Authors notes:

So this is my first fanfiction of the LOTR-verse. I have dabbled with bits and pieces here and there in the past, but I have never added anything to a fanfic site before, so please bear with a newbie.

In this story we will follow a young woman named Bronwe (there is an accent mark over the 'e' but I haven't a clue if I can add that on here). She is decent of the houses of King Elessar and of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien. As this story starts out, she is near the end of her life and is writing a sort of memoir to her niece Eomareth (who is herself, Faramir and Eowyn's great-granddaughter).

I'm not 100% sure exactly where I am going with this tale to tell the truth, but there has been a little plot-bunny nibbling at my ear for the past month or so and I needed to get this down in writing before he skittered away.

Let me know in the reviews what you think of this first chapter, it has a lot of info in it and I really hope it's not too confusing to follow the family tree of Bronwe. I have worked out a family tree for her, so if anyone is sincerely interested I would be happy to share it :)

Thanks for taking time to read this ridiculously long AN!

~MD

My dear Eomareth, my niece, my one true eternal confidant. Named for my dear aunt and grandmother before her, I wish to tell you the rest of my tale; the things I have told no one, not even you. You are your father's daughter, and I know you will carry on Barahir's legacy of recording our family's tale. I am old; a woman nearly done with her time on this earth. I will leave you soon, as an old woman is wont to do. But first I feel I must write these things down.

I was born in the peace and plenty, many years after the legendary War of the Rings, to my father Elboron, Prince of Ithilien. Like his father before him, Elboron was a proud Gondorian. My granddad, Faramir, the first Prince of Ithilien was a gentle soul, but tough and proud, through and through. Raised in a time of strife and seemingly never ending war, Faramir learned early that he needed to be strong in order to carry on. He raised my dear papa with the same iron-hand that is father Denethor, Steward of Gondor, had raised him up with. Though the hand was tough like iron, it would bend to dote love and faith on his children. Elboron grew up strong and faithful, and ever loyal to his home, Ithilien.

As you know, whether it be from family tales or recorded history, my grandfather was the last Steward of Gondor before our beloved King Elessar ascended to his long-lost throne. Faramir and the King were as close as brothers in the years following the Great War and that is how he became named to the title Prince of Ithilien. King Elessar, or as we close to him as family name him, Aragorn, had married the Half-Elven Lady Arwen, who is my grandmother on my mother's side. Your grandmother Amarie is the King and Queens daughter which connected our families even closer. With the marriage of their children the houses of Ithilien and realm of Gondor were forever entwined.

We enjoyed many years as a peaceful realm following the war, and our family expanded. This is when I was born. Elboron and Amarie had welcomed your father Barahir just one year before they brought me forth into the world. I remember being a happy child, full of the innocence and joy that peace brings to families. My brother Barahir and sister Edolie, born two years after me, and I were as close as siblings could be. Although I reckon we had our share of squabbles as children, as we grew closer to adulthood, our bond as family was the strength I am glad we had to hold us together in the coming times.

When I was nearing 20 years, my father decided to foster me to the Elves of the Woods of Ithilien to become learned in our Half-Elven history. He was a learned man himself and wanted his children to know as much of our kin and history as possible. And this is where my tale begins, in the ethereal and ancient Woods of Ithilien...

The day was warm and the sun kissed my skin gently through the leaves as I maneuvered my horse along the meandering paths through the woods. Small birds called throughout the tree-tops, singing their songs of beauty and praise. I smiled openly at the welcoming sound and drank in the glory that was the Woods of Ithilien. I had seldom ventured forth to the Elves dwelling places in the past, having gone on occasion with my father on diplomatic trips. But I was much older now, and journeying on my own for the first time. Not completely alone that is, I had an escort provided by my father to see me to my new home, but as my father himself was not there, I felt an adult, off on my very own adventure. The spoken of escort consisted of three men hand-picked by my father for their skills and loyalty to him, though in those days it was said that a virtuous maiden could travel this far alone without coming to any danger. But my father was a cautious man, and therefore sent me with my guard and my hand maiden, Luella. She alone would stay with me in the Wood Elves home, as the men would venture back to my father's halls after seeing me to my destination.

The woods were an ancient growth, having been party to several different hosts in its time. Since the peace time began after the war, they had been cleared of any opposing forces and a group of Wood Elves, hailing from the Greenwood had taken up residence. Lead by the Prince of Mirkwood, they had settled in these woods and developed a prosperous and peaceful dwelling. They were to be my new foster-family. My father wanted all his children to become learned of the different kin we shared, and being descent of a Half-Elf, he wanted me to learn of the ways of the Elves, to carry on an understanding in our line. He never imagined how well I would come to understand and sympathise with the Elven people. I imagine he had very different ideas as to what my fate in those woods would be.