Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, as much as I may wish to...

Chapter 1: First Impressions

The sun shone with a vibrancy that seemed to cast the road behind her in a colorless pallor. Dust swirled among her bare feet; the worn hem of a simple white dress swaying to and from. Wild and unbound hair bounced in curls so chaotic, one might have mistaken her to be a maiden of Rohan had it not been for one thing. It was this one thing that had the gate guards earnestly sending a messenger to Lord Elrond for permission to grant entry. Her ears, as pointed as an Elf's, but wide-shaped and angled outward in a more similar fashion as a Hobbit's. Such a fair Hobbit or such a strange Elf neither could be easily determined. Lithe and limber, with twigs and stray leaves sticking from hair too curly to belong to an Elf of Middle-Earth, it gave her an image of a tree; a tree with a delicate pointed chin and exuberant green eyes, an expression of mirth and mischievousness buried beneath etiquette.

The Elven guards wanted answers, but she would speak of nothing until she met with the Lord Elrond. And it was so that the messenger returned, bearing tidings that she be taken to his study out of sight of the other inhabitants. Secreted away, behind elegant buildings, beautifully crafted and seemingly absorbing the rays of sunlight; into one such building she was led and taken up stairs that curled in a semi-spiral. There, waiting at the top of the stairs was the Lord Elrond, unchanged by time, only the wisdom in his eyes having aged.

He dismissed the guide without a word whilst she gave Elrond a small smile, one that was subtly returned. "Word arrived of a Wild Woman on my doorstep. An elf, but not an elf; with green eyes that shone brighter than jewels. I dared to hope that it could have only been you. You who escaped me so long ago, Druid."

"I left without giving you my name, a courtesy I hereby extend and ask for pardon for the delay. I am Erebol, daughter of Calenol and Elcherth the Traveler, an age has passed us and here we meet again, this time by my own means rather than fate." Her speech was slow and archaic, such an old sound that the Elven Lord had not since heard in the centuries since the disappearance of the Ring. "Would you do me the favor of introducing your guests, Lord Elrond?" Green eyes pinpointed the slightly open door to Elrond's left, where she could hear what seemed to be the breath of two Men.

A moment passed before it opened fully, a wizened old man and a ruffian. Not to be deceived by such appearances, she kept her guard up even as she heard the Elf-Lord's words, seamlessly translated into Westron. "I introduce to you, Mithrandir, Gandalf the Grey, and Aragorn, son of Arathorn."

"Names you give me and names they powerlessly remain. Long have I slept so that the bloodlines of many have come and gone, who you descend from I do not know, but Mithrandir… On my travels here, the gossip of trees beheld my ears to the presence of these beings in Middle-Earth, Istari that were not present during my time. Even now, I sense the power you hold and it is frightening indeed." Not as familiar with Westron, she hesitated with words unfamiliar, a slow and steady breath. Gandalf looked to be a kind and elderly grandfather, but the hidden strength she could feel from him diminished that image. Something seemed a little off about the Ranger though. He seemed too old to be a Man with that appearance. "You, could you be… Numenorean? Those people have survived until now… It was unexpected…"

"And what of you?" Aragorn volleyed, "None have seen a shadow or glimpse of your kinds since the days of the Elves, before even the first war against Sauron. Long have you fallen to myth and tall tales told 'round roaring fires and to young children." Her eyes dim as though hidden behind a veil, "It is as I expected. The horror we went through kept us from returning to the world. I dare to come out because it is my path destined by the Valar. A path I dare not revoke."

Elrond broke his silence, bringing the attention back towards himself, his voice wistfully recalling memories; descriptions painting memories in the open air between them. "T'was a dark time. The war between the Elves and Sauron had long begun without an ending in sight. The Dark Lord invaded Eriador with a force that could not be matched, backed by treachery and malice that overthrew the wisdom of the Three Rings. I was sent by Gil-Galad to Eregion, where I dwelled for a time. However, it was not long until Sauron's attention turned to Eregion and we were laid to waste. Celebrimbor was slain in the midst of the battle while I, myself, fled with a remnant of the Noldor. We would later begin to build up what is now Imladris… There was a time when I returned to the abandoned Eregion to search in vain hope for survivors. It was then; I was close to a thickened grove of trees that seemed untouched by the surrounding damage. Soft music, so utterly out of place, drifted to my ears from within.

