Warnings: Mentions of child abuse in the following chapter.

HARRIEL'S P.O.V

Harriel did not know how long she ran for, dipping, diving, rolling through brush and tree roots until the sound of pursuing footsteps faded. Dudley had chased her too, and although these incredibly tall grownups where faster than that hunk of a boy, lighter on their feet too, Harry was small and nimble, able to squish into even the smallest of holes and crevices. It had saved her from Dudley's games and the experience of running and hiding from Dudley aided at keeping her barely out of the tree peoples grasps.

Harriel had not known that people lived in the woods, especially in the woods outside of Mrs Figg's cottage. Yet, here they were, tree houses, grand and more beautiful than anything Harriel had ever seen, shining from the tree tops, interlaced with bridges and spiralling staircases, shining lamps of brilliant silver light, as if they had captured the shine of the moon, lighting up the forest magnificently in the dead of the night.

However, these tree people were giant, fast… And were chasing her. She had only meant to follow her lantern, and in her rush, had ran over a bridge that lead to this strange place. Then these even stranger people had appeared, so tall and imposing with their shining skin and glittering robes, all staring at her and then she remembered what happened when aunt Petunia or uncle Vernon stared at her so intensely and she had ran.

And ran.

And ran.

And ran.

The problem was, with running, especially while in a state of panic, is one normally ended up lost and confused, which poor Harry befell too. She had no idea where the bridge was to get back to Mrs Figg's cottage, tree people were pursuing her, multiplying right before her eyes, five turning to ten and then ten to too many to count, and just as she was getting out of breath, her foot caught on a broken pathway stone she had tried to over jump, leading to her slamming harshly into the ground, her ankle twisting horribly. Pain shot up her leg and wracked the breath out of her lungs. She was lost, scared, hurt, and the only sound she could hear in the darkness was the bubbling of a brook or a pleasant river. Water!

ARWEN'S P.O.V

Lothlorien had fallen to chaos it had not seen in millennia after Harriel's swift appearance and even more sudden disappearance into the underbrush of Lothlorien's grand woods. Fractions had been drawn, each with the same goal of Harriel's retrieval, but all with different plans on such an act. Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had stayed within their halls, awaiting word from their own elves should the child be spotted.

Leaflings were exceptionally rare, elves immortality, difficulty in fertility and impregnation making it so, and in thus, the appearance of one running freely without a parent or guardian would be surely noted. However, the guards they had sent out to search were mainly focusing their gazes upon the tree tops, to the higher lands, where the star light could be seen. Lothlorien elves were renowned for their love of star light, above all others, and in their quest to find the child, had thought the leafling would find the same comfort in the distant, soft light they often did. They were wrong.

Thranduil and his company of Mirkwood elves turned their sight to the forest itself, scraping through the trees, digging through roots, rattling through bushes. Greenwood elves felt safety in between tree trunks and foliage, and after seeing the fear laid bare upon the leaflings face before she ran, they had thought she too would try and find safety in the sanctity of the trees. They were wrong.

Her own father, Elrond, in his panic and own haste, tried to cover as much land as possible in his own quest to find the child, stationing sentinels to watch over the bridge should the leafling try to re-cross. He spread his men far and wide, from eastern clearings to western mountain range. Elrohir and Elladan followed in his steps, eyes unfocused but searching none the less. They were wrong.

Harriel was no Mirkwood elf. She was no Lothlorien starlight either. Nor would she flee in blind panic. She was of Imladris blood, the salt and water of their great rivers ran through her veins as much as it did Arwen's and she knew, just knew, if the girl was to run anywhere in fear, it would be to the river banks. And so, Arwen's lone hunt began. The river that cut through Anduin had been fruitless, the splendid lake of Mirrormere barren of her presence too, and by the time Arwen made it to the small river of Celebrant, descending from her horse, the moon and stars had fallen to the rising sun, the morn chilly and damp.

Too cold for a child to be out, alone, dressed the way Harriel was. Subconsciously, Arwen pulled her own velvet cloak of smoky grey around herself more snuggly as she made her way down to the muddy bank, beginning her trek along its tilting path from one end to another, only to loop back around and search the far side. Perhaps it was merely seconds, only minutes, or long hours before she came to a bent willow tree, time meant little to elves. Its roots were thick and healthy, overhanging the bank to create a little alcove, dipping into the river. She was about to step around it to continue her journey, when something green and bright glinted between two curving roots.

