[POV: Elrond]
After the enigmatic dream, Elrond found himself in need of Lady Galadriel's counsel. Without delay, he departed Imladris and made his way to Lothlórien. Upon arriving, he was greeted by Celeborn, Galadriel's husband.
Celeborn welcomed him with a serene smile. "Old friend, how do you fare this day?"
Elrond gave a slight bow. "I'm well. I've come to speak with Lady Galadriel."
Celeborn's expression grew thoughtful. "I fear your journey may be in vain. Since yesterday, my wife has remained silent and contemplative, as if something heavy troubles her. This morning, when she awoke, she found a golden seed in her hand. Beautiful, radiant... brimming with power. She went to her private pavilion and planted it among the plants she tends with care. Since then, she has sat there, surrounded by greenery and the waters of her fountain."
Elrond's brow furrowed. After a pause, he replied, "I believe I understand the source of her silence. Could you guide me to her?"
Celeborn nodded. "Of course. Come."
They walked through the golden woods of Lothlórien. Elves greeted them as they passed, their steps light upon the soft earth. The trees shimmered in the filtered light, whispering songs of ages long past. After some time, they reached a stone stairway. Celeborn gestured downward.
"She is below. Follow the steps, and you will find her."
"Thank you," Elrond said softly.
He hesitated for a moment, clearly wanting to say more. Sensing this, Celeborn placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Do not burden yourself, my friend. When the time is right, I will understand what troubles you. For now, speak with my wife. And when the mystery becomes less shadow and more light, return to me."
Elrond smiled faintly and nodded before beginning his descent.
At the base of the stairs, he found Galadriel seated before a tranquil pool, her gaze fixed upon the water's reflection. Her expression was distant, lost in some unreachable truth. When she sensed Elrond's presence, she turned to him.
In her eyes, Elrond saw the same weight pressing upon his own heart. The same unspoken burden.
"My friend," he asked gently, "did you feel the same as I did in that dream?"
Galadriel was quiet. Then, slowly, she replied: "You speak of the child... how her laughter, her innocence, her voice—everything but her face—reflected Celebrian, my daughter?"
Elrond shivered at the tone in her voice. It was not the soft clarity he knew, the voice like wind through leaves. This tone was colder, measured, heavy. It reminded him of the warrior she once was—before the ring, before the burden of power.
In a quieter voice, he said: "Yes. When I looked at her... it was as if I glimpsed your beloved daughter. But I knew it was not her. That child's light… it glowed with another kind of grace."
Galadriel nodded solemnly. "No, it was not Celebrian. But the resemblance, the feeling… it was undeniable." She hesitated. Then, breathing deeply, continued: "And the seed I received… look."
She gestured to a spot beside her. A small sprout had begun to grow—golden, ethereal, pulsing faintly with a calming light. The glow reflected softly in Galadriel's eyes, and for a moment, Elrond could have sworn it shimmered as if alive—grace incarnate.
To the Elves, the feeling it radiated was familiar. It was the peace of Valinor, the light of the Two Trees. But there was something else. Something older, and yet alien. Both of them sensed it.
Elrond took an instinctive step back, startled. "This is… impossible," he murmured. Then, turning sharply to Galadriel: "Galadriel, did you… did you contact the Valar?"
She met his gaze. "No. But not long ago, Gandalf sent word to me. He encountered a strange woman in the mountains. This woman..." She trailed off in thought. Then added, "It's easier to show you."
She placed a hand gently upon his brow. "Don't resist."
With her ring, she bridged their minds. Elrond's vision shifted. Together, they saw the memory Gandalf had shared.
A forest, ablaze. Orcs laughed cruelly in the flames. Behind them, Thorin, Bilbo, and Gandalf stood at the brink.
Suddenly, a silver light appeared. Faint, distant. As it approached, the orcs faltered.
They saw it—floating skulls, silver and deep blue, cloaked in death.
