Disclaimer: Middle Earth and all its inhabitants belong to Tolkien

A/N: I plan for this story to be around 15 chapters in length. I hope you enjoy this first chapter and those to come.

Chapter 1: The Enchanted River

'They say the river is enchanted. Any who fall into it succumb to a deep sleep. If they should wake, their memories will be lost to them forever.'

A long-forgotten old wives' tale came back to Astrid as she looked down into the black river. Only now was she able to believe it. Murky sunlight filtered through the canopy, scattering tiny flickers of light across the river's surface. Darkest brown and green glints winked at the heavy boughs overhead. Her brother Nat blanched as he gazed down into the river. It reeked of magic.

'Is there no other way across?' he asked.

The swaying, creaking bridge looked as though the slightest pressure would send it hurtling down into the water.

'Not unless we waste precious days. On the map it says this is the only crossing place for several leagues, and the paths are wandering.' She paused. 'I have heard the lesser paths even change their route.'

Nat swallowed, steeling himself.

Astrid put a gentle hand on his shoulder. 'You must go first. You are lighter.'

It was useless to argue. His face set, Nat cautiously stepped onto the bridge. It swayed alarmingly, but showed no sign of breaking. Both of them exhaled in relief.

'Go on, Nat. Not far to go now.'

Nat crossed the bridge as fast as he could while placing his feet with care. In half a minute he stood safely on the other side, gazing back at his sister in wound-up apprehension. Holding her breath, as though it might lessen her weight, she stepped forwards. The bridge creaked horrendously, hissed curses running through the ropes and beams towards her. Pushing aside such fancies, she forced herself to take another step, then another. Nat watched her eagerly, his mouth half-open, one hand stretched out as though ready to catch her.

She was halfway across when the boards disappeared beneath her and she dropped like a stone. Nat was screaming her name but she could not reply because her mouth was filling with water. She spat it out at once, dreading to swallow the enchantment. She cast about wildly, searching for a place where she could climb ashore, but the banks were high and slippery.

'Follow me downstream!' she managed to call, as she was dragged away by the current. 'There'll be a lower bank soon and you can help me up. Run ahead and tie the rope somewhere secure. Use the strongest knot our father taught you.'

She saw Nat nod ardently, before he broke into a run, overtaking her quickly.

'Not too far ahead!' she cried, before a sudden drop made her tumble forward and inhale water. She spat it out, gasping. After that she kept her mouth tightly closed and concentrated on keeping her head above water. She could feel it tugging at her very bones, leeching at her strength. At first it felt shockingly alien. But gradually it warmed her. She was struck by the beauty of the river. It was like bathing among stars, sending them rippling with a single kick.

She was startled out of her reverie by Nat's terrified voice.

'There's no rope! It's in your pack!'

It would be impossible for her to throw it to him. Terror gripped her and the spell of the water momentarily receded. She grabbed at a cluster of vines dangling down the river's edge, but they came away in her hands and she plunged beneath the surface. She burst up again, gasping, but her strength was almost gone. She had forgotten Nat; all she wanted to do was sink back among the stars and hear them singing of the Ages they had watched over. Far away, she heard the joyful blast of a hunting horn. She smiled; soon she would join her ancestors, hunting and feasting through the endless night. Then her head struck something hard and everything went black.

It was a fine, warm day, though the deep canopy barred much of the sun's light. The horses cantered proudly through the trees, manes rippling and nostrils flaring. The Elf-lords laughed in exultation as their steeds leapt across a narrow stream, soaring for the briefest of moments before thundering back to the ground.

Somewhere to their right the horn sounded; the hart had been sighted. Flashing a grin at Elrond, Thranduil suddenly wheeled his horse about and galloped off towards the sound. Elrond was about to follow, when he found his path blocked by a wall of trees. Cursing good-humouredly he plunged on up the path, waiting for a gap. Even as he kept a lookout to his right, he was careful to remain aware of his left, knowing that the Enchanted River flowed perilously close. At last he saw an opening. Bracing himself for the turn, he leaned forward in anticipation of the chase about to come.