Carefully, I treaded until she was within my sight. They, who had passed from all knowledge only years prior, so it was not yet completely unusual to see one of her kind. She sang and played a strange instrument, and even now those words I have kept close to my heart echo in my mind. It was those words that led me to fight in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves; a great prophecy that bespoke of peace and land free from evil. I, who also had the gift of foresight, stepped forward to ask if this future was clear to her, or foggy and apt to change. Upon seeing me depart from the shade of the trees, she fled. I managed to catch up to her despite her impressive speed, and questioned her clearly. She was so frightened, a deer facing a hunter and preparing for its inevitable death. Seeing as such, I could only release her after giving my name."

Gandalf nodded slowly, his sharp eyes twinkling as though a hidden puzzle piece had made itself known. "This prophecy, might I hear it?"

Erebol gave a slight bow, the edge of her lips curling upwards in a smile, "Allow me the honor, Mithrandir." She swallowed and the old, old tune awoke in her mind. Her voice seemed to caress its listeners, begging them to hear her words and take heed.

"In a world so far away

At the end of a closing day

A little child was born and raised

Deep in the forest on a hidden place

Mother never saw his face

Ancient spirits of the forest

Made him king of elves and trees

He was the only human being

Who lived in harmony

In perfect harmony

He found shelter under the trees

He grew up in their company

They became his family."

Her voice rang with an echo, as if a greater being were speaking through her, and silence reigned in the wake of her song. After a considerable moment, the Elf-Lord gave a heavy sigh, "Now that I hear it once more, I believe I know who it is the prophecy speaks of. Aragorn is the only human to have been raised as an elf, brought here during a dire time right after his birth and given the name Erestor. Imladris is hidden to those who do not know the way, and he is yet, the heir of a line of Kings. Who else it could speak of, I know not. Shadows have crept from the footholds of Mordor throughout the free lands. My foresight grows dim, and what was once as clear as a still pool of water has now been disrupted and hidden by endless ripples."

Gandalf piped in, events from the council still fresh in his mind, "It seems those who have the gift cannot see much while snippets of the future are shown in dreams to those without it. Boromir and his brother told of such an experience which brought him here." Erebol stepped closer, keeping her eyes on Aragorn as if trying to pry all his secrets from him through just a glance, "While we cannot be sure that the one spoken of is Aragorn, what we can be sure of, is that the prophecy still holds true. All through these years, I have not felt the coming of another future. This is one that will happen should you continue to tread your current path."

"Indeed." The Ranger spoke up once more, "Even if it is not I, it is a future I would give my life for. An era of peace, it deems, and an age of freedom is what we seek."

"My foresight, or rather, the lack thereof has told me one thing. Imladris is no longer safe. A seer of your capability should find haven in the woods of Lorien. Seek the Lady Galadriel and together, you might be able to turn the tide of this war through sight that surpasses even my own." Elrond spoke logic, it would be a wise decision for her to remain in safety, after all, she was not a fighter by any means. "I can choose several skilled elves to escort you there safely-"

"Actually, pardon the interruption, old friend, but we were just speaking of the possible routes through to Mordor for Frodo, were we not? Most of the chosen passages would bring him in close quarters with Lothlorien. The chosen Nine companions to match the might of the Nine Nazgul, would that not be the safest escort for her?"

Elrond appeared displeased with the options, "Placing her in such quarters with the Ring will only alert Sauron to her presence, the presence of a race that rejected him so long ago. The Dark Lord does not forget. Adding to that danger is the possibilities of skirmishes that could take the life of any of the warriors; do not say they can protect both Frodo and Ereboleth."

