y life began twenty-one years ago, in a quiet house on the borders of Dol
Amroth. My mother named me Estelwen, ‘maiden of hope' in the Sindarin
tongue, being wise in the language and lore of the times of old. My mother
was the daughter of a saddler and had been raised in a small village but seven
leagues from Pelargir, considered the local beauty with her treacle-coloured
hair and striking green eyes. My father grew up in Dol Amroth, enrolling
in Prince Imrahil's army as soon as he as old enough. He was strong and
valiant, a good leader and role model to many in his division. Once his
duties took him far from home, a scouting mission to the land of South Ithilien
, and he passed through my mother's village, spending an hour there to rest,
and it was then that they set eyes upon each other for the first time. My father
spent only an hour in the village, but the memory of the woman with green eyes
was imprinted in his memory forever. Little more than two days later,
the same soldiers returned, only this time two were seriously wounded. Being
in haste, the healthy men begged the village Healers to look after the injured
soldiers, while they returned to Dol Amroth. Three months later, the
two of them returned home, my father taking my mother with him to Dol Amroth
as his wife. Looking back I see now that I led an idyllic childhood. Although
our cottage was not large, we grew fruit and herbs and had some animals. Surrounding
our house were extensive lands, forests and pastures stretching back to the
horizon. I spent most of my younger years exploring these lands; sometimes
alone, sometimes with other children who lived nearby. When I was seven,
a boy called Vinyatur stayed with us for a few weeks. He was the son
of my father's friend, and together we explored the area around Dol Amroth
further than I had previously dared to go. My mother taught me much of
the days of old, and I learned Sindarin, and many of the tales of Middle Earth
and Beleriand. As I grew older however, I desired for true adventure, and discovered
that my parents were unhappy too. I began to realise my mother missed
her village life greatly, and that my father was restless. Although his
wounds were healed, too much damage had been done to his leg to return to the
army, and he missed the thrill of battle. When I was twelve years of
age they made the decision to take the journey back to my mother's birthplace. The
three of us journeyed on horseback, carrying all the possessions we could,
and travelled for six days, spending the nights in small hamlets we passed,
or sleeping under the stars in open country. This was the excitement
I had wanted in my life, and every day was an adventure. Life at the village
was very peaceful; there were no others my age and so I spent most of my days
at home, learning to cook and sew. In my second year of living in the village,
a girl of only about five years, was taken ill, and my mother, knowing the
powers of healing, began to go to her everyday, trying to rid of the fever.
Within a few days, a rash began to appear on the little girl's body, and it
was decided that smallpox had broken out in the village. My mother continued
to nurse the girl, but finally her eyes closed forever more. One day my mother
felt unwell and one touch of her face told me she was burning with fever. Within
a few days she was delirious, and it broke my heart to see the once gentle
and beautiful face disfigured by the infection. At this point, my father realised
that I should leave immediately, and I was sent to my mother's sister, my aunt,
who dwelt in a village two hours away from mine. There I stayed for two months,
before daring to return to my village. There I discovered that not only my
mother, but my father also, had been killed in the epidemic, along with many
other villagers. I discovered a box in my house that I did not recognise it,
and upon opening it, I discovered a beautiful blade with a note attached stating, “For
Estelwen's sixteenth birthday”. Upon reading that, I wept bitter tears, and
not wishing to return to my Aunt, went instead to Pelargir. I worked there
in a small tavern, where I was paid for my work as bar maiden with food and
lodgings. The bartender was a kindly old man, and in the evenings, when the
tavern had closed, he taught me a lot of what I know today about sword fighting
and archery. I named my blade Ringil after my favourite childhood
tale. After over three years training and working in the town by the sea, I
decided to try my chances in a city that I had only heard of in tales; the
White City of seven tiers. It was a good fifty leagues journey, but I was by
then eighteen years and was able to travel alone. When I first set eyes on
Minas Tirith, I was awestruck, and the image will remain in my memory for the
rest of my lifetime. With the few coins I possessed, I was able to rent a room
in an old woman's house, and I soon settled in. A woman of the same age as
me lived in the room next door, named Anaranë, and seeing I knew nobody
introduced me to her friends Enelya and Ruby of the Shire. I also met Vinyatur
in a Gondorian pub after a few months, still recognisable after twelve years,
and we became great friends once more. I have not lost my love of adventure,
and spend a great deal of my life travelling all over the land, but at last
I have found my true home in Minas Tirith.
