The Long and Winding Road

A/N: The idea for this story came while listening to an old Beatles song, of which I have a penchant. Please read and review! I really appreciate your feedback.

Disclaimer: I only seek to borrow from Tolkien's genius, and do not seek to profit from this writing in any way.

Summery: A familiar Elf undertakes a journey to the the truth about a certain book left behind by another traveler, only to find the one thing he had never thought possible.

Thunder crashed and lightning streaked the sky as the tall figure struggled against the wind of the storm. He had been advised not to undertake this journey at this time of year, when the weather could turn unpredictable without warning, but he had never been inclined to listen to anyone's advise but his own. He also was well aware of the importance of this journey, and hesitated to put it off any longer than necessary.

The wind tugged harshly at the hood of his woolen cloak, whipping the hem about his legs as he fought, step by step, to continue down the winding, and at times, convoluted and dangerous path as it circled its way down the mountainside. He had never been this far north before, and the terrain was unfamiliar. However, even in the blackness of the moonless night his eyes could pick out obstacles that lay in his path, and he used the brief flares of star fire to scan the area around him for anything on the barren mountainside that might afford him shelter from the storm's wrath.

During a fleeting flash of lightning, he saw a fork in the path ahead of him. The left side of the fork continued to lead sharply down the mountain, trailing off into blackness, while the right side angled away toward a copse of trees in the far distance. Feeling that the trees might offer him some scant protection, he chose the right fork, leaning into the buffeting wind, as the skies opened and torrents of rain sluiced down over him.

The trees did indeed offer some protection from the whistling wind and rain, although as he followed the path deeper into the copse brambles caught and tugged on his cloak and leggings, slowing his progress. The stand of evergreens thickened, the blackness between the thunderbolts becoming suffocating. Fog began rolling in across the forest floor, obscuring the path and making his footing treacherous.

A flicker of light, far off into the trees on his right, caught his attention. Freezing in his tracks, he quickly fit an arrow into his bow, allowing his senses to search for any hint of danger. His eyes tried to pick out any movement, his ears any sound other than the crashing of the storm. Seeing and hearing nothing out of place, but smelling the faint odor of smoke that might indicate a campfire, he cautiously made his way through the trees toward the thin light.

To his amazement, as he neared the source of the light, he picked out the shape of a small cabin nestled in the trees ahead. He hadn't known that this area was settled…he wondered briefly who would choose to live in such a desolate place. Taking a moment to scan the woods around him, he determined that this cabin before him was the only one - whoever lived here, lived alone.

Silently approaching the cabin, glad for once for the sounds of the storm and the darkness it provided, he came to stand at one side of one of the small windows near the door of the cabin. To his amazement, the window was covered by some type of invisible barrier that prevented the rain from getting inside. Touching his finger to the opening, the barrier felt solid, smooth and cool. He'd never seen anything like it. Looking into the window, his eyes took in the spacious single room within.

A large fieldstone fireplace graced one entire wall where a fire crackled merrily, the source of the smoke he had smelled. Several pieces of what he assumed to be furniture, although they were unfamiliar to his eyes, were placed before the fireplace, and off to the opposite side of the room was what he could tell was a sleeping place - although he had never seen so big a pallet before. It looked warm and soft, and reminded him of how wet, cold, and tired he was. He counted two oil lamps glowing on either side of the room, that, together with the fire, lent adequate light to the living space.

There were other strange items in the room whose uses he could not begin to fathom, but the one thing that caught and held his eye was the woman.

She was curled in a chair near the fireplace, a book open on her lap. He watched as she stood and stretched, and walked toward her sleeping place. Dressed in the scantiest of garments, he wondered why she had bothered to put anything on at all. The garment she wore was long enough only to cover the very tops of her thighs, held up over her breasts by two very narrow strings. Naked females - and males - were a common enough sight for him, but somehow the flimsy, nearly transparent garment made her seem more naked than if she had been wearing nothing. He was intrigued, and, despite the cold, rain, and fatigue, felt himself becoming aroused.

His eyes traveled the length of her body, from her head with its mane of rich, auburn hair, heart-shaped face and high cheekbones down to her full breasts, narrow waist, and long, smooth, shapely legs that framed the dark patch between her thighs. She turned for a moment, giving him a glimpse of a firm, round backside, before lying down on the pallet. Feeling his member rise uncomfortably in his tight leggings, he turned from the window to collect his thoughts.

There was no evidence of anyone else in the cabin that he could see. Was it possible that this slip of a woman lived here all alone? Perhaps her father or husband was out hunting, or had met with some misfortune. Regardless, he had been looking for shelter, and shelter is what he had found. The presence of the woman was merely a bonus.

Stepping to the door, he pounded his fist on the jamb, hard enough to rattle the door on its frame. He waited as the rain continued to soak his bones, but the woman did not open the door. Again he banged on the doorjamb, and again, but the door remained closed. Beginning to lose patience, he tried turning the knob, but found that the door had been bolted from with. A low growl formed in his throat, as he wondered what type of person would ignore a traveler on a night such as this. Putting his shoulder to the door, he gave a mighty push, snapping the lock, allowing the door to swing inward. He heard the woman scream, and spotted her pressed up to the wall near the sleeping pallet, fear in her wide blue eyes.

"Who are you? What do you want?" the woman asked in the Common tongue, although her accent and pronunciation were reminiscent of only one other person he had ever known.

"Peace," he said as he entered the cabin, holding out his hands palms up to show that he did not intend to harm her. "I seek only shelter from the storm. I am called Haldir."