The day didn't start off terribly strange. Stella arrived at the faire at dawn like she normally would, dressed in her renaissance garb. She showed her card to the security guard at the cast entrance and continued through the grounds towards the grove of trees where she typically spent the majority of the day. She shifted her sack on her right shoulder and rested her hand on the hilt of the longsword strapped to her left hip as she walked, the fine gravel walkway crunching under her leather boots.

She was an elf. Well, not really. She was cast as an elf, but that didn't mean she didn't wish she actually was an elf. Her prosthetic ears were glued on to keep them from shifting, and she was dressed in the stereotypical elven warrior costume: a dark green tunic and black leggings with pauldrons, a chest plate, and a pair of bracers. Oh, and of course, her sword with a belt and sheath.

Stella always wondered what it would be like to exist in a fantasy world like in books and movies. It seemed so much more simple than living life in the present, and there was something intriguing about being so close to the natural world, away from the crowds and technology of the 21st Century. She knew her daydreams were just a form of escapism, but she gained some relief from her seasonal job at the renaissance faire. Every year, she joined the cast as an elf for the spring and fall faires.

She spent so much time on the fairgrounds that she managed to make friends with some of the other actors. Two of her closest friends, Brooks and Gwen, were a dwarf and an elf respectively. Seeing as she always arrived early for her shift, Stella didn't expect to see those two quite yet.

Once she reached her designated trees, she proceeded to set her sack down and root through her belongings. Stella shoved aside her keys and phone, looking for one item in particular.

"Aha!" She exclaimed, finally locating what she was looking for and pulling it out of her bag. It was a handmade sketchbook bound with leather cord. This was one of her favorite things about her job. As long as items looked authentic, she could do whatever activity she desired to entertain herself with when there were no visitors to interact with.

Minding her sword, she sat down, flipped through the thick pages to one that was blank about halfway through the book, and pulled out her quill and ink. It took a while for Stella to learn how to write with a quill and even longer to draw. It was just one of the many things she didn't mind sacrificing to insert herself into the Middle Ages. She typically drew people that seemed just as enthralled in the magic of the faire as she was, or at least those that played the part. Like a child being gifted a tiara by a real faerie or a man learning how to forge metal from the blacksmith. Recently, though, her drawings had started to change.

She thumbed back a few pages to a sketch of an elf and a dwarf sitting around a fire in the woods. At first glance, one would think she had drawn her friends, Brooks and Gwen. Though upon closer inspection, she wasn't able to see the resemblance that should have been there. Instead of Brooks' dark hair and sparse facial hair, the dwarf in the drawing had a lighter shade of hair and a full beard. The creases at the corners of his eyes hinted that this dwarf had at least a decade on her friend.

The elf in the drawing was also different. The elf had a more masculine figure and lighter hair than her friend, Gwen. This elf's eyes were also not the dark, warm shade of brown that her friend's were. In fact, she had never seen this dwarf and elf at the faire before.

She carefully traced a finger over the face of the elf she had drawn. Where had these two come from? It wasn't often that she had things come to her from her own imagination. She shook her head to bring herself back into focus. She could daydream another time. Right now, she was at work. She shut the sketchbook and placed her quill back in its case, resting both on her lap and pressing the back of her head against the tree. Her eyes closed briefly, listening to the hum of the cicadas in the tree above her.

Soon enough, visitors started pouring through the main gate and Stella became busy interacting with children and adults alike. She enjoyed jumping out from behind her grove of trees to scare the older children and naming the younger ones as protectors of her woods. Once the morning rush went by, she returned to her sack and pulled out her sketchbook once again.

Stella . She whipped her head around in the direction of what she swore was a voice. It didn't speak again, so she resumed pulling out her ink and quill.

After about an hour of sketching random trees and objects around her, a group of teenagers started walking towards her. They hadn't seen her yet, so she shimmied up one of the trees. She didn't do this often, but it always elicited an entertaining response from her unsuspecting audience. Right before they reached her tree, she readied herself to jump.

Stella . She startled, almost slipping off of her branch, but caught herself before the teens below her noticed. The voice was back. Was she going crazy? Stella looked at the ground below her and realized that she had missed her opportunity. The group had passed by without even knowing she was there. She sighed in frustration and made her way back down the tree.

Stella ! The third time she heard the voice, she was naming a young girl a guardian of her woods. The voice was no longer a whisper this time and it took everything in her not to physically jump at the sound. She could now determine that the voice was deep and masculine. It had to be Brooks. He and Gwen were the only two at the faire who knew real name. Here, she always went by her Elven name, Rainith. Once she finished with the little girl, she straightened and looked around her. There were only so many places Brooks could hide, even with as short as he was.

Out of the corner of her eye, Stella saw a shadow slip behind one of the vendor buildings 10 meters away. Where did he think he was going? Since it wasn't busy by her designated spot, she decided it wouldn't hurt to humor her friend and follow him. She left her sack where it was under the tree and rounded the corner of the building. As luck would have it, no one was there, but she saw the shadow disappear around another corner into Pirates' Cove. Staying light on her feet, she quickly followed.