"Do not place so little trust in the ones you are to choose. I, too, desire to protect Frodo with my life, but with similarly nine companions of the same desire, there will be strength enough in us to protect one more person. The journey to Lothlorien seems the tamest whence you compare the danger of crossing the free lands under attack of Sauron and Saruman." Aragorn and Gandalf both seemed to want her to travel with their Ring-Bearer. For what purpose, she knew not of, but it could not simply be because they could. An ulterior motive, perhaps, but what had she to offer other than her Sight?

It was then that it hit her, like a broad slap across the face, "You mean to use my foresight to chance the danger before you." If they truly wanted to use her for such a purpose, she would abide it, but they must know the consequences, "The blood of Seers flows through my veins, but the future is ever-changing. I see glimpses that change with every moment; each choice made will create new pathways, like a web of a spider. It is fickle and some things may remain hidden from even my eyes. I cannot guide you clearly through less dangerous paths." Aragorn read her words for what they truly meant, "You mean to come with us. Had you not such an intention, you would not have declared such an ample warning."

Elrond, having been clearly off-put, could do naught but give in. "So be it. Ereboleth will journey with the Nine companions until you shall reach Lothlorien. A scout, I will send to bring word of your impending arrival, it would not be good at all to appear unannounced before the Lord and Lady. As it is now, this decision had not been made clear to me for good or for ill."

For many an hour, the four talked of many things, Aragorn, curious as to the ways of the Druids was quite inquisitive. It was only when the dinner bell rang, that Elrond dismissed the three to go eat, the council meeting having lasted long through breakfast and lunch. She idly followed behind Mithrandir, soaking in the sight of Imladris, so foreign, yet it was almost a relic of the time before Sauron's first fall.

Anxiousness set it. She was born during the time the Druids were in hiding, and had fled into a world unknown to her. Elrond had been the first elf she had seen, Aragorn, the first Numenorean, and Gandalf, the first Istari. What other races inhabited this wide land of Middle-Earth? Neither stories nor tree-gossip could have prepared her for the sight within the dinner hall. Diminutive men with beards that reached their knees, a large Man who looked as though he could break her in his hands with hair a dark ruddy red, and… miniature men? Beardless, though their feet were quite hairy, these creatures could pass for children had it not been for the maturity of their faces.

A story she remembered. Her father had often told her many things before bedtime, and one such story had explained the kinship between Druids and a race of beings that he called Hobbits. Earth-loving Halflings that shared the same adoration for nature, though they were not as fair nor as intellectual. Not a slight on them, for the Valar works in many strange ways. Sometimes ignorance is a bliss that cannot be regained.

"Might it be the fairest and tallest Hobbit I have yet seen, or be my eyes deceived?" One of the short men, Hobbits, she reminded herself, approached her, a gallant hand over his heart as though he were swooning. "Uh…" Her chance to introduce herself dramatically and in a way so unforgettable and all she could muster was a mumble! How utterly embarrassing!

As though sensing her plight, Gandalf placed a grandfatherly hand onto her shoulder and nudged her forward. "A deceit that cannot be blamed, none has laid eyes on her kind for an age. This is Erebol, daughter of the Druids." While not so grand as she would have imagined, the effect was still satisfactory. As though someone had fired a flaming arrow through the hall, all eyes turned to face her. Perhaps they had expected someone a bit more outlandish, and she wondered if perhaps maybe she should have asked Elrond to dismiss her earlier to wash herself.

Regardless of her appearance, the Hobbit in front of her grasped her hand and tugged her towards the table where more Hobbits sat, great plates of food in front of them, "I'm Pippin Took, intelligence o' the Shire!" Nervousness gripped her and she must have looked a little ill for a seat was hurriedly cleared for her and Erebol was urged to sit. A plate of various fruit and breads were placed in front of her, and though she was not quite sure she could stomach it all, the chubbier Hobbit who gave her the food, looked at her with eyes so expectant, that she could only grab a random fruit and nibble at it slowly.

