Willow stirred restlessly in a feather-soft bed. Her aching body enveloped by silken sheets. She sniffed, inhaling the fresh, crisp air. The aroma was heavy with the smell of pine and mulch. A cool breeze wafted in and caressed her face, and the sound of a stream flowing softly nearby filled her senses. 

She languidly stretched her stiff body, only to be jolted sharply by pain on her side. She touched her right abdomen to feel bandages circling her waist and throbbing that spread to the rest of her stomach. 

She opened her eyes to a vaulted stone ceiling which seemed stories high with the massive vines of a tree that wound its way up the walls of the enormous cave. Ahead of her, the walls of the cave held an arch with intricately carved wooden symbols of a tree. The arch hung over a wide hall with a walkway hewn from the vines of the same tree that crawled along the walls. The path led to a stairway carved of the same wide vines that disappeared around a bend. Not much else was visible beyond the hallway save a few monstrous columns that reached skyward.

Willow struggled to sit and observe the room. The bed was excessively large. Spreading to the width of at least two queen-sized beds, with dark green sheets and a matching canopy behind her. 

There were delicately carved wooden furnishings all with a similar rustic appearance. The workmanship of the furnishings was an achievement in itself. Although they were beauteous there wasn't much in this massive stone room. There was no television, no phones, not even an electrical outlet anywhere in sight. She did spot a small table with two chairs, a closet, and a vanity. On her left was a door framed in the same finely crafted wood, that led deeper into the cave.

She stared curiously at the softly glowing golden lamps that were stationed on the walls throughout the room. If they were not powered by electricity and they obviously weren't candles, what could they be? 

She looked down at herself to see that she wasn't wearing the blue jeans, maroon sweater and black winter jacket she last remembered. She wore a white full-length chemise made of the softest cotton muslin. The material was sheer; she could clearly see her naked body underneath.

The thought of a stranger removing her clothing and treating her wounds made her very uncomfortable. She wondered why Legolas would allow someone the liberty of undressing her, even if it was to treat her wounds. She was at once alarmed. She had no idea where she was nor what danger she was in. 

She sensed others around her, she knew were not human. She felt even more disquieted, as she was unable to feel the comforting presence of Legolas' spirit. Someone approached. This entity was omnipotent and extremely powerful. Terror griped her. In her present state she would be unable to defend herself against such a foe.

She felt someone touch her mind and a thought that wasn't her own whispered to her, 'Do not be afraid Arien, I mean you no harm, dear one. It is I, your friend, Galadriel.'

A woman appeared in the hallway. She wore a flowing gown of purest white laced with traces of silver, outshining all the dull brown and green around her. She stood statuesque at over six tall. A river of golden hair ran down her back; it twinkled as she walked, as if starlight shown from it. Her pale skin glowed iridescently. Willow's mouth hung open in reverence. She was magnificent. To describe her as an angel would hardly do her justice in Willow's mind.

The woman smiled gently at Willow, as if reading her thoughts. "You and I, Arien have been friends since the first age. You have seen creatures far fairer than I."

"You know me?" Willow asked apprehensively, gathering the blankets to her chest.

"Yes, I do, dear friend." Galadriel moved closer to her, towering over her as she stood near the bed. She sat on the edge near Willow. Her pointed ears gave her away as an elf. '

That would explain the awe-inspiring beauty', Willow thought.

"I suppose most elves do appear beauteous to other creatures. You were never swayed by any Elf before save the young prince." Galadriel answered Willow's thought.

"Would you stop doing that? I'd rather have a conversation without you reading my mind. I'm not really ready for that yet." Willow complained, wincing as she adjusted herself bed.

"Arien," Galadriel exclaimed in surprise. "You have changed overmuch. You are much more outspoken than you were in your formative years, and you have taken human form, a curious choice considering your personality. I suppose that's why your wounds have not yet healed. You do not remember who you are." Galadriel watched her curiously. "Would you like to know who you are?"

Willow's gaze lit up, "Yes, of course, I want to know," Suddenly her face was crestfallen and serious, "But first I need to know a few things. Where the hell am I and where is Legolas?"

