Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, they belong to Tolkien. I don't even really own the plot, as it's derived from Norse mythos. I own only my pen, paper, computer, and vision.

AN: This, dear readers, is the equivalent of a "I-would-turn-back-if-I-were-you" sign at a crossroads. This story is not atypical LotR fanfic. Rather, it is a retelling of mythology from the Volsung Saga in LotR context. Be warned, good friends, for Norse myth is full of bitter death, yet how tragically romantic is the demise. Here is the Story of the Valkyries Brynhild and Gudrun – the Sheildmaidens Arwen and Eowyn.

Some assumptions must be made. First and foremost: the whole Ring thing just isn't happening. Aragorn and Arwen have not met previously. Also, Eomer is king of the Rohan, and Theoden is naught more than his uncle. He also acts as advisor, which isn't wise, for he has connections with Isenguard (like Wormtongue … but less slimy). Oh, and Theodred is still alive.

Parallels-

Sigurd: Aragorn

Brynhild (a Valkyrie): Arwen

Gudrun (also a Valkyrie): Eowyn (ooooh! Valkarie means "shield maiden!")

Gunnar: Eomer

Giuki & Grimhild (parents of Gudrun and Gunnar): Theoden

Guttorm: Theodred

Atli: Elrohir

Oden: Elrond

Chapter 1: Falling In and Out of Darkness

Arwen stood stock still in the beautiful halls of Rivendell.

"Your offense was grave."

She made no reply.

A weary sigh escaped the chest of Lord Elrond as he continued. "As such, your doom shall also be a grave fate. You must be cast into a sleep of such depth that dreams cannot penetrate to bring you comfort. The mortal man who wakes you shall be your husband."

Arwen closed her sea-grey eyes, a single tear rolling down her cheek.

"Have you nothing to say, my daughter?"

"I erred greatly," she conceded, voice barely above a whisper, "but by Eru, I beg of you."

There was silence, then mercy.

"Into slumber you shall fall, but not into despair. Fear not, for wake you shall – and in the arms of a man worthy of your lineage. In darkness you shall rest amidst a great ring of fire until a man braves the flames and wakes you."

Arwen felt the rays of hope as she fell out of memory.

Arwen felt warmth flush her cheeks, its source upon her lips.

Her misty eyes fluttered open as the redeeming kiss was broken, shocking her rescuer.

"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, quite taken aback. "I did not realize that you still breathed, so quiet was your slumber. I was taken by your beauty."

Arwen could not speak. With her eyes she took in his face, his form. He stood tall, tall as the sea-kings of old. His hair was dark; his dress that of little more than a wanderer. His eyes were as deep as a tempest storm.

Hesitantly, she reached out to touch his face. He smiled gently at her, and she smiled back.

The man took her hand and pulled her up to stand with him.

"Who are you, fair lady," he asked, "and how come you to this place?"

"I am Arwen, daughter of Elrond," she replied. "My coming here is a long an grievous tale, and it dims with my long sleep.It is strange, my lord, for I do not even know where I am."

For the first time, Arwen looked about herself. She turned and saw where she had lain, on an elven bed in elven home. Out of the windows she could see green pasture wreathed by fire.

"You are in a mysterious glade," he answered, "in the mountains north of Rohan."

Then name almost seemed strange to her, so long had her ears been deaf to man's voice.

"We are akin from afar," the man said placing his hands on her shoulders. "I am of the Numenorean line, one of the elf-kin."

The Valar are merciful, she thought, relief flooding in. Elf-kin, and the bravest of mortal men. She was well satisfied.

"My lord, would you not your prize?" she whispered hesitantly.

The mand looked shocked, but he allowedArwento pull him along by the hand to her bed. Reaching it, she pulled his body against hers and brought her lips to his neck.

The man stopped her, looking down at her hesitantly. "Would you give yourself to me?"

"Joyfully," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. When their mouths were but a whisper apart, she stopped. "But first, my lord, what is the name of my rescuer?"

"Aragorn," he murmured before pulling her into a passionate kiss.

Arwen sat upon her bed pndering the days gone by, those three short glorious days. He was now gone. He had promised to return once his great erranties had been completed. As a token of this, he left his great ancestral ring with her. Upon it lay a green jewel and two serpents, one devouring the other. This she held to in hope, for after just three days, she could feel new life conceived within herself.

AN: Well hope ya liked it peoples! Sorry it's so short. We haven't gotten into Rohan yet. That's were all the good stuff happens. And if Arwen seems a little - agressive - not my fault. Blame Brynhild!