Surprise gripped her as someone poked her ear, nearly dropping her fruit in the process. To her right was a Hobbit, a mischievous smile so identical to the brash one from before. A mop of dark blond curly hair sat atop his head and flipped out around ears that jutted in a wide arch. "M' name's Merry, Merry Brandybuck! A Druid, en? We Hobbits tells our kids stories at bedtime. I myself heard many about your kind being able t' fly, right soarin' through trees and sky. Is it true?"

She blinked. He blinked. She blinked twice. He blinked twice. She suddenly began to giggle, Westron words slowly dripping from her lips despite the occasional stumble , "Fly? That's a right tale, there. If ever I could fly, I'd make myself a home in the sky. Those clouds, are they as soft as they appear to my eyes? Speed, we have, and great sprinters across leagues of land, but fly? That's a tale left to children." While he looked a little disappointed, he remained cheerful and his laughter added to hers. Her attention was drawn by the clearing of a throat, the round Hobbit giving a shy smile, "I'm known as Samwise Gamgee, milady. Have ever I heard such stories about how you can talk to growing things; even cause them to sprout out of seasons!"

A Hobbit with clear blue eyes smiled widely and clapped a jovial hand onto Sam's back, "Sam here, is the best gardener in all the Shire! If anyone can grow something with many flowers and bearings, it shall be Sam."

Her smile brightened considerably upon hearing this, any friend to the Green was a friend of hers, "Trees speak on their own, gossiping day in and day out, not much to do when your roots go so deep beneath the surface of the earth, stuck where you grow. If ever you want to hear what they have to say, you just have to listen. They speak slowly, but all you have to do is empty out your ears for the words that will come."

The bearded man spoke then, his voice resounding like rocks rolling down a mountainside, strong, coarse, yet oddly it was a nice sound to listen to. If she remembered correctly, her rather eccentric father had always been jealous of the beards of the Dwarves. Such a large beard and short stature, she was quite sure that this too, must be a dwarf rather than a Hobbit.

"You are not as solemn as these Elves, looking down at us from their noses. Quite jovial, an oddity for sure; no such meetings have occurred between our people and no past grievances lie between a future friendship. What say you?"

A bearing of friendship? So soon? Who was she to deny someone who wanted to be friends? The dwarves could be great allies. She responded in words favorable to them both, "I say we should share many great times in the near future. I dare to say I wish to visit your great mountain halls. Stories I have heard from my father, of glittering jewels and works of craftsmanship that have no equal on Middle-Earth."

The dwarf blustered, his bearded face keeping hidden his embarrassment and pride at hearing the greatness of Dwarf-work had even reached the ears of long-hidden Druids. "Might I ask your name, Master Dwarf?"

"Gimli! Gimli, son of Gloin!"

"Such is a meeting that will forever be remembered, Master Gimli. Friendship between Dwarves of the stone cities and Druids of the borough; might we survive through this age and to the next." Gimli raised his fist as if it were holding something until he remembered it was empty. "Hospitality in abundance, but such a deadening lack of ale! Fruits, breads, and cheeses all spread before me, yet my belly hungers for the taste of meat ripe off the bone!" Erebol nodded silently, though should she think back to when she last tasted meat, it could have only been before she slept the age. The taste was unfamiliar to her now, and could not be recalled despite her best attempts.

So it went on, idle chatter over the dinner table. Erebol's table with both the Hobbits and the Dwarves was most boisterous in comparison to the Elves and even the Men whom, she had learned, had come from the south. Plates were taken away, full bellies patted, and the talk began to fade to silence. It was then Aragorn came to her, at his side a She-Elf in beauty unsurpassed as she had yet seen. "I introduce to you, Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond." Directing his words now to Arwen, he continued in the same breath, "This is Erebol, Druid of the Old Age."

Arwen smiled kindly, coaxing out one of her own, Sindarin poured from her lips like a gentle stream, "The Valar has granted us your safe return to this world. Allow me to show you to your room and you might rest from your long journey to the haven of Imladris." Rising from the bench slowly so as not to make a fool of herself, she chuckled lightly, returning her kind words, "I'll rest as I can, please show the way."

