Prologue

Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Tolkien's. Anything you don't recognize as his, is probably mine, however.

Aria picked up her slippers and stretched her arms over her head, feeling her muscles stretch and extend as she reached for the ceiling of the studio. Cracking her neck to one side, she adjusted her top. She had been practicing for her last recital for the last six hours, and could barely feel the tips of her toes at this point. This recital was pivotal, however. There would be agents visiting from at least five well-known dance schools, and this was Aria's moment to shine. She had been practicing and waiting patiently for this day for her entire life, and ever since her father's death, dance was the only thing she had left.

Aria's father had been a normal family man. Family man minus the family. Aria was the only person he had left in the world, and he was the only person left for Aria. Her mother and father had gotten a divorce sometime in her early childhood, and she had moved away halfway across the world to start a new family. They heard from her on Christmas and Easter, and on the occasional important birthday. Sometimes she sent Aria unwrapped gifts without a card.

But Aria was happy. Her father may not be a talkative man, but he was reliable and steady, and that was enough for her. He worked in the local metalworking factory, and held a good unionized position there. They made enough money together to get by and to pay for Aria's dance lessons. Contrary to popular belief, Aria was not a ballet dancer. She was a contemporary jazz dancer hell bent on attending a big-name dancing school in a big city. She didn't particularly care which one, as long as it got her out of Longwall.

Longwall was the small, quiet town she had moved to with her father after her mother left. Its only attractions were the metalworking factory, and a few old buildings and a church, remnants from when the town was first settled by the French a few centuries earlier.

Make no mistake, the buildings were glorious. The houses were small and quaint, and if one focused hard enough, they could easily picture the daily bustle of a large family living inside. There was another building, a farmhouse, that was still in use today by a friend of Aria's family. The Sackvilles had been living in Longwall for generations, and some say that the farmhouse has belonged to their family ever since it was built. Aria seriously doubted this, but she was thankful that it was theirs, as it allowed her some entertainment in the dull town. She was one among many children who had learnt to horseback ride there, a favourite past time of the townspeople. With no cinemas, libraries, malls or dancehalls, there were few sources of true entertainment in Longwall.

The last of the old buildings, and perhaps the most important, was the old church. It was a beautiful sight, to be sure. Aria was not a religious person in the slightest, yet, like everyone else, still found herself drawn to the church. For Aria, it was not the spirituality of the church that drew her in, but the quiet, peaceful atmosphere inside. It was nearly always empty, except for the clergy who ran its weekly services. Underneath the sturdy structure was a webwork of passageways and catacombs that seemed to run for miles. When mapped out however, one would notice that they really only ran to the end of the street. As a child, Aria and many other loved to explore their dark depths, looking for adventure or ghosts. Nowadays, Aria was one of the few people her age who still visited the old church.

Today, after a grueling session in the dance studio, she finally felt prepared to face her audience in a few days. Before heading home, she thought she might go to the church to read a while. It was dark outside, not overly so, but it was dark. It was mid September, and though it was not too cold, the lack of sun gave the air a noticeable chill. She was briskly to the church, which like most things in the town, was no more than a half hour's walking distance away. Along the way, she stopped to greet a few other walkers, smiling warmly through the folds of her loose coat.

When she finally reached the church, the door was closed, but unlocked as usual. Stepping inside, she felt the surge of warmth, and the scent of old wood and burning candles. There were always candles burning in the church, especially in front of the icon of the Mother Mary. She stepped right past the icon, not even looking at it, and over to the pew closest to the front. She lay her coat on it, and put her bag down beside the confessional to her left. Taking out her book, she sat on her coat, and curled her feet underneath her,

"Good evening, Aria." an old, but gentle voice said quietly. Everyone was quiet in the church, even if there was no need to be. Aria looked up suddenly to see the face of Father Peter in front of her. She smiled,

"Good evening, Father. I'm sorry to intrude so late, I just wanted some peace and quiet before going home."

He smiled at her, and patted her on the hand that lay on the arm rest of the pew, "That's quite alright, my dear. You know the rules, as long as you are quiet and promise to come to mass on Sunday, there's really no problem."

Aria laughed. This was a joke between her and Father Peter. He had told her, years ago when she first started to come to the church, that she could stay as long as she wanted, as long as she came to mass. Aria, however, was not religious, and never actually showed up. The Father understood this, and let her stay at the church anyways. Now, it had become a joke between them, as they both knew that she would never attend the service,

"Of course, you know how much I enjoy your sermons, Father."

The old man laughed joyfully, then walked over behind the altar, and into the private chambers behind it. Aria returned her attention to her novel, and was quickly re-absorbed by its mesmerizing tales. She was reading the Silmarillion, by Tolkien. One of her favourite books. A few moments later, she heard a loud pounding on the old church's oak doors. Looking around curiously, she looked for any sign of the Father coming out to open the doors. Seeing no one, she put her book down, and walked towards the doors. The visitor's pounding travelled the walls of the church and echoed loudly into Aria's ears. When she reached the door, she opened it to find a rather frail looking woman on the other side.

