Prologue

The Grey wizard urged the pony pulling his cart forward. The creature whinnied in protest as it strained against the added weight in the cart; it was not accustomed to pulling the weight of two. The girl slept soundly, nestled among the wizards belongings.

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She had been living in the north-east of the continent, in the region of Rhûm, south of the Iron Hills and north of Mordor. Her village had been recently attacked by orcs. Gandalf cursed his timing, as the damage had already been done when he had arrived.

The circumstances he had found her were nothing short of horrific. The entire village was razed to the ground. The wooden houses were no more than charred remains, including the unlucky inhabitants who could not escape. The stench of death and villainy choked the air even in the aftermath of the destruction.

Gandalf walked through the remnants of the small village, coming upon the only house left standing. Although its once sturdy walls were charred and cracked and marred by ash and soot, they were all of them intact, as well as the roof.

Warily, Gandalf peered through the broken front window before entering through the broken door.

In the middle of the kitchen by the hearth lay two bodies. The first, on top of the other was an older woman, her long raven hair streaked with grey, her once green dress stained black with blood. Her back faced the wizard as she clutched onto the person beneath her, who was lying on their stomach and clad in a sea blue cloak. Their hood was pulled over their face, obscuring their features from the Wizard's sight. The cruel blade of an orc pierced through the woman and into the person below her.

Slowly, and as gently as he could manage, Gandalf moved the body of the woman off of the person in blue. The blade confirmed Gandalf's suspicions, having pierced the second person, although not as deep as the first. The dark red stain on the back of their blue robes looked almost like a particularly bad wine stain. Focusing on their back, Gandalf saw the faint movement of breath. He removed the blue hood to find the face of a young woman.

Gandalf looked between the two women, noting the resemblance in their shared tan complexion and delicate features. Mother and daughter. But it was their difference in hair color that clearly set them apart. The daughter's hair was a brilliant white. Even among the dust and ash that clung to it, its luminescent sheen gave an otherworldly glow.

As he looked more closely, the glowing white light that emanated from the girl was not from her hair, but from the pendant of the necklace that was tangled in it. Gandalf lightly brushed his index finger over the white crystal, feeling the familiar hum of an old magic.

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The wizard knew he had to report back to the leader of his order of his findings, but first he had to get the child to a healer. He journeyed west to the last Homely House to call in the aid of his old friend and council member.

He was not completely sure that his hunch about what befell his more distant Istari brethren was true, but the girl's blue robes and pendant coupled with her strange appearance confirmed his suspicions enough for him to present her to the leader of his order. At least, after he had her properly healed.

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Chapter 1: Imladris

Éla woke to the sound of birds chirping and the smell of a spring breeze. Slowly, she bade her heavy eyelids to open. It took considerable effort, as she felt as though she were made of stone, the fatigue in her body pervasive and bone-deep. She barely had the strength to lift her neck and look around the room in which she lay. Éla inhaled deeply, pushing the breath out through her lips, focusing on the rise and fall of her chest and stomach with the action.

"You have awoken," said a gentle voice to her right.

The face of a woman soon appeared in Éla's field of vision as she moved to stand above her. She was gorgeous; her fair skin seemed to glow from within, and her brown-black hair that fell in gentle waves past her shoulders. Her eyes were a deep blue that seemed to hold both great wisdom and innocence.

"I am Arwen, you are in the house of my father Lord Elrond at Imladris, known as Rivendell," her smooth voice stated in Westron. Éla heard the slightest hint of an accent, though she could not place what kind. She blinked in thought, Imladris… Rivendell…

She sat bolt upright in bed, the heaviness of her body forgotten by the shock that washed over her like ice water.

Éla was far from home, more than half of the world away.

Sensing the alarm of the injured woman Arwen took a step closer,

"There is no need to fear, you are safe." she said kindly, seeing the wildness of a cornered animal in the strange mortal's eyes.

Arwen had not questioned her father as to who their guest was, knowing that in time he would reveal her identity. Though the elleth had many questions. She had never seen any mortal like the one that sat before her.

Her skin was a deep bronze colour, the darkest shade Arwen had ever seen in a long while, even more tanned than Estel after a summer in the wilds. The woman's features were delicate, with large amber eyes, prominent cheekbones, a pointed chin, upturned nose and petal like lips.

But it was the mortal's hair that truly made her stand out among all. Her hair was the brightest shade of white that the Evanstar had seen. Even among the fair haired elves it was rare. Usually they were light platinum blondes or silver strands, but this reminded Arwen of pure moonlight. The kind that you only saw from a full moon on a clear night.

"May I know your name?" Arwen asked.

Upon Arwen's question Éla was shaken from her panicked thoughts. The white haired woman mouthed a response, but no sound accompanied the words.

"Éla?" Arwen echoed. She nodded.

"Are you unable to speak Éla?" Arwen asked.

She nodded in response once more.

The tiniest of frowns appeared on Arwen's fair face,

"Have you always been unable to speak or is this part of your injuries?"

"Always," Éla mouthed back.

Arwen hummed in understanding.

"Worry not, if you enunciate clearly I am sure I will be able to read your lips."

