A/N: I really shouldn't be writing another story, considering that I currently have two other works that I need to finish. But this story was nagging at me for a few weeks now, begging to be written, and would not leave me be until I did so.

This is completely AU. I repeat - completely AU. For those that are offended by it, simply don't read it.

And for those of you that don't mind reading something AU, I hope you enjoy this story.

Charlotte Wright sat at her kitchen table, nursing a hot cup of tea between her hands in an attempt to stave off the cold. Winter had begun her cold descent and the house was draughty on the best of days.

Charlotte gazed aimlessly around the kitchen, her eyes skimming over the sink piled with dishes – she promised herself that she would tackle them, just as soon as she found the time. Of late, there was neither time, nor inclination.

Her eyes landed on the stack of envelopes scattered on the counter near the back door, all addressed to either her mother or father. Letters that would never be opened or read by the person they were addressed to.

Charlotte sighed heavily and drained the last dregs of her tea. It had been a year since her parents had passed, and each day was still a continuous struggle. Charlotte was now alone. Utterly and completely alone. She was an only child and, by default, had inherited the house. Charlotte would gladly trade it all to have her parents back.

The continuous echo of silence permeating within the walls was hallow and soul sucking, a constant reminder of what she had lost.

Charlotte stood abruptly and placed her mug in the growing pile in the sink – she would tackle them after her walk. Maybe.

Slipping on her insulated rubber boots, Charlotte grabbed her winter jacket off the coat rack, along with her wool hat and gloves. Now appropriately dressed, Charlotte grabbed her keys and stepped outside.

Snow dusted the plains of the countryside in a thin layer of downy white. There was not enough of the stuff covering the ground yet to give it that Christmas feel, but give it a few weeks and they would be buried under a few feet of snow. And so would begin the arduous task of shovelling. Charlotte groaned at this thought – she hated shovelling!

For now, though, Charlotte could still go for her daily walk. This had been essential in keeping her sane as the days stretched into months. It kept her mind from the grief that threatened to consume her.

She chose the well-worn path that led into the woods that stretched out from the back of the property. Her parents had bought the house shortly after getting married, and Charlotte had grown up exploring these woods. It was filled with childhood memories of fondness and cheerful play; now it had become a sanctuary.

The thick woods offered meagre protection from the cold, but she barely noticed. She trekked onwards, her boots leaving behind footprints. Charlotte glanced up, glimpsing the darkening grey sky between the treetops. It was going to rain or snow soon – either was quite plausible at this time of year.

She briefly debated whether to head back, but shook her head. No, this was her ritual, and she would only turn back once she reached her special spot, she thought stubbornly, turning her collar to the numbing cold.

A blinding flash of lightning in the distance followed by the deep rumble of thunder bought her steps to an abrupt halt. Charlotte glanced upwards once more and then sighed in defeat. It was not wise to be in the woods during a thunder storm, and it was best to head home now.

Turning abruptly, she made her way home. As she exited the woods, her house looming up ahead, Charlotte paused and blinked. For a moment, she had thought there had seen a shimmer in the air close to the house. It was gone now, though, and Charlotte wondered if she had imagined it. Shaking her head, she walked up to the back door, and just as she inserted the key into the lock, a loud crack sounded behind her, reverberating through the air.

Charlotte shrieked, dropping the keys when she had jumped in fright. She closed her eyes tightly, her heart hammering in her chest, and silently reprimanded herself on being so jumpy. She knelt and picked up the fallen keys, and as she stood, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up as an eerie feeling washed over her.

Slowly turning her head to look over her shoulder, Charlotte let out a frightened gasp, and dropped her keys again.

There, on the back lawn, was a man. He was unlike any man she had seen before, though. The first thing she noticed was that he was poised, as though ready to spring into a fight, his razor sharp swords held ready to cut down his enemy. His head was bowed, his long white hair falling around his face like a curtain made of the finest silk.

Charlotte backed up quickly, her back hitting hard against the wooden door. The sound alerted the stranger and his head snapped up, making Charlotte gasp again. His eyes – they were an electrifying blue that shone with a light that was definitely not human. His skin was flawless and smooth and he was just breathtakingly beautiful, even with black gore splattered on his cheek. She felt almost hypnotised just gazing upon him, unable to move or speak, and frozen in place. And then her eyes focused on the pointed ears that peeked through the white of his hair. That was definitely not right.

