CHAPTER ONE

Burnished gold, that of a fading sun settled upon the valley. Nestled in the arm of a mountain, Imladris, the Last Homely House East of the Sea, was a dream to behold. The sound of falling water was ever present and a light mist floated from the deep falls, sparkling like dew in the air. Auburn, gold, and emerald leaves rose and fluttered in a flurry as they were windswept off the ground, trailing around the woman as she made her way through the white stone courtyards with sure feet. Though autumn had a clear hold upon the land, the air was warm and filled with the scent of flowers and trees.

And yet, even surrounded within the beauty of the valley, a taint lingered. Shadows were darker and deeper, a caution seemed to be on the wind; a strange pause, as if the world was holding its breath. A presence laced the air, a murmur, low and harsh. Even now she could feel the draw of the One Ring. A part of her clawing, fighting, and screaming for what could be hers.

The woman stopped suddenly, the fallen leaves sweeping past her, still caught in her wind. Small ears twitched as her sharp hearing picked up the rising volume of arguing voices and with a quickened step, she followed in that direction.

"You cannot wield it! None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone, it has no other master."

Coming upon what was the edge of the Council, she waited, hidden behind a pillar and encased in shadow.

"Merry, who's that?" She had seen the two Hobbits when she reached the top of the stairs, half hidden amongst the railing and the bushes surrounding the courtyard, but she didn't give them her attention. For it was taken by the small, seemingly innocent, golden piece of jewelry isolated on a platform.

The other Hobbit's reply was lost as a great blast sounded through the valley. The idiot dwarf had actually tried to destroy the Ring with his own axe and was blown back as it shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Calmly, as if the previous incident had not happened, the Lord of the valley turned his attention to the dwarf, who was now being helped from the ground by his envoy.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli, son of Gloin by any craft that we here possess." His gaze, stern and unyielding as it bore into those seated around him, was the opposite of his supposedly unaffected and slow drawling speech. "The Ring was made in the fires of Mount Doom. Only there can it be unmade. It must be taken deep into Mordor and cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came."

I feel you.

The woman froze. Her blood, now an ugly mix of fire and ice in her veins, seemed to slow as her body tightened. An inky blackness spread through her mind, twisting, weaving, searching. It's low rasp echoing across her thoughts.

You cannot hide.

Pain was a raging inferno and biting slices amongst her mind as she fought the dark temptation back, not feeling the sting of her nails as they dug marks into her palms, nor the creaking of her bones from her clenched fists.

Dark One's Daughter.

"Never trust an elf!"

She winced, thrust from her mind, brought back to the present as the evil taint receded, only to see the tension thick and tempers high. Elves were standing and she noticed one, seemingly familiar, trying to hold the others back as the foolhardy dwarf offered them insult. Men had risen and were shouting nonsense, adding to the chaos around them.

She watched as the wizard too, fell into temptation and rose with frustration written into the wrinkles on his face. "Do you not understand that while we bicker among ourselves, Sauron's power grows?! None can escape it!"

"So this is the honored gathering of the Free Peoples?" Her husky timbre was quiet and rough but distinctly woman and enough to surprise the Council. All of them stilled, the silence almost painful compared to the cacophony of voices a moment earlier.

Out of the shadows she stepped, taking in the various emotions playing over the assembled faces. Anger was most assuredly still at the forefront, but mixed in were expressions of confusion, awe, recognition, and fear.

Mithrandir, having recovered from her spontaneous entrance, chuckled and leaned heavily on his staff, his shoulders deflating in what looked like relief.

"Ah, my Lady. I was beginning to think you would not make it."

She kicked off and made her way down the steps into the pavilion, holding her head high through the whispers. The woman was dressed as a man, clad in black breeches, dull and supple tucked into tall dark boots. A black leather jerkin was laced over top of a deep blue tunic, leather vambraces adorned her forearms and her hands were covered with black gloves. A tattered and muddy navy cloak fell down her slim back, dancing at her heels. Two swords were strapped on her back, crossed, the shiny black pommels peeking over each shoulder. Her copper colored hair was bound tight in two braids starting high on her head, leading into one solid plait to her waist. Ears smaller than that of a human but pointed like an elf peeked out in between the golden red strands. But it was her eyes that unnerved most. For they were red as well, the crimson of newly spilt blood.

"Who is this woman, and why is she present at this Council?"

She paused mid-stride and tilted her head to the one who had spoken. She didn't have to like it but she could not fault him the question. Curious stares bored into her from around the circle and she knew, though the others had not voiced it, they were wondering as well.

He was stern in bearing and features with shoulder length dark blonde hair and a matching trimmed beard. The man was tan, lines were etched near his eyes and mouth and upon his forehead, telling of the stressors this man has carried, yet he had a noble face. The tilt of his defined chin and the set of his jaw told her enough of his stubbornness. As she moved her eyes downward, she noticed the embroidered white tree on the front of his tunic and snorted. A Gondorian. She watched as he stiffened, his callused and worn hands grasped the loose fabric of his trousers tightly, a vein showing near his temple as he registered her impolite noise.