Galadriel smiled knowingly, "Your Prince is on the hunt with the Galadhrim and the army of Eryn Lasgalen or Mirkwood as it used to be called. He will return shortly, unharmed, I assure you. Since your arrival in the Woodland Realm, your presence has attracted some attention."

Willow raised a curious brow, "What kind of attention?"

Galadriel's musical laugh filled the room, "Some very curious and others unsavory in their intensions. The orcs have been attacking this land since you arrived two days prior. Morgoth is determined to have you. His ardor for you has not diminished it seems. Thuringwethil intended to kill you and take your place in his black heart, but I am glad you have fouled up her plans. They believe you have one of the Silmarils, this is why I am here and the reason the White Council has gathered. Is this true, Arien?"

Willow shook her head vehemently, "I don't know anything about the Light. I have no idea why they would think I would have it. Galadriel, I don't know who I was here, and I can't remember anything that would help you. What kind of woman do these people think I am? I'm nothing special."

Galadriel took Willow's hand in hers. "You are not just some woman named Arien Stormcrow, that is what you are called in the common tongue. You are a Maiar, a spirit descended from Arda to help the Valar. Arien, you are the Maiden of Fire. In the early days, you were called Urien or Urwendi. You served the God Vána the Ever-young for many eons tending to her golden flowers with bright dews of the tree of Laurelin before you were charged to carry the vessel of the sun. You were the only one who was not afraid of it. The only one who could bare it without being burned. You are a creature of flame, terrible in the fullness of your splendor. Even the Eldar were unable to look upon you, for so bright were your eyes. The demon, Morgoth had once attempted to lure you into his service but you refused. You are one of the most powerful Maiar, perhaps even more than Morgoth himself, which is why he sought your favor so desperately. How you shed your form and are now appearing as a human is beyond me. Your power should not be contained so easily by this fragile mortal shell. Yet, here you sit, unaware of the immensity of your strength. I sense there is something amiss about you, Arien but I have not yet discerned what that is."

Willow blanched. "I knew I was different when the weather changed with my emotions but I didn't know it would be all of this." The dismay and panic in her face caused Galadriel to pull her into a tender embrace.

"Fear not Urwendi. You are not alone. You have what remains of the Eldar here to help you as we are able, so that you might recovery your memories and return to who you were."

Willow pulled back, "Does Legolas know who I am?"

"I believe his father has already informed him of who you are. Why do you not dress, so that we may join your prince in a feast when he returns. I have done my best to heal your wounds, there is someone else who much desires to meet you."

Willow was garbed in a pale green dress with a deep scoop at the neck, allowing a modest exposure of decolletage. The sleeves were snug till the elbow and bell shaped that the forearm. A golden belt hung low about her hips and the train dragged long behind her. 

The elven seamstress who made the dress laughed long and hard when she had to hem the dress several times to make it appropriate for Willow's height. 'Apparently, being freakishly tall is the norm around here,' Willow thought annoyed at the joviality taken at her expense.

Galadriel walked her to the throne room where the White Council members were waiting. What she thought had been a cave was actually the inside of a mountain. A fortress within a mountain with a river running through at its base. Bridges were built from platform to platform above the softly flowing stream, some of which were made using the stone of the mountain. Others were formed using the what she thought were vines but were actually the roots of a giant tree.

Each platform was turned into a room and the bridges connected them to other rooms. Bedrooms were in cave-like structures towards the walls of the mountain. The throne room sat towards the middle of this open floor plan fortress, she could spot that it was several bridges away from where she stood. She could see a few others there already but could not make them out completely.

When they arrived, she found that there were four people waiting there, one cloaked in white robes, he had long white hair, with matching bushy eyebrows and a full snowy beard. He held a white staff in his hand as he paced about the platform. 

Another stood wearing fine garments of a stately gentlemen, he was tall and had pointed ears like most elves. He wore his silver hair long and pulled back and bore a striking silver beard. Another elf stood opposite him with long dark hair and a crown upon his brow, he elegantly wore maroon and gold robes that swept the floor past his feet. 

The last person sat on his throne high above the crowd, even sitting down he appeared extraordinarily tall, cloaked in long robes of black and silver. His wore his blonde hair straight down past his waist and a fanned crown of thorns sat on his head. His cold blue eyes locked on Willow the moment she and Galadriel made their entrance. Willow shifted uncomfortably under his hard gaze.

