, said, “Perhaps it’s a token of power or an ancient artefact from a distant land. The glow suggests magic, but it’s a magic unfamiliar to us. I’ve never encountered such craftsmanship. The glass and metal seem alien, and this rubbery material... Could it be a ward against some unseen force?”

Círdan knew he couldn’t let them delve in such thought or else they’ll grow suspicious. He wanted to know more about this mysterious creature who suddenly appeared into his land and not just threw her into prison because the others took her as a threat. He spoke with an authoritative voice, “We are left to speculate. A device from a realm we can not fathom. Its purpose eludes us, and the symbols etched upon it are a language unknown. Let us handle it with care. Its glow is enchanting, but we must remain vigilant. This object, whatever it may be, is not of Middle-earth.”

Gildor who was still caressing the glass side of the object and looking at the flower portrait that appeared said without looking away, “Should we attempt to unlock its secrets, or would meddling with it bring forth consequences beyond our understanding?”

Fearon said, “We are in uncharted territory. This device challenges our perception of the world. What powers lie within it, we cannot discern. Prehaps we should leave it our little guest.”

Círdan smiled at “our little guest” . He thought to himself at least someone too is interested in this mysterious being. They were about to search for more things, but the maid servant came back to announce that his little guest had woken up and is in distress.

~○~○~○~○~○~○

Taglist : @elvyshiarieko @bobitoo08 @asianbutnotjapanese

Want to be part of my taglist, just drop a message ❤️

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Constructive criticism is a must or my goldfish brain 🧠 will perish.

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr, Glorfindel and Lindir sleeping

How the twins and Arwen sees them

How Erestor sees them

How Elrond and Celebrian sees them

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr, holding a crooked pottery : Calm down Lord Erestor, beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

Lindir : I agree with her, My lord because *holds Mîr's chin and looks directly at her face* what I see right now is the most beautiful thing in Ea.

Glorfindel and Erestor : Smooth........

Mîr :

[justpostsyeet]

Random elf : What is on your neck Lindir?

Lindir*adjusting is collar* : Nothing!

Random elf : Got frisky last night, didn't you?

Lindir*blushing* : yes

Also Lindir remembering how he challenged Mîr that she couldn't hurt him and she fucking bite his neck.

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr : When is your birthday?

Glorfindel and Lindir : What's a birthday?

Mîr explains concept of birthday, Glorfindel : So,its like begetting day

Mîr: what's a begetting day

Glorfindel and Lindir explains begetting day

Mír : So, instead of celebrating your day of birth you celebrate the day your parents fucked. And here I thought Elves where good old Christians.

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe : Origin Story

Chapter Eight - These horses.....oh no!

Mîr dreamed again.

This time, she found herself sitting on the surface of the sea, as if it were solid ground. The waves beneath her were gentle, shifting like a silken sheet. She was singing, her voice echoing in a language she didn’t recognize but somehow knew. The melody was haunting and filled with longing, rising into the endless sky above her. Stars shimmered in patterns she couldn’t name. The moon cast a silver glow over her. Her reflection in the water seemed to move on its own. A unfamiliar yet familiar face was staring back at her with an intensity that made her chest tighten.

Who am I? What is this place?

Before she could think further, the dream ended, dissolving into nothingness. When Mîr awoke, the dream still lingered in her mind like a half-remembered song. She brushed it aside as best she could though the strange emotions stayed with her through breakfast. She ate quickly, unsure of what the day would bring. She was soon escorted to meet Glorfindel again. He seemed to radiate confidence as she approached. Mîr immediately felt her irritation flare.

I really don’t like that smile, she thought.

The elf had introduced himself with an air of smugness that made her want to hurl a bread roll at his perfect face. Today, however, he had a new form of torment prepared for her. He stood beside a horse—no, a massive horse, far taller than anything she’d seen before. Its coat gleamed like polished obsidian, its mane flowing like ink in the wind. Glorfindel said something, gesturing to the horse. His words meant nothing to her, but his tone was clear enough.

Mîr’s eyes widened in disbelief. Ride? Ride that thing? Is he insane?

