Hello everyone, welcome to my story! This is my first time writing a LOTR fic, although I have been writing on this site for 7+ years. (I actually shouldn't even be committing myself to another full-blown story but hey when inspiration hits I just gotta write!) I am a still a LOTR novice, trying to figure out this highly complicated world Tolkein created. Please do not hesitate to correct me with any historical inaccuracies, etc. I may make! I also want to give you a fair warning that I'm not the best when it comes to updating. Writing is a hobby - not a priority - of mine that I do for my personal leisure. It's one of the few things in my life that doesn't have deadlines, and I like to take my time so I can deliver quality content to you all. Please be patient and understanding with me. Thank you, and I hope you enjoy!

Prologue

The air ranked of smoke and burnt flesh. The high-pitched screams and cries for help that pierced through the night were soon silenced forevermore when the houses collapsed unto themselves and their inhabitants. The fire was like no fire the townspeople had seen before; no matter how much water they splashed on the burning red flames, they only continued to leap higher and higher towards the night sky.

"This is no ordinary fire," breathed a Ranger with a deep and husky voice. He and a group of similarly cloaked and hooded Rangers stood on the outskirts of the village, staring at the destruction and chaos. "There is an evil afoot."

"As we came expecting," was the grim reply from the Ranger to his right. The shadows of the flames danced along his tall frame. "Come, let us hurry and quell this fire before it takes further lives."

The first Ranger nodded and motioned at the others. "We will do what we can. You check the surrounding area for any survivors."

"Aye." Instead of following the others into the village, the Ranger separated from his kin and quickly began to scan the surrounding forest. His footsteps were light and silent as they dashed along the grass and over gnarly roots. His eyes swept over the dark landscape, his ears picking up the smallest of noises.

That was when he heard it. He turned sharply to the right and abruptly stopped running. Silently he glided towards the source of the sound, making his way quietly around the trees. As he drew closer, the ragged breathing he'd heard grew louder. He soon realized that the breathing was accompanied by what could only be sniffling, and he felt himself soften when he drew close enough to see who was making the noise.

A young child was curled up in a ball, knees curled up to his chest as he rocked back and forth on the ground.

The Ranger quietly stepped out from behind the tree he'd been hiding behind. He wanted to make his presence known without frightening the child, but wasn't sure how to go about it. He settled for quietly calling out,

"Hello, little one."

The child all but jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face the Ranger. It was then that the Ranger realized that the child was not a male, but a female. She was a human of about five or six winters. Tears were leaking down her eyes – eyes that appeared strangely milky, though perhaps they only appeared so because of a trick of the moonlight. Her face was grimy and blackened and what appeared to have once been neatly plaited hair was now a tangled mess. Her dress was torn and ripped and the fingers that gripped them were dirty and bloody. The Ranger felt a twinge of sympathy for the child.

"Do not fear me, child," he said softly, crouching down on one knee so that he was level with her. He stayed where he was, however, not wishing to scare her further by drawing closer. Realizing he still had his hood up, he lowered it to reveal his seemingly youthful face. At first glance he appeared no more than a dirty beggar, with his disheveled hair and scruffy chin. Underneath the dirt and grime, however, lay a handsome face with a pair of piercing, cunning gray eyes. "My name is Aragorn son of Arathorn, and I have come here to aid you."

"H-help?" murmured the child hopefully, stepping tentatively forward. "I-it is not I wh-who needs help, Sir Aragorn." She sniffed and rubbed her eyes. "My mama and papa! T-they…!" Her voice broke off and her expression became strained. Aragorn pitied her. It seemed to him she already knew the fate of her parents.

"My friends are putting out the fire as we speak," Aragorn replied slowly, carefully weighing his words. "They will find your parents." Though I cannot guarantee they will be alive, he thought grimly.

It seemed to provide her with some comfort. She nodded and sniffed. "T-they told me to run," she murmured. "To run and never stop. Even though I didn't want to leave them behind." Her expression grew guilty.

"And why did they tell you to run?" Aragorn asked softly. "What happened, my dear…?"

"Raevalilina," she sniffed. "My name is Raevalilina Tocque." She took a deep, shaky breath. "I don't know what happened. I-I think it was a raid. I heard horses and glass shattering and…" She shivered. "I smelled smoke. My parents – they told me to run."

Aragorn was surprised the child had managed to run away from the chaos undetected by the raiders.

"And these raiders?" he prodded in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "Did you see or hear any of them?"

She opened her mouth and then closed it, her eyebrows knotting in thought. "They did not speak in Westron. They spoke in a tongue I've never heard before." Her face paled and a shiver ran down her spine. "It sounded…Dark."

It was exactly what Aragorn had been expecting to hear but hoping he wouldn't. He forced a reassuring smile on his face, however, and extended a hand out to her. That was enough interrogation for one day.

"You must be tired, Raevalilina. Let's take you home."

Though his voice was kind and warm, his words were hollow and meaningless. For there was no longer a home for her to return to.