Mireth was a rather strange elleth, mostly because she seemed rather ordinary for one of such a noble and esteemed race. She was fair, of course, as all of the Eldar are fair compared to the visages of mortal Men, though she did not possess the breathtaking beauty of some of her peers. She smiled readily enough and her voice was strong when it joined her kindred in song. She obliged her duties in the Last Homely House, if not with joy, then in content. Her elders never complained of her and she had no shortage of companions, though none were close.

There was only one extraordinary thing about Mireth and that secret she guarded jealously. The truth of the matter was. that Mireth had drawn her first breath when she had written her first poem. From that moment forth, she wrote with an excessive amount of passion and no small talent, though no one else knew of her pastime.

Indeed, the memory of that first poem was a strong one and marked her powerfully for the rest of her immortal life.

Crouching under the work desk in her father's study with a goose feather and some stolen ink, she wrote her first rhyme, perhaps something nonsensical about honey cakes, a topic that a child might often find importance in. The feelings of happiness and accomplishment upon gazing at the awkward letters never left her again.

Her mother Ilendra worried about her suddenly studious child, that looked at the outside world with such fierceness and insisted on scribbling constantly on a stray piece of parchment. However, she was soon distracted by Mireth's much more demanding elder siblings and Mireth was left in peace. Neldor, Mireth's father, eventually noticed the missing ink and parchment and soon discovered the little thief. It was then, that Mireth was given her first serious scolding and was given chores to atone for her behavior.

Indeed, after that she never stole from her father again, but he kept her supplied with used bits of parchment and even a cheap bottle of ink, for he had been the one to teach her her letters and was secretly delighted with her more scholarly pursuits. On these scraps of parchment, she wrote until they were covered completely with her spidery lettering and her fingernails were so strained with ink that she could never wash it off completely.

Her other family took little notice of her pursuit. Her father occupied a minor position in the court of Imladris, working as a scribe and while he was a good warrior, his deeds would never be sung of in the famed Halls of Fire of Rivendell.

Mireth's brother and sister rose to much greater renown. Nestor, her brother, was a great warrior, deadly with both blade and bow, who rode side by side with the half-elven princes wherever orcs were to be slain. Mirella, the younger sister, was a being of great beauty even by elvish standards and many young hearts were set aflame when her tinkling laughter spilled through the halls.

The elflings had little in common and spent all but their earliest years apart. As a result, even later on their kinship was not what it should have been. Mireth felt shadowed by her brighter siblings, but it seemed that she bore no resentment toward them. Indeed, she seemed content to observe the outside world without involving herself overmuch in its passing.

Her writing was her outlet, for despite her outward calm, she was a woman who felt strongly and found beauty in all.

In fact many an elf had found her staring, charmed by the falling leaves or observing the passing of storm clouds in quiet delight. She found her greatest inspiration for writing, not in glorious deeds or fallen memories, as most poets of her time, but instead in nature, with which the Firstborn had always cultivated a special bond.

So the years passed quickly, as they can only to one of the Firstborn. Mireth's writing became more than idle scribbling as she began to transform her deep love of the surrounding nature into her poetry. In fact the words were so well and pleasingly chosen, that one could almost taste the sweet evening air and hear the rustling of the leaves as they were reading. Yet, she held her writings so immensely private, that none were allowed to share their delight.

By now, Mireth had accumulated a veritable nest of parchment bits and occasionally even dropped a scrap when she was walking through the halls. One of these lost pieces was found one summer afternoon by Lord Erestor, High Advisor to the Elflord, who was an avid scholar and admirer of words. He was moved by the care and passion evident in the writing and vowed to find their creator.

It did not take long until his search lead to Mireth, who had grown careless in her solitude and no longer guarded her treasures quite so jealously. Still, it took much convincing for her to hand over some of her better works, though the praise of such a high figure did wonders for her self-esteem.

Lord Erestor offered to publish her work in a bound book, for he was a great patron of the Arts and many of the artists in Imladris flourished under his sponsorship. Mireth hesitated, but eventually allowed the publication, on the condition that it be published under another name, as to protect her secrecy.

A few months later she opened her first book of poems, handed to her by a beaming Lord Erestor. It was a slim leather-bound journal with green covers and on the first page was a dedication:

To the green Mother

of all being

whose fingers nurture and destroy

in equal measure.

And so the first of Mireth's books joined the great library of Imladris.

Here's the first chapter, hopefully you like it. If you find any mistakes or feel that there's anything I should know, that you might have noticed, I'd be grateful for your review.

Enjoy!

Love,

J