She took a cautious step back, shaking her head. Her fear must have been obvious because Glorfindel chuckled softly—a sound that only annoyed her further. She glared at him. She didn’t need to know Sindarin to understand his teasing tone. This tall, blonde jerk is enjoying this way too much. Before she could protest, he bent down and practically scooped her up, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Mîr yelped in surprise, clutching at his arm. He placed her on the horse's saddle, which felt impossibly high above the ground. Her heart raced as she gripped the saddle for dear life. The horse shifted slightly. Mîr froze, convinced she was about to fall to her death.

“I’m going to die,” she muttered under her breath. “This stupid medieval fantasy place is going to kill me with its giant horses.”

Glorfindel said something else, his voice calm and reassuring, though she had no idea what he meant. He gently placed her hands on the reins, showing her how to hold them. Despite her terror, his patience surprised her. Still, her nerves were far from settled. The horse was too big, the ground too far away, and the idea of moving—let alone galloping—felt impossible.

Glorfindel mounted his own horse with effortless grace, then motioned the house to follow. The movement caused her horse to step forward slightly. Mîr let out a small scream, gripping the saddle even tighter.

“Why are you torturing me?” she hissed, though she knew he couldn’t understand her.

Glorfindel glanced back at her, his blue eyes amused. He said something that she imagined was the equivalent of “You’re doing fine,” which only made her scowl. After a few minutes of slow walking, Mîr began to relax—just slightly. She realized she’d have to get used to this if horses were the primary mode of transportation in this world. But that didn’t mean she had to like it. As they moved through the castle grounds, Mîr found herself glancing at Glorfindel. For all her annoyance with him, she couldn’t deny that he was good at what he did. He guided his horse with ease, his posture relaxed but commanding. She envied his confidence. Maybe, just maybe, she could learn something from him.But first, she’d have to survive this ride.

~•~•~•~•

Círdan stood at the edge of the pier, the waves lapping softly at the shore behind him. His silver beard glinted in the pale light of the setting sun as he watched Glorfindel approach, his golden hair gleaming like molten fire. Mîr followed a few steps behind, looking slightly annoyed. She kept casting wary glances at both the elf lord and the sea surrounding them as if unsure of what was worse: the towering waves or the towering elf.

“Lord Glorfindel,” Círdan greeted, his voice deep and resonant. He folded his hands behind his back, his wise gaze flicking briefly to Mîr. “You seem to have taken a great interest in her.”

Círdan studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Indeed, I was surprised when she pointed where she did. Few know the weight of such a choice, even fewer make it instinctively.” He glanced at Mîr again, his voice softening just slightly. “She must be special, though she does not yet understand why.”

Glorfindel stopped a respectful distance away and inclined his head. “Not interest, my lord,” he replied, his tone smooth and deliberate. “Responsibility. She pointed to her destination clearly. Whether she realizes it or not, that decision holds meaning. I only wish to ensure she is prepared for the journey ahead.”

Mîr was oblivious to the specifics of the conversation but she was aware that she was its subject. She shifted uncomfortably. Her gaze darted between the two elves as she tried to gauge their intentions.

“I see no harm in her decision,” Glorfindel said, his tone firm. “The road will not be easy, but it will be right. Her place lies elsewhere, though the reasons are not yet clear.”

Glorfindel inclined his head. “You have my word she will be safe under my care. Her choice is significant, but she is not yet ready to understand it. In time, she will.”

Círdan exhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on Mîr. “It pains me to send her away,” he admitted. “She is a curiosity, yes, but also a kind of hope. And there are so few of those left in this world.” He hesitated, then added, “Yet I will not hold her here against her will. If she has chosen, then I trust the path she must walk.”

Círdan expression softened. “I trust you, Glorfindel,” he said quietly. “I trust you will guide her where she needs to go.”

“I will, my lord,” Glorfindel said solemnly.

Círdan nodded then turned to Mîr. Though she didn’t understand his words, his kind smile and the faint bow of his head seemed made her relax. As Glorfindel led her away, Círdan stood still, his gaze following them until they disappeared from sight. He spoke softly to himself, his voice almost lost in the wind.

“May the stars guide you, child. Your journey has only just begun.”

~•~•~•~•~•~

Feanor strode into the room with her usual grace. A bundle of neatly folded garments balanced in her arms. The fabric shimmered faintly in the soft light. Mîr couldn’t help but stare at the sheer craftsmanship of it all. Feanor placed the bundle on the bed and stepped back, her green eyes watching Mîr with a mixture of pride and anticipation.

