Prescient

Chapter Three: Answers

"Well... met..." she mumbled, relaxing back against the headboard of the bed she sat on as she tried to figure out what to do and what to say, because there were going to be questions. There were too many unknowns for there not to be. Everyone was suspicious. Especially in war.

"My sons tell me you have trouble even remembering your name." His voice was smooth and clear, and it cut straight to the heart of the matter. "That you came to in the wilds without a clue of how you came to be there."

Anna nodded, swallowing back her apprehension. What he was saying was technically true. She had no idea exactly how Mandos had thrown her into that particular part of the forest.

He took a seat in the chair nearby her bed as his daughter moved to change the bandages on her feet. "Would you perhaps be able to tell me the last thing you remember? Anything to do with your parentage or birthplace would be ideal to aid us in ascertaining your identity."

Her mouth went dry, and she sipped at her bitter medicine, setting it down on the bedside table before she stared at her hands. She couldn't tell him about her mortal years... but the last of her elvish memories... Her hand went to her neck, examining the unblemished skin there. It had been burnt before. She could still smell the scent of her flesh burning. Still remember the sticky sensation as burnt skin met the burnt tissue of her bloodied fingers. Her body had been a patchwork of second and third degree burns by the time she'd died. Funnily enough, the place most untouched had actually been her face. Everything underneath that had been fair game apparently though. Anna shuddered, reminding herself that she wasn't there. She wasn't in Gondolin. Gondolin was destroyed – along with all the records of her birth. But she could hardly tell Lord Elrond that. She didn't particularly want anybody to connect the dots and figure out she'd died. She still wasn't over it, and it was a private affair. She hadn't been strong enough to survive, and the thought burnt at her pride. Talking about that fact would only make it worse. Plus there was the fact that she wasn't ready to face him, and if he lived there he'd no doubt be called to see if he could identify her.

She didn't want that. It couldn't happen. She couldn't risk it. There was too much she didn't know still. She didn't even know the date yet.

Panic clawed at her chest, but Anna was too preoccupied with those spiralling thoughts that she wasn't ready to face him. Wasn't ready to talk about how she'd died in a burning city however many months or years ago. "Anna?" Bright grey eyes peered into her bluish ones, the hands on each of her shoulders warm and comforting—not burning like her neck was. "Anna! Calm yourself. You are safe here within the walls of my father's dwelling."

Anna blinked, staring at Arwen as she dragged herself out of her thoughts, hand moving down to rest over her aching chest as her breathing slowed back to its normal rate. Well if that didn't blare the warning signs that something was up, she didn't know what would. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly. Why couldn't something not go wrong for her for once in her extraordinary long life?

A loud sigh escaped her, and she desperately tried to dredge up a happy memory with which to distract herself. She smiled softly, sinking back into the soft pillows as she recalled the first time she'd met the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower after reaching her majority.

The hallways were long and decorated with paintings and tapestries, each depicting something different, whether they be warriors, scholars or scenery. She sighed quietly to herself, eyes lingering on stitching of a golden armoured warrior. Male, as most of them tended to be, and something stirred inside her. A feeling she couldn't quite place. Admiration? Longing?

Shaking her head, she continued on her journey to where her mother had asked, books and scrolls in hand as she walked towards the office. There were quite a lot bundled up in her arms, but she'd long since perfected the art of balancing scrolls and the like with one arm, so shifting them into one hand to knock on the door was a simple task.