A/N: So, I figured that it was about time that I payed my dues and posted the mandatory LOTR Girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth fic. Ergo, here it it. However, I really wanted this to be something unique, so I busted out the Silmarillion and came across a specific bit of history that I could use for my nefarious fanfiction purposes. This story is pre-LOTR and Hobbit, though it may well continue on through those eras, depending upon how far I take it. As such, it will start out purely book-verse. (Don't worry though, movie-watchers! I'll make sure that you can enjoy it without having read anything.)
What with real life and all, my updates may be a bit sporadic later on, so I apologize in advance.
In the meantime though, please do enjoy!

An Angel's Heaven: Prologue
Lost Boys

History reflects upon those who created it. It is only as equally terrible and beautiful as it is made. Some treasure it for this very reason, and others seek to forget those parts of it that cause an ache in their hearts. Anna had always been of the opinion that history was of indeterminate value, for its worth isn't something that can be quantified. It cannot feed a starving man, nor can it warm a child in the throes of the winter months. History cannot heal the sick, nor can it hold strong against a biting wind. But history does give these struggles meaning. Context.

History is the story of life. It is more than a droll recitation of facts into empty air: someone did something significant in such-and-such time and place. It is the story of living world—of millions of lives twined together, all telling different versions of the same story, different stories, and stories woven together in different ways. So much of the multifaceted aspect of life is lost with the recitation of empty facts. History is what it is because people cared about what happened. They felt fear and hope and live, and they were pushed into greater roles and deeds than they could have ever dreamed. History is not an entity that can (or should) be relegated to a shadowed shelf in a dreary records room. It is the inheritance of the people and places that lived it, and a gift to all who follow.

The way Anna saw it, you could use history in one of many ways. It could be valued, learned from, and honored. You could weep for the glories that could have been and were lost, and rejoice for those things that endured the ages, even if, at one time, few had faith that anything would. We record the stories of life in remembrance of those who are lost, and those who had the strength and will to persevere. They did not weep and wait upon fate, but battled on simply by living.

History immortalizes the best and worst of us, and we deserve to keep that truth.

Anna was no historian, but that much she knew.

What she didn't know was her own history. To be fair, she didn't even know that she didn't know it, but from the moment of her birth to the moment of her death, she was ignorant of the vast and breathtaking history of her own ancestors which –her ancestors being literally immortal—was, in all actuality, recorded in rich detail. It was a history that her predecessors had lost generations before her birth. Little did she know, Anna would soon become a part of this history in a way that she never could have imagined.

But perhaps the best place to start would be where all stories begin. The beginning.

No being that isn't a god of some sort could ever say in confidence how all that is was created, or by whom. What is known is that there are many ways and places in which to exist. Those that are relevant to this tale are the three realms known as Arda, Aman, and Terra, otherwise called Middle Earth, Valinor, and Earth. Aman and Arda are, of the three, the most intimately connected. The path between them is the only one which can be traveled with relative ease, to those permitted, unlike the paths to Terra. In fact, there are only three travelers ever known to have moved between either realm and the realm of Terra. The first of these travelers happened to be Anna's ancestors. Twin brothers, and princes of Doriath.

They were elves.

In the beginning of the creation of Aman and Arda, there was no sun and moon. Instead, the Firstborn –the elves—walked under the light of the two great trees of Valinor. These trees were said to be of unparalleled and indescribable beauty. From the light of these trees, an elf by the name of Fëanor created three jewels known as the Silmarils. After the destruction of the two trees by Ungoliant, courtesy of Morgoth the fallen Vala, the Silmarils remained the only fragments of their light that survived. Unfortunately, the Silmarils were stolen, and the sons of Fëanor swore to take back their father's creations at any cost.

Thus began a very dark part of the history of the elves. It is a side of them that all wish to forget, but cannot. Many elves died at the hands of other elves in the three Kinslayings. It is the Second Kinslaying, however, that is most relevant to Anna's story.

The twin princes, sons of Dior, lived in the city of Menegroth. During the Second Kinslaying and sacking of Doriath, the servants of Celegorm, third son of Fëanor, captured the two children and cast them out in the wilderness to die. The eldest son of Fëanor, Maedhros, learned of this happening and scoured the forest for the lost princes in repentance of this deed, but he was too late. The children, Eluréd and Elurín, were never seen again upon Aman or Arda. They were assumed dead, and mourned for all of elvish history. Their sister, Elwing, survived, and would eventually become the mother of the twins Elros and Elrond, the first of which would become the first king of Númenor, and the latter Lord of the city of Imladris, as the same Lord Elrond who was so influential in the better-known tale of the late Third Age.

But Eluréd and Elurín did not die. The Valar, despairing over the horrors of the kinslayings, could not bear to see the two young and innocent princes die in such a way. Instead, they sent them far from the chaos caused by the sons of Fëanor. Eluréd and Elurín were sent to Terra, where they were found and cared for by a mortal family. The boys, half-elves themselves, both chose to live out a mortal life with their new families, and each lived long and happy lives.

And, as the years and generations passed, all memory of the beginnings of Eluréd and Elurín were lost in the sands of mortal time as their descendents lived on as any mortals of Earth were wont to do.

Anna was the last. Although she did not know it, the thin bloodlines of Eluréd and Elurín had met for the first time with her birth, and she had the strongest presence of elvish blood since the twins themselves. However, as an only child from a long line of only children on both sides, she was also the only remnant of the families left alive. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps this would not have mattered. Anna would have –if given the opportunity—lived on, married, had a child or children of her own, and continued the cycle that had been ongoing for hundreds and hundreds of years. But Anna was not given this chance and, as circumstances would have it, the manner in which she was sent to her early death captured the attention of the deities of Middle Earth that had taken pity on her ancestors so very long ago.

The thing about history is that, inevitably, it always manages to repeat itself.

And thus, the blood of Eluréd and Elurín was returned to Arda in much the same way as it had left it: alone, afraid, and a child to a new world.

A/N: So, yeah. That's the prologue, and a bit of backstory, so you understand what's happening come chapter one.