NOTE: I do not own any of tolkiens characters, ideas, or parts of his world, which is pretty much a given that had to be said either way!

So yes, this is 'Mary Sue'. If that's not your thing, cool— but I'm telling you, this story has more substance than a simple 'falls into middle earth' trope usually has.

I give my utmost thanks to anyone who is reading this story right now, though I do warn you that this is my first fanfic and it definitely wont be perfect! I try my best to keep my information true to Tolkien's tellings— but that too, will not be perfect. Thanks again, and happy reading! :)

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"Under the bright light of Isil, will she return to Arda in the golden flower's field."

Blinding beams of white light shine directly into Elrond's squinting eyes as he tries to depict the gleaming figure before him. It is heavenly. He cannot move and he cannot speak— for he is completely and utterly mesmerized by the sight.

The strange sensation is somewhat familiar to the elf, for it is not the first time he has been visited in the realm of dreams by otherworldly beings. He knows then; it is Lórien, master of visions and dreams, the omniscient being aware of the hopes and dreams of all Eru's children. A Valar, before his eyes.

The Lord listens carefully to the spare words to be herd. He is not keen on losing the overbearing knowledge that Lórien so graciously offers.

The deafening voice begins again, "A soul lost in time and distance, a world walker of the woodland realm. Soon, shall she return, home, to Arda. May she bring revival or destruction to elves near and afar."

It can't be, Elrond dismisses the idea. She is lost. They had given up the prospect long ago, a time he remembers well, when the threat of darkness felt far from his heart and soul.

Though the prophecies of the Valar have never failed to relinquish . . .

The elf awakes with a start, eyes snapping open to stare at the ceiling of his silent chambers. The sun has just barely dusted the sanctuary valley of Rivendell with its blanketing warmth.

Elrond shifts to a sit, brows furrowing as his thoughts run free. He throws open the doors of his bedchambers, rushing to his study in a quiet panic. He knows exactly what is to be done, now rather than later.

A soul lost in time and distance, a world walker of the woodland realm.

He must inform Thranduil immediately.

The soft scribble of his quill against parchment sounds through the air. His hand moves faster than it has in many moons, regardless of the fact that he will not be able to send a messenger out before sunrise. This cannot wait.

And still, the words ring through his mind, tolling his thoughts alike the ring of a bell, the prophecies of the Valar have never failed to relinquish.

In the golden flower's field . . .

NOTE: I'm so excited to write thissssss!!!!! Hang in there!!!