Feanor said something in her lilting voice. Though Mîr didn’t fully understand her words, the intent was clear enough. She gestured toward the clothes with a small smile, encouraging Mîr to examine them. Hesitantly, Mîr stepped forward and reached out to touch the topmost garment—a gown of deep forest green, embroidered with delicate silver leaves that shimmered like starlight. The fabric felt impossibly soft under her fingers. Her breath caught as she looked through the other pieces: tunics of fine linen, sturdy yet elegant breeches, supple leather boots lined with fur, a rich crimson cloak clasped with an intricate silver brooch, and a pair of gloves so finely stitched they seemed more art than utility.

“This… this is too much,” Mîr murmured to herself. She glanced at the elf, who stood patiently, her expression warm but unreadable. Feanor picked up a shawl, a delicate weave of pale blue and silver that seemed to capture the light in its threads. She draped it over Mîr’s shoulders. She adjusted it carefully, then stepped back as if assessing her handiwork. Mîr shifted awkwardly, unsure how to react. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said softly, knowing full well Feanor wouldn’t understand. Still, the elf’s gentle demeanor made her feel both grateful and guilty. She ran her fingers over the shawl, marveling at the intricate design. Feanor tilted her head, as though sensing Mîr’s hesitation. She gestured toward the bed again. She picked up a pair of breeches and holding them up to Mîr with a questioning look.

“You want me to try them on?” Mîr guessed, her brow furrowing. Feanor nodded, a small, encouraging smile tugging at her lips. Mîr sighed, realizing there was no way out of this. She took the breeches and tunic from Feanor and pointed toward a screen in the corner of the room. “I’ll, uh, change over there.”

Feanor seemed to understand, stepping back to give her space.

Once behind the screen, Mîr slipped into the elven clothes. She had to admit they fit perfectly, as though they had been tailored just for her. The breeches were snug but comfortable. When she stepped out, Feanor’s face lit up, her smile widening.

“You like this, don’t you?” Mîr said dryly, though she couldn’t hide the faint smile tugging at her own lips. Feanor clasped her hands together and gave a single nod, her joy evident even without words. She gestured for Mîr to twirl, and though Mîr felt ridiculous, she complied.

As she spun, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, I’ll admit it,” she said, shaking her head. “These are incredible.”

Feanor stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Mîr’s shoulder. Her expression softened, and though no words were exchanged, the meaning was clear: You are worth it. Mîr felt her throat tighten. She glanced at the pile of clothes still on the bed, then back at Feanor. “Thank you,” she said, hoping the sincerity in her voice would transcend the language barrier. Feanor nodded, her smile never wavering. Then, as if sensing Mîr’s lingering discomfort, she took the crown of her own braid and touched it lightly, as if to remind Mîr that she, too, was someone important now, someone worthy of care. Mîr exhaled deeply, looking at the intricate clothing again. She might not belong here but they were doing everything they could to make her feel as though she did.

Then Feanor reached into the pile of garments and pulled out a smaller bundle. Her expression was as calm and unflappable as ever. Mîr tilted her head curiously. Her cheeks flushed slightly when she realized what Feanor was holding. These were not the outer layers she had admired earlier but undergarments���several neatly folded pieces in soft, luxurious fabrics. Mîr hesitated, unsure whether to laugh or feel embarrassed. She took a step closer, glancing at the items Feanor was now carefully displaying. They were unlike anything she had worn back home but they were undoubtedly practical for this world. The first piece Feanor held up resembled boy shorts but they were softer and held together with an adjustable drawstring at the waist. The material was light but sturdy. Next was what looked like a chest band. It was not a bra but a simple wrap that could be secured with delicate ties at the sides. Mîr touched the fabric lightly, surprised by how smooth it felt under her fingers. “These are… different,” she murmured, more to herself than to Feanor.

