Disclaimer: I own squat.

I will never forget the first moment I saw them, tramping through the woods that I had called home for many a long year. They consisted of the strangest mix of races I had ever seen together. Two men, an elf, a dwarf, a wizard by the looks of it, and four little hobbits, trudging along on some weary path to a destination that none of them saw.

I decided to follow them, if only to escape the sheer boredom that was all that my life had produced in a long time. I had no idea, at the time, how the consequences of this decision would play out.

My strong, elfish legs pushed me on; my far-seeing, elfish eyes kept them always near. I began to know them, and to name them according to my subtle observations.

There were the little ones, four hobbits. One looked as if he was being crushed under some enormous weight that he had no control over, another stayed by the first's side like an anxious dog, eager to please it's master, and the other two walked freely, almost completely unaffected by the weight that crushed the first. I called them Squash, Pup, and the Careless, respectively.

Of the two men, one had red hair and a powerful, confident gait. The other had dark hair and dark eyes, and his stride was subtler and slinkier, but stronger. I called them Prince and Fox, respectively.

The wizard was clad entirely in gray, and I was not so closed off to the world to not know of his reputation as Gandalf the Gray.

The elf was … an elf. He was beautiful, like we all are, and graceful. He probably had a nice singing voice and everything. I just called him Elf.

The dwarf was the rogue, the piece of the puzzle that I just could not fit with the rest, no matter how hard I struggled with him. Dwarves are generally selfish creatures from my few experiences with them, and I could not imagine what cause would move him to travel with his strange fellows. So I called him Rogue.

I knew that they were heading for either Moria or the mountain pass, and that my entertainment, or rather distraction, would soon run its course whichever way they took. Yet I watched them keenly still as they descended into the valley with the lake and the door. I watched keenly as Gandalf tried to control the door. I watched keenly as one of the Careless skipped rocks over the surface of the deadly black water. I watched keenly as the monster emerged to snatch the one I named Squash, and I made another life-altering decision.

My legs bunched up beneath me and then uncoiled like a spring, releasing me from gravity's hold for a few seconds and propelling me down towards the lake. To this day, I'm not sure what unseen force made me do it. It may have been the hand of Fate, if you believe in that sort of thing. It may have been my intuition, telling me that this tiny person was too essential to die, or it may have just been my unwillingness to let a creature die and know that I could have saved it. Whatever the reason, I leaped straight at the monster, and dodged through its tentacles, using my uncanny elfish agility to push off of the flailing limbs and thrust myself closer to the hobbit.

I reached him, curling my body around his protectively, and we fell to the water. His arms wrapped around my neck, freeing my own arms, and I swam as hard as I could. We were hauled from the water by Fox, who threw us into the now-open cave. The hobbit's arms were still strangling my neck.

I pried him from me as the entrance collapsed behind us. Panic seized me. I was trapped with them, no other choice than to traverse through these miserable mines with these bizarre people. Mistrust and cynicism about their actions replaced the brief panic.

A blue light that would have barely impacted any eye in regular daylight seared my vision.

"By Gods, it's a woman," a voice exclaimed.

"An elf woman," another voice, a voice with silky smooth harmonics, a voice that I instinctively hated, added.

It was an unfair, illogical hate, but a hate nonetheless. The very elfish ring in his voice surfaced painful memories. I could hear my father speaking in a voice as calm as a lazy summer afternoon, delivering an earth-shattering sentence. I could hear the rest of them, murmuring in their perfect voices, whispering about me as I walked through those damned gates for the last time.

My reverie was interrupted by strangled sobs. The dwarf was coiled on the floor, his head in his hands. The stench of old, dead bodies finally broke through the barrier of my nose and met my brain. I gagged.

"It makes no matter what she is. She is stuck with us," Gandalf sighed, and I wasn't sure if it was because he didn't want me along, or if he didn't want to subject me to whatever was going on. "Do you have a name, my dear?"

My voice was rough when I spoke, "Laira." Not my real name, but one that would suffice.

"I am Gandalf, and I am thankful that we were fortunate enough to have such an impassioned stalker. You saved this little one's life."

"Yes, thank you," Squash looked up at me, and his big, blue eyes almost drowned me. I nodded bashfully at him and Gandalf.

"Well, we must push on. No sense in waiting," Gandalf took the lead. The dwarf picked himself up off the ground sorrowfully; his head hung low on his stout neck.

I fell into step next to Fox, who introduced himself as Aragorn and named off the rest of them, until Prince approached us after not even twenty steps.

"Hello, m'lady." His stiff, so obviously royal attitude had me churning in my moccasins, but I smiled politely. "I am Boromir of Gondor and am pleased to make your acquaintance." He took my hand and kissed it.

It was a strange time for formalities, but then again I could find nothing with this situation that wasn't strange.