Summary: In the beginning there were five, five wizards of Middle Earth. After three journeyed to the East only Saruman returned. Little was heard and even less was known of the fates the two blue robed wizards suffered. Perhaps one was moved by pity, perhaps it was a grave mistake, but in a moment one man, garbed in the blue robes of his order, spared a life and condemned another. For no dragon can live without its heart...can it? And can the dead live once more? His actions cause a union of two fates that should not have met. Years later, before the famous events of the journey from Rivendell to Mt. Doom. Before the ring was destroyed, far to the east, a new power was felt as the hand of Sauron reached ever farther. In its attempts to rid all obstacles it made one fatal error. The disappearance of a blue robed hermit may have gone unnoticed by many, but to the child he raised as his own it is an unforgivable act. Setting out from the east two unlikely companions seek the aid of someone they have never met, Gandalf the Grey. Yet in a patriarchal society such a journey is no easy task. And so, a young girl masquerading as a boy, along with a strange eastern dragon, became entangled in far more than she ever bargained for.

Possibly a Legolas/OC, not a 10th walker really (more like 10th stalker) I intend to keep strictly to Tolkien's own storylines (i.e. no plot change in LOTR storyline, characters will only effect scenes of book not witnessed by readers as there is a side plot of my own making that I will try write in keeping with all Tolkien's works)

Chapter 1: Beginning with an End

In the scathing glare of a summer's sun the shrill screams of a woman in labour pierced the chill castles interior. All those that heard it awaited news anxiously as they went distractedly about their duties. In the hallway adjoining the room of interest, a man paced back and forth rapidly, stopping to fidget once in a while, but plagued by a constant look of anguish. His distress was further provoked by his wife's constant screams which showed little sign of ceasing.

Hours drained away along with any colour the man's face had once possessed. It was only when the final cries and sobs came to a halt, echoing through those cold chambers, that life appeared to re-enter the man's features. He hurried his stride, quickly reaching the chamber door and pushing past the open mouthed maid, whose desperate protests fell upon deaf ears. He refused be forced into waiting any longer. Yet, in his haste he neither waited for an infant's first cat cry, nor the joyous exclamations that should have accompanied it. His first thoughts were of his wife who now sat propped up by pillows gazing at some invisible point in the distance. Her face was haggard, frozen in a tortured expression and silent tears still running down her flushed cheeks.

She did not appear to be aware of her husband's entrance. She did not see the uncertainty play across his face, the impatience, concern and delight fighting some internal struggle. He moved directly to her side, dropping to his knees, caressing her and placing a kiss upon her cheek. The only acknowledgement he received was the slight quivering of her lower lip, while her expression remained distant. Anyone that saw her could have little doubt as to her condition; her fever and catatonic state were common symptoms, not just known to a mid-wife or nurse. Some said that in the last moments of life many are graced with a glimpse of another world, a world that so ensnared their senses as to leave them blind to their surroundings. Others said that once eyes were laid on death himself the very soul was drawn from the body, leaving naught but an empty shell to this world. The only agreement any of the superstitions reached was that those affected by such a bitter illness would not remain in the realm of the living much longer.

As fear squeezed the man's heart he became determined not to believe what his eyes saw so clearly. He pulled himself up and attempting a smile turned to face the women at the room's end. He spoke in a booming voice doing his best to conceal how it trembled. "Tell me where is my son's nurse?!" he attempted to sound joyous, though it came out rather hurriedly. "Well, where is my heir?!" He managed to hold a meagre smile as he moved to the nurse who had stooped to collect an oblong bundle. Her look was hesitant as he approached; she had been at loss for words not knowing any delicate enough for such a situation. At his demand to see the child she finally managed a murmur, though barely audible it caused the man to stop in his tracks. "My King you have no son..." A wide grin broke the pained expression that had plagued his face and his grief seemed momentarily forgotten. The Man gave a choked laugh, "What! You bring me a lizard in jest!" his smile grew only wider at the sight of the crumpled face blotched with red, "Give her here nurse, so she may know her father's welcome!" He moved forward to claim the child, only to be stopped as an older nanny stepped into his path.

The gaze that met his was hardened as any warriors; it had weathered grief and pain and was well seasoned in such struggles. Her words were sharp yet direct, "See to your wife, my Lord, your time is better spent at her side at the present. There are sorrows enough here today, for you have no child that lives." Terror filled the man top full; he opened his mouth to speak but closed it before a cry could break loose. He was unable to believe what he had heard, unable to bring himself to move or think. The old woman seemed the only being present capable of action, his old nurse who had delivered him to the world. It seemed to him he would not outlive her, he could not cope with such grief. "Lord Sidan see to your wife! Your daughter is dead and soon your wife will join her!" the woman's thin finger grasped his arm firmly and pulled him to his wife's side. His expression crumpled and tears rose unbidden. He could not comprehend her cruelty nor her reasoning, he could do nothing for his wife now. He watched her turn and begin ordering about the younger women, spurring them to action and out of the stupor that threatened to ensnare all present.

He knelt at his wife's side as she gazed ahead. He glanced at the nanny as she ordered and assessed the situation. As maids and servants began to act, she turned her head aside. For a moment, a single brief moment, he saw the glistening tears, yet they were quickly brushed away and a schooled expression hardened the elderly woman's features once more. She had never cried, at the death of his parents, his brother, nor her own son. While he knelt torn by grief, broken and crying, she stood alone. The same pains and horrors multiplied a thousand times filled her, yet never once had she faltered, at least until now. His gaze, though obscured by tears, drifted back to his wife. He was startled by the ghostly pallor and dull eyes that now met his. She too must have seen what occurred, even though she appeared so distant. Her trembling limps could hardly annunciate the words she wished to say, yet from her mouth two words were spoken, hushed but clear. "...laes nîn*..."

Something shattered inside Sidan in that moment. Years later on recounting the tale people would say he became possessed by a demonic will that drove him mad until his dying day. Others said his grief was so great it stopped his heart and left him, a cruel and ruthless shadow of a man. Whatever broke, whatever he found, I cannot claim to know. Though in a single second he found such clarity, time itself about him seemed slowed. In truth he already knew he had lost, that there was nothing left to him now. What he did would cease to be of importance. Perhaps that was why it was the King himself and not his men that rode out to seek the blue magician. Perhaps it was because the King himself came knocking on the door of that reputedly mad old hermit, that his plea was heard. There can be no certainty in most of the events that followed, only that the king returned with an old man robed in deep blue with a short beard. Everyone was made to leave the chambers of the Queen and only the king and his stranger, who carried a strange sack, entered. The doors were bolted and evening passed. Only at dawn the next morn was the door opened and a child's cry pierced the air.

The only news that left the castle was that the queen had died in childbirth, leaving the King alone with his newborn daughter. For four happy years, the king raised his daughter, until one morning he was found dead in his chambers, he had passed in his sleep and after four years his features wore a peaceful expression once more. The day he died the blue robed man, his closest and only companion those four years, departed the castle with a young child. Neither were seen again in that land, though stories were told of a strange spirit who dwelt in the forest on the borders of the kingdom. They say the spirit took many forms, sometimes a magnificent blue bird that wheeled about above the trees, sometimes a young girl that played along the river bank. It was one of those strange tales, most often recited by townsfolk of the land, especially on the day marked by remembrance for the death of queen Mòreadhiel the half-elven.

*Traslation: My baby