Legends, folklore, and fairytales are considered stories, or made-up fantasies that are created for the sole purposes of entertaining people or soothing them in times of hardships. But what if they were real? What if, the Valar — the creators of Middle Earth — sent blessed individuals to the lands they created in times of evil? The common-folk and those who believed that they were real called them faës, passing down the legends about these special creatures that were born when a star fell upon Middle Earth. Stories of these faës spoke of beautiful males and females with unlimited powers, fighting and working alongside Middle Earth's greatest warriors, kings, and diplomats in times of war, famine, and discord. They also believed that because they were blessed by the Valar, they symbolized hope and victory, and when one was born, the people would thank the deities for being on their side and watching over them. It was also said that those corrupted with darkness and evil coveted these creatures' special gifts and that they were often targeted by their enemies for their unlimited powers.

And most importantly, faës were not from Middle Earth.

It was early in the morning, and when the sunlight shone through the dingy, dark room, a limp figure on the floor moved slightly, wincing at the bothersome light. It was a female that was lying helplessly on the dirty wooden floor, and her pale blonde hair was matted against her head, hanging lifelessly over parts of her face. Her eyes opened slowly, and through her dirty hair, she could see the wreck that she called her home, and sighed as she remembered that it was a new day, and that she was alive… much to her disappointment. The girl then forced her upper body up, with her palms on the floor and trying to support herself with her arms. She tried to get up on her feet, but her body was too exhausted. The girl gave up, going back to her initial position of lying on the floor. She then rolled to lie on her back, looking at the ceiling, and laughed bitterly as she lamented her miserable situation. She had a cut lip that stung, hair stuck to her scalp with dried blood, and bruises covering her arms and body, both old and new ones colorfully marring her skin. And although she did not want to, the memories of last night flooded her mind.

"You're drunk again," she had warily said when she saw her father coming into their small apartment, reeking of alcohol.

"Be quiet," her father said, waving his hand, quite annoyed at his daughter.

"You have to stop drinking again," she had continued as she carefully watched for his reactions, "The bills are due soon, and we don't have any money.."

She never got to finish her sentence, as she tumbled down to the floor when her father suddenly slapped her across the face, cutting her lip in the process.

"Shut up!" he yelled, his mind clouded with alcohol. "You always talk about that God damn money when you do nothing… Nothing!" When he saw that his daughter was trying to get up, he kicked her arms and legs. And as if that didn't relieve his anger, he continued to abuse her — marking her skin with a red hue. The girl didn't fight back, and she was smart to. She was used to it anyways. And she prayed that he would tire from the influence of the alcohol or she would lose consciousness so that she wouldn't have to feel the pain. And soon enough, when her father's blow hit her head, the world turned black, and she hoped that this time, she won't have to wake up ever again.

But her wish was not granted, and here she was again, dreading when her father would hit her again.

When did the beatings start? The girl asked herself. Mom's death, probably.

The girl remembered how her mother used to love her, until her sudden death the year she turned 14. And she also remember how her father used to be happy too, happy that he was with the woman he loved. But fate was cruel, and took her mother away. And to relieve his grief, her father had succumbed to alcohol, not caring that he had his daughter left. The girl had dropped out of school to find work, since her father did nothing but squander all the money on buying liquor, but eventually she couldn't even do that when the beatings started. The first incident that resulted in him hitting his own daughter happened when by some clouded judgement, he began to believe that the reason why his wife died was because of his daughter. Maybe it was because she resembled her, or maybe it was because he wanted to find someone to blame. But it soon led to more beatings, and after years, the girl was used to staying quiet while she was getting abused, and tended to her wounds herself.

Ivanna… Her mother had named her Ivanna after a hard pregnancy and a hard labour, thankful that a healthy child was born to her despite the arduous process. The name meant "God's gift", and the girl's mother wanted her little daughter's life to be blessed and loved. Ivanna laughed bitterly. What a blessed life it was, to be beaten up everyday, to live her days out alone, hurt, and miserable. She looked to the clock on the wall to see the time — 7:25 am. She looked to her side and saw that her father was laying on the couch, with a half-empty bottle of liquor in his hand. Ivanna knew she had a few hours to herself before he woke up to throw a tantrum again. But as usual, life did not do any favors for her, and she heard a loud clash of glass, as the bottle that was in her father's hand slipped and fell to the floor, breaking into hundreds of sharp pieces while making a loud noise. Ivanna's father groggily woke up, surprised by the sudden sound, and instantly scowled. He cursed under his breath and looked up to meet Ivanna's eyes, who was watching carefully from her place on the floor.

"Get out and get some more," he ordered her. When she didn't move, he walked towards her and shook her with his feet. "Didn't you hear me? Go get some more!"

"I can't," Ivanna managed to say. "My body hurts too much to move."

At this her father laughed maniacally, and began to beat her again. "You're making excuses now, aren't you? You should be grateful that your living under a roof and you should do what I tell you to do, you useless thing!"

Ivanna tried to cover her head, but his foot hit her forehead, and she hit her head on the floor, and began feel dizzy. Her head was throbbing, but her father did not stop. She could feel herself losing her consciousness again, and her senses began to go blurry and faint.

Someone please… Please help…

And by some miracle, at that moment, the doorbell rang loudly, as someone knocked on the front door as well to get attention. From the insistent ringings of the bells, Ivanna's father stopped his kickings and stomped towards the door and slammed it open.