One skull struck an orc. He screamed, his flesh turning black and brittle as ice. Silence followed.
Gandalf's voice rang out: "Why are you celebrating, fools? Jump! What approaches is Death!"
The dwarves leapt. Giant eagles swept down from the heavens to catch them.
Then she emerged.
A woman cloaked in night. Her face hidden beneath a helm—a hollow void. Wisps of brittle gray hair framed glowing red eyes. Her staff was carved from the heart of a cursed tree, and on her back, a cruel weapon thirsted for souls.
Galadriel removed her hand. They sat in silence for a long while, until Elrond finally whispered:
"That woman… she was the child, wasn't she?"
Galadriel did not answer, but nodded slowly.
Minutes passed before Elrond spoke again, voice trembling: "What could have happened to that innocent child… that radiant being, to become that? That… thing. She looked like the end of all things."
Galadriel sighed. "Sometimes, I fear what we are capable of doing to one another. What Morgoth did to his kin. The wars we fought. What Men are still capable of—like Isildur."
Her voice cracked slightly. "Whatever happened to her… it was something so cruel, I weep just imagining it."
Silence fell once more, heavy and long. Finally, Galadriel rose.
"I will try to contact the Valar. They must know of this sprout. But there is one thing I am certain of..."
Elrond looked up. "What is it?"
She turned toward the light of the young tree, her voice soft but firm:
"It is not Laurelin that blooms... but something from beyond the circles of this world. Its name... is Erdtree."
She then added, almost in a whisper:
"That tree... was not born of our world."
[POV: Gandalf]
Many things weighed on Gandalf's mind. The Necromancer of Dol Guldur, the mysterious figure in the mountains, and most of all—the dream. The child. He was certain now it was the same figure, younger... and an elf, judging by the ears.
What could have transformed such innocence into that walking omen of death?
Not even the pipe soothed his thoughts.
Suddenly, Bilbo's voice interrupted:
"Gandalf!"
The wizard looked up to see Bilbo hurrying toward him, holding something carefully.
"When I awoke, this was in my hand," Bilbo said, holding out a golden leaf that shimmered like the morning sun through Rivendell's falls.
The Dwarves, upon seeing it, felt a strange peace. Their shoulders lightened. For a moment, it was as if they were returning home, not marching toward a dragon.
Gandalf studied the leaf.
"I don't know what it is. But something tells me... it's connected to her."
They continued their journey toward Erebor, unaware that their paths would cross with the Strange One again. But next time...
Gandalf whispered to himself:
"We will meet her again... but I do not know if she will save us next time."
[POV: Saruman]
In his vast library, Saruman sat surrounded by towers of books, some higher than trolls. Frustration darkened his face.
"No... that tree was not Laurelin. Of that, I am certain. But what was it?"
The memory haunted him. A tree that rose beyond the clouds, connecting heaven and earth. It pulsed with life, with memory, with something older than legend.
He scanned the titles again. His eyes landed on one: The First Age.
And then it struck him.
That feeling...
It was the same he had felt around the Valar. Around the elves of the Undying Lands. A timeless grace.
He exhaled slowly.
"Almost... almost eternal."
He chuckled bitterly.
"Fools cling to trees and songs... while the world rots."
Still, curiosity gnawed at him. He would search the restricted tomes. Those lost even to most elves.
If that tree truly was from beyond this world... he would find the truth.
[POV: The Mysterious Figure]
Far away, the figure sat alone, cradling a withered leaf in his gloved hand—darker than Bilbo's, as if scorched by frost and sorrow.
Though fear gripped him at her presence, something deeper stirred—something almost forgotten. Warmth... like the memory of a lullaby long buried under ash.
He looked to the horizon.
"That tree... was not born of our world," he murmured.
And then, softer still:
"...and yet, it feels like home."
[POV: None]
And so the day continued, each of them dwelling on their thoughts, pondering the meaning of the dream.
