Chapter Text
=-=-=-=-=-=-[Rings of Power-Verse]=-=-=-=-=-=-
Elrond awoke slowly, and it wasn’t until he’d blinked thrice at the dappling light filtering in through the window that he realized that he was not in his own room.
The room had light gray walls and an oak desk stacked with paperwork, and was on the whole much smaller than his own room, with a smaller bed to match. It lacked adornment, besides a few stray items laying about like a mirror and hairbrush, but had a pleasantly arched window facing towards forest.
It was not a bad room, by any means -- he’d slept in worse places -- but the fact of the matter was that it was not his room. The last thing he remembered, he was doing paperwork at his desk, but after that everything went blank.
Could he have fallen asleep at his desk? It seemed the most likely option, however… when he fell asleep at his desk, his coworkers had the tendency to tap him awake and then possibly escort him to his bed, not pick him up and carry him. Not to mention this clearly wasn’t his own room or one of Gil-Galad’s guest rooms. Judging by the well-worn desk and the paperwork, someone was staying or at least working here. Whose room was he in?
Elrond rose and within moments noticed a distinct lack of weight on his head. His hands flew up to his hair, which he quickly realized had been cut.
The situation suddenly felt heavier, and possible theories raced through his mind.
How did he not remember getting his hair shorn? Someone cutting it by force while he was unaware could not be taken as a simple joke, his position was too precarious for that. Elrond already dreaded the political implications. But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Maybe he’d simply lost some memories somehow, and his hair had been cut for some reason during the intervening time. That would explain the unfamiliar room, too.
Elrond picked up the silver mirror and gazed in it to survey the damage.
-- And that was not his face.
Was he dreaming?
That seemed fairly likely. There wasn’t much that could explain this -- there was no magic in the world that could tear an elf’s feä from their hröa and then just… toss it in another hröa. And yet, this wasn’t his body, but someone else’s. This should be categorically impossible, unless Námo had decided to be extremely derelict in his duties and re-embody him all wrong. He didn't remember dying, and yet here he was, standing in another skin.
“I am definitely hallucinating,” Elrond dryly remarked.
He glanced towards the arched window in the room and peered at the unfamiliar forest.
Hallucinating or not, it might be a wise idea to get a lay of the land.
=-=-=-=-=-=-[Silmarillion-Verse]=-=-=-=-=-=-
It was a terrible, terrible day for Elrond.
He’d woken up in a room fit for a duke, tripped out of the bed, nearly broke several valuable-looking trinkets, and then had a panic attack when the reflection off one of the antique bowls clearly revealed not-him. He was still a dark-haired peredhel, at least -- but there were major differences. His ears had more of an upward point rather than their gentle downward slope, his hair was a few shades darker than it should be, and his facial structure was all wrong.
“Lord Elrond!” someone called through the door. “His Highness Gil-Galad requests an audience with you at your soonest opportunity.”
“One moment!” Elrond shouted, before diving into the room’s wardrobe in an attempt to find some sort of appropriate work outfit. There were none of his favorite robes with the feather decorations or the over-the-shoulder designs, but there were a few decent enough tunics, one of which he quickly dressed in. He tossed unfamiliar nightclothes to the side and brushed over his hair (so long!) with his hands a few times until it was at least semi-presentable.
He walked towards the door and reached out a hand before pausing.
Would the stranger at the door-- and would Gil-Galad-- even recognize him like this? What if he was immediately detained for being an intruder, despite the fact that he was truly Elrond?
… He had no choice. He couldn’t remain locked in his room forever.
After a deep breath, he turned the knob. Standing in front of him was a long-haired ellon wearing a similar style of tunic and a friendly smile on his face.
“Lord Elrond, there you are,” he said. “May I accompany you to the king’s office?”
There were many things Elrond wanted to say in response -- You recognize me like this? Am I supposed to be aware of what the king wants from me? Why do you call me ‘Lord’ when I’m not an elf-lord? -- but he knew better than to blurt out any potentially revealing questions. He needed to gather information before deciding how to act.
“That would be appreciated,” Elrond agreed.
The ellon seemed to expect a response like that, and naturally fell into step to Elrond’s left as the two walked towards their apparent destination.
Taking a position to my left, is he my superior? No, he’s slowing his pace to match mine, so we walk side by side, and we wear similar outfits. He’s friendly, but still calls me ‘Lord.’ What could his status be? Ah, this is so confusing.
“Well, here we are,” he said. “I’ll see you at the Council meeting tonight?”
I’m invited?! But Gil-Galad always refused me!
“I shall,” Elrond said.
That was good enough for the unfamiliar elf, who nodded and started walking away.
