Hello, everybody! This is my first fanfiction; and I have been writing it for awhile. Finally, I've decided to post it on here. I would truly like reviews, and I openly welcome constructive criticism!

Disclamer: I do NOT own Tolkein's characters, places..etc..

A/N: This paticular story is set before the events of "The Hobbit"

A/N 2: Far Haradrim, or Moredain is the race of the main character.

Let it begin!!!

Chapter 1

Children, the only thing that the world has not corrupted. The innocence of a young one is a precious and timeless treasure that should never be forgotten. But the hate in the world can turn one simple person into someone they don't even recognize. That soon became a fate I was pushed into, and back then I can truly say that I was blessed. I wasn't a child born of a great King or born into a nobleman's home; my family and I were just modest people, with modest lives. I was a girl born of a former gypsy and a wood-cutter. Material pleasures did not come often, if at all, but honestly I had love. That's all I needed, and I was happy to have it. I would learn much later, that love: that powerful, unseen emotion, could change lives; and ultimately find something that the world had lost.

From a young age I was entertained with stories of loss, evil enchantments and them. "Them?" I always asked with a foreboding eagerness.

"Yes, them," a thin-lipped storyteller would tell me, before lifting her eyes to the forest.

I remember that day so acutely; that I feel ascertained that it happened yesterday. I fondly remember the smell of the wood burning and the fire crackling, blowing embers into the air. The seasoned fabler traced the ground lightly, her eyes still fixed on the dark looming trellises.

"Yes," she rasped, "them." She then turned to me, her hazel eyes sparkling, "Them: those that live in the Wood." She said 'wood' so silently that not even the wind could carry her voice.

I was befuddled, "Wooden people?"

"No, no, no, silly girl," the teller said, losing her mysticism. She breathed in deeply adding another log to the fire, poking it lightly. "Elves," she breathed, her eyes not leaving the fire.

I bit my lip and pulled my knees to my chest. I'd heard stories; more liked hushed ones from the local villagers and elderly town gossips. If I ever asked, I would be hushed and pushed away, but now, now I could truly know what others knew.

"Beautiful," she said breaking me from my thoughts. "And fair, oh so fair!"

"Who? The Elves?" I inquired again.

"Just listen and you shall know," she simply said, as I bit my tongue.

She cleared her throat, and peered at me curiously, "Though fair they may be, they are an evil force to reckon with: they are Morgorth's servants, giant spiders are their allies and they ride them as we do horses," the storyteller craned her hands up, casting a dreadful shadow on the ground, making me shiver from fright.

I gasped, wanting her not to continue but I was too curious and I needed to know more.

The old woman coughed and wheezed a bit before going on, "And the worst part of it is, they despise the race of men. It is even said that the Elvenking plans to rid the world of men, he is just brooding, brooding over the right place and time. Do you understand me girl? Show anyone sympathy in there," she pointed to the dark forest, "They will kill you."

I looked down at my brown shoes, feeling a tinge of sadness somehow, "Aren't some of them good? Are they all truly condemned to live a life that hates others?"

The storyteller's eyes softened but her voice still came forth harsh and rough, "Listen here girl. There are some things in life we just cannot change. Orcs, trolls and worms are evil," she paused, "we can add Elves to that list as well." I nodded my head eagerly, not wishing to upset the woman further; yet the nod of my head, and the innocence in my eyes were apocryphal; probably because naivety still ruled me, and I felt that creatures so fair, could not all be evil.

"Endolf," a smooth voice called out to me.

"Ah! Sarabi," the fabler announced in great mirth, as my mother and her swollen belly came into view.

My mother smiled sweetly the fire dancing off her dark eyes, "Well met indeed, Sif."

"How far along are you?" Sif asked, leaning forward on her knees.

"Eight months," my mother rubbed her stomach fondly, as a simple smile graced her dark features.

"Hoping for a strapping young man? They say a home with more than one girl is bound to be cursed," the old woman waved a finger cautiously at my mother.

For a second, I thought she was going to lash out at Sif, but her face stayed calm and that small smile never left her face. "It is a girl. Agape, is what I shall name her." She then seemed to turn away from the subject of the baby, "So Sif, what have you and my daughter been whispering about?"

"Oh so inquisitive, dear Sarabi! I now see where Endolf gets it."

"Mommy," I tugged on the end of her dress, "She told me about the Elves."

My mother looked up at Sif and then down back at me, an unfamiliar look in her eye. "Let's go, supper is ready," she said curtly. With a swift turn of her heels she started to walk back to the house, "Endolf! Come daughter!" she beckoned me.

I was once again perplexed. I looked at the crackling fire and then up to the storyteller, "Thank you."

The elderly woman simply nodded and waved me off with a slight brush of her hand. Running off to my mother, Sif sighed, "Life is such a paradox," she said before hobbling back into town.

Review please!! muah