Arwen unhooked her cloak, laying it over a branch to keep dry as she turned herself over to the water. It was frigid and bitter as it soaked into her dress as she waded into the river, the only way to gain a look at the little alcove underneath the tree. Her flesh began to goosepimple, the water reaching the midst of her thighs, before she was able to gain a good look at the knotted root system of the large willow.

At first, she did not see a thing, nothing that could have created a little green eye that had peeped out at her. All there was was a muddy river bank, a tilting willow tree and a little hole within the back where the roots had slid loose from the ground. Then, in the very corner of the hole, behind a rather meaty root encased in dirt, slipped out a little blinking green eye and wet, ebony curls threatening to cover it.

There she was. Arwen smiled, but dared not breath to heavily, half afraid the small leafling would run again. Still smiling gently, Arwen sank deeper into the water, bending down until she was eye level with the child.

"Hello little water vole…"

The eye was gone as Harriel dipped back behind the roots, the slush and slug of mud echoing in the air as the small girl dug herself deeper in, burrowing away like the very creature Arwen had nicknamed her. Arwen fought the urge to step closer, to make her voice louder. She, of course, was not the only one to have seen the state the leafling had appeared in, and coupled with what sparse information Thranduil had told them of Harriel's background, it was not a far leap of logic to come to a conclusion.

Ratty clothes, bruises up and down her arms and neck in the shape of an adults hand prints, malnourishing-ly too thin and small for such a young age. Her great flee once she saw adults coming towards her… No, Arwen had a good idea of what Harriel's previously life and held and the thought alone broke her heart more than she could verbalize. So, she evened her voice, gentle and soft like a feather, she stayed in her spot, giving the leafling enough space to feel reassured, and she smiled even if she felt like crying.

"I will not hurt you little one. Aren't you cold?"

She must have been, buried in the soot and muck of the river bank, alone throughout the night to face the rivers winds in clothes barely fit for a beggar. Arwen gained no reply, not even a squeak, but the eye was back between the roots, cautiously staring out at her.

"I have a warm cloak and some food near my horse, just for you."

One blink, two blinks, and then she spoke. Her voice was high, ragged, broken and heart wrenching.

"Trouble?"

It took a little while for Arwen to understand what Harriel was hinting at, but when she did, she smiled as bright as she could, hoping to ease the frayed leafling. Her long, dark locks fluttered in the small mid-day breeze, dipping into the river around her as she shook her head.

"No, never. Not here. You're not in trouble with anyone."

The eye came out an inch further, a quarter of a small, rounded but thin face shining white against the dark roots and muddy alcove.

"Chased me."

Once again, it took a while for Arwen to translate what the child was hinting at, as if the leafling was too scared to fully confer a full sentence. When Arwen did realize, she hazard a step forward towards the child, just one, and breathed a muted sigh of relief when Harriel didn't try to recoil from the advancement.

"We didn't chase you because you're in trouble, we didn't mean to scare you. We… We're happy you are here. We got excited. We've been waiting a long time to meet you Harriel."

A little dark brow creased down tightly over the visible eye, confusion dancing in her eyes as she regarded Arwen like one would with an orc that had asked you to have a feast with them, complete with Lembas bread.

"Me?"

It was that lone word that made this such a tragedy. A little girl, who should be loud and playful, instead was muted and scared, so bewildered at the thought that anyone could and would want to meet her. Arwen's smile frayed around the edges, the twinge in her heart from hearing the puzzled note in the leaflings tone twisting painfully, but still, she kept that smile in place with an iron grip.

"Yes, of course you. Liliel was your mother, was she not?"

When the muddled expression began to urge the child back into the darkness of the root system, Arwen realised her slip up. Liliel didn't go by her real name in the other world, no, she had used her favourite flowers instead. Taking two more cautious steps forward, Arwen let out a soft chuckle as she eased closer to the child.

"Lily Delilah Evans?"

The name was like a blessed sunrise, jolting the leafling into actions not of an injured fawn. She skittered forward, still hidden mostly, but her head swung fully out of the gnarled roots, eyes wide with wonder. It was a bittersweet moment for Arwen, having the child look upon her with something other than fear, but to see the very same eyes of her sister, Liliel, from a skull of an abused child was the pit of the sweet peach.

Her loving sister would have never let Harriel fall to such conditions, not if her life was still within any realm to reach the leafling, neither would she have let the child venture out alone, not at such a tender age. Which, to Arwen, meant only one thing. Liliel had joined their mother and sailed to the undying lands, or, if she had made the choice many had before her in their family and became human, she was somewhere even their father could not reach. Liliel would have never abandoned her child to sail, not without delivering her into caring hands, which left only the latter.

