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[POV - Link/Rito] [Aman - Valinor - Days Later]
Morning light.
Laurelin's light began its morning cycle, bathing Valinor in liquid gold. I woke — well, the avatar woke — in the small room the elves had given me in the palace of Tirion.
Stretch.
I stretched, feeling the young body's muscles protest slightly. Funny how even being a divine avatar, I had kept realistic physical sensations.
Purpose.
There was a purpose to this. I wanted to experience. Really feel what it was like to be a child again, even if artificially.
Knock-knock.
Toc-toc-toc.
Animated knocking at the door.
— Link! Link, wake up! — Galadriel's voice echoed from the corridor. — Today's the day! Remember?
Remember.
I remembered. She had insisted for days that I meet "someone very important."
Dress.
I dressed quickly — green elven tunic that matched Link's aesthetic perfectly — and opened the door.
Excited elf.
Galadriel practically bounced with excitement, her golden hair dancing as if it had a life of its own.
— Finally! — she exclaimed. — I thought you'd sleep all day!
— The sun barely rose — I protested with amusement. — Well, the Tree barely began its cycle.
Pull.
She ignored my correction and pulled me down the corridor.
— Let's go! Finrod came back from his trip! He'll LOVE meeting you!
Brother.
Brother. Finrod. One of Galadriel's older brothers, known for his wisdom and love of travel.
Finrod.
Finrod Felagund. One of the wisest and noblest elves who would ever live. Future king of Nargothrond. Friend of Men. The one who would die saving Beren.
Interesting.
This would be... interesting.
[Main Hall - Minutes Later]
Grand hall.
The main hall of the elven palace was impressive. White marble columns that seemed to grow from the earth like trees, ceiling painted with constellations that actually glowed, enormous windows that let the light of the Trees flood everything.
Figures.
And in the center, conversing animatedly, were several elven figures. I recognized Finwë, the High King of the Noldor. Beside him, a golden-haired elf who must be Finarfin, Galadriel's father.
And Finrod, talking with...
Oh.
Oh.
Fëanor.
Hair black as a raven's wing, eyes that burned with feverish intensity, presence that made the very air vibrate with contained creativity and ambition.
Fëanor. The greatest craftsman of the Noldor. The creator of the Silmarils. The future cause of his people's downfall.
Family dynamics.
Galadriel's half-great-uncle, technically. Finwë's son by his first wife, Míriel.
— FINROD! — Galadriel shouted with all the discretion of an excited child. Zero discretion, therefore.
Turn.
Finrod turned, and the smile that lit up his face was genuine, warm.
— Artanis! — he used her elven name, opening his arms.
Run.
Galadriel ran and jumped at him, who caught her and spun her as if she weighed nothing.
Laughter.
Laughter echoed through the hall. Finarfin watched with a paternal smile. Finwë with a grandfather's approval.
And Fëanor...
Observing.
Fëanor observed with that characteristic intensity, analyzing everything and everyone like a craftsman studying potential materials.
Notice me.
Then he noticed me.
His eyes locked on mine, then descended to my hand where the Triforce glowed softly.
Freeze.
Everything about him froze. The conversation he was having, the casual movements. Everything stopped when he saw the symbol.
Uh oh.
— And who is this? — Finrod asked gently, noticing me as he put Galadriel down.
Excited.
— This is Link! — she announced proudly. — My new friend! He came from very far away!
— Link — Finrod tested the name, approaching. — Curious name. Welcome to Tirion, young traveler.
Bow.
I made a respectful bow, very aware that Fëanor was still staring at me with that disturbing intensity.
— Thank you, Lord Finrod — I replied formally.
Smile.
Finrod smiled, kneeling to get to my height.
— Just Finrod, please. Any friend of Artanis is a friend of mine.
Interrupt.
— What symbol is that on your hand? — Fëanor interrupted abruptly, already approaching without social ceremony.
Direct.
Straight to the point. Typical.
— Fëanor — Finarfin said with a soft warning tone — perhaps greetings first?
Dismiss.
Fëanor dismissed with an impatient gesture.
— Symbols are more important than empty formalities — he declared, already kneeling in front of me to examine my hand closely.
Intense examination.
He took my hand — without asking permission — and studied the Triforce with absolute focus that made everything around him disappear.
— Three triangles — he murmured. — Perfect symmetry. Geometry that suggests... balance? No... more than that. Interdependence. Each part necessary for the whole.
Impressed.