Feanor as usual seemed to understand Mîr’s reaction even without words. She smiled faintly and unfolded one of the chest bands. She held it up against Mîr as though to gauge the size. Mîr swatted her hand away with a mock glare and Feanor chuckled so softly that Mîr couldn’t help but smile at..Then Feanor showed her the chemises—beautiful, flowing garments meant to be worn beneath the tunics and gowns. Some were plain, made of fine linen or silk, while others bore delicate embroidery along the edges. One, in particular, caught Mîr’s eye: a soft cream-colored piece with tiny flowers stitched along the hem in pale pink and gold thread.

“These are gorgeous,” Mîr admitted, running her hand over the embroidery. She couldn’t imagine the time and effort it must have taken to craft such intricate designs, even for something that would be hidden beneath other layers of clothing. Feanor must have noticed her admiration because she handed the chemise to Mîr with a smile. Mîr hesitated before accepting it, holding it up and marveling at its craftsmanship. “You really didn’t have to go this far,” she said softly.

Feanor simply smiled and began organizing the remaining items. Despite the cultural differences and the language barrier, her kindness spoke volumes.

Mîr looked at the array of clothing spread before her. It was clear they had spared no expense in providing for her. The thought was both humbling and overwhelming. As she touched the soft fabrics again, she realized something else—this was their way of making her feel welcome, of showing that she belonged here, even if she didn’t quite believe it herself yet.

~•~•~•~•~

Feanor had left earlier but soon returned, her arms laden with items. She was followed by a few other elves carrying a small trunk. She placed everything down carefully, then opened the trunk to reveal a collection of personal items meant for grooming and adornment.

Inside was a small, polished mirror, a comb, ribbons, and some metal clips. There was also a delicate bracelet and a necklace that caught the light beautifully. Its fine craftsmanship making Mîr gasp softly. Among the items were small bottles of creams and oils, which Feanor handed to Mîr one by one. Her melodic voice explained their uses with a series of gestures. Mîr struggled to follow. Yet Feanor's patient demonstrations—miming how to apply the creams and tie the ribbons—helped her understand. Mîr smiled, feeling grateful but also awkward. She wasn’t used to being the center of such attention. Feanor’s care felt oddly motherly, even though Mîr doubted Feanor saw her as anything but a guest who needed guidance.

After some time, Feanor began packing certain items into a small satchel, while placing the rest neatly back into the trunk. Her movements were deliberate, as though preparing for something. Mîr watched curiously, wondering why Feanor was so focused.

Moments later, the other elves returned, this time carrying three familiar bags. Mîr blinked in disbelief, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized them immediately—her luggage from the train. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see those bags again. Feanor motioned toward the bags, speaking in her flowing language. Mîr guessed she was inviting her to examine them. So, she knelt down unzipping one cautiously. As she pulled out a hoodie and a notebook, she felt a pang of longing for her old life. This was a piece of her world.

But before Mîr could delve deeper, Feanor began speaking again. She reached for Mîr’s hand, pulling her up gently, and then retrieved something from her tunic—a brooch. It was simple but elegant, with a small gemstone in its center. Feanor carefully attached it to Mîr’s collar. Her expression was solemn as she stepped back. Mîr’s chest tightened. There was something in Feanor’s voice, something in the way she handled the brooch, that felt... final. It dawned on her what was happening. Feanor wasn’t just giving her items for everyday use—she was preparing her for a journey.

Feanor handed Mîr a small packet. It was full of snacks. Mîr held it numbly as the realization settled in. This was a farewell. They were sending her away.

Her throat tightened. Tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them. She had been crying so much since she arrived in this world but this time, it was different. She wasn’t sure why the thought of leaving Feanor, or this strange, enchanting place, hurt so much. Maybe it was because she’d just begun to feel a connection, no matter how fragile, to the people here.

“I just made a friend,” she whispered to herself, her hands trembling. “And now I’m saying goodbye.”

She thought about Lumion and how much she’d wanted to learn from him. Her lips quivered as her mind flitted to Glorfindel, his smug grin and towering presence. “I’m sorry I called you stupid,” she muttered bitterly under her breath, regretting every thought she’d had of him as she realized she might never see him again. Feanor, noticing her tears, stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her eyes were kind, her voice soothing as she spoke words Mîr couldn’t understand. But Mîr didn’t need to understand them to know what Feanor was saying. You’ll be fine.

“Where are you sending me?” Mîr whispered, her voice breaking. But there was no answer, only a comforting squeeze of her shoulder and the quiet rustle of elves moving around, preparing for her departure.

