{Alatariel's POV}

I listened to the footsteps receding from my cell as I dragged myself into a corner. Taking in feverish breaths, I rubbed my hands over my arms in an attempt to warm myself. The square cut window in the wall didn't help, as it let in the chilled night air. I went to get up, to look at the night sky, and stopped short with a gasp.

Forgetting my current condition, I had moved my lower half. I noticed with a gasp, a little trickle of blood traveling alongside my leg. I gritted my teeth against the pain that followed, the soreness an insistent reminder of what was now a past ordeal. Pushing myself back against the wall, I silently wept, my tears droplets of silver against the alabaster skin of my face, streaming from eyes of cerulean blue.

Uncle had been right when he said dwarves had no respect for other races, especially elves. He said that, when imprisoned, they would trade anything for their freedom. What he forgot to mention was that included the virginity of an innocent elf maiden.

(30 years later)

An owl called into what was the remainders of the night. A fox darted through the trees, his nose to the ground, following the trail of his hopeful dinner of rabbit. A mouse ducked for cover as the fox went by. None noticed the figure standing alone in the dark.

Not tall enough to be human or of elvish descent, yet not short enough to be dwarvish or a hobbit, you had to look hard to notice them in the shadows. And that was how they wanted it. To be hidden, and only be found by those who knew where they were or knew where to look.

They stood by the remainders of a fire, the embers dimmed to almost nothing. A horse stood nearby, his fur black as night. He did not eat or sleep, but he kept his gaze on the figure, his ears twitching about. Some might say he was under a spell of sorts. However, only a certain few would know that the horse knew, yes knew, that he was to be quiet in this moment of time.

For the figure was listening. Ears trained in the dark, the only movement was the occasional tilt of the head, and then stillness. This continued until the sky started to lighten with the oncoming sun, the beacon of life. Soon, the sky was a pale pink and the clouds were streaked with red.

This seemed to please the figure, for they turned their head in the direction of the horse, and let out a low whistle. The steed walked to her, and proceeded to gently bump the figure's back with his nose before lowering his head to graze.

Crouching, the figure watched as the sun rose. As the yellow orb broke over the horizon, the figure pulled back the hood of their cloak. Their hair was short, shaved almost to the scalp, save for the top, which was longer, and when laid flat against their head almost reached their ear. An unusual hair-style for someone of Middle Earth.

With the light of the sun warming their face, the figure stood. They looked to the stallion grazing at their feet, and ran a loving hand through his mane.

"Well melon, I think it is time we were on our way." At the sound of his master's voice, the horse raised its head, chewing the rest of his meal. While tacking the horse, the figure kept glancing around, still unsure of their surroundings. Upon mounting the horse, the figure's attention was caught by a morning dove flying through the trees. With a huff the horse was urged into a canter, and the two travellers disappeared from view as they tore through the forest. Enough time had been lost. Now it had to be regained.