Elrond looked up at the looming door that represented the king’s office, and a terrible anxiety overcame him. Even if Gil-Galad recognized him, would Gil-Galad be able to sense something was off? Elrond hardly even knew what he was supposed to be doing. Would Gil-Galad be disappointed with Elrond’s incompetence?
And what if the Gil-Galad that was inside those doors was not his Gil-Galad?
Elrond opened the door and one of the knots in his heart eased. Despite the unfamiliar office, the elf sitting in front of him was unmistakably his high king, Gil-Galad.
A confidence came over him -- Elrond had been in this position a thousand times.
He executed a formal bow from the waist down. “Good morning, Your Majesty. I’m pleased to serve you,” he said.
Gil-Galad furrowed his brow slightly, and Elrond suddenly felt much less confident. Had he been too familiar? He internally cursed himself. Who knew what this Gil-Galad was like? Perhaps he required a ‘your most humble and obedient servant’ or a more extravagant bow or some kind of kneeling.
“I keep telling you to dispense with formalities, but you’ve somehow gotten even more formal,” Gil-Galad said, in good humor. “Your manners are impeccable as always, Elrond.”
“--Thank you, sir,” Elrond answered cautiously.
“Now, how was your sleep?” Gil-Galad asked.
“It was… well,” Elrond said.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Gil-Galad said, strangely affable.
If these were normal circumstances, Elrond would have put it up to a simple good mood, but these circumstances were far from normal.
Even if in face and body this Gil-Galad resembled his own, this person was undeniably different. The person standing in front of him was a stranger.
“Now, I’d like your opinions on the current positions of our armies in the Ered Luin,” Gil-Galad said, rolling out a map. “I received a letter from Celebrimbor about increased orc movements near Eregion’s western edge.”
Elrond had been trained as a warrior and a scholar, and had undergone thorough study in tactics, but he was hardly trusted enough to give input on advice about troop movements or war. Elrond understood that he still had need to prove himself before he was consulted on such matters.
But if imposter Gil-Galad was asking…
“Well,” Elrond said, “I see we have some troops bordering the river. What are our numbers compared to those stationed at the outpost?”
And Gil-Galad listened, really listened. Elrond made sure to be conservative, only giving insights he was absolutely sure of based on the information in front of him -- and Gil-Galad listened! He seemed to consider Elrond’s thoughts with legitimate weight, asked follow-up questions, and requested feedback from Elrond on his own ideas. It almost made Elrond feel excited, even if this situation was all wrong.
“If we moved this unit leftward, away from the forest--”
“That would leave the pass open,” Gil-Galad pointed out.
“Apologies,” Elrond said automatically, lowering his head.
“Elrond,” Gil-Galad said, his tone softer. “Are you well? You seem stressed today.”
“I am well, my king,” Elrond lied. He knew it was his responsibility to inform the king of the situation -- perhaps the cause of this was foul magic or even their enemy that had fled north, in which case it was the king’s business. But despite that, a steel ball of mistrust formed in his stomach at the strangeness of the situation and at the saccharine-sweetness of the imposter Gil-Galad. He did not want to tell.
“I see…” Gil-Galad said, after a long pause. “Those were the last troops we had to station, anyhow. Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
“No, my king.”
“Go enjoy breakfast then,” Gil-Galad said.
“I shall,” Elrond said, appending it with a shorter and less formal bow. “It was a pleasure to meet with you.”
He could feel Gil-Galad’s eyes on his back as he strategically fled the room.
=-=-=-=-=-=-[Rings of Power-Verse]=-=-=-=-=-=-
As Elrond looked through his surroundings, he realized quickly that this place, though it felt like Lindon, was not quite the same. Everything a little bit to the left, the hallways different, the architecture just-so-slightly-wrong. Of all the elven kingdoms this place resembled Lindon the most, but Elrond didn’t recognize any of it.
“Elrond!” a voice, strong and proud, rang through the edge of the forest he was exploring. Elrond recognized it immediately, and turned towards it. Standing there unmistakably was High King Gil-Galad.
Relief washed over Elrond. He hadn’t yet seen anyone he recognized yet, and Gil-Galad’s familiar face was incredibly reassuring. “My king--”
“Elrond, where in Arda have you been!” Gil-Galad said scoldingly. “None of the servants have been able to find you, and you were not in your room! You missed this morning’s missive, and now I find you traipsing about in the woods in your nightclothes?!”
Couldn’t Gil-Galad see that nothing about this situation was normal?
“But, my king--”
“I want no excuses,” Gil-Galad snapped. “To your room, Elrond. You have a speech to write. We will discuss this behavior after tonight’s meeting.”
There were a few things Elrond could learn from Gil-Galad’s scolding. Firstly, Gil-Galad recognized him, despite his changed appearance. Therefore, he potentially knew why Elrond’s face had changed. Secondly, Elrond was still working for Gil-Galad, if he was to write one of his speeches.