I had to admit, I was impressed. He had deduced the basic meaning just from observation.
— Power, Wisdom, and Courage — I confirmed. — In perfect balance.
Eyes snap up.
Fëanor's eyes rose to mine, and I saw that dangerous gleam that foreshadowed obsession.
— Where does this symbol come from? — he asked intensely. — Who created it? What technique? What material?
Careful.
— It's not something physical — I replied carefully. — It's... more a manifested concept.
Fascination.
The fascination in his eyes intensified.
— Manifested concept — he repeated. — Idea taking tangible form. This is... this is...
— Dangerous — a new voice interrupted, feminine but firm.
Turn.
An elf of ethereal beauty approached. Silver hair, eyes that carried ancient wisdom.
Indis.
Indis. Finwë's second wife. Fëanor's stepmother.
— Link is a child, Fëanor — she said gently but with authority. — Not one of your craft projects.
Tension.
The tension that arose was palpable. Fëanor stood abruptly.
— I didn't say he was — he replied coldly.
Family drama.
Family. Always complicated, even among immortal elves.
— Perhaps — Finrod intervened diplomatically — we should go to the gardens? Better environment for conversations.
Agreement.
Everyone agreed, clearly relieved by the exit from the tense situation.
[Gardens - Later]
Separate.
The group had separated naturally. Finwë and Finarfin discussing politics. Indis with other elves.
And me, Galadriel, Finrod and — unfortunately — Fëanor.
Stories.
Finrod told stories of his travels, trying to keep the atmosphere light. Galadriel listened in wonder.
But Fëanor...
Staring.
Fëanor kept staring at me. Studying. Analyzing.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
— Artanis — he said abruptly — may I ask something?
Suspicious.
Galadriel looked suspiciously.
— Depends — she replied cautiously.
Hair.
— A strand of your hair — Fëanor said. — For study. The way it captures Laurelin's light is... unique.
Refuse.
— No — Galadriel replied immediately, almost instinctively.
Surprised.
Fëanor seemed genuinely surprised. Probably wasn't used to refusals.
— Why? — he asked, real confusion in his voice.
Defiant.
— Because it's mine — she said simply, that defiant look that would mark her personality for ages. — And I don't want to.
Tension.
The tension returned. Fëanor looked at Galadriel with a mixture of surprise, reluctant respect, and... something darker. Wounded pride, perhaps.
Intervene.
— Her hair is beautiful because it's hers — I intervened calmly. — Removed, it would be just a golden strand. What makes it special is the life in it.
Look at me.
Fëanor looked at me, and for a moment, I saw something beyond obsession. Understanding, perhaps. Or recognition of deeper truth.
— Interesting philosophy — he said slowly — for someone so young.
Shrug.
I shrugged.
— Sometimes children see things adults forget — I replied.
Moment.
For a moment — just one — I saw conflict in Fëanor's eyes. As if part of him wanted to agree, wanted to accept this simple wisdom.
But then that flame of ambition returned, stronger.
— Perhaps — he said. — Or perhaps children don't understand what can be achieved when limits are challenged.
Foreshadowing.
And there it was. The foreshadowing of everything to come. The arrogance that would lead to downfall. The ambition that would destroy nations.
Sad.
It was sad. To see the beginning of tragedy and know I couldn't — shouldn't — change it.
Free will.
Free will. Even knowing where it would lead.
— Let's play more, Link! — Galadriel pulled my hand, clearly wanting to escape the heavy atmosphere.
— Good idea — I agreed quickly.
Leave.
As we walked away, I felt Fëanor's eyes on us. Studying. Planning.
And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I had just witnessed a moment that would echo through the ages.
History in motion.
History in motion.
And I... I was just an observer.
As it should be.
Author's Note: Hey everyone, sorry for the delay, I was correcting some things in the draft so it took a while to release. The idea is to show how Rito's various avatars in other universes are doing before returning to the main story. I'm kind of wanting to add the Dragon Ball Capsule Corporation into the DxD universe, but I can't think of a way.
Unless I say that maybe Bulma is in Europe, and for example Goku is in China, and see how the introduction of DBZ characters into DxD unfolds.
As for the story in Aman in the Undying Lands, Fëanor encountered Link and the Triforce, and he's already lost the chance to analyze or have Galadriel's hair. Will he take it personally?
As for my move, like I said, I finished unpacking everything, but now we're looking at another better place. I'll probably live in some condominium building in the city center.