The Youngest River Daughter
Prelude
It was a warm, summer's night when Galdor the Bard walked into the Prancing Pony to quench his thirst for wine.
He was garbed in a rainbow cloak, patches of every color sewn together in a riot of hues which made him stand out from the standard earthen shades. He was smiling and laughing easily, as if to match his joyful attire, and caught the attention of one of the barmaids as he sat down with a tankard of ale. Her name was Ivetta, a buxom woman who sauntered over and asked if he what sort of traveler he was, with his cloak and grins.
"A bard, my dear lady!" Galdor replied, and out of the cover of his cape he pulled out a small harp and drew his fingers across the strings to illustrate his profession. The delicate sound attracted the attentions of many and soon he had attracted a group of men and barmaids, all pushing tankards of ale and goblets of wine towards him for a story.
"Tell us of Gondor! Of the war! Of the new king!" they clamored and Galdor was more than happy to oblige.
"My friends," He began, "As luck would have it, I have just traveled from Gondor. And yes, I know many tales of the new King, King Aragorn, called Elessar Telcontar by his lords and ladies,"
"You mean Strider?" a voice came from the crowd and Galdor nodded sagely.
"The very same. Perhaps, as some of you know, you remember him from his days as a mere Ranger. He was brought up in Rivendell, the Last Homely House, although the elves who dwelt there have all but passed over the sea. There he was called Estel, which means hope in the Elven tongue—"
"You speak Elvish?"
"Alas, no. But I have known many Elves, and each have told me the same story. He came and meant many in his time spent in the Last Homely House, but! I shall tell you a tale of one hardly anyone knows. It was given to told to me in confidence," he lowed his voice to a mere whisper, making the crowd gather closer, "But it is too beautiful a tale to not retell."
He took a drink of his wine, letting his audience to take the bait. As he predicted, they did and began his story:
"Long ago, when the War of the Ring did not exist in anyone's mind and our fathers were children, the King, then known as Estel, dwelt in Rivendell. He had been put there by his mother in hopes of his protection, and had been brought up by the Lord of Rivendell, Elrond…"