Suddenly, Mîr knelt down beside her bag, rummaging through it. Her fingers brushed against something small and familiar. She pulled out a simple hair clip. It was modest with just a single faux pearl at the base. Without thinking too much about it, she stood and handed the clip to Feanor. Feanor took the clip, tilting her head curiously as she studied it. A soft smile formed on her lips. She attempted to attach it to her collar, mimicking how Mîr had fastened the brooch earlier. Mîr chuckled softly at the misunderstanding. She gently tool the clip from Feanor’s hands and placing it in her hair instead. The moment it clicked into place, Feanor’s eyes lit up. She touched the clip gently as though it were a rare treasure and gave Mîr a warm smile that needed no words.

●□●□●□

Sorry I forgot to tag you guys in my previous post

@asianbutnotjapanese @crazed-flower

Anyone want to be in my taglist

[justpostsyeet]

Glorfindel, Lindir and Mîr playing twister

Erestor *walks in* : Nope, not even gonna ask any questions you perverts.

Mîr: But you should 🤭

Erestor : What ?

💫Later💫

Celebrian *Enters* : Wtf

LINDIR : Join us my lady , you'll love it.

💫Much later💫

Elrond *enters* *faints*

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe: Origins

Ch 2 : Bag, the living guardian

Círdan, with ancient wisdom etched in his gaze, observed the woman Glorfindel had brought back. Although physically unharmed, her presence emitted an aura of profound strength that caught the perceptive eyes of the Elven lord. Gazing upon her, Círdan felt as though he couldn't see through her being as if she was not an edain but something more powerful. Her aura, however, held a uniqueness that defied easy classification. It lacked the overpowering resonance of the Valar or the majestic presence of the Maiar. Instead, it exuded an enigmatic and tranquil quality. Like peering into a dark abyss that bore no hint of fear, her aura seemed to carry an aura of serenity, wrapping her in an intriguing veil of mystery. Círdan, attuned to the subtle energies of Middle-earth, found himself captivated by this unexpected visitor and the enigma she brought to the tranquil haven of the Grey Havens. Their visitor seemed to be in a deep slumber. He asked his servants to undressed her and clean her. Then bring all of her belonging to the court hall so, he could observe the threat.

He knew that she couldn't be a threat something in his heart told too but he knew heart couldn't be trusted. Celebrimbor has told him that his heart tells him to trust Annatar and Círdan knows the result all too well to let himself get caught in it. He went to court hall were he had called few of his closest so nobody gets to alarmed and take rash decision. They were all waiting for them and when he told them his thoughts they seemed to agree with him. The woman seem nonthreating but that doesn't mean she can be trusted. Many of them doesn't seem to agree with the peaceful aura that Círdan felt while trying to look through her. All of them, even Glorfindel and Nestor seemed to agree that all they felt was a void when they tried looking into her but Círdan felt this pull like this was some peace that he had felt before. As time stood still,they all patiently waited was the arrival of the servants .

In the private chamber were the stranger visitor rested, Head Servants Neion and Fearon was given the task of undressing and dressing the mysterious woman. Neion and Fearon meticulously carried out the task unfolding the layers of her intriguing attire. As they peeled away the cotton tunic and broad pants, the richness of the fabric and the exquisite patterns, not woven but painted with expensive dyes, hinted at a wealth unfamiliar to the elves.

The waistband, lacking a drawstring, revealed a remarkable elasticity that gently cinched at her waist without discomfort. Even her undergarments, dyed with opulent hues, displayed a level of affluence that went beyond mere pretense. The small undergarments, with cups and elastic strings, suggested a design meant to enhance rather than compromise her features, and the intricate hook at the back hinted at the need for assistance in donning such garments. From head to toe, every detail spoke of opulence. Metallic strips and elastic bands adorned her hair, matching those found on her undergarments and pants. Rings adorned her ears, made of both gold and other metals unfamiliar to the elves. A round gold object adorned her nose, and various finger rings, some gold, some not, adorned her hands. Unseen by elves before, she wore a band-like silver accessory on her ankles, embellished with small unknown gems. One if her wrist bore a strange object, round metallic box that was covered by glass to display what's inside it. The insides seemed to move in a rhythmical circle . The whole contraption was tied around her wrist with a small leather belt.

