Hello readers,

This is my first book-length fanfiction, and from the amount of work I have put into it, it is very dear to me.

This story is primarily a character development story, and it is plotted out to be about nineteen chapters. The history of Eryn Galen that I use is not canon, since the Professor did not state much about it, and I will be using the fanon tendency of killing the Elvenqueen. (The Professor only stated three large battles of Mirkwood: Dagorland, the Five Armies, and Under the Trees. I added a fourth one in the year 1636, when the watch on Mordor failed.)

Full Summary

This story follows a young elleth named Eliriel as she learns what it means to fight for a home. Growing up as the youngest Mirkwood elf in Arda, and hidden away in the safe haven of Rivendell, Eliriel lives a life of comfort and joy, never experiencing the darkness that covers her home. But Rivendell is not untouchable, and as the world grows colder, she starts to wonder what she is doing, a Silvan among Noldor, and why she is allowed safety when her family faces evil to save their land.

I hope you enjoy!

ElflingoftheShire

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Professor's characters and plots, I simply like to borrow them.

Chapter 1: The Beginning of Things

The first time they saw each other was at a starlight festival towards the beginning of winter. The first snow had just fallen, coating the whole world in a peaceful, silent white, and here they came by one another's company: in a recluse corner of the vast gardens of Mirkwood's Elvenqueen.

He sat with a book under a birch tree, lost to the world, not in the pages on his lap, but rather in the heavens, his eyes turned upward in a steadfast gaze. His hair was the sepia of a pine trunk, and his skin paler than most, his eyes a pale green exclusive to wood-elves, but in the moonlight and shadows, his hair was black and his eyes grey, and so he looked like a Noldor prince, with the natural beauty gifted to all First-born. He was a young elf, only past his second millennia, and Tirdirion was his name, the gazer, named by his family Avorndir, the ever-constant.

She had come to the gardens late in the night, after hours and hours of dancing, for often her friends called her Hwingwen, the twirling maiden. She reveled in these nights, spinning and leaping on the arms of many young ellyn, and she came to rest her weary feet and aching head. She too was a young elf well past her first millennia and was well-beloved by most youths of Mirkwood, and even as she walked, she hummed a small tune and swayed on her feet, her life ever a dance. Mallosiel was her name, meaning the golden flower, given to her by her mother, who loved the flowers of Lothlórien with all her heart.

Here, by chance, she strayed into his corner, startled by his presence just as he was by hers, and for a long while they could only stare at each other, green eyes locked on green as the whole world seemed to hold its breath. Then she laughed to realize she had disturbed him, and began to apologize. And it was her laughter that brought him out of his daze, and he laughed along with her, cutting her penitence short.

"Fingaernith!" he called her, for indeed her hair was a coppery red, "Do not apologize. The world is bright and the stars have much company tonight. They will not mind if I turn to yours."

"And what of the tree?" she asked him, her mouth yet smiling.

"We will not leave the tree," he replied, looking up at her wryly. "Join me, my lady."

And so began their friendship, in the year 1400.

They were similar in morals but different in nature.

He had lost his father and mother at the battle of Dagorland, leaving him and his older brother, Lanthirben, alone in their home, which was now quickly falling to Sauron's darkness. Both were soldiers, going on patrols like their mother and father had.

As a child, he had been quite happy. Evil had not yet covered the forest, and he was the younger of two children. His father, Pelingildir, was a wise, always-laughing ellon, and his mother, Amareth, a grounded, practical being. And so he had many memories of happier times, being spoiled night and day, and whiling away hours with his father, looking up at the sky.

So he valued family above all, living with his elder brother, sister-in-law, and niece, and he spent his days lost in the stars. He had always been a quiet soul, steady and dreaming, his eyes speaking more than his mouth, and as evil encroached upon their home, his eyes turned sad and he grew old.

She was younger than him by three hundred years, not much for an elf, but her family had not been touched by the constant war. She was the eldest of three children, and both her parents were still alive and well. Her father, Teithedir, was a great artist, and her home held many tapestries and mosaics, depicting events from long ago. Her mother, Narriel, was a teller of stories, and so between the two of them, her childhood was full of mystical fancies and dreams, and a hungering after knowledge.

As the eldest, she was protective of her siblings, and grew up quickly, taking on responsibility and becoming a healer to assist the kingdom. Her sister chose to become a warrior, and her brother followed her footsteps. And so Mallosiel was calm and cheerful, going through her life seriously and yet never losing the innocence that had been stolen from Tirdirion.

Their friendship, and then love, happened quickly—based on a chance meet and a chance conversation. There are great stories of romances where two complete opposites are passionately drawn together, or friends of several centuries suddenly realize that they care. There are some loves that are inevitable, founded on admiring from far away and pining for millennia or loves born of hardship. But their love was not so. It might have been missed had she simply chosen another path, or him another tree, and it was born of a similar love of fables and family. They had not known each other before and did not share any friends, and they did not realize they were in love.

After their first meeting, Mirkwood became darker and darker. They both found themselves working more than studying. Tirdirion grew tired of hurting as warrior after warrior fell, and each day more elves left the colony to live in the Elvenking's caves. Their flets were becoming unsafe, but Tirdirion and Mallosiel's homes, being only five miles west of the capital, remained relatively guarded. And Mallosiel learned how lucky she was, to have love and family and friends, to not have lost any dear ones.

