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Story Notes:
This is divided into three parts: Daylight, Shadow, and A New Morning. The first part, Daylight, will be BoromaŽ's life before the main event. Little drabbles, really, but needed to understand what happens later on.

Now, bits of this may not make sense. This is because two other stories connected to this one are supposed to come first, involving several of the new characters mentioned. I will write those someday, I promise.

This will contain torture/off-screen rape in the second part, so be warned! Nothing graphic, but it's there.

And in case you're wondering, yes, BoromaŽ is named after Boromir. Her name is pronounced Boro-may.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Basically introductions to everything.

Thanks for reading and I hope you have a good time reading it!
Part One — Daylight

Chapter One — Sun on the Water

“Come on, MaŽ! Get them!”

“Oh, Avrunil, you could've blocked that!”

“Watch out! Watch out!”

“There goes SerkŽ again.”

A crowd of Elves stood or sat all round the edges of a green field, where the youngest of their number were participating in a “mock battle.” Twelve young Elves were taking part, divided into two teams of equal strength and numbers. Their ages ranged from the mortal's sixteen to ten, and even the prince's two children were taking part.

A great cheer rose from the crowd as a tall golden-haired boy swung his wooden sword around in a large sweeping motion, effectively taking out three of his opponents. He stood tall, one of the last standing on the field, and raised his sword to the sky in triumph as the spectators cheered.

“Arakan!” A girlish voice cried from behind the “warrior,” and he turned in time to see a boy from the opposite team, who had been “playing dead,” fall to the ground once more, a green arrow suctioned to the back of his leather jerkin. The shot had come from a dark-haired girl standing on a small hill not far away, already holding another arrow at the ready, should any other enemies arise. Arakan smiled up at her, “Thank you, MaŽ,” he called up to her, and she beamed.

Off to the side, Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood, rose from his chair. “Well then,” he smiled, taking in the scene, “I suppose this battle is over.” He stepped forward onto the field, beckoning the three left standing to him. The young Elves came eagerly, two boys and the girl called MaŽ, smiling in their victory.

Legolas waited until the overeager young Elves arranged themselves into a rather sloppy line, then spoke once more: “I congratulate you, young ones, on your victory, small though it may be. The skills you have exhibited here today may one day service you well in battle.”

He addressed each one in turn, starting with the tall blond. “Arakan Ironheart,” he paused, as though musing over the name. “You have earned your title well, and make our family proud. You will be a fine warrior one day, ion-nÓn, my son.”

Moving on, the prince turned to a smaller dark-haired boy, who stared ahead with a clever glint in his grey eyes. “Young Raidonel, your strength lies not in arms, but in your mind. One day you shall command an army.”

And finally, the girl. Younger than all three boys, she looked up at Legolas with a hopeful expression in her clear blue eyes. Legolas smiled. “And BoromaŽ..... You have become an excellent archer.”

BoromaŽ smiled faintly. “I learned from the best.” she said proudly.

“And I have taught you well, my daughter.” Legolas pulled the girl into a hug, the sort of hug only a proud father can give, as he whispered in her ear, “I am proud of you, MaŽ.”

BoromaŽ closed her eyes, “Thank you, Ada.”

After a moment, Legolas released his young daughter, turning so that all around the field could see and hear. “Our children,” he proclaimed, “shall be great warriors in time. But now,” he smiled, “we celebrate them. There is a feast prepared, and I welcome all to the table!”


At the feast, a cluster of young Elves sat together, apart from the others. They were six, three girls and three boys, the eldest of which was Gathwen, a yellow-haired girl of sixteen. The youngest of the group was eleven-year-old BoromaŽ and her best friend SerkŽ, who was only two months older. The three boys were Gathwen's younger brother, Tarrant, Arakan the golden-haired prince's son, and their friend Avrunil, an auburn-haired boy of thirteen. The group laughed loudly and talked louder, overlapping each other's sentences in their rush to be heard.

Elewen, Legolas's wife, watched them from her place, smiling tenderly at her children. She loved to see their happiness, and was reminded as she watched of herself at their age: laughing talking and getting into trouble — more like trying to stop it — with her friends Galendil, Aldahar, and Estel. She smiled at the memory, though tears pricked at her eyes. How they all had changed...

Legolas saw her wistful expression and gently placed a strong hand over her slender one. “Remembering?” he asked softly.

Elewen nodded, leaning into him slightly. “Yes,” she murmured, “To think.... It wasn't too long ago that we were as carefree as they.” She turned to look at her husband, a nostalgic look in her eyes. “Do you remember?”

“Yes I do.” Legolas said, putting an arm around her. “I remember. It seemed you spent half the time yelling for Aldahar to stop doing something incredibly dangerous — while Aragorn tried to yell over you.”

Elewen burst into giggles as the dark-haired half-Elf across the table from the two turned to them with a frown. “Well Elewen,” he said, leaning across the table, “do you remember the time you and Arwen tricked us into thinking that it was Lord Elrond's birthday and we gave him the most ridiculous presents?”

Elewen's giggles turned into full-blown laughter at that. “Yes!” she managed between chuckles, “Elrond's face! Oh, you should have been there, Legolas. It was wonderful.”

“I can imagine,” Legolas remarked with a smile. He kissed Elewen's cheek, making her smile and blush a little.

Aldahar grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Yes, we were quite a rambunctious lot back then...”

“Oy!” Elewen broke in, “I was the one who had to get you tricksters out of your ridiculous predicaments!”

“And you were very good at it.” Aldahar's dark-haired twin, Galendil, remarked, leaning over his brother to speak directly to Elewen. “I am sure my brother would not be alive now if it wasn't for you.”

“Oh, I've no doubts about that,” Elewen smiled at her friends, glad to have them all here with her.

The night went on like that, the adults reminiscing about their younger years as their children lived through them, prepared for anything, in their young minds.
Chapter End Notes:
Thank you again for reading! Let me know if you have any comments or questions!
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