"The sons of Earendil were Elros and Elrond, the Peredhil or Half-elven. In them alone the line of heroic chieftains of the Edain in the First Age was preserved; and after the fall of Gil-Galad the lineage of the High-elven Kings was also in Middle-earth only represented by their descendents…"
Perin O I Peredhil: Half of the Half-Elven
(Prologue: Sylael's Summary of 25 five years after the war)
Twenty five years had long and peacefully passed since Frodo Baggins brought the destruction to Sauron's Bane in the fiery pit of Mount Doom. Our world has never felt such relief in hearing that the evil in Mordor that had nearly festered into every corner of Middle-earth, was finally no more. I remember hearing the stories as a young girl sitting in my father's lap as he told us with precision and sometimes a little pain about the adventures of the Fellowship. I remember Masters Gimili and Legolas, the woodland prince and a dear friend of my parents, fighting and bickering over certain parts of the story. Ada said they had been like that since day one. The ring was destroyed and our lives, the lives of Middle-earth that included all races of men, dwarf, and elf were finally allowed to return to days of peace and glory. But my brother, sisters, and I learned that with war comes damage and our home, Minas Tirith was in dire need of rebuilding and Osgilith was in need of an entire reconstruction. Because of such circumstances of rebuilding and revengeful threats to the city and people, my father found it safer if my siblings and I spent the beginning of our lives away from any possible threat in Gondor. It was in Mirkwood that my father had brought my mother and where my brother, oldest sister, and I were all born. We lived in the house of King Thranduil, a member of the Sindar as is his son Legolas and his wife and three children. His wife however, Eleniel, was the granddaughter of Lord Orodreth, one of three brothers related to Lady Galadriel. From my later experience in Mirkwood, I came to understand that mother and father, Aragorn, King Elessar and Arwen Umdomiel, his queen, had spent much of their time in the initial years of their lives under the aging trees of Mirkwood, perhaps even when it was still known as Greenwood. Naneth still tells us stories about the once laughing trees that darkened so forlornly in Mirkwood.
It was not until I was nearly eight years old when I had my first glance at the marble white city, gleaming in the bright morning light. White flags and loud trumpets calling us home; it felt like home. I remember Eldarion and Caelsi nearly jumping off their horses and running through the open gates of Minas Tirith. I was young yet and rode all the way from Mirkwood with my father as the Prince Legolas, Eleniel, their children and court followed behind us. I knew my father was more than happy to see the white towers again as he smiled all the way to the grand opening gates of Minas Tirith.
From war comes new beginnings and from new beginnings come new friendships and traditions. I spent a majority of my childhood in Mirkwood under the instruction of the crowned Princess Eleniel, my mother, and several other wonderful teachers. I was accustomed to the Elvish ways and not nearly so with mortal teachings of Gondor. My mother found my inability to adapt quite frustrating in my younger years, and still so. I've always had a care more for the fighting arts and less so for proper techniques on curtsying. By the time I was seventeen and had my coming of age ceremony (that annoying celebration that clarified with all young men that I was finally eligible to marry), I had spent more time in Mirkwood than in Gondor, much to the council of the King distastes. My mother had given up on mortal teachings for me and sent me to study under the newly announced King and Queen of Mirkwood. King Thranduil had left the last of the Woodland realm to his son as he was sailing West, ruining Legolas and Eleniel's intentions of moving to Ithilien instead. It was also in this time frame that I had fully come to understand that boys in general, whether they are elf or man, are not worth the fuss young girls make over them. Actually, my experience with the three sons of Legolas and Eleniel: Tirithon, Merilairon, and Beriaden, had left me with doubt that I would ever consider a husband if all men acted like egoistic, pompous, annoying, little monsters and spoiled brats. The same goes for my brother Eldarion who is twenty four years of age and a crowned prince of Gondor. If I learned anything in my years of growing up in Mirkwood, it was to beware a certain prince named Tirithon Estel and his vicious younger brothers. Boys always love a good laugh at a girl's expense. These earliest years taught me a little bit about my short-fused temper and those who surrounded my family.