Dearest Book,

My name is Tauriel and I am but a lowly Silvan Elf, daughter of the woodland realm. There are secrets deep and dark in nature that I would never dare to utter to another of my kind. Secrets so deep and so dark that they haunt the realm of my dreams. The only ones that I can trust with my secrets are the beloved stars that linger above me when I cleave so lovingly to the great trees. Not only do I whisper my secrets and fears to these beloved friends...but I intone of my dreams. I have a great many dreams in my heart but alas...these dreams feel so far away, in a land of distant memory. Writing these words down in a book as poetically as I am able will not bring about the fruition of these dreams

Living in Taur-e-Ndaedelos or "Mirkwood" as the outside world has come to call it, I am accepted by all my fellow Elves. Yet I feel such longing, such restlessness. I come from a long line of Silvan Elves who hail from both Taur-e-Ndaedelos and Lothlórien. My father was like me "common as clay" as our beloved Aran, Thranduil often likes to say of me. My father was named Dûthalion, a hardy hunter and, from what I remember he was a courageous fighter. He was of middling height, possessing of a sleek build, and I remember his mass of long red gold hair as well as his sharp silvery eyes. It pains me to mention them…my parents. It feels strange even writing those words in Tengwar. However, I need to speak of this somewhere. I need to remember or I will forget. I need to remember where I came from…who I am…and what I am meant to do. Glaurlothiel was the name of my late mother, a tall golden-haired Sindarin Elf with such sharp green eyes…my eyes. Her eyes were green…which is somewhat strange for a Sindarin Elf but she looked every bit the noblewoman that she was. Unlike my "common as clay" father, she came from a long illustrious line of Elven women who are well-known for their healing and weaving skills in the blessed forest of Lothlórien. However, noble of standing does not always equate to nobleness of mind…for my grandparents will have naught to do with me. It is rather to them that I had never existed but such is the sting of life. Should I dwell on it? Perhaps not…but time does little to erase the ache of heartless grandparents. I saw them but once and they mean nothing to me.

It is my parents who are the heroes of my life…my father especially. How is it that an Elf of mixed parentage has come to the land of her father's forebears? Why am I not in Lothlórien?

When I was but a small Elfling, an awkward little thing, I traveled with my parents through Mirkwood. We wandered through the woods, hastening towards the kingdom capital, as my father was called by the Aran himself. It was indeed a great honor and we tarried many days in Lothlórien not long back. I had never before been to the land of my father and his ancestors…thus this was quite an exciting experience. Mother wore a gown of spun white silk, embroidered with pearls from the western sea - a family heirloom that she wore when she needed to appear more so regal than usual. The truth is that she was always so lovely, so splendid in her appearance. I am quite sure that my father and myself must have looked quite plain next to her natural radiance.

"Come along, iellig." Mother's smooth marble-white hand tugged at my own but I was far too mesmerized by the mysterious and labyrinthine world that was Mirkwood.

"Why do they call this place 'Mirkwood'?" I mused curiously, my childish mind not quite grasping the poetic manner of such words married to one another.

"Tauri...it is not proper to call it 'Mirkwood'. We call it Greenwood the Great because it is a great kingdom. Those humans are always so crass." She yanked at my hand, her tone chiding but as sweet as a songbird in early spring - heralding the death of winter. All around us, one could tell that summer was in her last moments, the jade and malachite leaves were now an undeniable burnished gold. Slowly, the descent of leaves transpired all around us, floating upon the chilly breeze like delicate swan feathers. I so adored nature, as I do now. It is all we Elven folk live our lives around - basking in the enjoyment of the changing of the seasons. Even as a child, the majesty of nature was not lost on me.

"Nana...please stop calling me Tauri." I sighed, irked by such a silly moniker. I was only ten years old at the time, a sulky angry thing who imagined herself to be older than she was. I wanted so much for my mother to not treat me like I was a little girl, for I was not and I was determined to make that point.

"Listen to you two." Father piped up suddenly, having listened to our exchange in silence. His sharp gray eyes flickered over to where we walked, a warm smile tugging at his lips as he observed us.

"Like mother...like daughter." He had muttered and my mother gave him a knowing smile, almost daring him.

"Oh? As opposed to what, mell hervenn?" Her tone was as sweet as honey but rather saucy this time. Mother had that nature to her - sweet but sassy with just enough sarcasm to balance out my father's sternness. There were times when he was quite hilarious as well but he liked to appear vigilant at all times - as if he was waiting for something.

