I should note I am not J.R.R Tolkien, and many of the characters appearing in this work are his. All the oc's are mine however. I intend this work to come across the utmost respect to Mr. Tolkien and his world

Wanderer.

Alone. She was alone. The world seemed content to spin all the feelings of desolation and fear and despair raging inside and paint them into the forest around her. The sky roiled and rain and wind lashed her face. She huddled freezing in the slight shelter provided by the ragged bush. The trees around her bent and danced in the wind, screaming out in some primal language, shadowy shapes illuminated by the flashes of lightning. She couldn't tell if she was crying anymore. Her face was wet but it could be the rain. The world was crying, that was enough; she didn't need to add her own pitiful wails to it. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to forget.

Forget Bree, forget her home, forget her sister, her father, forget Arden, forget the shadowy memory of her mother, and forget everything. But memory was in her blood, and she wasn't brave enough to bleed out. Her mother's soft voice, her breath like the breeze after a spring rain. Her lips smelling like cinnamon. That was all. And her father had held her, and laughed with her, and then he had gone cold, cold after her mother's presence had gone cold, and then it was just Lana and her, Lana who had sung to her and told her stories, fed her and kissed her hair, Lana who had helped her learn how things worked. Lana who had been like a mother to her. And then Lana had left, gone. They told her that Lana and eloped with a vagabond. Left and severed her ties. She had never believed them. Lana had loved her, Lana had told her stories about how they would leave one day, go on adventures, find their place and be happy. Lana would not leave her. Lana had loved her hadn't she? And then Arden, whose life was so different from hers. Who lived in a large house instead of a cottage, who glowed with an air of being well fed and well-loved. Arden Who had smiled at her when she went to get water. She had asked Lana why. And Lana had shaken her head.

"Ailith, you're not a scrappy child playing in the streets and starting fights anymore, you haven't noticed little sister, but you've grown. You're beautiful. You're near a woman. Stay away from that one, stay away from those type, they're nothing but trouble." Lana had smiled stroked and her head. The next day Ailith had slipped into the tailor. She had run wild on the streets in her younger days, she still did oftentimes; she was an adept burglar of sorts. She found the scratched mirror and looked at herself. She was surprised at what she saw. When had her body changed? When had her girl's form turned into that of a woman? She felt a stab of shame seeing how her breasts spilled from the top of her dress. How had she not seen, noticed? Why had no one told her? Her wild copper hair fell around her face, coiling down her back. Her eyes no longer filled her entire face like an owl; they fit her face now, edged in long thick lashes, they were a sort of golden brown, flecked with green. She looked like her mother, in some ways, and she was beautiful. But she had felt shame at this. Felt like a slut, a whore. But Arden had smiled at her, and spoken to her, and he had kissed her and held her, he had cared for her, he had taught her things, she had been happy. But then he had stopped speaking to her, he had avoided her. And then she had missed her blood, and her body changed so slightly that no one but her had noticed, and Lana was gone. And then he had been in the square, and talking to a girl, his arm wrapped around her waist, and Ailith had grabbed his collar and she had told him and he had shook his head and said he was sorry, and then he had turned away. And all those years of fighting wild in the streets had rushed back, and his nose had shattered beneath her fist, and she had screamed and screamed in the square. Screamed about the child growing inside her, screamed about her loss, her suffering. And the people had stared at her like she was diseased. And they had dragged her back to her father, his breath smelling of liquor from the prancing pony. And he had swung his hand against her cheek, flung her away when she told him her secret, and she had fallen. And he had run her out of the house. And the people who hadn't driven her off like a cur had still looked at her like some wretched creature. She was unwanted. She was unloved. So she left. She had tried, briefly, to kill herself, but no bravery had found her. So she had left. How long ago now? She had traveled so far. She didn't know where she was anymore. She had stopped in small settlements along the way, never staying in one place long. She hadn't known she had the will and strength to make it. None had followed her. She had secretly hoped they would. And now she was alone in the woods. But never alone. Whatever this thing in her belly was, it never left her alone. She didn't know how she had lived so long. She was so hungry. She was so tired. She was almost ready to give up, she wanted to, but she couldn't let go, no matter how she wished it. She wasn't brave enough. Something stopped her from giving up. Some spirit that wouldn't let her find peace.

She was shaken from her reverie by the sound of heavy footfalls crashing towards her. She froze. Some primal instinct filled her body. Harsh voices speaking a strange language came from the forest. The hair on her arms rose. These voices were evil. She thought to move from her shelter, but she had no time. Six dark figures burst from the trees. In the dark of the forest all she could see was their eyes. Blazing yellow eyes, they smelled like rancid flesh. She suppressed a scream. One was wearing a belt of severed heads. The creatures of her sister's horror stories. Orcs. She closed her eyes and prayed. Prayed they wouldn't find her. Their harsh voices tore through the storm. She shook. Please, please, by whatever gods there be, please let them leave. She closed her eyes. Her hand found a large thick stick and clenched around it. She would not go down meekly. When she opened her eyes the orcs were gone. She let her breath out. Then a rough hand grabbed her from behind, She screamed. Some instinct took over, She spun the stick around, felt it crack against a skull. The hand loosened its grasp. She spun in fear, brandishing the stick, the orcs faced her, their foul mouths bared in yellow smiles. She was shaking, but she met their eyes. The small one was fast. She was against a tree, his bloody knife pressed against her throat. The beast smiled as he dug the blade into her soft skin. She closed her eyes and prepared to meet her maker.