"Brooks? Gwen?" She cautiously stepped into the dark alley that she saw the figure turn down. Stella didn't typically venture into the pirates' territory and wasn't quite as familiar with the nooks and crannies as she was in the land of the Eldar. There was a single doorway on the left hand side of the narrow passage and she could just make out the shadow of a person beckoning her to follow. Before she could think about what she was doing, her feet started to move her forward and into the shadow between the stone buildings. Stella's heart pounded inside of her chest.

"Haha, guys, you got me!" She laughed nervously, her feet still moving. As soon as she stepped through the door, the floor dropped out from beneath her. She reached out frantically for anything to grab onto but stopped once she landed on her stomach.

"Oomph!" A forceful breath escaped her and she gasped and coughed for air, rolling over onto her back. Stella blinked rapidly to clear the blurriness from her eyes and gazed up at the ceiling, still breathing heavily.

The ceiling she expected to see wasn't there. Instead there was a thick canopy of dark green leaves, vines, and moss which blocked out any light that would have come from the sun or moon.

Her hands pressed into the damp soil, moisture slowly seeping through her clothes. Stella sat up quickly, ignoring the aching pain in her chest, her heart racing. The air was heavy and oppressive, making the darkness the trees cast on the forest floor feel suffocating. She was no longer convinced that her friends were playing a prank on her. None of it made any sense. Where was she? A sudden sensation of fear struck her and she staggered to her feet, shakily drawing her sword out of instinct. Then, she did a double-take. The sword she had unsheathed was not the one she usually carried with her. Where the blade's edge should have been blunt it was sharp. Even the metal was different. Its surface had become a mirror for everything around it. Distracted by the enhanced quality of her sword, she failed to notice the dark shape that moved silently in the brush before her until it jumped out at her. She instinctively took a defensive stance, blade at the ready and knees bent, just like in her lessons.

She suddenly wished that the trees were not so thick. Maybe then she could see what she was up against. Stella flinched hard when the shape spoke in a language that she could not understand.

Ma len?! The figure demanded. Their voice was deep and melodious, but there was an edge to it that caused her to shiver involuntarily.

O van telig?! The figure demanded again, taking a step forward. As they got closer, she could finally make out the sword they brandished aggressively. Their silhouette was that of a male. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, and lean muscle. The words he spoke were familiar in origin, but she couldn't quite place the language.

Pedhil edhellen?! Suddenly, it clicked. It was Sindarin, the language of the elves in Middle Earth. She didn't know what the man had asked, but she knew enough to respond in some way.

Im Rainith . (I am Rainith). She used the name she went by at the faire. U-bedin edhellen. (I can't speak Elvish). She couldn't make out the man's face in the shadows, but he tilted his head in what she assumed was confusion. Who wouldn't be confused if the person you spoke to told you they didn't speak a language in that language?

She sheathed her sword and lifted her hands up in surrender with her palms facing the masculine figure.

The person finally stepped forward out of the shadows and Stella could now make out the fair complexion of the man in front of her. His posture was rigid and tense but he no longer held the sword out offensively. Instead, it remained in his hand at his side.

"Do you speak Westron?" He questioned cautiously, sword still raised.

"Yes. I do."

"What is your purpose here?" She wasn't even sure where "here" was.

"I'm not sure." The man took a step towards her, blade shifting in his grip. "I don't know where I am." He must have sensed some sincerity in her words because he relaxed his sword arm, although he did not sheath the weapon.

"You are just off the path to Eryn Galen."

"The Greenwood." She couldn't really be in Middle Earth, could she? Thinking back to how she came to wake up in the woods, it wouldn't be much of a stretch. Not much else could explain the bizarre situation she found herself in. She definitely wasn't being pranked. This sort of complexity was not typical of Brooks or Gwen. The man spoke again, shaking her from her thoughts.

"Surrender your weapon. Those who trespass upon the Greenwood must be presented to the King." The elf (or at least she thought he was an elf) reached his free hand out to take Stella's sword.

She unsheathed her sword again, passing it to him carefully. She somehow managed not to cut herself on the newly refined blade as she handed it over with the hilt pointing towards the elf. Wanting a name for the elf that currently held her captive, she mustered the courage to ask him.

"You have asked for my name and I have given it. What is yours?" Stella tensed a little, expecting an aggressive response from the elf, but all she got was a haughty look with narrowed eyes. He squared his shoulders and responded to her.

"I am Midhion of the Woodland Guard. Now come, I must take you to the King."

As they trekked through the forest, following a seemingly invisible path, Stella began to ponder her situation more thoroughly. Clearly, the elf before her was a member of the Woodland Guard. She was being taken to the King, so depending on what Age it was she could be brought before Oropher or Thranduil. If she was to see Oropher, then she should be headed for Amon Lanc. If she was to see Thranduil, then her destination would be the Elvenking's Halls. Unfortunately, the towering trees were pressed so close together that she could not even make an attempt at judging where they were headed. This left her no choice but to ask Midhion.

"Where are we headed?"