"Oh Glaurlothiel...you could talk the points off my ears." Father retorted in a rather cynical matter-of-fact nature, shaking his angular head from side to side. I thought about that for a moment...if mother had talked the points off of father's ears...then wouldn't that make him human? The thought frightened me for a moment because that means that father would grow old and die.

"But I don't want you to die, Ada." I piped up suddenly, reaching out for his hands. Father, a battle-hardened Elven warrior who had been one of Aran Thranduil's best hunters was never one for holding hands, but when his headache of a daughter was involved, he was glad to oblige.

"Is the capital city as beautiful as they say? Is it glistening like a jewel?" I plied both my patient parents with questions, my mind swimming with an infinite number of odd thoughts. "Is it more beautiful than Lothlórien?"

Father guffawed at this and was about to interrupt before mother started in, "Not a chance, iellig. Not a chance. Lothlórien is unrivaled by any other kingdom."

"Now...now...hiril vuin." My father was quick to interject, very much defensive of his homeland and forebears. "Lothlórien with all of its golden leaves and swan-boats cannot compare to the wild mystery that is Greenwood. Our forest isn't so obvious and clean-cut. One needs to be of stronger mettle to survive here." Mother gave an overly exaggerated roll of her eyes then stuck her pert nose in the air, "Lothlórien has more treasures than Mirkwood ever will."

"Good good...keep your treasures. I'll keep my mystery." My father waved his hand dismissively. He laughed a deep hollow laugh. For a moment I saw his features froze entirely and he slid a hand instinctively up to the bow that was strung across his chest. He froze.

"Yrch!" My father hissed, his sharp gray eyes wide with astonishment as he suddenly assumed an offensive stance. He turned to look at my mother, "Noro!"

"Û! Dûthalion...I cannot...I will not." My mother cried in response, her usually bright face darkened like a lamp gone out.

"Run!" Father gave my mother a push, booking no refusal. Staring back over my shoulder as we sprinted away, I saw my father as he had begun to repel the Orc attack. There had to have been a hand full of Orcs and only one him. My own eyes were blurred with tears as my mother grabbed at my hand in a panicked frenzy.

Truth be told, that was the last time that I ever saw my father alive. He fought off Orcs so that we could live...he sacrificed his life for our own. Unbeknownst to my mother, the Orcs within Mirkwood knew the paths better than she knew them. No matter how much we ran or how far we ran, three Orcs caught up with us. One was as tall of as an Elf, I had thought, with steel-gray skin, a rounded mushroom nose, and beady black eyes. The other Orc was somewhat shorter with a rounded face that looked like part of it had rotted away, no nose at all, and two pointed ears. Was that an Elf? I gave a small scream of surprise as the three Orcs began closing in on us.

"You are in for it now, She-Elf!" The tallest Orc had hissed, his voice sounded earthy and frightening to a ten year old.

My mother in the quickest manner she could, gathered me in her arms and lifted me up to the tree, "Climb!"

"But Nana..." I teared up and began sobbing, utterly terrified by this all. "I don't want to leave you."

"Tauriel...Asca! Gi melin...iellig. Gi melin!" She had begun to weep softly herself, tears cascading down her ashen cheeks as she pushed me up further. "Drego, Tauriel! Drego!"

The last words that she whispered to me were, "Don't look back...climb up until you cannot climb anymore. Drego!"

Not wanting to leave her there at the mercy of Orcs, I quickly scrambled to climb as high as I possibly could. I followed a pattern of gaining a foothold with my boot, grasping a branch, and hoisting myself up as best as I could. Given that I was such a tiny little thing...I didn't exactly have so much luck. I heard a blood-curling scream beneath me and something told me that it was my mother. Weakly, I hugged the tree for support and wept if only for a moment. I knew that my assailants would soon be climbing the tree behind me or at least that is what I thought they would do. Carefully, I gripped the edge of a branch and used it to maintain my foothold as I transferred from one respective tree to the other. Glancing down, I saw how high up I was. I had to have been at least a mile off of the ground and I fought back a scream.

I could hear my mother's voice in my head, "You have to be strong, dearest one." It was something she would say and to honor her sacrifice, I had to try my best. If I was caught then it was all for nothing. For a moment I paused when I heard a cackle - it sounded like a witch's cackle. Glancing behind me, I saw one of the shorter Orcs, the one with the strange head was gaining on me and he was eerily close. It was akin to something out of a nightmare, except it was real. There was no waking up and there were no consoling parents. It was only me, the tree, and the Orc who wanted to harm me.