Curiously, she wondered how such and old woman could create the reverberating pounding that shook Aria's attention,

"Can I help you?" Aria asked quietly. The woman was wearing a hooded coat, and pulled the hood out of her eyes,

"Can I come in? I've been walking for ages, carrying all these bags. I would very much like to put them down."

Aria looked at the woman curiously, and decided that she was hardly a threat to her, or the church. Opening the door wider, she let the woman in, and carried in two of her heavy bags. The bags were filled with what seemed like total nonsense. There were cans and tins, and small wooden boxes, and utensils and bits of iron work, and cloth, and anything else imaginable. She set the bags down at the opposite end of the church from where she had been sitting before. The woman sat down with a resounding thud, and put the feet up on the knee-rest underneath the pew,

"Oh, it feels good to sit down at last. I'm getting far too old for travel by foot."

Aria was shocked. She couldn't recall any moment in her life when she'd heard of someoen travelling long distances by foot for no reason. Usually someone had cars, or took a bus or train, and at the very least, hitchhiked their way around,

"Would you like for me to get you something to drink?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you." Aria got up, and grabbed her bag before heading to the small room beside the washrooms. There were cups in here, and a sink. There was a small stove, and a kettle set upon it. It was a small kitchen, without a fridge or counters. In a cupboard by the stove, there were boxes of tea and tins of coffee, as well as a small, unopened box of cookies. She took the box of cookies and boiled some water. With the box in hand, she went out into the main hall of the church. The woman was still sitting on the pew, with her eyes closed peacefully,

"Here, this is all I could find, if you're hungry. I've put some water on to boil, and I can make you a cup of tea," Aria said, handing the woman the box. She opened it, and pulled out four cookies. She kept three for herself, and handed Aria the last one. Aria bit into the cookie, and chewed it slowly, before asking the woman a question,

"So...what do you do?"

The woman smiled, and Aria could see the cookie crumbs between her teeth. She swallowed before answering, "I am a traveller. I grew up in a city not far from here. I got tired of the hustle and bustle of city life, so I sold my house, my car, end everything else I owned but that clothes on my back, and I set out to do something. I didn't know what it was, but I wanted to do it. That was forty years ago, and now I'm trying to get back to where I came from. I'm close to dying, and I want to die where I was born."

Aria nodded in comprehension, but remained silent. She didn't know what to say to the woman. The beautiful sound of the kettle's whistle saved her from the awkward moment she was in, and she told the woman she would be right back with her tea. In the kitchen, she prepared the tea without milk or sugar, as she couldn't find any. Pulling her teabag up and down to make it steep faster, she closed the door with a well-placed foot behind her. Trying not to spill the tea on the church floor, she focused on the cups as she walked. When she finally looked up, the woman was gone. Confused, she sat down on the pew and put the cups down beside her.

The woman appeared the have left with her bags. There was nothing left, and Aria didn't hear anything from the open door of the kitchen. She thought it very strange that she would not hear the closing of the great oak doors, or the footsteps of the old woman's boots echoing in the aisles. The looked around the church for any sign of the woman's leaving, and found nothing. With the two cups of tea in hand, she went back over to her things on the other side of the hall. Putting them down beside her again, she made to take up her book. Suddenly, she stopped, with her hand still raised over the novel. On top of the flat surface of the novel's cover, there was a small wooden box, adorned with the cravings of leaves and vines. A little brass clasp kept the box closed, and she pried it open quickly, and curiously.

Inside the box was a small pendant. The box was empty save for the tiny piece of jewelry. It was a tree. A small, little silver tree. The tree had no leaves, and its branches looked smooth and curved upward, with many smaller, more crooked branches sprouting off of them. The roots of the tree were short, and on the top of the each branch was a star. There were seven branches in total. It was a beautiful little pendant, she thought. It looked to be made of silver, though she was no jeweler and did not know for sure. She placed the pendant back in the box, and ran outside to look for the woman. If this was hers, surely she'd want it back. The wind whipped her hair into her face as she walked out onto the walkway in front of the church. She looked in every direction for any sign of the old woman, but could find none.

Not knowing what to do next, she went back inside. She placed the little box into a pocket on her bag, and went back to her book. She could not concentrate. Her mind kept reeling back to the old woman, and the pendant. Since she was not able to focus, she thought it best that she just leave the church. Packing up her things, she put on her coat, and exited the church throuhg the side entrance.

Back at the church, two cups of steaming tea sat alone on the pew.

A/N: Alright! So that's the prologue. I'm posting the prologue and the first chapter at the same time, as I think prologues are usually pretty boring on their own. I've tried my hand at writing many Lord of the Rings fanfictions in the past, under many different pen names, and I think I've finally settled on one that I'll really enjoy. If any of you are reading this after reading The Valar's Jest, I'm really sorry that that'd been on hiatus for such a long time. I went on vacation to Greece, and after that I started school, without a lot of time to spare for it. Then I got this spark of inspiration for this story, and I rekindled my love for Boromir, so I have a sneaking suspicion that this story will take precedence over The Valar's Jest. Sorry!

As always, R&R, please! I'm desperate to hear what you all think!