Hey everyone!

This will be a fanfic about the Lord of the rings and it's lovely Legolas. This story is about my OC character Mÿne. The rating is for the blood and violence, just to be safe, and the lemons (since it's an Legolas fanfic).

– I do not own Lord of the Rings, nor it's characters and places. I only created Mÿne.

She was named after the flowers that grew on the tombs in Rohan. It was a sad name, but over time she came to like it. She became attached to it, be it the only thing she had from her parents. Her 'old life', as she liked to think about it. Now those flowers would grow on the tombs of her mother and father as well, decorating them with the memory and love of their only daughter.

Mÿne had grown up as a simple farmer's daughter, until one day an orc band raided their village. Both her parents died in that raid, but Mÿne escaped. She hid in the nearby forest, waiting for it to be over. When all turned out to be lost, the village burned to the ground, a group of cloaked men came to drive away the band of orcs. Unfortunately they were too late to rescue any more of the villagers, but they decided to take along Mÿne. The men turned out to be rangers from the North, and they had been tracking this band of orcs for a long time now.

Mÿne felt comfortable with the group of men, and even though it would never be like her own village, she found joy and happiness in playing, running and climbing trees with the younger man. However, the leader of the group of rangers planned to leave her at the next village, with a nice family that could take care of her. Mÿne had rejected. She wanted to stay with the rangers, become one of them en protect people like they had tried to protect her village. After they'd left her in the next village, Mÿne followed them through the woods. It was only half a day later that she'd been discovered. The leader of the group commanded her to go back, and to never follow them again, byt Mÿne protested.

It was at that moment that a member of the group approached her and vowed to take her under his wing. He'd seen great skill in her and found it worth his time to train her. His name was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, also known as Strider...and he would become her mentor.

At that time, Mÿne had been no older than 10 years old, still a little lass in a terrifying big world. Together, she trained with Aragorn. He taught her to fight with a sword, bow and her fists. He learned her how to track orcs, how to hunt, how to treat small injuries. No day was the same, and even though Mÿne sometimes grew tired of the endless walking and fighting, she found the strength to carry on.

That had been so long ago. The times had been different then. Orcs didn't wander the Northern realms as much as they did now. She and Aragorn weren't used to run into them that often but lately she couldn't help but notice their fateful encounters became more and more.

Mÿne found it a pleasure to reminisce about the past. It contained memories she both found good and bad, but it had made her to who she was this day: a ranger-maiden of twentytwo winters old. She could fight, ride horses, shoot arrows, track orcs, survive in the woods… but there was still so much to learn.

The days around them grew darker still. Something was stirring in the darkest of forests, even she could feel it in her bones. Or maybe it was the cold from the pouring rain. She looked at the sign above the tavern they were about to enter.

The Prancing Pony.