That was when I started to scream at the top of my lungs, "Help! Somebody! Edraith enni!" I wept profusely, desperate to find any assistance.

"Come heeeere little Sheeeeee-Elf." The Orc had a combination between a witch's raspy voice and a gravelly one. With every step he took, I took another step onto the branch of a great pine tree. On normal occasions, I would have stopped to take in the beautiful view and to smell the scent of the fresh pine needles. However, in the present situation at the time, I was running out of space and the Orc was drawing creepily closer. The Orc had in its hand a crude long-knife that was smeared with all sort of gook and pollution. I knew so little of the Orcs during that time of my life. Sometimes you look back and wish that you could have changed everything – that you knew then what you know now. No matter what we are…Elf…Human…Dwarf…we are all of us entrapped by the haunting thought of "what if." What if things went better…what if I knew how to fight…what if…what if…what if…

As I was edging forward onto the edge of the branch, I realized with grave horror that I was coming to its end and that it was starting to lose its sturdiness. I knew that if I took another step that I would probably go careening down to the forest floor, plunging to my death. The Orc began to laugh raucously like a madman, shaking his long-knife tauntingly, gleefully like a child almost. Chancing a quick glance at the closest tree, I noticed that it was rather far away from the branch that I was on and that I wouldn't be able to make it if I attempted to jump. That left only one option, to get hacked to pieces by an Orc. Too frightened to do anything, I froze and closed my eyes shut, uttering prayers of hopefulness. However, the Orc never reached me. In fact, I glanced up suddenly, saw that the Orc had a nice-sized arrow straight through his body, and I witnessed him fall to his death.

I breathed a sigh of relief then froze once more, glancing around to figure out exactly who my savior was. Unfortunately, I saw nobody. All of a sudden, I felt arms wrap around me, holding me tightly as my savior leapt from branch to branch with perfect grace.

"Udulen an edraith angin." The voice whispered softly, gently. His voice for some odd reason gave me a little bit of comfort but I still trembled all over.

I clamped my eyes shut, trying to ignore the fact that we were well-nigh suspended in midair. When we had reached the forest floor, my savior set me down. I backed away, a bedraggled, weepy little girl with a tear-stained white face.

The person who had saved me was tall and sleek, his raven dark hair spilling down his shoulders in abundance. He was inspecting me curiously, his hardened face showing the smallest bit of compassion. He had motioned to me as he finally spoke.

"Are you all right, child?" He now seemed concerned when I only shivered, offering no response whatsoever. Unable to bear it any longer, I broke down in tears. The thought of losing my mother and father was completely unbearable. It was like I had lost a part of me, like an arm or a leg. A part of me that I could never regenerate or regrow. The sorrow was too deep. Two more figures emerged from behind the dark-haired Silvan Elf. One Elf looked to be a blond Sindarin Elf who wore some sort of ceremonial armor whereas the other Elf sported chestnut brown hair and a simple tunic. All three of them were male…most likely battle-hardened males. In recalling that particular evening, I still feel the great pangs of sorrow but I remember with some hilarity how they reacted to me.

"This is Prince Legolas Thranduilion." The raven-haired young man motioned to the Elf with such long flaxen hair. He then motioned to the brown-haired round-faced Elf, "That is Brethil." Lastly, he pointed offhandedly to himself, "I am Laerorn. We are here to help you. You are welcome to Taur-e-Ndaedelos." When the blond young man finally spoke, his face blossomed into a smile, "Come, young one. We will take you some place where you will be safe."

Those words have been the defining words in my friendship with Prince Legolas over the years. He has always protected me and defended me notwithstanding the fact that it is supposed to be the other way around. On that day, I lost my family…two people that I hold so very dear to me, but I made a lifelong friend, one who I would gladly give my life for.

Tauriel

Sindarin Translations:

Ada – Daddy

Aran – King

Asca! – Quick!

Drego! – Flee!

Edraith enni. – Save me.

Gi melin – I love you [informal/familiar]

Hervenn – Husband

Hiril – Lady

Iellig – My daughter

Mell – Dear

Noro! – Run!

Taur-e-Ndaedelos – Greenwood the Great

Tengwar – Elven Script

Û! – No!

Udulen an edraith angin – I'm here to save you [informal/familiar]

Vuin – My

Yrch! – Orcs!