<< Fanatics Plaza
y life began twenty-one years ago, in a quiet house on the borders of Dol
Amroth. My mother named me Estelwen, ‘maiden of hope' in the Sindarin
tongue, being wise in the language and lore of the times of old. My mother
was the daughter of a saddler and had been raised in a small village but seven
leagues from Pelargir, considered the local beauty with her treacle-coloured
hair and striking green eyes. My father grew up in Dol Amroth, enrolling
in Prince Imrahil's army as soon as he as old enough. He was strong and
valiant, a good leader and role model to many in his division. Once his
duties took him far from home, a scouting mission to the land of South Ithilien
, and he passed through my mother's village, spending an hour there to rest,
and it was then that they set eyes upon each other for the first time. My father
spent only an hour in the village, but the memory of the woman with green eyes
was imprinted in his memory forever. Little more than two days later,
the same soldiers returned, only this time two were seriously wounded. Being
in haste, the healthy men begged the village Healers to look after the injured
soldiers, while they returned to Dol Amroth. Three months later, the
two of them returned home, my father taking my mother with him to Dol Amroth
as his wife. Looking back I see now that I led an idyllic childhood. Although
our cottage was not large, we grew fruit and herbs and had some animals. Surrounding
our house were extensive lands, forests and pastures stretching back to the
horizon. I spent most of my younger years exploring these lands; sometimes
alone, sometimes with other children who lived nearby. When I was seven,
a boy called Vinyatur stayed with us for a few weeks. He was the son
of my father's friend, and together we explored the area around Dol Amroth
further than I had previously dared to go. My mother taught me much of
the days of old, and I learned Sindarin, and many of the tales of Middle Earth
and Beleriand. As I grew older however, I desired for true adventure, and discovered
that my parents were unhappy too. I began to realise my mother missed
her village life greatly, and that my father was restless. Although his
wounds were healed, too much damage had been done to his leg to return to the
army, and he missed the thrill of battle. When I was twelve years of
age they made the decision to take the journey back to my mother's birthplace. The
three of us journeyed on horseback, carrying all the possessions we could,
and travelled for six days, spending the nights in small hamlets we passed,
or sleeping under the stars in open country. This was the excitement
I had wanted in my life, and every day was an adventure. Life at the village
was very peaceful; there were no others my age and so I spent most of my days
at home, learning to cook and sew. In my second year of living in the village,
a girl of only about five years, was taken ill, and my mother, knowing the
powers of healing, began to go to her everyday, trying to rid of the fever.
Within a few days, a rash began to appear on the little girl's body, and it
was decided that smallpox had broken out in the village. My mother continued
to nurse the girl, but finally her eyes closed forever more. One day my mother
felt unwell and one touch of her face told me she was burning with fever. Within
a few days she was delirious, and it broke my heart to see the once gentle
and beautiful face disfigured by the infection. At this point, my father realised
that I should leave immediately, and I was sent to my mother's sister, my aunt,
who dwelt in a village two hours away from mine. There I stayed for two months,
before daring to return to my village. There I discovered that not only my
mother, but my father also, had been killed in the epidemic, along with many
other villagers. I discovered a box in my house that I did not recognise it,
and upon opening it, I discovered a beautiful blade with a note attached stating, “For
Estelwen's sixteenth birthday”. Upon reading that, I wept bitter tears, and
not wishing to return to my Aunt, went instead to Pelargir. I worked there
in a small tavern, where I was paid for my work as bar maiden with food and
lodgings. The bartender was a kindly old man, and in the evenings, when the
tavern had closed, he taught me a lot of what I know today about sword fighting
and archery. I named my blade Ringil after my favourite childhood
tale. After over three years training and working in the town by the sea, I
decided to try my chances in a city that I had only heard of in tales; the
White City of seven tiers. It was a good fifty leagues journey, but I was by
then eighteen years and was able to travel alone. When I first set eyes on
Minas Tirith, I was awestruck, and the image will remain in my memory for the
rest of my lifetime. With the few coins I possessed, I was able to rent a room
in an old woman's house, and I soon settled in. A woman of the same age as
me lived in the room next door, named Anaranë, and seeing I knew nobody
introduced me to her friends Enelya and Ruby of the Shire. I also met Vinyatur
in a Gondorian pub after a few months, still recognisable after twelve years,
and we became great friends once more. I have not lost my love of adventure,
and spend a great deal of my life travelling all over the land, but at last
I have found my true home in Minas Tirith.