The injuries of the great forest increased in number year by year, and births were rare. All elves born in the third age were considered young, but those younger than the prince were rare, for, at this time, he was the only elfling born in Mirkwood after Sauron came to Dol Guldor. The vast kingdom collapsed in size, growing to a small colony, hidden in the northern hills. All elves were given only two choices: fight for your home, or heal those who fight for your home. Celebrations became dreary and cold, soft souls became harsh, and hope quickly dwindled.

In the midst of all this, Avorndir and Mallosiel found love. They were betrothed and married about one hundred and fifty years after they became friends, a small, quick affair in the midst of the bitterness that held the elves' souls. Fifty years after their marriage, their first child was begotten, and a year later, born, of their desire to have a child to find hope in spite of the dark world.

They were considered foolish and selfish by older elves, for the Eldar treasure children and do not choose to have them until they are certain of a safe and happy childhood, but Avorndir had lost too much and Mallosiel had seen too much to care. After a few years of relative peace, they decided that if their child was to lose them within the next century or next millennia, at least they would have a child. They longed to have an elfling of their own blood, to comfort and care for and teach, to hear the sweet laughter and soft footsteps, and most importantly, to have something to live for.

On the day before Firith ended, she was born, a little elleth they named Eliriel, the daughter of the blessing, and indeed that is what she was. Mallosiel and Tirdirion both found such comfort in each other and in their daughter, that they were known to be the most cheerful of all Mirkwood. Near this time, they moved, along with all those in their villages, to the great caves of the Elvenking, living with Lanthirben's family and Mallosiel's mother, father, sister, and brother.

And it was here that Eliriel grew up, with grandma and grandpa and aunts and uncles and cousin, bringing them all much joy. She was a bright, cheery elfling, as all elven children are, born to question all that was on this earth, learning to walk and talk, and then read and write, and then learning of Arda's history and of how to speak in riddles. She took after her father's mother, Amareth, with wood-brown hair, a heart-shaped face, and high cheekbones, but she had her parents' green eyes and her mother's smile.

Her family learned very early on that it was hard to contain her within the caverns, for her curiosity was not vocalized but rather drawn to the outdoors, and she would wander, if not watched, deep into the forests only to cause her parents worry until she was brought back by one of the patrols. Past her antics, she was a quiet child, and her closest companions were Narriel and Reniedir, being capable of listening to stories for days without end.

A happy life she led, full of laughter and love in the face of darkness, but as is inevitable in such times, tragedy befell them. Only thirty-five cerenair after Eliriel's birth, the watch on Mordor failed in the East. As the men of the south fought Mordor's forces, Mirkwood and Rhovanion were attacked from both the north and south. Orc and goblins surged the land from Gundabad and Dol Guldor, and for nearly ten years, a harsh war waged between elves and evil. It was a slow war, for the orcs bided their time and numbers, sending out troops on unexpected occasions, and never more than three times a year. The final year proved to be successful through a direct march on Gundabad, from whence the bulk of the opposing army came, but many elves were lost.

The kingdom lost their Elvenqueen, when their young prince was not yet four hundred, and still the sole heir to the throne, and turned their King cold and distant. All of Mirkwood went into mourning, for their Lady had been a hope and inspiration in their despair, and her loss only added to the hurt that families already sustained.

Eliriel lost her grandfather, Teithedir, as he fought alongside his family. The old ellon was a proud and stern being who had doted on the elfling and his children, and had loved his wife for three millennia. The death of a husband and a dear friend in the Elvenqueen as well as countless other comrades nearly broke Narriel, and she drew within herself, her injuries and lack of need providing a rest from battle. It was Eliriel's first encounter with such grief, and she spent all her time with her grandmother now. The elfling would tell stories and sing, bring flowers and paintings, anything, striving to bring comfort to the merry soul who had comforted her for so long.

But the war was taking a toll on all their family. Mallosiel was taken hold by restlessness, her sister by battle-rage, and her brother by grief. Avorndir could no longer bear to stay in Mirkwood, where he had lost father, mother, and father-in-law. Narriel was barely holding onto life for her children and granddaughter, but she longed for rest and healing. And so, recognizing her nearly four thousand years of service to Eryn Galen, King Thranduil allowed her to leave to stay at Rivendell, the Last Homely House, where evil was not yet present. In their agreement, it was decided that Eliriel, being the youngest elfling in Mirkwood by over a hundred winters, would go with her, to be raised in safety, and that Mallosiel and Tirdirion would take frequent trips between the two elven realms as messengers between Thranduil and Elrond.

It was the year 1647 of the third age when Eliriel finally looked upon the colorful birch splendor of Imladris, sitting behind her father on a gray mare, wondering what her cousin and uncle were doing back home.

Notes:

On "cerenair": This is the plural of one solar-year (coranar)

On "tirith": This is the fading season, the fourth of six seasons in the elvish calender. It ends around mid-November.

On elves being born: Not many elves would have been born toward the end of the Second Age because of war (the Last Alliance), but the beginning of the Third Age was pretty peaceful, and I'm assuming that many elves were born in this period. However, by the time that Sauron settles in Dol Guldor, the time of the elves would already be coming to an end.

I am assuming that Legolas was born in the year 1225 of the Third Age, the date given on the wiki fandom site and one that I agree with. This would make him almost 1800 around the War of the Ring.

Please review, even if its critique, or even just a word, because I am desperate.