Her nails, initially mistaken for being naturally dark, revealed themselves to be meticulously painted in a deep color. Her face displayed remnants of makeup, and her lush, well-cared-for hair cascaded down, framing a countenance that exuded both health and refinement. In this careful inspection, the elves found themselves face to face with a being whose appearance bespoke not just elegance but a powerful status. As they cleaned her delicate skin they noticed that her strength was that of a delicate princess. They couldn't fathom why this woman was suddenly found in the forest.

They bought her clothes and other belongings the court hall. As the elves delved into the mysterious woman's belongings, their initial intent to find potential harm transformed into an intriguing exploration of unfamiliar artifacts. Her pouch were extremely sturdy and was hard to open. Fearon politely told the reason for her failure to open the bag,"Her bags are unlike any we've encountered. No strings, no hooks. Instead, a magical closure with tiny teeth-like objects covering the edge."

Glorfindel, the ever curious one started pulling the things till he found a way to open bag. After a few moments, he happily declared "Look at this small contraption. When moved forward, it closes the teeth and binds them together. Move it backward, and the teeth open, revealing the container inside." Gildor exclaimed."Ingenious! A method of securing belongings with a mere motion. The craftsmanship is exceptional. Lore master Lumion, have you seen such enchantments before?"

Lumion was equally intrigued by the contraption. He himself opened and closed the bag several time before he said, "This is a fascinating mechanism. No strings, no clasps. It appears to be a combination of magic and intricate design. A security unlike our conventional methods." Círdan quipped, "The simplicity and effectiveness of this closure speak volumes. She has mastered the art of containment in ways we never imagined."

Fearon unable to contain her excitement said, "Shall we attempt to open it, Lord Círdan? To understand the mechanism better and see what other wonders her bags might hold?"

Círdan, equally intrigued and excited managedto sound regal lord like "Proceed, Fearon. Uncover the secrets of this magical closure. It is yet another testament to the ingenuity of the woman from beyond our shores."

The woman's artifacts, with their enchanting designs, continued to unfold a narrative of a realm filled with magic and creativity, leaving the elves eager to discover more.The elves gathered around the woman's unusual bag, eyeing the magical closure with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue. They exchanged puzzled glances, unsure of how to manipulate the enigmatic mechanism. Fearon, with a keen eye for mechanisms, took the lead in attempting to unlock the secrets held within.

Fearon cautiously moved the small contraption forward, causing the tiny teeth to close tightly, sealing the bag. After a moment of careful consideration, she skillfully slid it backward, and to the elves' amazement, the teeth opened, revealing the contents within. A roar erupted

"Incredible! A simple sliding motion, and it opens like a flower blooming. The craftsmanship is extraordinary."

"Such a mechanism! It's as if the bag is alive, responding to our touch. Perhaps it's enchanted with a form of sentience."

"A living bag, you say? An interesting notion, Glorfindel. Lumion, what are your thoughts on this enchanting closure?"

Lumion cleared his throat signalling other to calm down."While the idea of a living bag is poetic, it is more likely a product of advanced craftsmanship and magic. A melding of art and functionality."

As they explored the contents within, the elves began to form various theories about the nature of the bag.

Gildor mused for a while and said."It could be a guardian, protecting the belongings within. Responding only to the touch of its rightful owner. What if it attacks if we touch the belongings inside the bag?"

Glorfindel was now equally concerned about the sudden attack from an unknown creature but he tried to be brave and wise. "A living bag, a guardian, or an extension of its owner—each theory holds a certain charm. Regardless, it is a testament to our own abilities and if this guardian knows that in our heart we don't posses to harm the belonging but merely look at it then it shall not harm us." As the elves contemplated the bag's mysteries, the enchanting closure continued to captivate their imagination, leaving them to ponder the depths of the magic woven into even the simplest aspects of the woman's belongings.