"To see the King." The elf responded. She pursed her lips to keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she bit her tongue and withheld any sarcastic remarks.

"I know that. What is the name of our destination? Or what is the King's name?" She prompted, hoping the elf would get the idea.

"We are making for the Elvenking's Halls to see King Thranduil, son of Oropher."

"Thanks." She almost forgot to respond, needing to process the information. Midhion gave a stiff nod in acknowledgement.

So, she was off to see Thranduil. It must be sometime during the Third Age. Stella wondered where in the plotline she fell. Was she in The Hobbit timeline? Or was she closer to Lord of the Rings? Or somewhere in between? Yet another thing to establish before arriving at the Elvenking's Halls. She cleared her throat and spoke again.

"What day is it?"

"It is the twenty-seventh day of August of the 3018th year of the Third Age." If Midhion grew weary of her questions, he didn't show it.

Stella thought on that a bit. She knew that the Council of Elrond took place on October 25th of the year 3018, and that it takes two months (on average) to travel from Eryn Galen to Imladris. So by her calculations, Legolas would likely be leaving for Imladris today if he hadn't left already. Two months. Two months before she was to be entangled in the mess that was the Fellowship. She had read enough fan fiction to know how it would go. They would say that her foreknowledge was dangerous, but she was brought to them by the Valar. She could just hear Elrond and Gandalf manipulating her into joining the Fellowship. Swept away by anxious thoughts, Stella stumbled when her foot got caught under a tree root. Midhion glanced back briefly to see that his charge was still following. She noticed the watchful glance from the elf after her trip up.

"I'm fine. Just distracted by my own thoughts." She said in a way of explanation. All she got from the guard was a curt nod in acknowledgement.

As they walked, Stella made sure to follow her captor closely. She was well aware of the dangers of the woods. Particularly the spiders. She shuddered at the thought. Spiders happened to be one of the few creatures she disliked. Too many eyes. Too many legs. And to imagine them larger than dogs? She rubbed her arms to get rid of the goose bumps that had appeared.

She hoped that there wouldn't be any run-ins with the spiders of Mirkwood, but she wasn't holding her breath. The forest felt wrong. Like someone was watching her from the trees. Stella figured she probably wasn't wrong. Either the other elves of the Woodland Guard were observing from their posts, or there were spiders in the trees. She was hoping for the latter.

Her answer soon came when Midhion reached behind himself to stop her. She was about to open her mouth to ask why they stopped when he put a finger to his lips and shook his head stiffly. Clearly he was seeing something that she could not. He silently drew his sword and held it at the ready, tilting his head up towards the thick canopy of leaves. They both stood there, frozen, for what seemed like ages. Just as Stella was convinced the danger had passed, a large black mass dropped from the branches with a shriek.

By the time Stella had processed what had happened and leapt backwards, Midhion had already dispatched the first spider and was moving on to the next. In fact, he gracefully managed three more spiders while Stella sat on the forest floor where she had fallen after catching her heels on a tree root. In shock, she didn't stand herself up until Midhion walked over and offered her his hand. Still dazed, she took his hand and allowed him to hoist her to her feet where she stood, swaying slightly.

"We must not linger here. Can you walk?"

Stella physically shook herself, trying to shake off the panic and shock she was feeling, along with the shame she felt at being so useless. If any one of those spiders had decided to target her, she surely would have drawn her last breath right there. Why did she have to be afraid of spiders? Why couldn't it be something less dangerous and more avoidable? Stella realized that Midhion was waiting for her to answer his question, so she spoke.

"I think so. Sorry." She apologized.

"Then come, we must not tarry. These woods are not safe." The elf took her wrist and began to physically guide her through the forest. Stella was grateful for the physical contact. It gave her something to focus on instead of replaying the terrifying moment when the spider dropped down from the trees. It took everything in her to keep her eyes from wandering up to the leaves and branches above her in fear of a repeat. She must have retreated to somewhere in her mind, because before she knew it they had reached the bridge to the entrance to the Elvenking's Halls.

The bridge itself was exactly how she had pictured it: elegant and natural. It looked like it belonged there amongst the trees and boulders. As they walked over the bridge and through the archway, she finally allowed her gaze to drift upwards to the intricately woven vines and branches that marked the entrance to the Halls. Midhion called out in Sindarin to the guards at the gate and they pulled the heavy wood open to let them through.

Stella couldn't have imagined anything more magical than the wide oak doors that swung open into the foyer. The stone floor and tall wooden ceiling blended in with the scenery outside. Even more beautiful was the chandelier hung high, crafted with delicate branches and leaves and brightly-burning candles. Beyond the foyer stood another set of oaken doors, trimmed with the same vines and leaves as everything else. As Midhion led her towards the doors, she realized that she was about to see King Thranduil and that beyond those doors undoubtedly lay his throne room or receiving hall.

Barely given time to prepare herself, Stella ran a hand through her hair that had started falling out of its French braid and squared her shoulders, stepping through the doors and following Midhion as he entered the room. As she set eyes on the Elvenking, the only thought running through her head is that no amount of time could have ever prepared her for this.