Turning her head away from him, not deigning him a response, she found the eyes of Elrond, still seated in his chair. His mouth was pressed in a firm line, the edges white. His long fingers were latched to the curved edges of the arms of his chair, knuckles white with the force of his grip. She knew the toll the Ring was taking on him and yet he was able to keep his composure when others could not.

"Lady Nárhína." A true healer, his deep and even voice was a balm over her frayed nerves and she inclined her head to him before returning her attention to Gandalf.

"You know of what I speak. Even now it sews distrust and chaos amongst you." The old wizard seemed to sag in on himself as the weight of her words pressed upon him.

"Lord Elrond had the intention of bringing the Free Peoples together to find a solution to this and yet they argue like children and let prejudice blind them. No one will be able to carry the Ring to Mordor for someone else will not allow it." Aggrieved murmurs swept through the Council at her words. Truly, it was at best- organized chaos. A mismatch of delegates for the Peoples who remain and the only representation against the darkness that seeks to claim them all.

"Is this your ill-conceived attempt at claiming the position of Ring-bearer?"

The woman found herself near the middle of the small circle, standing firm in front of Elrond as the question rang out. She was caught off guard however, when a voice unexpectedly rose to her defense.

"Silence, Thôn. You do not know to whom you speak."

The words were not spoken harshly, nor were they said with malice. She could not identify the speaker but his voice was soft, almost achingly so, and firm, laden with command that was accustomed to being heeded without contention. She turned then, the leaves crunching, breaking as small bones would beneath her boots, and she focused on her accuser.

He was fair of face, as most of the Eldar. Though she kept her features calm, she was shocked to see his black hair shorn at the chin, something that was unseen and unheard of for an elf. His features were unfamiliar to her, as she must be to him or he would not have voiced such an outrageous thought.

"Fear not elfling, for unless you wish upon the world a swifter decent into darkness, the answer is no." The elf's face twisted, silently snarling at being called a child.

"Nárhína-"

"I will take it." Quiet, a strange mix of courage and trepidation cut off Gandalf's protest. The woman shifted again, as did the entire council, and centered herself on the one that had now bound himself to an impossible task with four small words. A Hobbit, she realized, as he repeated his statement but louder. Though he was different than the two she saw before. So many in the Elven city all at once. It cannot be mere coincidence. Disarrayed black curls fell around his ears and on his forehead. His cheeks were flushed a warm pink on his otherwise pale face, no doubt due to the attention he was now receiving. Striking, bright blue eyes met hers and held, unwavering.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor." He paused here and broke eye contact to look around the circle, a forlorn look gracing his features. "Though I do not know the way."

A hand landed on her shoulder, browned and wrinkled but heavy with significance. She looked left at the wizard, his eyes twinkling beneath heavy brows as he smiled at her.

Troublesome.

"We will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it's yours to bear." Resisting the urge to grumble at him for volunteering her - as she just arrived - she felt his hand lift and she followed him to stand with the Hobbit, shooting him a look promising a later conversation.

A man rose, dressed in the clothing of the elves, his dark brown hair hung loose to his shoulders. He too had a beard, trimmed short and sharp grey eyes that softened as he approached the hobbit. She knew this to be Estel, Elrond's ward and the heir to the White City.

"If by my life or death, I can protect you, I will." He knelt before the halfling, placing his hand upon his shoulder, "you have my sword."

"And you have my bow." The man stood and moved next to her to make way for an elf. He was the one she recognized earlier. The same pale blonde hair as his father was braided per the custom for the hunters of the Woodland Realm and he was clothed in browns and green. Light blue eyes paired with his sharp features created a beauty known only to elves. Interesting. Does your father know you are here to undertake this hopeless venture, Young Prince?

"And my axe!" Gimli, son of Gloin, as she heard Elrond say earlier, joined their group and she watched with disdain at the looks exchanged between dwarf and elf.

Approaching slowly after the dwarf was the man who had spoken upon her entrance, the man from Gondor. "You carry the fates of us all little one. If this is indeed the will of the council, then Gondor will see it done." Ah, but what exactly will you see done? Her sharp gaze was riveted to the Steward's son as he made is his place amongst the gathered group.

"Heh!" In a struggle of speed, another Hobbit emerged from the bushes and rushed to the front of their group to stand next to the Ring-bearer. "Mr. Frodo is not goin' anywhere without me!"

"No indeed," Elrond's voice rang through the courtyard, laced with amusement. "It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not."

"Wait! We are coming too!"

Everyone except she and Gandalf looked up in shock to see two more halflings run down the steps to the center of the group.

"You'd have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us!"

"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this sort of mission, quest… thing." Amusement warred with exasperation on the elf-lord's face as he took in the final volunteers.

"Well that rules you out Pip." She shook her head and could hear Gandalf mumble something under his breath about a fool and a Took.

"Ten companions… So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!" The finality and severity of his words blanketed the pavilion, simultaneously releasing and creating a tension that hung morbidly overhead.

"Great!" And then it broke under the joyful voice of the Hobbit called Pip and his naive question, "where are we going?"