Taramiluiel Glirdan od Imladris Pith evyr ú-bedi o Taramiluiel Naid ú-istennin a naid ú-bennin There is not much to tell of Taramiluiel, For little is known, and less is shown. The Elves of Imladris knew her father; knew his wanderlust; know still his songs. They remember him as a traveller, a Nandor who claimed all Ennorath as his home, ever yearning to explore over the next ridge, ever bringing music and song from distant lands. They knew, too, her mother, one of their own, who loved one whose heart could only sing when he roamed. Imladris could sing of the joy of their union… but Tara cannot bear to hear it. The roaring waters of the Bruinen could not drown out the Elf-maiden’s lamentation when a patrol brought to her her Beloved’s well-worn black staff. The Elves of Imladris sing a song of her sorrow, and of their own when she fled, taking with her all that remained of her Beloved; the staff and an unborn child… but Tara will not sing it. Her mother clung to life only long enough to give it to her, or so claimed the farmer’s wife who took the infant into her house, her family, and her heart - she had named her daughter and bid the strangers care for her; and with a smile had gone to her Beloved. Her foster-mother used to sing about the Elf’s rich, liquid voice and soft, star-lit eyes… but Tara will not think of it. For many years she lived amongst Men, seeing generations of her family grow old and die. How and why did she leave the world of Men, and the only home she had known, to seek out her own kind? It is a wound not yet healed… one of many. That a shadow lies over her heart is apparent in the troubled depths of her forest-green eyes… but Tara will not speak of it. She had hoped to feel at home here in Imladris, and yet her ways are strange to the Elves, and theirs are to her. She is filled with the impatience and urgency of a culture where life is short, and cannot yet comprehend the passing of an Age before her eyes. She has urgently learned their language – her language – yet her tongue struggles to wrap around its unfamiliar sounds. She has immersed herself in Lord Elrond’s magnificent library, hungrily learning the history of a people she does not fully understand as though hoping therein to find answers to questions she cannot even name. In those quiet, book-filled chambers, throughout the winter snowfalls and the stirring anew of the earth, she has found one who has become her mentor, and more; for whom her heart reaches beyond any will or intent of her mind. With her she no longer feels lost or bereft; in her alone she has confided; but while she dares to hope, she does not yet dare to trust that hope will not be snuffed. Tara stands with one foot in each culture, Men and Elves, belonging to neither and yet a part of both. Her heart yearns for a place to call home, and yet, like her father, she is forever wondering what lies over the horizon. This secluded valley, this refuge from the wilds, at times seems too small to contain her spirit, but the time has not yet come for her to spread her wings; she has much to learn before she will be ready to fly. Back to the top Return to the front page of the book