Perhaps this was a new city in Lindon, after a population burst, and he and Gil-Galad were visiting. Then, somehow, Elrond had forgotten all his memories of his body changing, which would be an event in his past that Gil-Galad was aware of, which was how Gil-Galad could recognize him.
Except.
It didn’t explain the terribly unfashionable clothes that Elrond had seen poking out of the closet, which he would never wear.
It didn’t explain how he’d lost his body in the first place.
It didn’t explain the veiled elleth he’d seen, which from his observations seemed to comprise some sort of all-female servant class.
It didn’t explain the way Gil-Galad had so easily turned to vicious blame, when the Gil-Galad of his memories would say, ‘Elrond, we couldn’t find you -- are you injured? Do you need help?’ if he found Elrond wandering through the woods in his nightclothes alone.
Had Gil-Galad become some sort of tyrant? And had Elrond been working as his right hand in spite of this?
“My king, there are things we must discuss,” Elrond said.
“That is for me to decide,” Gil-Galad said sharply.
“Of course,” Elrond said, bowing. “I shall be in my room.”
“Good,” Gil-Galad said, turning sharply on his heel.
For now, he needed to play along a bit.
The most important piece of missing information was his new body. If he could figure out what had happened, perhaps the rest of this would make sense.
He returned to the room, and dressed in what he considered to be the most usual of all the outfits, which was a pleasant greenish-blue color. He set the rest aside.
Many of the other ones had feathers on the shoulder pads, likely a tribute to his mother, Elwing. Perhaps a nice thought if someone else had made this closet for him, but Elrond didn’t particularly like the style. It made the tunics look awkward.
He paged through the stack of papers on the desk, looking for the speech he was supposed to write. He found it half-finished on the top. A cursory reading seemed to indicate it was celebrating several great warriors making a return to Aman.
A shame, Elrond thought. Losing some of their greatest warriors could be a problem for when Sauron showed his face again.
Wait, what was that line?
Washing away the last remnants of the Enemy--
The last remnants--? Had they truly defeated Sauron?
Perhaps not everything about this twisted future was terrible.
And what were those notes in the margin about Galadriel? Were they truly sending her back to Aman?
Elrond read it. Read it again.
If the speech was anything to go by, Galadriel had spent the last hundred years driving out the final remaining forces of the Enemy, and as a reward, Galadriel’s restriction on returning to Aman had been removed. That sort of made sense, except that on the to-do list behind his verses, the first order of business was apparently to, ‘Convince Galadriel to return to Aman!’
Was she-- not convinced already?
Elrond quickly transcribed the speech onto a fresh scroll and finished up the end, adding a few generic lines about honor and glory. He didn’t particularly care if it was good.
More importantly, he needed to plan for Galadriel. If Gil-Galad was trying to send her back to Aman while foisting the responsibility of 'convincing' her to Elrond, then it was very likely the two were at odds.
Perhaps he had just found an ally.
And perhaps someone to ask about what happened to his body.
=-=-=-=-=-=-[Silmarillion-Verse]=-=-=-=-=-=-
The Council meeting was a disaster.
For someone without context, it might have seemed fine. They were on-track. They had discovered the reason behind an inconsistency in their ledger, they had discussed the warning sent by Lord Celebrimbor, and they had reviewed the updated troop movements. They were even fifteen minutes ahead.
But.
Elrond was acting extremely bizarre.
At first, Gil-Galad had thought that Elrond’s formality was a joke of sorts, despite how for the rest of the morning meeting, Elrond had seemed tired and out-of-step. It was a bit concerning, but Gil-Galad was reluctant to pry if Elrond didn’t want to talk about it.
Now, Elrond was treating him with extreme deference, barely referencing the existence of any of the other Council members, and not speaking unless spoken to.
Gil-Galad wanted to tear his hair out. Elrond, you’re making me look like a despot! Why are you acting afraid of me? Did I do something wrong?
Elrond’s allies at the Council were sharing charged glances, and even the members of the Council who typically disagreed with or disliked Elrond were starting to look uncomfortable at the atmosphere. Férhel was starting to look downright venomous.
“Given we’re ahead of schedule, I suggest a fifteen minute recess,” Gil-Galad said.
“I concur,” Heledir said abruptly.
“May I speak with you, Lord Elrond?” Férhel said.
“Me as well,” Ladrengilion interrupted.
“With all us three,” Férhel said.
“You may,” Elrond said confusedly.
“Great!” Ladrengilion said, practically dragging him out of the room with Férhel and Heledir and his heels.
Elrond, please get yourself together, Gil-Galad internally prayed.