The stranger blinked and those unnerving blue eyes glanced around, confusion showing in those swirling depths. Slowly, he straightened to his full height, which had to be well over six feet tall. He wore all black, from the shiny armor covering his shoulders and chest, to the black cloak with crimson red lining that almost brushed the ground. The grim color was a stark contrast to the pure white of his hair, on which lay a silver circlet. He stood regal and proud before her, the look on his face haughty and arrogant, mixed with utter confusion.

He slowly turned full circle, his swords held loosely to his sides, as he took in his surroundings. Finally, his attention landed back on Charlotte and she felt her pulse speed up again at the intensity of his gaze. Get inside! Get inside right now! her inner voice screamed. Lock the door and call the police!

Suddenly the stranger let out a strangled cry, dropping his swords to the ground as he clutched at his head with his leather-gloved hands. The cry was of pure pain and made Charlotte's veins run icy cold at the sound. And still she could not move, even when he fell to his knees.

He glanced up, his eyes locking with hers, and Charlotte glimpsed the desperation in his face before the light left them and he collapsed on the hard cold ground, unmoving.

Instinct kicked in and Charlotte raced to his side, kneeling by his prone form. She ripped off her gloves and fumbled to feel for a pulse in his neck, breathing a sigh of relief when she found it, sure and steady. But she couldn't leave him out here in the cold. Somehow she had to get him inside. Charlotte was only five foot and three inches tall, and hardly made of sturdy stuff. But she had one thing going for her – a fierce determination and stubborn will.

Rolling him over onto his back, Charlotte grabbed him under his arms and started to drag him to the house, gritting her teeth with the exertion. He was a dead weight and was definitely heavier than he looked.

She made it to the door and laid him gently back down as she searched for her keys and hastily opened the door when she found them, her hands trembling. Stuffing the keys in her pocket, Charlotte managed to drag him over the threshold. Thankfully the lounge area was right to the left and the floor was hardwood, so this made it easier to pull him along.

Charlotte laid him on the area rug, breathing heavily as she bent over and clutched her knees, eyeing the sofa with trepidation – there was no way she was going to be able to hoist him onto that thing! Best to leave him right here, she thought. She straightened and took a good look at him. His face seemed young and peaceful in sleep, with not a wrinkle in sight. But what she had seen in his eyes was not a look that belong to a young person.

A small groan escaped this strange man's lips. Charlotte knelt down beside him and felt his forehead, relieved when she detected no sign of fever. She lifted her hand and paused, her attention drawn to the pointy tips of his ears. Were those supposed to be elf ears? She gingerly ran her fingertip along the point, marvelling at how real it felt. Then she pinched it slightly and slowly pulled, frowning when they did not come off.

She let go and sat back on her heels, a frown etched on her dark brows. What the hell? She shook her head. They must be glued on. There's no way he's a real elf. Not possible!

Charlotte stood and shed her jacket and hat, her thick, dark brown hair falling free down to her shoulders. Absently throwing her jacket and hat on a nearby armchair, she tapped her chin thoughtfully as she wondered what to do next. Should she call the police or an ambulance? She had never been in this situation before and honestly didn't know what to do. Charlotte had always thought that she would remain level headed and calm during an emergency, but right now she was hesitating and all common sense had fled. Was it shock?

The stranger let out a low moan from his lips and Charlotte tensed, wondering if he was going to wake up soon? Was he going to impale her with those dangerous looking swords of his? At this thought, she jumped up. The swords were outside. She glanced back at the still man and wondered if it would be wise to bring them in. Coming to a decision, she dashed out to retrieve them. But now she had the problem of where to hide them. Glancing wildly around the house, she decided under the sofa was as good a place as any.

Soft mumbling bought her attention back and she crouched near the man to make out what he was saying. The words were soft and flowed like strings of music through the air, but she could not make out their meaning. It seemed to be in a different language. She leaned in closer, her ear almost to his mouth, trying in vain to make out what he was saying. The tone changed subtly, and Charlotte pulled back. She startled and scrambled back when she saw that he was awake and watching her, his intense gaze unnerving. He remained absolutely still, though, as he just stared at her.

Finally he opened his mouth and the same language he had spoken earlier flowed from his lips. Charlotte frowned and shook her head.

"Sorry. I can't understand you," she said slowly.

It was his turn to now frown. Maybe because he couldn't understand her.

"I, um, I'm going to call the police. Maybe they can help you," she finally said. Charlotte stood, and hesitated. He was still motionless, clearly lost in thought. Calling the police would be the logical thing to do right now, but she just couldn't seem to bring herself to do it. But she had to do something.

She turned to go and find her phone, when he spoke. What he said made her instantly still.

"I need to get back to my world."