His horse reared so suddenly he barely managed to stay astride her. A human child had burst onto the path, gasping for breath.

'My sister – she's drowning. Please – help us!'

It took Elrond only a moment to regain control of his mount and his faculties. 'Take me to her.'

The boy obeyed at once, vanishing into the trees. Seeing the trunks were too closely grown for riding, Elrond swiftly dismounted and raced after the boy. Moments later the trees vanished and they found themselves on the edge of the black river.

'There!' The boy pointed down into the water, where an unconscious woman was slumped against a massive tree root, too far below the edge of the bank to be simply hauled to safety. She was slipping, slowly but surely. In moments she would be swept away, beyond reach of help.

There was no time to think. He shed his cloak and breastplate before slipping into the river. At once he felt its merciless pull. Voices seemed to sing in his ears, inviting him to lay aside his cares and sleep in the tender arms of the river, to let it carry him far away, along a path dappled by the shadows of leaves and bright coins of sunlight.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to focus on reaching the woman. With a much keener affinity to nature and enchantment than Men, Elves were doubly vulnerable to the River – and if he did not reach her soon, neither of them had any chance of survival.

He swam forward with powerful strokes. Mercifully she was on the same side of the river as he, so he did not have to cross the roaring current. Just as he reached her she slipped into the river. Lunging forwards, he grabbed her by her pack, then got a firmer grip around her middle, careful not to be rough. Her pack was making it difficult to hold onto her; he fumbled with the straps, then tugged her towards him. In her comatose state she weighed like lead. Usually water would have made her buoyant, but this black water seemed to delight in weighting her like an anchor. Her pack slipped from her shoulders. He made a lunge for it but was too late; he hoped it contained nothing of value.

By now the song of the river was almost overwhelming. He slung the woman over his shoulder, making sure her head was above the water, before turning around and swimming back to the place he had slid in, where the ground was low and close to the level of the river. On his return he was now fighting against the current. The river leeched the strength from his bones. All he could do was focus on the bank, which drew closer at a tantalisingly slow rate. He thought vaguely that he heard someone call his name, but dismissed it at once. He could not afford to be distracted.

Suddenly hands were gripping his tunic, while at the same time the woman was snatched from him. He tried to grab her back, but he had no more strength than a young Halfling. He felt himself being lifted out of the river and laid out on the mossy bank.

'Lord Elrond!' insisted the voice, close to his ear. 'You must not sleep or you will begin to lose your mind. Revive yourself, my lord.'

'Here,' said another voice. 'Try this.'

A hand gripped his chin, tilting open his mouth and trickling in a few drops of a thick, sweet liquid. He tried to resist but to no avail. He swallowed resentfully. Moments later it felt as though a great fog were lifting from his mind; he blinked rapidly as a bright stroke of sunlight smote him through the tree cover.

'He's awake,' said the first voice with relief.

Elrond looked around him. It took a moment for him to recognise his companions Lindir, and Glorfindel. Then he realised his clothes were soaking wet.

'What happened?' he asked, before the answer came at once – 'Where is the woman?'

'She is safe, my lord. Your son is reviving her. If it had not been for you she would certainly have died.'

Elrond turned his head and saw the woman lying some distance away, deathly pale, still but for the minute rise and fall of her breast. The young boy knelt at her side while Elladan dripped miruvor into her mouth. Elrond rose, with less grace than usual, waving away Lindir when he offered assistance. 'She will have lost much of her memory,' he said in the Elven tongue. 'She must have been in the river for some time.' The boy glanced up suddenly, though he could not have understood the words, and looked at Elrond pleadingly. Elrond turned his gaze on the woman once more.

Only then did he recognise her. A tumult of conflicting emotions skirmished in his throat. He did not attempt to tease them apart. Turning his back on her, he went to his horse.

'Help them both mount. We must return to Thranduil's Halls. There will be no hunt for us today.'