"Maiden of Fire, so good of you to join us," The elf with the silver beard said as he held Willow's hand and bowed graciously over it. 

"I am Círdan the Shipwright. I am one of the oldest of the Eldar on Middle Earth. Long have I kept myself out of the troubles of men and elves, but when I heard of your return, I had to see you for myself."

Willow shyly smiled, "It's nice to meet you too Círdan." The man with the white beard came next to greet her. He stood before her smiling kindly. He gave Willow the sort of feeling that she had known him all her life and he was someone she could depend upon.

"Urwendi, my dear, it has been ages since I last looked upon you. It is I, Olórin. Although Lady Galadriel may have referred to me as Gandalf the white, as I am commonly known here." Tears glimmered in his blue eyes, "If this old man will be so bold, my dear, as to ask for an embrace."

Tears sprang in Willow's eyes as well. She'd never known what a home was before, having been passed from orphanage to temporary living situations and back again. It wasn't till she was alone and taking care of herself did she have any kind of consistency. Still, there was never anyone waiting with tears in their eyes when she returned. She hadn't been here a week but it felt more like home than anything ever had.

Willow nodded her head and the older man gently tucked her in his warm embrace. He whispered soothing words in a language she did not understand but could feel their meaning. Someone awkwardly cleared their throat signaling it was time to make the next introduction.

"We shall have a chat you and I, Urwendi. It is good to have you home." He cradled her face between large warm hands and move to stand next to Galadriel.

"My Lady Arien, I am Elrond of Rivendell. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Elrond bowed over her hand as well and sat on the left of Thranduil's throne.

"I can see why my son is so taken with you." Thranduil said as he sauntered down the steps of his throne. "You are exquisite to behold. The uniqueness of your skin and hair would catapult any man into deep fascination particularly one so fond of uniqueness like my son. Simply put, Maiden of Fire, I do not foresee a future for you and Legolas. So, I suggest this council get on with the matter at hand and return this Maiar where she belongs." He said as he dismissed her and trotted back up the stairs to sit on his throne.

Willow guffawed, baffled at Thranduil's bold statement. "Just wait a damn minute— "She started only to be silenced by a strong hand on her shoulder. 

She turned to see Legolas at her side and breathed a sigh of relief. She had been so focused on controlling her anger, that she didn't sense him entering the room. It seemed her powers were much more readily triggered here. She had to exert more effort in keeping them under control.

"Father, you are my king, but you do not rule my heart. This decision belongs to Willow and I alone. As for what to do about the Silmaril, I leave that judgment up to the council. I am willing to take whatever measures necessary to see it done. The skirmish on the borderlands has been tamped down, however, Morgoth's spies continue attempting to infiltrate this kingdom to reach Willow. We must come together now and take action or I fear the worst." Legolas threaded his fingers through Willow's and held her hand tightly. He stared meaningfully at her for a few moments before Círdan spoke.

"The young prince is correct. After some reflection, I do recall that the Maiden of Fire was sought out fiercely by Morgoth for a wife. There were rumors that after she placed the vessel of the Sun in the sky, that Morgoth accosted and violated her. It was said that she then shed her form and went burning through Arda. What happened to her after only Ilúvatar knows." Cirdan pondered.

"That would explain her reluctance to recall her past here." Galadriel offered.

"Her disappearance from her post with the vessel of the Sun, coincides with the disappearance of the Silmaril which was cast into the sky and set as a star." Gandalf said stroking his great beard deep in thought.

"What are you suggesting Mithrandir," Legolas asked as he clutched Willow's hand a bit tighter.

"Urwendi may have joined with the Silmaril to protect it from Morgoth. Indeed, she may have been molested as you say. She may not have had the power alone to cast him back into the void and joined with the jewel to protect herself and it from further abuse. This explains why her brilliant golden fire is now blue."

"What does this all mean?" Willow asked nervously.

Gandalf appeared deathly grave as he spoke, "The return of Morgoth has been foretold for many thousands of years as the beginning of Dagor Dagorath, the final battle and the end of the Middle Earth. I fear the return of Urwendi signals the beginning of the end."