A/N: For those of you have been following this story, for some reason the site no longer had it on file. So I am (slowly) reposting it (I only had a few of the earlier chapters on my hard drive and am now in the process of looking for the disk that has all of the chapters). SORRY!

Disclaimer: Like with any other fanfic, I do not own anything of Tolkien's world, nor am I making any money. I do claim those characters and places that I have made up in this silly brain of mine.


Prologue

3000 years before the War of the Ring

The dark cloak of night served her purpose well, shielding her from the unfriendly eyes of those who sought after her. Her steps were light and silent as she weaved in and out of the tree giants of Greenwood the Great, casting a glance over her shoulder as she went. She drew her dark cloak around her body, shivering from the cold wind that blew along the forest. The seasons had changed dramatically and much too quickly, and she found that she was not prepared for the chill in the night air.

It does not matter, she thought grimly, This will soon be over and no longer will I need to worry for warmth. Her steps paused as another burst of wind swarmed around her. She gritted her teeth as her body tensed, feeling the skirt of her long dress flutter around her legs. She waited until the wind had passed before moving once again, but with more difficulty than before.

The wound in her side had started to bleed again, dampening the stain of dried blood already present on her dress. She pressed a hand to the injury, grunting quietly as tiny sparks of pain shot to her side. She knew that it would take but a moment to heal herself, but she did not have a moment to spare. Doing so would close the distance between her and those that pursued her and she could not allow that.

Instead, she pressed on, taking what air she could into her tired lungs. She had been running for the past three days and had yet to stop for rest. Such thoughts would not have normally entered her mind on such an endeavor, for she was, after all, an Elf. And like her kin, she had been blessed with grace and speed, as well as the ability to forgo rest on travels. Unfortunately, the injuries that she had sustained in her side, as well as her shoulder, were now slowing her progress.

A noise that could only be heard by the keen ears of an Elf floated to her, causing her steps to quicken. With a quick glance backwards, she began to fairly run through the woods, keeping her head ducked against the wind. Despite the little protection her thin cloak provided, her cheeks and eyes were beginning to sting from the nips and bites of the night; tears formed at the corners of her eyes and she hastily wiped them away.

I must lead them away! She thought, resigned to her impending fate, They must not discover what I have done, for then will the world perish! She shook her head at the thought and set her mouth into a grim line. The thought of denying destruction to Middle-Earth was not a vain one, neither was the importance of leading her enemies away from Greenwood to protect the innocents who dwelled there. It was the truth, no matter how grim.

As she continued her pace, she was suddenly aware of the dark shapes running alongside her among the trees. The race of Men had never been the quiet sort, making it impossible for them to ever come upon an Elf in stealth. But she knew that stealth was the last thing on the minds of these Men; she knew what it was they desired from her for they had thrust swords into her body to persuade her to relinquish it. But she had refused- would always refuse- and had managed to escape their clutches in the dead of night.

Her thoughts were drawn back to her current situation as she realized the Men were now closing in on her. She saw the dark shapes leap from the shadows of the trees, one on each side of her. For a moment fear gripped her heart in its icy vise, but fled as she took comfort in the knowledge of her demise.

Her death would bring the threat of evil Men against the realm of Middle-Earth to an end, as well as ensuring the continuation of her legacy. Her thoughts briefly dwelt on the events that had led up to this point and a fleeting smile graced her lips. The image of a nameless Elven couple brought her renewed courage and she knew her death would not be an end.

It was only a beginning and she accepted it.

She suddenly stopped in her tracks, confusing and startling her pursuers. Her body stilled as she threw the hood of her cloak back, drawing up her shoulders with the grace and strength of royalty. She turned her blue eyes to the Men who now closed around her, calm and poised and unafraid. The two Men that had followed alongside her now stood before her, while more suddenly appeared behind her.

They were all dressed alike in dark colored tunics and pants, all armed to the teeth with daggers and swords. Their hair was dark and varied in length, but all identical in untidiness and grime. Some of the older ones had much facial hair to rival a Dwarf, while the rest sported a stubble or growth worn by Men of their station.

They all sneered as they closed in on her, their hands ready to draw their weapons.

One came forward and she immediately recognized him as Durin, the leader she had spit upon during her first imprisonment by his men. He had not taken it too kindly and had backhanded her soundly for it. He was not looking too pleased at the moment, as if recalling the same memory, but she did not fear.

"You did not expect us to give up so easily, now did you, witch?" he growled, stepping into the moonlight. His rugged features were immediately illuminated, casting unflattering shadows across his face. "If there is anything you Elves will learn of Men," he continued, not bothering to mask his contempt for her or her people, "Is that we are not easily swayed from what we desire."

"You speak and feel contempt for my kind," she told him softly, "But yet, you yearn for something we hold. It is true then that jealousy and hate walk hand in hand."

Durin grabbed her roughly by the neck and shook her slightly. "You will not talk to me thus!" he cried, angrily, "What would an Elf know of a Man? Or of his tendencies? You, Mistress Elf would do well to remember to hold your tongue in the presence of those who are at liberty to determine your very life!"

She smiled wryly to herself, but said nothing. It was clear that this man had allowed his hatred to blind his eye from the truth of an Elf's soul. True he might be the one to strike her down, but in no way was he to be responsible for that ultimate determination. She believed wholly in the will of the Valar and would not falter from it, even in her last moments.

Durin paced in front of her, though his eyes never left her. His breathing had quickened and was now coming in rapid, short intervals. He let out a low growl. "Now," he said, his voice low and menacing, "You will give me what I want, willingly, and I may just yet spare your life. If not, then I will take it by force!" He drew his sword then, allowing it to rest at the base of her throat.

She shook her head and stared at him straight in the eyes with an intensity that she felt in her very being. "I cannot give you what I no longer possess," she answered, calmly, "For I assure you that I no longer have the power you seek."

Durin nicked her neck, causing her to flinch. "Liar!" he bellowed, his body now shaking with fury, "Give this power to me now, witch! Only then will I ease your passing!" He once again rested the tip of his sword at her throat.

She sadly shook her head at the obvious greed in his eyes. "I cannot," she repeated, softly. She slowly reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out the necklace that had been dominant on her neck. It was a silver chain that glowed in the darkness, simple in design. Upon it was a single charm of a tiny pair of hands made of silver, grasping a small orb. When Durin had first captured the she-Elf, the orb had been shining brightly, an emblem of her great powers. It had made his hands itch to grasp it, to take it into his possession…

With growing horror, he suddenly realized that the orb no longer glowed. The necklace she now held up for him to see was that of a simple glass sphere, dangling from its chain. Durin felt his head begin to spin. Somehow, she had released her power from her hold, making her presence and their capture of her fruitless. He had not thought it possible, but the truth now stood before him, staring him boldly in the face.

With a scream of pure fury, Durin, son of Narin, leader of the Men of Yelren, raised his sword high above his head. He knew, in the fleeting moment that he saw the determination in her face, that he would never pry the whereabouts of her power from her lips, not even in the greatest torture he could plague upon her. It was in that moment that he knew what needed to be done; he brought down his blade and in one swift motion, struck the she-Elf down.

He watched in smug satisfaction as the body of Ainu, great Elven-sorceress of the Elven people, fell to the ground in a bruised and bloodied heap.