"What do you want," he rudely spat out. Ivanna's sight was blurry, but she could make out a figure of a woman standing at the door.

"…next door… heard noises…" Ivanna vaguely made out what she was saying, but with her throbbing head, she couldn't do anything. "Oh God… is she hurt?"

Ivanna heard her father yelling at the woman to get out, and the woman was also shouting now, and the cacophony of mixed voices only worsened her headache. And she hoped that either that woman would save her, or that she dies now, and never have to deal with her pain anymore. But at the same time, Ivanna couldn't help but wonder… Would she ever get second chances at life? A chance to improve herself and her life?

Was it too much to ask for? A simple, meaningful life? One worth fighting for…?

The hall of the Valar was filled with all fourteen of the magical beings, and the room was humming with pure energy. Each of the Valar were sitting on their thrones that outlined a circular shape around the hall, with the middle empty. They were the creators of Middle Earth, and they had overseen the realm ever since its creation. However, at the moment, all fourteen of them were greatly troubled at the fate of their beloved land.

Manwë, the king of the Valar, waved his hand from his throne in the middle of the semicircle of thrones, and a hologram of floating specks of lights were visible in the empty center of the hall, with thousands of voices suddenly heard in the air. The rest of the Valar knew who they were — souls from another world.

Help!

I don't want to live anymore.

Am I dying?

Why me?

The Valar listened to the voices, hoping to find one that was deserving of the gift they were about to grant. Yet, all the humans seemed to be complaining about their lives, when in fact, they had fulfilling ones.

"If we don't do anything, Middle Earth is going to collapse under Sauron's powers," Manwë grimily said. "I do believe that Middle Earth again needs our assistance."

"The One Ring of Sauron will soon reveal itself again," Varda, the Queen of the Valar added. "Should Sauron find this ring before it is destroyed, everything we have worked for will be in vain."

"We have to decide quickly on what we should do, for I have seen how the story of Middle Earth will unfold if nothing is to be done." Vairë, the Weaver said softly. "The webs in the Halls of Mandos tell me that the Isildur's heir will never have an awakening to become the King of the race of Men, and will soon face his demise."

At this Manwë only felt despair. "But who will we send? A faë sent to Middle Earth in such a dark time should not be chosen at random."

At Manwë's questions, all the Valar looked at Varda for her guidance, who at the moment was concerned the most out of them. As the Vala of the Stars, Varda considered all the faës to be her children, and looked after them more than anyone. Normally, a faë would be chosen out of those who died before their time, and those that had souls that were pure enough to be deserving of a second chance in another world. They would be wiped clean of their memory in the world they came from, and they would awake in Middle Earth, like a new born child, when a star fell in the night. Varda kept a close watch for the past faës that were sent to Middle Earth, but they did not have to face evil as great as now. With Sauron growing in strength and Middle Earth in grave danger, Varda could not help but feel anxious about who they could possibly choose in order to save their beloved land.

Was it too much to ask for? A simple, meaningful life? One worth fighting for…?

Varda looked up when she heard a new voice. Faint and lacking strength, but full of hope. Hope that was honest, pure, and persevering. Her face lit up as she wondered if she was the one.

"She is not dead yet," Manwë warned his wife when he saw her face change. "You know the rules."

"I see potential in her," Varda argued, focusing on the girl. Soon, all the other voices faded as she concentrated, and all the Valar could see the girl who just pleaded. She was lying on the floor, hurt and vulnerable, but Varda could see that her soul was not tainted, with her potential locked away before it could bloom. "She thinks she lost the will to survive, but inside, she wants to live. She wants to fight. We need that kind of someone for this task. Someone who is willing to fight for others."

"How are you sure that she will be willing to save a world that she doesn't know?" Manwë asked, still skeptical.

"I have seen it," a new voice spoke from the side. Manwë turned his head around to see Irmo, the Vala of dreams, desires, and visions. "She is the one, I'm sure of it."

"What have you seen in the future?" Varda asked. "How will she help those in need of her assistance?"

"I cannot see everything," Irmo began. "But the girl is going to change the fate of the heir of Isildur. She is going to alter his destiny."

"But what of her memories? Others before her have been wiped clean of their previous life, yet this girl is not yet dead," one of the other Valar argued.

"It is true that her time in her own world is not over," Vairë carefully began. "But she pleaded for a second chance and we need her help as well."

"What are you suggesting?" Manwë asked her.

"I am offering an option, but it is something that has never happened before," Vairë said. "Normally, after their tasks were completed, the faës have continued to live in Middle Earth, as their time in the other world was over. But for this girl, I am suggesting that we offer her a deal. Should she succeed in her task, she would go back to her world, granted a second chance, to finish out her life."

"Are you saying that we should offer her a deal?" Another Vala asked and Vairë nodded her head.

Manwë, also nodding slowly at Vairë's idea, made up his mind. "So be it then. She will be granted our blessings to go to Middle Earth." With that, all the Valar smiled in relief, and Manwë waved his hand to make the hologram in the middle to disappear. "And if she is finished with assisting Middle Earth, she will be given a choice to go back to her world."

Hello! I'm finally back!

For those of you that read the previous version, thank you for staying with me for this version as well.

I hope this one is better, and I hope to provide more details than the last one.

I changed some elements so that I can fit into the storyline that I originally planned, and I'll try my best to make it good.

Thanks for reading - both old and new readers - and feedback is always welcome!