Title: What Should Not Have Been
Summary: A young girl is brought to Middle-earth during the War of the Ring. Now she must figure out how this world works and her own importance—or perish.
Disclaimer: I don't own any part of Arda or Eä, including but not limited to recognizable characters, places, languages, and events.
Chapter One: Visions from Lórien
Moonlight shone between the leaves, illuminating the fountain. Though it did not truly need it; it was a fountain of clear, almost silvery water that seemed to sparkle with the light of the stars.
Beside the fountain, a figure sat on a chair formed from stone and leaves. His body took a masculine form, yet it did not seem to fit him. He was a spirit, intangible in body and ethereal in speech and movement; one of the Valar, the Powers of Arda.
A woman approached him. She too appeared unsuited for her worldly form, though at the moment she was more spirit than corporeal. She too was of the Valar.
"You are watching the fountain again," she said, in a way that was neither speech nor telepathy. "It is the mortal again, is it not?"
"It is, Estë. Her time is nearly upon us."
"Her time?" Estë's eyes widened. "Irmo, you mean to bring her here?"
"Not of my own will. She will come when it is her time, and I will see to it that she does."
Irmo, lord of visions and dreams, turned to face his wife.
"She is not of our world," Estë argued.
"It is not my choice." Irmo watched Estë the Gentle as she shook her head.
"She will come to Lórien, then?"
"No. She is to appear in Middle-earth."
"Why her?" Irmo raised a misty eyebrow at Estë's inquiry. "I mean, why is it she? Why has she been chosen for this Journey?"
Irmo shook his head. "I know not. I only trust the judgment of Eru Ilúvatar and the Aratar, for it is They who decreed this. But I know not of their intentions, only of their will."
"These are dangerous times in Middle-earth, Irmo. Do you truly think it wise to send a mortal from another world into the midst of the impending War?"
Irmo gave her a smile, though it was fleeting. "She has… a power. Not a strong power, but a power nonetheless. This is her path."
And with that, Irmo of Lórien returned his attention to the rippling waves of the fountain, and Estë his wife faded into the forest.
He knew not why he had been asked to see the mortal safely to Middle-earth; he had no great power, save for his mastery of dreams. A mastery he hoped would bring her across worlds.
With his mind intertwined with the meditative image of flowing water and the gentle sound of the night, Irmo called upon his power to see the sleeping mortal. She was young, far too young, for this task. And yet, he knew she was not innocent. The horrors of her world were neither greater nor smaller than the terrors awaiting her in Middle-earth. She had become numb.
A sadness hung about her, though she mourned not. It was constant, never wavering, not even when she smiled.
May the Grace of the Valar protect her in what is to come.