Éla let out a sigh of relief. She was worried that Arwen did not know Westron sign, as many did not unless they were also deaf or mute like Éla herself.

"Are you in any pain?" Arwen asked.

Éla shook her head, "No, but my body feels heavy,"

"As expected," the elleth responded. "You have been asleep for nine days, since Mithrandir arrived with you."

The white haired woman cocked her head to the side in confusion. Mithrandir? Who was this person?

"In the common tongue he is referred to as Gandalf the Grey, we elves call him Mithrandir."

Éla shook her head and gave a shrug, mystified at the name of her companion according to Arwen.

Then she stopped short once more.

"Elf?" she mouthed.

"Yes, me and all my kin here are Elves. You have never heard of Elves from where you hail?"

Éla shook her head, "I know of Elves, but I have never looked upon one until now."

Éla had heard tales from her mother and others in her village of the Elda, the most beautiful and wise creatures to live on the earth, though none travelled as far north-east as her village or anywhere near. At least not in the past century.

"I see." The elleth gestured to the small tray of food on the nightstand to Éla's right.

"My father has bade me to see to your wellbeing. I have brought you something to eat." Arwen gently stood and placed the small silver tray onto Éla's lap. The elleth had shifted slightly to accommodate the load.

"Are you able to feed yourself?" Arwen asked, a hint of concern within her tone.

Éla nodded, slowly lifting the spoon and scooping up some of the soup that was in the bowl on the tray. Bit by bit, she ate what was given to her.

Arwen sat once again in the white wooden chair near the bed and spoke to Éla of her arrival in Imladris.

"You had the remnants of a sword wound when you arrived. You were already unconscious, but our healers stitched up the remains and have told me that you are healing excellently, they say there may not even be a scar."

Éla was not surprised, she had always had fairly good health, though she had never been stabbed before to know if she would usually scar or not.

"Mithrandir has left, but he had promised he shall soon return. Until then, you are most welcome to stay here in my father's house." Arwen said, placing her hand gently on Éla's hand that was unoccupied by a spoon, in a comforting manner, her dark blue gaze lowered in pity.

"He had spoken to me and my father briefly about what befell your village, I am truly sorry for your loss Éla."

She set her spoon down on the tray with an audible clank. The once delicious vegetable soup felt like ash in her mouth.

Ash... and flame, and blood.

Memories of flame nipped at the corners of her consciousness, the screams of her neighbours heard somewhere in the distance. Éla tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. Her vision was blurred by tears that left hot streaks down her face and fell onto the soft blanket that covered her.

She vaguely registered the sound of Arwen's chair scraping the wooden floor as the elleth stood suddenly. The weight of the tray lifted and was set back onto the bedside table. A soft silken handkerchief dabbed away Éla's tears.

"You are safe now Éla," Arwen reassured once more.

Both of them knew that there was nothing that Arwen could say that would take away the pain of Éla's loss, but Éla was nevertheless glad for the sympathetic company.

For a time Éla just sat there weeping silently, with Arwen holding her right hand in both of hers.

After Éla had calmed down somewhat, Arwen had offered to help her bathe. The young woman tried to refuse and insisted she could wash by herself, but her argument died quickly once she stumbled when trying to walk. Though she may have healed quickly, Éla's energy levels were still quite low, and laying in a bed for over a week left some time for adjusting to being back on her feet again.

Arwen assured the embarrassed woman that there was nothing to be ashamed of, but Éla was still uncomfortable as no one had ever bathed her let alone seen her naked since her mother had when she was a child. At this Arwen seemed surprised.

"You are unmarried then?" The elleth inquired.

The woman nodded in response.

Though there had been some proposals from men in her village, none had captured Éla's heart.

"I am sure you will not remain unattached for long Éla, you are very beautiful," Arwen said sincerely. Éla flushed at the compliment from the gorgeous elleth, though she knew that the elf had no reason to lie.

Once she and her hair were washed, Arwen presented Éla with the most refined dress she had ever seen. It probably cost more than her entire house back home. It was a light shade of blue, which contrasted her brown skin nicely. It was a simple sheath dress with a relaxed neckline, long bell sleeves and had silver embroidery around the neckline, and around the ends of the sleeves.

"I assume that you like it," Arwen chuckled watching the fair haired woman gawk at her reflection after slipping on the dress. Éla nodded enthusiastically, smiling at the elleth.

Arwen then helped Éla comb and braid her long white hair.

"Isilmë," Arwen said, as she combed through Éla's hair. "Moonlight," she clarified, as Éla made eye contact with her through the mirror.

"That is what the healers were calling you while you slept. Indeed, your hair colour is rare even among my kin."

Éla suppressed the grimace that threatened to cross her face—even among the Elves she would then be an outlier.

After finishing the intricate braid, Arwen led Éla to the room where she would be staying. Explaining that her father, Lord Elrond was unable to meet Éla as Imladris was preparing for an important event.

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Author's note

Thank you for taking the time to read my first LOTR fic! As usual, the first few chapters will have a lot of exposition/character set up, so thank you in advance for your patience. I appreciate your feedback so don't feel shy to leave a review :)