Disclaimer: Gondor isn't mine, Rohan isn't mine, Middle-earth isn't mine….you get the picture.
A/N: another O/C. Soon all the O/Cs will be introduced and we can get on with the rest of the story!
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"Stop, thief!" The cry rang through the streets of the White City. The teenage girl slid further into the shadowed alleyway, holding the piece of stolen bread. The shouts of the baker faded into the distance. She checked if the coast was clear, and headed in the opposite direction than that taken by the baker.
She slowly made her way through the maze that was Minas Tirith, White City of Gondor. She came eventually to the abandoned house that she lived in with her little brother.
"Here, Darik. I brought you something to eat." The girl sat next to the small boy. He was so thin.
"Thanks, Myrlara!" Darik said. When he was about halfway through the piece of bread, he stopped. "Want some?" he offered his sister.
"No. I'm fine." Myrlara lied. The truth was she hadn't eaten in two days. Any food she could beg or steal, she gave to her brother. He needed it. He was only eight years old. Myrlara was fifteen. Her mother had died in childbirth with Darik, and her father had been killed fighting in Osgiliath, under Lord Boromir, about four months ago. They had no other kin and were forced to live on the streets. Myrlara had been formulating a plan for sometime now. She had heard that Rohan, the country to the north, had plenty of places for an orphaned child to stay. She would take Darik there and find him a place to live; then she would continue north, to try to find her father's cousin that he had said lived in the village of Bree, past the Misty Mountains. If they were going to leave Gondor it would have to be soon. Mordor was preparing to wage war on Gondor's White City, and all the women and children would be sent south. Myrlara wanted to go north. They would have to leave tomorrow.
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Two weeks later found Myrlara, Darik on her back, knocking on the door of a small cottage near Edoras, the capital city of Rohan. A woman opened the door, a small girl clutching at her skirts.
"May we come in?" Myrlara asked.
The woman looked at the girl, dressed in boy's clothes, with an exhausted boy, about the size of her own child, on her back. "You look beat." She said. "Come in." She stood aside and Myrlara and Darik came in. "Sit by the fire and get warm. I've made soup."
"Thank you, ma'am." Myrlara said, taking Darik off her back and setting him on the floor. "I'm Myrlara, daughter of Lyraid. This is my brother, Darik."
"I'm Wendy and this is my daughter, Ella. My husband is stationed up in the city. He comes down on his days off. You're from Gondor. What brings you here?"
"My father was killed. My mother died in childbirth with my brother. We've got no other kin, except a cousin my father told me of. But that cousin lives way up past the Misty Mountains. I was hoping to find a place for my brother to stay, while I see if that relation exists."
"Well," Wendy said. "He can certainly stay here."
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Three months later, Myrlara had made her way to Rivendell. She had stumbled upon the outlying guards of the Elvish valley completely by mistake. And it hadn't even been a proper guard either. It was a girl, an Elf-maid, with red hair and blue eyes and a scar on her left cheek.
"Hi there!" the Elf-maid said, popping out of the bushes, and scaring Myrlara. She had a bow in her hand and a quiver across her back. "Who are you?" she said. "And what are you doing so close to Rivendell?"
"Who are you?"
"I asked first."
"I'm Myrlara, daughter of Lyraid. Am I close to Rivendell?"
"Oh yes. Less than an hour's walk. By the way, I'm Nesselde Arethiel. Arethiel means daughter of Areth." Nesselde ran to the top of the ridge. "Coming, Myrlara? Lord Elrond will want to know why you're on his lands. And Elrohir and Elladan are coming tonight!"
A/N: I will actually get to the rest of the story soon. But first I need to get Ellie to Rivendell!