"You know my mother?"

But then those wonderous eyes were staring at Arwen and she realised, undying lands or not, her sister was not fully gone, not with Harriel here. Arwen took another step forward, close enough now to touch the root the leafling was hiding behind if she extended her arm. This close, she could see her face clearly. Mud was streaked here and there; the tip of her nose was blistered red from the cold winds and her little lips and tips of her pointed ears were tinged blue too. Like all elves, she may not feel the cold, but being as young as she was with her body still maturing, the cold still affected her unlike their imperious nature when they reached maturity. Little water droplets were hanging onto the edges of her lashes, her sawn curls, soaking and dripping from the river water, were plastered to her forehead, but still maintained their rambunctious spiral. She looked like a little injured water sprite, crouched in the dirt and roots.

"I know her true and deep. She is my sister… I am your aunt."

Arwen had believed the assurance of a familial connection would have eased the child further, instead she dipped completely behind the root once more, her small voice faintly heard from the darkness of the shade the overhang offered her.

"I already have an aunt. She doesn't like me…"

And just like that, Arwen's forced smile broke completely. The aunt… Likely an uncle too, were the culprits of the bruises, of the fear, and Harriel, presumedly only ever knowing their actions, had linked her to them. How could she know that aunts could be anything but what she had already faced when that was all she had ever experienced? Arwen swallowed down the lump in her throat.

"Well, I like you very much. Very much indeed. Harriel… Can I come in there?"

She needed to see the leafling fully, but she also needed to show Harriel that, unlike her aunt and uncle, should she desire something, Arwen would not force herself upon the child. To do so would destroy any further attempt at establishing any sort of bond between the two. The slither of the eye was back, a spark of weariness squeezing the pupil tight.

"You're asking?... What if I said no?"

Arwen smiled softly and went to reach out, but the leafling flinched back violently, the type of jerk one did when expecting a solid hit. If possible, Arwen's heart broke even further as her hand fell to her side, splashing back into the gentle river. She was left to speak to the dark hole.

"Then I would stay right here and talk to you still. And if you wished not to talk, I wouldn't."

It took two heartbeats for the leafling to answer.

"And if I said I wanted you to go away?"

Arwen could not and would not lie to the child. She didn't wish to start off their relationship in such a fashion. No bond forge under circumstances of lies held for long, and elves lived a long, long time. She could not because Harriel would see through it, even if she said yes, she could not leave her here, and that would only breed distrust within the leafling. Distrust that would not only bite back at her later, but at her family.

"I am sorry Harriel, but I can not do that. A river bank is no home for a small child-"

"I am not a child!"

It was said with such sternness, so much confidence, in such a young and high voice, almost whiney, that the contradictory nature of the statement could only lead Arwen to laughter. Before the child could take it the wrong way, Arwen took the final step forward, just shy of the barrier of roots shielding her from view, and began to speak.

"I did not mean it in such a way. I am sorry. I only meant that an overhang is no home for anybody, adult or child. It is cold and damp in there, and food is scarce."

It seemed Arwen had unwittingly entered a battle of stubbornness with the child. It was a glorious thing to hear, for it meant she was not completely broken by her short life before.

"I could catch fish!"

Arwen shook her head, a true smile lighting up her eyes and face.

"But you have no fishing pole or net, nor fire to cook them with."

The silence that stretched before them was longer this time as the leafling contemplated her next move.

"I could catch them with worms from the mud and my bare hands, and some fish you can eat raw."

Arwen chuckled, the breeze carrying it to the tree tops.

"It is a good plan, to be sure, but not one that will last long. What about toys? A warm bed? Clean clothes? What about home?"

Then, as Harriel answered, the game was over before it even fully began. With each new word spoken in such a casual tone, Arwen's heart squeezed tighter.

"I don't have any toys, and my cot in the stairs cupboard is broken anyway, the pole keeps cutting my back. And I can cook and clean for myself already… I don't want to go back..."

Arwen tried to blink away the tears, but she knew she had failed to catch some as a hot track tickled down her cheek.

"Harriel… That home… That house, with your aunt and uncle? You do not have to go back. I-… We do not wish for you to go back there… Can I come in?"

She needed to look her in the eye, the leafling needed to see the truth there, and when silence was all she gained, Arwen took that as permission. Crouching down deeper into the water, Arwen, although it was a tight squeeze, pushed herself through the roots and into the tiny, mucky cave. There, she caught her first full glance of the girl, sitting curled up on just on a tiny slither of rock protruding from the side.

