Disclaimer: I don't own any of Tolkien's works. This is actually an
establishing story for an AU based on the Silmarillion. It falls under the
definition of a Mary Sue for people who classify all OFCs from earth who
happen to interact with major characters in Canon as MS.
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Earthlings do not age in Middle Earth. This is what she figured out. When she stumbled into a small village in Westemnet, nearly dead from dehydration and hunger, she was but twenty years of age. It was a time when strangers would not be turned away. To be treated as a young woman in need was expected though she spoke not a word of Rohirric nor Common.
Not wanting her name to be mistaken for black speech, the name she gave them was Araisil. It was but a random translation of her true name generated by a device they would not be able to understand. She did not bother to explain and they had called her Aelfwilde.
Her manner was odd to them but she adjusted accordingly. When in a world not your own, it is the only wise course of action. And so it came to pass that she both spoke and thought in Rohirric, recalling less of that odd language of her birth with every year. She eventually learned to love the family who had taken her into their household and had slowly forgotten about the modern luxuries of her distant world.
But as comfortable as a life on the plains can be, her initial welcome was not meant to last. It came to be of notice to the rest of the village that she did not age when the first babe she helped raise was to be wed. Not a strand of grey had appeared on her already conspicuous dark mane. It was taken as an ill omen, particularly so as dark times had begun to besiege them. The first of the countless devastating orc raids to come had begun in the nearby villages. If it were not for the preeminence of the household to which she belonged, she would have been sooner cast out or worse.
The years passed on. The plains grew darker. Babes of the babes whose births she had witnessed would now pass on before her. When many of the young boys she helped rear were now in the service of the newly crowned Theoden-King, she knew the darkest hour was soon to come.
But to know the cause and end of a forest fire is of no use to the ant caught in its path.
As fate would have it, the head of her household, her last ally, had passed on the day that the King's son Theodred had perished at the hand of orcs. His heir, a mere boy forbidden by his mother's family to associate with the cwalulaes, was distraught over his father's death and pressured by the village elders to finally cast Aelfwilde out of the village. "She has robbed our children of their lives far too long," they had said. Having no particular affection for her but not wanting her life on his conscience, he sent her out with a few days' worth of rations.
For the first time in over 80 years, she ventured onto the open plains of Rohan, once again lost and alone.
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Translations:
Aelfwilde – Wild Elf
Cwalulæs – Death Less
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Earthlings do not age in Middle Earth. This is what she figured out. When she stumbled into a small village in Westemnet, nearly dead from dehydration and hunger, she was but twenty years of age. It was a time when strangers would not be turned away. To be treated as a young woman in need was expected though she spoke not a word of Rohirric nor Common.
Not wanting her name to be mistaken for black speech, the name she gave them was Araisil. It was but a random translation of her true name generated by a device they would not be able to understand. She did not bother to explain and they had called her Aelfwilde.
Her manner was odd to them but she adjusted accordingly. When in a world not your own, it is the only wise course of action. And so it came to pass that she both spoke and thought in Rohirric, recalling less of that odd language of her birth with every year. She eventually learned to love the family who had taken her into their household and had slowly forgotten about the modern luxuries of her distant world.
But as comfortable as a life on the plains can be, her initial welcome was not meant to last. It came to be of notice to the rest of the village that she did not age when the first babe she helped raise was to be wed. Not a strand of grey had appeared on her already conspicuous dark mane. It was taken as an ill omen, particularly so as dark times had begun to besiege them. The first of the countless devastating orc raids to come had begun in the nearby villages. If it were not for the preeminence of the household to which she belonged, she would have been sooner cast out or worse.
The years passed on. The plains grew darker. Babes of the babes whose births she had witnessed would now pass on before her. When many of the young boys she helped rear were now in the service of the newly crowned Theoden-King, she knew the darkest hour was soon to come.
But to know the cause and end of a forest fire is of no use to the ant caught in its path.
As fate would have it, the head of her household, her last ally, had passed on the day that the King's son Theodred had perished at the hand of orcs. His heir, a mere boy forbidden by his mother's family to associate with the cwalulaes, was distraught over his father's death and pressured by the village elders to finally cast Aelfwilde out of the village. "She has robbed our children of their lives far too long," they had said. Having no particular affection for her but not wanting her life on his conscience, he sent her out with a few days' worth of rations.
For the first time in over 80 years, she ventured onto the open plains of Rohan, once again lost and alone.
==========================
Translations:
Aelfwilde – Wild Elf
Cwalulæs – Death Less