Night fell. Gandalf, Bilbo, and the Dwarves stopped to rest. Gandalf with his pipe, Bilbo with his golden leaf.
They were quiet for a time, until Bilbo asked:
"Do you think we will dream again tonight?"
Gandalf took a long draw from his pipe.
"I do not know, Bilbo. I truly do not."
Sleep came. And the dream returned.
The same place. Mist everywhere.
They stood together again, waiting. Until Bilbo's voice echoed:
"Will we see the child again? Or something else?"
A smile passed through the group.
Then—metal clashing.
The child stood facing a man in strange armor.
Bronze darkened and etched with flesh-like ridges, shaped like fossilized muscle. The chestplate looked grown, not forged.
The helm—horned and divine—obscured any human features. What wore that armor was no longer a man.
He wielded a massive blade, wide and ancient. Its metal was dark, scarred, veined like ancient ore. It seemed to throb with memory.
Opposite him—the child, now grown.
Her white hair gleamed like snow and starlight. Her eyes—deep ruby. Her blade was strange, single-edged and curved. None had seen its like.
It reeked of blood.
Its name whispered itself into their minds:
River of Blood.
They fought.
She was the wind—graceful, deadly, always just beyond reach. He was the mountain—unyielding, crashing with unrelenting might. Each strike was a song of chaos and remembrance.
The clash reached its end. Their blades rested.
The knight spoke, his voice rumbling with pride and disbelief:
"How far you've come...
The girl who once struggled to lift a katana now dares to challenge me—Ordovis, commander of the Crucible Knights.
So it's true. You'll be joining Radahn's legion? Have you finally chosen among the Majestic Sons?"
The woman, now named—Tiriana—smiled and nodded.
"Yes. Radahn and I… we talked. We decided I will stand with him."
Ordovis chuckled.
"We decided, huh?"
A pause, then laughter.
"Does this have anything to do with your mysterious disappearances?"
Tiriana turned crimson. She tried to explain, but the words failed her.
The knight laughed so hard he nearly lost his breath. Then, resting a hand on her shoulder, he said warmly:
"Don't worry, child. I know. I see it in both of you. There is affection—and more."
Tiriana went silent.
Ordovis's expression softened. He asked:
"And Sellia? How fares your city?"
She answered:
"It thrives. The markets grow. The mages flourish. Our army nears completion…"
She hesitated.
"But I must tell you something."
Ordovis tilted his head.
"Why the pause, child? You are like a daughter to me. Speak freely."
A long breath. A heartbeat passed.
"I am with child," she said at last.
The old knight froze. Then, barely audible:
"Radahn?"
She nodded.
He trembled—just enough to worry her—until he erupted in laughter and pulled her into a tight embrace.
"My daughter… is going to have a child!"
He lifted her off the ground, spinning her like a child.
Tiriana exhaled in relief and smiled as she clung to him.
[POV: Radahn]
The vision shifted.
Now they saw a massive warrior with fiery red hair, seated in a grand tent adorned with banners of crimson and gold. On the table before him lay scrolls, war maps, and a single letter.
A soldier entered, bowing.
"Lord Radahn. A letter from Lady Tiriana."
Radahn raised his head and took the parchment. As he read, a rare smile graced his face.
"The stars whispered tonight…"
He paused, a breath of awe in his voice.
"And for once, I heard joy."
[POV: First Person – Shared Dream Space]
All returned to the misted space, dreamers from across Middle-earth—Gandalf, Bilbo, Galadriel, Elrond, Saruman. The silence was weighty with revelation.
Saruman broke it first, voice laced with disdain: "A hybrid… a child of two worlds?
Abomination… or prophecy?"
Galadriel's gaze pierced through him. "Hope" she replied firmly. "Did you not feel it? When she spoke the words Child ,something… broke. The strings of fate twisted. The world shifted."
She turned toward the unseen horizon beyond the mists. "For better or worse… the future of that world is no longer what it was."