Her clothes were caked in dirt, wet and sticky, streaking, speckled with twigs and mud. Her skin and hair didn't fair much better. And while the rock didn't have enough room for both legs, one was dangling ankle deep into the rivers water, the other was elongated, covered in the same brown mess the leafling was. However, even through the mud, Arwen could see the ankle was ballooned, swollen and turning a sickly purple colour. Broken. The pain must have been immense, especially to a child, and yet she had not uttered a single peep or whine or cry. Her pain tolerance was already high and that thought churned Arwen's stomach to knotted dread. Still, she looked Harriel in the eye and carried on.

"You see, you have family here. Me, your aunt, you have a grandfather, two uncles, a great grandfather and grandmother, cousins, family friends… They all wish to meet you… For you to stay…"

The leafling simply watched her, unfazed by the words and suddenly, Arwen knew just who to mention.

"Thranduil is here too, and wishes to meet-"

"Tandy's here?"

Arwen almost chuckled at the nickname, and made sure to store that knowledge for later, for surely Elrohir and Elladan would enjoy this tidbit, but until then, she nodded. Harriel beamed a grin.

"Yes, he's here, and he's worried. He's been writing to you… But I think all this mud has covered it up."

Harriel's smile faded to distrust in a blink of an eye, the look too old, prudent and circumspect to grace such a young face. She curled in tighter upon herself, backing into the mud wall of her little water den.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

Once again, Arwen felt like crying, but could not afford to indulge in her own emotions when her niece was so evidently hurt and aching. And not entirely physically either. Harriel would take a lot longer healing than just the mending of her broken ankle. Not if she was wise enough to question lies at barely six years of age. Arwen, by nature and nurture, was never a being prone to violence, her voice barely ever raised above its natural decadence, but if she were to ever meet this 'aunt' and 'uncle' of Harriel's…

Arwen bit back on the thought. Now was not the time to concentrate on such dismal thoughts, no matter how pleasing they were to Arwen's sense of justice or aching heart. Harriel was here, hurt but here, and she needed Arwen's patience and easy manner, not her fury. This time, Arwen slowly raised her hand, so Harriel could clearly see its movements, and softly placed it upon the knee of her good leg. The leaflings skin was icy cold, her knee cap too prominent. After having her ankle looked upon by their healer, she would need food, and plenty off it in the oncoming months.

"I will not, nor ever will, lie to you Harriel. Upon the moon, stars, trees and Iluvatar himself, I will not."

Harriel's lips sucked in between her teeth as she began to rapidly blink, staring down at the soft hand upon her knee.

"You really want me to stay?"

Harriel's eyes were getting misty, but she stubbornly held back on the tears. Arwen, however, was not doing as such as a good job as the leafling. By now, she could feel the salty drops drip from her proud chin. Standing up as much as she could in the small cove, Arwen pressed in tighter, sharing breath with the child, lifting her hand from Harriel's knee to place the warm palm against the leaflings soft cheek, fingers brushing into drenched hair.

"Yes, to the very bottom of my heart. We all do."

Harriel's lip trembled, her voice so cramped and shattered.

"Can I have food?"

To ask for something like the right to food… Arwen could hold back no longer, she sobbed, harshly, jaggedly, unreserved fat weeps that trembled her own form. Her other hand lifted to cradle Harriel's face.

"As much as your stomach can handle, each and every day."

Harriel searched her eyes, blinking faster to keep the tears at bay.

"Do I have to eat meat?"

"Do you wish to?"

The leafling violently shook her head in the negative, barely letting Arwen keep a tender clasp upon her tiny face.

"No, it makes me feel sick and I throw up."

Arwen didn't doubt that, many elves couldn't stomach meat either, it did not sustain them neither did it offer them any nutrition, and from Harriel's gaunt frame, it was likely one of the only edible products she had been given or had scrounged herself.

"Then no meat will ever be on your plate."

Harriel's bird-boned fingers began to fiddle together, interlocking finger to tapping thumb, as she stared up bottomlessly at Arwen.

"Can I have a blanket too?"

Arwen's sobs turned to cracked and torn laughter, bending down closer to the leafling to lovingly brush forehead to forehead. She thought of herself at that age, young and blind to the world with youthful ignorance. She had asked her father for many a thing, new dresses, toys, great visits to her grandmother, and he had given them all. Yet, her Harriel was, simply asking for food, shelter and a warm blanket, and from the trembling of her form, she had not been given any without a fight on her own part before.

"As many as you like. Big fur ones for the winter months and silk and satin for summer."

