Prologue: 20 Years Before the Fellowship

The night was cruel, cold winds tearing through the trees as Aragorn, known in these parts as Strider, silently moved, his weather-worn cloak pulled tight about him as he lead his horse. Dawn was near, he knew, and dawn would bring warmth and light into the dense wood. His keen ears, trained from years of traveling as a Ranger, picked up everything, from the squirrels chittering in a tree three yards to his left to the fox carrying a limp rabbit back to its den for its kits. The sounds of nature.

Suddenly a piercing cry shattered through the forest, causing every muscle in Strider's body to tighten as he dropped into a low crouch. He dropped the reins to his steed's bridle, knowing that the horse wouldn't stray. He moved silently through the underbrush of the forest floor, hardly even rustling the leaves of a fern in his passing. He moved in the direction of the cry, wishing he had a more definite location, his right had tight around his sword. He was prepared to spring if necessary.

The cry came again, this time of pain than of fear, and Strider made haste toward its source. His blood had run cold; the cry was that of a child. His lanky hair framed his face as he crouched behind the trunk of a massive tree; the trunk was three times as wide as his own body. If his blood had been cold before, it was ice now.

A small child, no older than five years, sat huddled, surrounded by two monstrous trolls. Two heaping rags told Strider that the girl's parents had already been devoured. One of the trolls, the larger of the two, was chewing of what looked to be the girl's older sibling.

"How should we fix this little snack?" gawfed the smaller troll, nudging the girl with a toe; the force of it knocked her over. "Roast it?"

"Nah," the other growled, tossing aside the remains of its victim, "boils it, says I."

Strider crept around behind the larger one, using his cloak as camouflage as the two gigantic creature argued on the best way to devour the child. With as much care as he could, he drew his sword. He knew he only had moments to act out his plan.

He took a deep, silent breath and launched himself onto the largest troll's shoulders, thrusting his sword through the best's only weak spot: the throat. Strider continued to let his momentum carry him forward, his sword, which was still buried deep in the troll's jugular, tore open the rest of the brute's neck as Strider flew through the air.

"What?!" roared the smaller of the two as the other gurgled through its own thick blood as it died.

The yell of a warrior erupted from Strider's throat as he attacked, burying his sword to the hilt in the troll's esophagus. Its beady eyes glared hatred as it slowly drowned in its own blood. He looked at the carcass as it slumped backwards, and he began cleaning his blade on the thing's filthy pants.

Breathing heavily for a few moments, he turned to the child, who now sat curled against the roots of a tree, staring at him with large green eyes.

"Pedich Edhellen?" he asked in Elvish, kneeling a few feet away from her. She whimpered and flinched away. He sighed, sheathing his sword. "Be not afraid, little one. I'll not allow harm to befall you." He held out a hand, palm up, towards her.

Her eyes, the color of emerald gems, regarded him warily, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "Momma?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

Strider slowly shook his head, tears began to flow heavily and she flung herself into his arms. Taken aback, he gently held her as she cried, sobbing out her sorrow, her tiny fists clutching at his cloak. "It'll be all right, little one," he whispered, scooping her up and walking back to his horse, which was calmly grazing.

The little girl's sobs had tapered off to soft whimpers every now and then. He gently set her down, still holding onto one of her hands, which seemed so small compared to his own. He knelt in front of her again. "I'll take you somewhere safe, all right?" When she nodded, he asked, "What's your name?"

When she spoke, her voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Iliana."

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

The phrase 'pedich edhellen' means "Do you speak Elvish?"