Three years had passed since that fateful night of terrors and the images of the dream had still not left Evelyn. For months after the dream she found herself reliving the experience nightly, except those times, it felt like an actual dream, like a movie one watches through a frosted glass window with only certain images coming into focus. After seeing multiple psychologists, therapists, and behavioral experts, the frequency of the reliving dreams had dropped to a once to twice weekly occurrence.

It still wasn't good, but it was more bearable than before.

A slight smile graced Evelyn's lips as she brushed out her raven hair and braided it was was her custom each day. No matter what, she always wore her hair in two delicate braids, one on each side of her head with small clumps of hair dangling in front. It was how the fair creature in her dreams wore his hair. After one watches another die over and over again, it seems that once can become rather attached. She liked to wear her hair in such a manner in a way, as absurd as it seems, to honor the beautiful soul.

An elf, that is what she now called him.

Over those three years she had become somewhat obsessive as to interpreting her dream. For a while, she imagined it as some sort of fey, leading her into a deep dive of Irish mythology. She imagined that it must be of the Seelie kin, the good fairies. That was of course until she stumbled across a book at the back of the library. It was a work titled The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. She devoured the book, despite its considerable and somewhat meandering length, and found some similarities to her dream far too eerie. This lead her down the path of everything she could find ofTolkien's works. In the end, she determined that the being must have been one of the first born elves. Which one in particular she could not determine as mystery shrouded the fictional First Age.

Of course, finding stories to match her dreams only opened more questions than before. How was it that she dreamed of a being from books that she had previously never read? However, she had long ago learned that asking such questions only lead to another visit from a new doctor. She had to put those thoughts away.

Life was going surprisingly well for Evelyn. She had graduated from high school and now was ready to set off on an adventure like never before, she was heading to college. Despite her vivid dreams and obsessive consumption of Irish mythology, she had dreams of veterinary school. Humans could be callous, they doubted and thought of those different as being insane. Animals however, held no such judgments. The domesticated sort were kind and generous with more love in their hearts than any other being, and the wild sort were noble in their own way. Perhaps what she admired of them was their honesty. A lioness will bring down a wildebeest without remorse, but it does so to feed its kin and never creates the illusion of tameness. A man however, will claim to be a gentleman only to shoot his wife in the back.

Yes, animals were far superior to people. Evelyn knew this as one of the few certainties in life.

Upon finishing her morning preparations, Evelyn set out for the day with a grim smile on her face. Today was the anniversary of that dream, three long years ago. She dreaded the night as it was always on the anniversary of said dream that it came to her most vividly again. Tonight she knew that she would relive the moment in utter clarity, however this time, unlike the first, with no will to change it. She would be trapped in her body and forced to watch the fair elf die once more.

How cruel life can be.

Somewhere, far away, Varda watched over a young human girl. There was something special in her, something that drove her to a place far away three fateful years ago. Her blood was mixed, a tinge of something greater in it. How a human child had come upon such blood so was a mystery to the great queen. She knew however, that the young girl had changed much.

The lovely elven lord was meant to die in a valiant effort to slay the Balrog. The beast was then to chase down the survivors of the beautiful city and lay waste to its refugees. Middle Earth was destined to fall into dark days and only later be rescued by a coalition of men alone. It seemed that fate was moving and the ripples had cast out through time. Middle Earth would have a slightly longer reprieve of light, but dark days were still ahead.

Varda turned to her husband, a smile gracing her lips and he knew what she would ask. He also knew that he would concede. The girl, her fate was now intwined with that of the land they were tasked with watching over. She now had a role to play. However, she could not do it alone. Many would be needed to turn the tide on the war which in a way was partially their fault for it was one of their kin who began this so long ago.

The fair one, the Golden Haired Balrog Slayer must be sent back. He must be released from the Halls of Mandos to walk Middle Earth again.

"We must give him purpose," she said, ever seeing eyes watching said elf listlessly roam Mandos' halls. "He must have a reason to live until she arrives."

"Indeed," replied Manwe. "The young lord, Elrond, the one of Maiar blood. I sense that he has many trials ahead. We shall entrust the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower to his care."

She smiled. In a flash, said elf was whisked from Mandos' halls and dumped into a raging river. The current pulled at the figure, bare a newborn and blissfully unconscious until it dumped him at its bank. Far off, in a rather comfortable study, a dark haired elf looked up with sudden awareness. Something was stirring in his land.

He knew not what it was, but a nagging pull at him mind drew him to investigate on his own. Some sort of intuition that had always been a companion of his foresight. He left his office in a hurry, not even bothering to inform the dark haired advisor who nearly gaped at his lord's abrupt exit.

The elf, Lord Elrond, rushed to change from his stately robes into riding clothes. He grabbed a horse from the stables and flew out of Imaldris, letting his intuition guide him to the river Bruinen. As he approached, he saw what must have drawn him from his home. Along the banks, a male figure was splayed out, lazy currents lapping at his bare sides. When Elrond got closer, he could see that this figure was an elf with a mane of golden hair and a serene expression on his face. The elf was unfamiliar, and Lord Elrond knew every elf in Imaldris.

He approached with caution, however the healer in him urged him forward to kneel at the elf's side. He had no apparent physical wounds, however upon placing his hand on the elf's brow, the figure stirred. The golden haired elf opened his eyes and blearily took in the form above him. Steely grey eyes and dark hair, he raised a shaking hand upwards.

"Earendil?" He asked in a shaking voice.

Elrond was momentarily taken aback. It had been ages since he had heard his father's name spoken in such a manner, a manner of familiarity and perhaps even desperation.

"No my friend, I am Elrond," he once more searched the face of this strange elf, desperately trying to place from where he might have come. "What is your name?"

The figure stirred, he could feel the dark caress of sleep tugging at the back of his mind; yet, he looked upwards at those grey eyes which he could swear he knew. The words which the elf above him spoke were unfamiliar, some strange dialect that he knew not. Those clear eyes shining with concern however seemed to ask him a question. Where am I? He wondered. Who are you?

In a moment of clarity he realized that this elf- not Earendil if his reaction to the name was any indication, was likely wondering as to his identity. The waves of sleep were tugging relentlessly at his mind and he lost all care for formal introductions and titles.

"Laurefindil," he whispered in a hoarse croak before giving in once more to the throes of sleep.