[justpostsyeet]

Mîr Vin Universe : Origin Story

Ch 4 : Of names and maps

The creature looked at a bearded man . Bearded man was looking into her eyes, absolutely still, as if his only goal in life was to gaze into her eyes. She turned her gaze away, causing Círdan to return to his normal self. She dared not look at anyone else but still asked for glasses. The old man looked at her briefly and said something in his sing-song language. She didn't know what was happening. Her heart was still hammering in her chest. Everything felt too much. So she decided to just look around. While she stared at plants, she realized she knew them but also didn't know them. They're plants she had studied about, but there's something off about them, as if the color and the size were different. There were many flowers she had seen before, but she couldn't recognize. She wandered around, avoiding eye contact. The old man's reaction had scared her. She wandered around as it was helping her calm down. She spotted them, white as she had always known them - lilies. She smiled and went to them. She had never inspected a lily so closely. She sat there, studying every curve of the petals that adorned the flower.

She was calm enough now. But now what next? What are these strange beings trying to do, she thought to herself. She had no idea how she's here. Is this all a dream, or has she been transported somewhere? But where is this somewhere? Calm down, she said to herself. Calm down... wait, what is she called? She tried to recall it but remembered nothing. No, she's called something. She remembers it. She has a name. How could she remember she was in a train, what she does for a living, but not her name? What sort of memory loss is she facing?

She was distracted from her thoughts when she felt someone coming close to her. She dared to look up to see a lady holding out her glasses. She snatched it off her hand, wiped it, and put it on her nose. Her vision cleared. She was about to look at those creatures, then she stopped. What if they freeze like the old man? But she can't know where she is until she tries to strike a conversation, and conversation without looking at someone is hard. She dared to look up again. This time she could see their faces, and she felt goosebumps. They were not humans, she knew it. There was something off about them. They had a leaner bone structure, and their skin was a little translucent. Not enough to make them an entirely different creature but something that resembled humans. She dared to observe more and noticed their pointed ears. Not enough to be different but just enough not to be called human ears. She felt her heart beat pick up pace again. She looked at them longer, and her heart stopped pounding. She didn't know how long it had been, but it felt that staring at them made her eyes focus more on their human features than their non-human features and trick her brain into thinking that they were not an immediate threat.

She was surprised that none of them spoke. She thought, are they frozen again, or do they just not speak to strangers? Let me be the first one to speak, she thought to herself. Only let's do English; it's a universal language, right? They look like what is it called? Elves! Pointy-eared beings. She knows about them, and somehow she's sure that they're elves. Her brain just knows. Ah yes. Aren't elves English creatures? Well, I have heard all their stories in English too, let's try.

"Hello!"

They moved. So not weeping angels. Good. Okay, one more try. "Hello." They began talking to each other. The golden-haired one came in front. She remembered him. She had seen him somewhere. She understands. Everything feels like it's somewhere between her knowing everything and her knowing nothing. She was drowning in her thoughts again. She decided not to muse much but to focus on the present. She could only know what's happening when she focuses on what's happening in front of her eyes.

She realized she had been staring at him, and he was staring at her. Just don't freeze like the old man, please? She thought. The golden-haired man? Elf? Whatever moved and began to undo the buttons of his robe. She stared at him with a puzzled look. He undid his upper robe and presented his robe to her. She looked at the arm that was holding the robe extended towards her. Is she supposed to take the robe? Is it a good gesture, or are they about to kill her for insulting their mother? She decided to just stare at the robe, expecting it to give the answer to her confusing situation. But the robe remained silent. She looked up when she felt that the golden-haired man spoke something. They had a brief eye contact. He just smiled and put back his robe. They started talking to themselves and her. She realized they were switching languages. She switched languages too, greeting them in every language she knew, hoping somehow they'll know what she's trying to say. Yet none of the languages was able to break the language barrier. She could feel disappointment and dread setting at the pit of her stomach. If she can't communicate, how will she know what's happening? She felt like crying again. No, she said out loud. No, I need to get hold of myself. I need to figure out what's happening. I can't just sit and keep crying. She looked around again, searching the faces of everyone present there in hopes of one of them somehow understanding her predicament.

The lady who had given her back her glasses came close to her and smiled. She said something, but once again, she didn't understand. She paused, then smiled again, "Mîr," she said, pointing at her, "Meldil Mîre" .Mîr, she said to herself. She thought, That's a good name for now. No, no, it's a good name until I know who they are. What if they can use my real name to control me like a puppet? Mîr, I'm Mîr from now on.

