Amárië The child’s eyes were exactly the same color as his own: a blue-green so vivid that even the most glorious of oceans could seldom equal it. She was a lovely baby and Falleríon’s heart swelled to look on his own daughter, his own Amárië…… Amárië was born on the shores of the sea, in Mithlond, at the closing of the Second Age. To her father’s laughter and the sorrowful crying of the gulls on the nearby shores she awoke. Sorrow and joy, a fitting beginning, for such became her life. Her ada was Noldorin and her mother was Telerin, elves who met before the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and escaped together with Círdan to the Isle of Balas with the Falmari. From the beginning, the sea was their shared love. Earindil gave to Amárië the love of the sea that had been born in her, while Falleríon bestowed on his daughter the love of the sea that had grown in him since he had first glimpsed it. He called her Eledhwen, elf-sheen, and taught her much of the ways of his people. As a pupil, Amárië excelled in everything he set before her, rising to every challenge and seeking in all things to please her most beloved father. She became a warrior, skilled in the bow and arrow, sword, and long knives, able to track anything and anticipate an opponent’s move in a split second. Yet Amárië was not taught all war and ruin, for her lovely mother had much to say in her teaching. From the sea-elf, the child learned to sing the haunting songs of the waters in a voice that rivaled many of the elders. She would pass untold hours in and among the foamy waves, and was often loath to return to the dry ground. Great care was also taken that she should learn much of the other races that peopled Middle-earth, and they traveled widely in her early years. Languages were quickly mastered and cultures were eagerly studied. All was done to ensure the child had a wealth of knowledge and a love for everything around her. For Amárië, life was unending happiness. But it was not to last. “An Elven-maid there was of old, A shining star by day: Her mantle white was trimmed with gold…” Of a sudden the words were cut short, the strangled cry that followed sliced through the gaiety like a knife’s blade. They had been traveling home from Lothlorien, traversing the wooded paths between the Shire and the Sea, when the small group was attacked without warning by a company of renegade orcs. Their joyous singing was shattered by fierce growls and angered shrieks and, while hidden behind their fallen horses, Amárië and her nearly unconscious mother escaped the carnage, few were as fortunate. Before the young child’s eyes unfolded the merciless murder of friends, guards, and even her beloved nurse, all slain by the ruthless mob. When the horrible creatures finally vanished into the nearby woods, Amárië crept from her hiding spot and searched frantically among the dead for the one she could not find. And then, a groan and a heavy sigh from behind brought the maid to her knees beside the prostrate form that was once her valiant father. Even in the confusion of her mind, she understood the severity of his wounds, yet still she clung to him as he whispered her name, before closing his glorious eyes for the last time. Darkness took her and the elf remembered nothing until waking at last in her own bed some days later. The attack was not mentioned, her father not spoken of, as she was led to the bed of her stricken mother. Earindil’s lovely face held no glow, the light of the elves had left her beautiful eyes forever and a ship into the west was spoken of in soft whispers. They buried Falleríon atop his favorite hill overlooking the white shores, facing west, towards Aman. Amárië watched the sun set over his grave, her heart forming an oath of revenge, and as the light disappeared, her luminous eyes turned cold. Many lives of men she spent in reckless hate, scorning love, happiness, and beauty in her ceaseless hunt for the blood of Mordor’s minions. The sea was forgotten, her friends of old forsaken in the choking bitterness she could not stem. But at last, she could run no more and in a skirmish with goblins on the southern slopes of the Misty Mountains, she was undone. Three stripes, three ripples of fire, three agonizing slices were ripped across her back. The goblin’s cruel claws tore through armor and linen, and he left her for dead upon the forsaken hills. But it was not the end. Rescued by elves of Imladris, she was carried to that place and, under the watchful eyes of the finest healers in the Valley, Amárië was brought back from the brink of death. She has never left Imladris, finding a peace and contentment within its comforting boundaries. Though the sea is ever calling to her, Amárië will not answer it yet, for there is still much she wishes to see and do, and for the first time in many ages, she is again happy. Slowly and surely, she begins to understand love once more, for the cold ache grows smaller by the day and light afresh shines from her eyes. Back to the top Return to the front page of the book