Disclaimer: AU Story. My third large LOTR fic. I can't stop! None of the characters or settings are mine. They all belong to Tolkien. I wish I were related to Tolkien, don't you? It would be so cool! Oh, and the plot here is derived from my own imagination. Hope you enjoy

Holly Wood: I'm so happy that you're enjoying my fics! They give me so much pleasure to write.

Jay of Lasgalen: Ah, a Legolas fan are you? Yes, I have determined to give him a far more important role than I have in the past. Thank you for the wonderful comments!

Koko Kung: Yay, I've missed you. Ouch! Nasty scanner. It must have had a personal vendetta against your computer. Aw well, I hope you enjoy this fic.

Shirebound: Hehe. I can't resist! I have lots of ideas for this story and I hope they work out well.

The Lazy Fairy: Your comments have really touched me. Thank you ever so much. It makes it all worthwhile to know that I am making someone happy somewhere out there. A "nugget of gold"! Thank you, thank you!

MagicalRachel: Hehe. I'll be guarding the company a little better this time, hopefully. *crosses fingers* But we couldn't miss just a bit of angst now, could we? Can't wait for the next chapter of the Olympics. It is just so good! I loved the tenderness between Eowyn and Faramir.

~ Chapter Two ~

The Grey Havens were lit by an eerie, pale moonlight. There was the sound of waves gently lapping at the shore. A cold wind billowed across the landscape and the trees bent to follow it, their green heads shedding carpets of leaves across the sandy edge. Midnight came silently. Chiming like a silent bell. And upon the sea's horizon, appeared a shape. A small sail fluttering in the wind. As it drew closer, a shape beneath it grew clearer. It was a raft, crudely built out of driftwood and salt-worn tethers. A figure lay draped across it, lost in a shallow sleep and twitching violently. The raft drifted towards the Havens, as if drawn to it by some force. It nudged the sand and then lodged firmly there, letting the water flow in a thin layer across its face and letting the figure float up the beach. It gently deposited him in a small indent of sand. His eyes fluttered open. Even in the dark, their bright blue colour could be made out, almost shining. He flexed his fingers and gazed at them, his brow furrowing. Sitting up, he rubbed at his eyes and looked round in bewilderment. After a while, he got to his feet and began the steady ascent to the short pier. He ran his fingers over the damp wood and his face twisted with sharp pain of memory.

"I know this place," he said wistfully. But no where in his head could he recall where from. It was unbearably familiar.

"I know this place!" he cried, louder. "Hello? Hello? Is anyone there?"

The darkness was frightening to him. Where he came from, there was no night. Only endless, beautiful day. But is that not why he left? Somehow, there were so few memories of what had been. He had left when all had departed and he was alone on a wide white beach. Almost identical to this one, he thought. He sat down on the pier and gazed back out to sea. He remembered doing so very long ago. But here there was something missing. Something different. But once again, the arrival was left in doubt. This place felt more welcoming than from where he had come. It had been warm, comforting and there were people there who loved him. But it had lacked something. It had torn his heart in two.

'You cannot always be torn in two..'

He gasped and clutched at his heart. It had suddenly come to him, in a flash of agonising memory. His fingers crept to his shoulder where a dull throbbing had begun deep under the skin. It was an old wound and he remembered. He remembered so little and yet this was such a very familiar movement that he had made several times before. Where he had come from- his home; it must have been!- nothing had ever hurt before. But now, everything was hurting at once. His heart, his mind and forgotten wounds. Suddenly, a voice came out through the darkness and he started.

"The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it began, now far ahead the road has gone, and I must follow if I can.. Ai ai, what's this then? Hoy down there! Who are you?"

He spun round and gazed up at a short figure standing against the trees, a pipe sticking out a side of his mouth and a staff gripped in one hand. He squinted at the newcomer through misty spectacles.

"Speak up!" he said. The figure jumped again and he scrambled to his feet.

"Sorry! I'm.. Mr- Mr Underhill. Excuse me, sir, but I'm curious.. is that song- the one you were just singing- is it a common one among these parts?"

"Well, yes," came the reply, "I suppose so. Hobbits right 'cross the Shire like singing it fine. Hey, you alright? You look fair pale!"

"I'm fine," Mr Underhill answered shakily, "But, would you mind terribly leading me to the nearest, er, house from here? I will need a bed for the night."

"Ain't no houses round here. Only find them posh things in Bree. But you're welcome to stay at my hole for the night. My wife'd give you a meal and all," the stranger said. He beckoned to this strange creature, wondering what it was. The face looked elvish but the accent was certainly that of the Shire and it was hobbit size. He seemed courteous and Fedirand was willing to take in anyone who was polite.

"That's terribly kind of you, sir. Are you quite sure that I'd be no trouble?"

"Come on," Ferdirand called and Mr Underhill climbed the last stretch of beach to join the farmer. He smiled and the hobbit nodded respectfully. There was something uncanny about this one, he thought. "You do remind me of someone. Have we ever met?" he asked. Mr Underhill shook his head slowly.

"N-no. I couldn't say. Do you think we have?"

"I think I'd recognise you if I had," Ferdirand muttered and then led his new companion into the woods.