A gush of blood sprayed onto her face. But it wasn't her own. She was still breathing. She felt the creature's dagger slip away. She opened her eyes. A tall figure spun easily through the orcs. They fell to the ground. It was over in a moment. The orcs lay still on the forest floor. Her entire body was frozen like ice. She couldn't move, she couldn't run. She shrunk against the tree. Her savior turned towards her. His features were illuminated in a flash of lightning. She saw a brief flash of fierce gray eyes, and ragged dark hair. He was tall, taller than any man she'd known in Bree. Soaked in water and stained with blood. He sheathed his sword and turned towards her. Fear seized her. She let out an involuntary gasp. The man extended his hand palm out.

"Shh, I'm not going to hurt you, I'm here to help." His eyes looked steadily into her own. His voice was surprisingly gentle.

She responded by bursting into tears. She couldn't stop them from coming. She was shaking uncontrollably. She tried to speak but no words would come. She just sobbed more and more hysterically. Finally, she managed to get one word out. "Please."

"Shhh Shh..It's all right. They're gone. You're safe maid." He reached out hesitantly and touched her shoulder.

Somehow a thought forced its way through her head and out her mouth. "The..the sixth one. I hit it, but it's alive." She gestured weakly to the orc that had fallen into the bush. The man tensed and drew his sword, focusing in on the orc that lay stirring on the ground.

"Look away." He growled, his softer voice gone. But she didn't. She watched him stab the orc through the heart, a spray of its blood bursting over his boots. He turned back to face her.

"They're all gone now. Those were the last."

She looked at him in fear and awe. "You killed them all."

"Not on my own. One fell under your hand. Not many would act so swiftly and then look the monsters in the eyes. You are a brave maid." A slight smile played briefly across his lips. She looked up at him and tried to meet his eyes. She still couldn't get a good look at his face, the darkness in the forest acted as a cloak. She shivered. She was beginning to come to terms with what had just happened. Her entire body was burning. The man looked at her, and she saw concern in his eyes.

"Here, take this." He took his cloak off and handed it to her. It was soaked on the outside, but whatever kind of fabric it was woven from had kept most of the wet out. She wrapped herself in its folds. It smelled like mud and sweat and blood.

"Won't you be cold?"

"You're chilled to the bones. This is no weather for you to be out in. I'll be fine. I've managed with less." He pulled a bedroll off his back and set it on the ground. "Here, sit on this. You need to warm up." He leaned down and wiped the blood from her face with his sleeve.

She complied, her shaking legs collapsing beneath her. She couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. The man looked at her in concern.

"Here" He handed her a small roll of bread and some strips of dried meat. She took them and gulped them down. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. The man watched her silently. She finished in a matter of moments. He looked at her.

"Drink this, it will warm you up." The man pressed a small flask of golden liquid into her hand. "Just a sip, that's all you'll need"

She looked at it a moment, but did as he said. The liquid slid through her lips. Suddenly her entire body filled with golden light. The drink tasted like sunlight and starlight and moon. Like a breeze carrying the soft scent of flowers through a spring forest. A tear rolled down her cheek. Her entire body warmed. She felt like she was sitting on a warm rock by a stream in the summer. A crash of thunder shook her from her reverie. She was back in the rain soaked forest. The man smiled gently at her and removed the flask from her hand. Who was he? Only a sorcerer could have so powerful a draught.

"Miruvor is a surprise no?" He lowered himself to the forest floor in front of her. "What's your name?"

"Aili" She choked on her words. "My name is Ailith."

"A beautiful name." He smiled at her kindly. Or tried to. It looked more like a snarl in the dark forest. Maybe she was imagining things.

"What is your name My Lord?"

He paused for a moment. "Estel, my name is Estel."

Estel seemed such a strange name for this fierce man. Estel was soft, strange, like a light in a twighlit forest. "Thank you for saving me Lord Estel."

He nodded. "No thanks are needed. Tell me Ailith, where do you hail from, and what are you doing in these woods?"

She tried to think of a lie. She didn't want this man to learn about her shame. But her mind was to blurred to form any story but the truth. "Bree. I'm from Bree."

He raised his eyebrow.

"Bree is a far way from here. We are near the foothills of the Misty Mountains. What brings you so far from home?"

She tried to say something, but found her sobbing doubling again. Estel patted her shoulder awkwardly. "It's alright. Sleep, you need rest. I promise you'll be safe." The man, Estel, seemed unsure of how to deal with a crying girl. He looked almost panicked. She felt some of her fear lift.

She did not want to sleep. This strange man could do anything to her, and no one would know or care. But she had no choice. And something told her she could trust him. She closed her eyes.

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Aragorn stared down at the girl. Even in sleep her face was clenched in worry. Of all the things he had been prepared to encounter in the wild, a frightened girl was the last thing he could have imagined.. How old was she? No more then sixteen summers surely. Her fists were clenched. He had been tracking the last survivors of an orc raid. Only six had been left. Then he had heard her scream. He had feared he wouldn't reach in time, but come in time to see the girl looking into the eyes of her death, the stick still clenched in her hand. A brave girl, young and frightened and brave. She reminded him of the strong women of the Dunedain. His kin, She reminded him of his mother. His mother who had never stopped fighting. A pang of sadness filled him at the thought of her. The enemies set many traps for him. He had feared his girl was one. But no matter the danger, he would not leave a girl to die, he would not see her suffer through his inaction. The world had hardened him, but no that much. He hoped he would never be that hard. Ailith. What had driven her into the wild? What were her secrets? He smiled slightly despite himself when he saw her face unclench and take on the peaceful look of sleep. He was wise in the ways of many things, but when it came to comforting sobbing maidens he was at somewhat of a loss. He ran a hand through his hair. The storm had calmed down, the rain had calmed to a drizzle. "Nothings ever simple" He muttered. A girl was the last thing he needed in his charge. She muttered in her sleep. Aragorn smiled.