The She-Elf led her through the maze of doors and walls, coming upon a door already opened with several handmaidens inside. "These elves will help you wash and should you have need of anything specific, let them know and I will have it be done." Her eyes roamed the length of the room, simplistic yet functional. A single bed next to the broad ledged window, a chest of drawers and on top of said chest a pack with several clothes folded beside it.

Erebol willfully kept herself from blushing in shame, when she had to tell Elrond that she had come empty-handed with naught but the clothes on her back. A good host he was, and complaints he had none, but it was kindness she would be sure to repay. Erebol parted her lips to dismiss Arwen when her eyes caught the glimpse of metal. "A bow? Why would a bow be placed with my pack? I have no use for one."

"Surely, along your journey you cannot expect to safely make passage? We gift you a bow to use as your defense." Erebol gave a shaky little smile, her stomach churning at the thought of shooting something, "You misunderstand. It is not that I think I do not need defense, but more that I have no knowledge on the use of it." The look on Arwen's face might have been comical had it not been due to her lack of ability. Faced before a She-Elf, she felt considerably useless. What good was her Sight when she could not hold her own against even a child? Elves boasted both knowledge and strength, yet why could she not do the same. The very thought of grasping a bow to kill had her hands trembling.

Arwen's eyes drifted down the Erebol's hands, shaking ever so slightly. The Druid was afraid, but whether it be pride or shame that kept her mute, she could not know now. For the time being she would let the matter go, but she had heard of her father's intentions to send the Druid to their kin in Lorien, but in this state, she would have no peace of mind in sending Erebol to her sure doom. Slipping past her, she took the bow and satchel of arrows in her own hands. "I will keep this for you. Do not dwell on it now. Wash away your worries and the anxieties that trouble you. Rest for the night and dawn shall greet you a new day."

Arwen closed the door softly behind her, leaving Erebol in the room with the handmaiden. Said elf did not speak when Erebol looked to her, only motioning to a corner where the ground was depressed into two stairs leading to a tub filled with steaming water, the clear surface obscured by many flower petals of varying hues. She jumped when the elf began to undress her and she modestly covered herself before going down and hesitantly stepping into the water. Despite the steam, its heat did not scald her. Easing in comfortably, the handmaiden came to her side with a small basket of items.

"You're name. What is your name? I cannot keep referring to you as 'handmaiden'."

As she smiled, the corners of her lips quirked up even as a dimple made itself known on her left cheek. "Coraer, daughter of Menelvidh, Milady." Coraer set about cleaning her hair of twigs and leaves, wetting it and rubbing in a scented soap. As she did, Erebol worked on scrubbing the dirt from her skin.

By the end, her hair was laying flat and tame whilst her skin, though red from the scrubbing, now shone paler than before, unveiled from dust and travel dirt. Clothed in a simple green dress, the fabric made her skin sing in pleasure as it was just loose enough to allow her to breath with a neckline that dipped modestly. It draped down to the floor, her toes peeking out from beneath the hem; she did not mind going barefoot, it always felt more natural.

Having dismissed Coraer to sleep, she sat on the windowsill ledge, brushing through her wet hair for the first time since she had awoken. Below the surface of her skin, she could feel the weak, but steady, pulse that linked her to the Valar. She had long been absent from them and it would take much time before she could once more feel their strength in her veins.

Setting aside the brush, Erebol made herself comfortable for the long night, soft whispered prayers echoing through the room, swiftly spoken in a tongue long since forgotten.

I hope you all enjoyed this~ It's my first time writing a fanfic for LotR and I hope I did a good job. I encourage criticism so if you think Erebol is starting to turn Mary Sue, by all means tell me and I'll make sure I take better care. I'll be trying to keep up an update schedule, so you can expect the 2nd chapter to be posted up next week Monday.

~Chaux-De-Citron~