Mîr, she said again, smiling, then pointed at them. Then they all began to speak one by one: Círdan, Gildor, Glorfindel, Lumion, Feanor, Nestor. Mîr looked at them and tried her best to remember their names. Now that they have names, she needs them to know who she is. But she wondered who she is? How will she explain it to someone? It's not just a language barrier. It's just difficult to tell a human-like creature what a human is. Right now, she can't tell them who she is, but she can tell them how she came here. She can ask them what this place is.She looked around and saw a dried branch. She picked it up. She drew seven stick figures. She pointed at the six as the six elves that stood before her, and the seventh one was her. Then she proceeded to draw a cartoonist version of what happened just before she came to this strange place. She drew the train where she was sitting on a berth. She drew herself going to sleep on the cold hard berth and then drew her waking up here, on their bed. Then she used the stick to point out her surroundings and asked to make them say where? The elves looked around. She repeated her gesture. Another golden-haired one repeated what she did with a stick and said, "Grey Haven." She repeated it, thinking she doesn't know what place it is. Maybe it's just what this mansion is called Mîr thought. Maybe she knows this place, and it's just the difference in names due to language differences.

She looked around and pointed to the lily and said lily. She was immediately told the lily equivalent in their language. Mîr was immensely pleased by this, but she realized that she couldn't remember everything they'll say to her. She needs to write it down so she could learn it and have a conversation with them. Now she needs to let them know that she needs a pen and paper. She used the stick again to write Mîr in English. She pointed her stick to Mîr written on the garden floor and then pointed it at her, saying Mîr. Then she wrote the names she remembered and pointed at them, calling them their names after writing each of their names. The blond-haired one - Gildor came close to her and immediately began scribbling something next to where she had written Mîr. He drew a few artful lines and pointed his stick at her, saying Mîr. Then he proceeded to write next to the names she had written. He wrote each word, then pointed at the person present there, calling their names. Good, Mîr thought, now they all are on the same plane of thinking process. But how to ask for the paper and pen.

She looked at Gildor hopefully. She made a writing motion with her hands. Gildor looked at her for a while. She did it again. Then he looked back to his companions. They talked amongst themselves. Mîr hoped that her gesture hadn't offended them. All the things seemed to be going smoothly so far. The last thing she wants is to be executed in a foreign land because she made a motion that was equivalent to "fuck you" to the people who have saved her.

The bearded one, Círdan, gestured her to follow him and took a few steps forward, looking back to see if she's following him or not. She smiled at him and followed. He nodded and smiled at her and took her back to the room she was in before. Lumion and Nestor exited from another door that was present in the room. Feanor gestured for her to sit on a sofa. She waited patiently, hoping for the best. Lumion and Nestor came back with scrolls. They unrolled one to reveal a map. Well, it was not a pen and paper as she expected, but it's still good. At least she can see where she is. To her disappointment, the map was not of the world where she lived. The map showed an entirely different world. Mîr could feel her mind numbing. She looked frantically to see any resemblance to the place she calls Earth. She looks up and sees Círdan's face. He looks equally confused, as if he expected her to know the lands mapped on this scroll. She looked back to make sure that her eyes are deceiving her and she indeed is not looking at the world map. She looked up again and just shrugged, pushing herself against the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Mîr really wanted to cry now. She had been holding her panic and tears for far too long. Within an hour, she had realized that she had been thrown into a different land that is located in distant lands she didn't have a single clue that it existed. She cannot speak the language of the beings that reside here. And most importantly, everything she knows had been taken away by these creatures. The elves, her brain feeds her. But are they elves? She mused. And even if they're elves, it doesn't assure her of her own safety. What if they torture her, starve her, or kill her in the most inhumane way possible? What is she going to do now?

She took a deep breath. She felt her eyes prickling. She took a deep breath and looked at the elves around her. She gave them a smile and looked at them hopefully. She made the writing motion again. This time she pointed at a word written on the map. She didn't even see where she was pointing, then made the writing motion again and looked at the elf named Glorfindel. He just stared at her like she had done some witchcraft in front of her. Mîr was immediately alert. She has done something as the room was filled with silence. She looked at their faces, but all of them looked at each other like they were expecting the other to say something. What have I done, Mîr thought. Please just make it easy for me. Which entity have I pissed off to get thrown into such a situation?

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