Who would do such a thing to a child? So small, so wide eyed, so precious? Monsters. It was the only word Arwen's jumbled mind could supply her with. Especially when, after Arwen had finished speaking, Harriel began to shake from the very core of her being, her will and stubbornness finally breaking under the onslaughts of cries, shoulder quaking sobs and breathy whimpers. Arwen held back no longer, delving in tightly to scoop the little leafling up, cradling her to her chest in that damp, cold hole in the side of the river bank. Harriel latched on, burying her face into the joint of Arwen's neck and shoulder, still peremptorily quivering through her cries. Arwen, in turn, held her tighter, smoothing one soothing hand across her short curls.

"Shhh, shhh, little water vole. I've got you now. It's okay. You're safe."

They stood like that for some time, simply holding onto one another, before her cries turned to pitiful snivels, before Arwen's tears crusted upon her cheeks, transforming to steely determination glinting in her eye. As gently as she could, not wishing to further jolt or injure Harriel's ankle, Arwen dug through the curtain of roots and began to embark onto land. As soon as she got to her thick, warm cloak, Arwen snatched it from the branch to wrap around the leafling, as tightly as she dared in fear of making the child feel trapped, before she began to journey back to her horse, pleasantly whispering downy words of comfort to a slightly shivering Harriel.

"I'm going to take you to your grandfather now. We can get a healer to help you with your leg. Shhh, it's okay. It's over now. We're going home."

From the flaps and folds of the smokey cloak, from between her shoulder and locks, one lone, wild green eye peeped out at her again. This time, the pupil was blown, glazed, eye slightly red from the crying.

"Home?"

The way Harriel said the word made it sound so foreign, an alien concept, an idea she had never been able to reach or a language she had never been taught. Arwen mustered up a small smile, all fragile glass and spider webbed, as she pressed a light kiss upon the leaflings forehead. The word she spoke back, lips fluttering against chilly skin, however, was irrefutable, undeniable, strong, stable and unshakeable.

"Home."

A.N: I know, no Thranduil this chapter, but the big blonde bastard comes rampaging in next one, so not much more of a wait (actually, I think most of next chapter is solely from his perspective, although Elrond might make a show here or there). I just really wanted Harriel's first real interaction from any elf to be with one of her family members, and with the state of Harriel (or how I've written her so far), Arwen seemed the best candidate to tempt her out of hiding. Arwen's patient, loving and soft in most areas, that's the sort of person Harriel needed right then. At least, in my mind, that was the type of person she needed to find her and coax her out.

While this fic is going to have romance in it, it will be a slow burn one… Really slow XD. (So buckle up!) And while it has romance in it, I also want it to be a story of family, healing and a tale of growing up, and how circumstances can make us what we are, but nature has a hand too. (yes, I'm turning to the nature vs nurture argument for inspiration) And how sometimes, no matter who you're with or what world you are in, somethings are meant to happen. So, while Thranduil and Harry take a majority of the P.O.V slots, Elrond, Elladan, Arwen, and the rest will make their appearances too, especially in the beginning arc of this story as Harriel grows up.

CHAPTER NOTES:

I put emphasis on Harriel running to water because I like to think elves have a strong link to the land they are from, or the land they have domain in. Harriel being descended from Elrond and Rivendell, well, she would feel that pull and safety from water, and in such, would flee to it in a state of panic. However, I also put emphasis on the tree roots of the willow, specifically them shielding and protecting her, because I wanted to subtly tie in Thranduil to this concept of linking to the land. After all, they are soulmates, and therefore she would have some diminished connection to Mirkwood and their trees. I just thought it would be a nice touch to add.

I know Elven children are not called leaflings in Tolkienverse, but I like the word and decided to play around with it here. Think of it as elven slang (if there ever could be such a thing! XD).

I think this is pretty much all I wish to say for this chapter, as I no longer want to do questions and answers as the answers I will be giving will just spoil the plot from here on out. However, if I come across a question that doesn't, I will be sure to answer it! If your question isn't answered, it means you've hit a subject that is later going to be incorporated into this story and I don't wish to spoil things.

WOW, really, THANK YOU ALL! I really didn't think this little plot bunny would get much notice, but by Elrond himself, it's grown into a mountain troll! I really do appreciate every single follow, favourite and review! They make me smile and kind of proud that I've written something other people can smile and enjoy too, even if it's just for a little while.

Once again, thank you, and if you have a spare moment or two, see that little box over there with the word review in it? Can you type a few words and hit the big ol' send button? Your words really do give this story life 😊. Until next time, stay beautiful! ~AlwaysEatTheRude21