y mother was a Noldorin elf, born in Valinor early in the First Age. When many of the Noldor departed into Beleriand, my mother went with them, in search of a new life and adventure. She came to the fair city of Gondolin, along with many other elves, and lived there for many years in peace. There she met my father Celetirin, a Sindarin scout whose force had been ravaged by the orcs of Morgoth. He came to Gondolin seeking shelter and safety; he was granted both, and he stayed in the city. He met my mother, and they soon fell in love. For a long time they lived happily in the hidden realm--until King Turgon was betrayed by Maeglin and Morgoth's army attacked the city. Both my parents luckily escaped with their lives. They fled to the Western shores, and lived there for several years. When Cirdan the Shipwright founded Mithlond they moved to that place, and I was born there, in the second year of the Second Age.

owever, I was not to lead a happy family life, for my mother departed into the West not long afterwards. I was raised in Mithlond by my father, who taught me many things: how to wield sword and dagger, how to shoot from a bow. He taught me how to manage horses and I reveled in being able to go on long rides on hot summer days, the wind blowing in my face and whipping back my hair, making me totally happy. My father taught me also more subtle arts: singing, playing the flute and the harp, some dancing at which I did not excel but which I learned anyway. It was a happy time then; a time of innocence, where the world was all good. Those first thousand years were so simple, yet so full of joy.
My father and I lived in peace, caring little for the world beyond our home, until the power of the Dark Lord began to grow, his never-ending unquenched thirst for power and hunger for blood increasing. Eventually the evils of Sauron reached even the Grey Havens: he made war on Eriador, attempting even to take the Grey Havens. I fought in this attack and it was the first time I had drawn blood. My memories of that experience have been dulled and faded by time, but I do remember the horror I felt, when I first saw the pain and suffering that Sauron could inflict. Before, I had not believed that such evil was possible--afterwards, when I saw my friends and teachers die in defending their home, I began to develop an everlasting hatred for the one who caused others such terror. I began training with my sword and bow daily, learning to ride in battle, and preparing myself for another attack by the Dark Lord if it ever came.

nd come it did, but not on Mithlond. News came to the Havens that the men of Gondor were preparing a last stand, a last Alliance of men and elves, to fight against Sauron and try to cast him down once and for all. My father being the elf that he was, decided to fight for the freedom of the Middle Earth--but beg as I might, he would not allow me to come with him. It was too dangerous, he said; he cared too much for me to risk me being lost in battle. I reminded him that I had fought before, that I was competent with weapons and that he could not protect me forever, but my father was adamant. Failing to come to the final battle I tried to persuade him to stay behind, but father would not hear of it. He left for Mordor with many other elves, intent on the destruction of evil, but he did not come back. I assumed that he was dead.

verwrought with grief, seeking peace but not yet ready to depart into the West, I took my horse and my father's sword Nare and became a wanderer. I traveled the roads of the Middle Earth and visited fabled places of old but never truly came to a place where I could rest. Though decades and centuries passed since my father's death I could never cast away the knowledge that it was my fault he was dead, that in my failing to persuade him to stay home he was lost. To keep the sadness at least somewhat at bay I kept myself occupied often with just surviving, fighting bands of roving orcs where I encountered them and going to places few would dare to go. I also visited Gondor, the land of the Men who had thrown Sauron down. Despite the fact that I could have been resentful towards them, my father having died in that last battle, I instead admired Men and thirsted to know more about that race. I had not had many encounters with mortals when I lived in Mithlond and my father had told me little about them. I often came to their famed city of Minas Tirith, still Minas Anor then, to interact with Men and learn of their history and customs and traditions.

ut still, no matter how often I came there, I would always leave the White City behind and move on.
Then one day, while I was traveling through the Misty Mountains, I came upon another elf. He was somehow different from the rest of his kind: he did not want to force me to settle anyone, did not press me to immediately let go of my guilt and start living a happy life, or try to convince me to sail West. I learned that this elf was from Rivendell. He invited me to his home, offering me shelter but not a permanent place to stay, not yet--"Just a stop along the road," he called it at our first meeting. I liked him and enjoyed his company, and since despite all my travelling I had never been to the fabled haven of Imladris, I agreed to come. Imladris proved to be beautiful beyond my wildest dreams. Where Mithlond was all sea spray and salty air and a cold, remembering, distant grandeur, Rivendell was fading golden autumn and the smell of elderberries in the air. I intended to stay there only a little while before moving on. But the weeks turned into months and the months into years, until eventually I realized that I did not want to leave this place ever again.

he elf and I spend much time together, sometimes sparring with swords or daggers or challenging each other on the archery range, while at other times simply taking long strolls through the mountain woods. He was so kind, this elf; his kindness and goodness was so overwhelming that, if he did not heal the wounds in my heart, he certainly sent me on the way to recovery. And slowly he taught me how to love again. It was something that I had forgotten over the many years that I had been alone. So as I lived in Imladris my liking and friendship for him grew to love and caring, and I knew that I did not ever want to leave him. But as had happened already in my life, this wish did not come true.

bout three or four hundred years before the War of the Ring, a dark, evil creature appeared, known only by the name of 'Black Hawk'. This vile creature and his band of orcs attacked an elven patrol beside Imladris, and were only defeated through the deaths of many elves--and the elf I loved was one of the slain; he died saving my life.

do not remember well what happened then, for those years are to me a blur of anguish and guilt. Once again I had been responsible for the loss of one so dear to me. For a while I retreated completely into myself and thought I would die. But this time I was older and understood more of the world, so in a shorter time I accepted that the elf was dead. He was not coming back; there was nothing I could do about it, so I had to stop constantly blaming myself. But nevertheless I swore to myself one thing: that if I ever set eyes on the Black Hawk again, I would get my revenge.

remained in Rivendell for a long time and slowly began to feel content again. When I fought in the War of the Ring and Sauron was defeated for the last time I was even happy. But a few years after the War of the Ring, a dark evil came once more: it was the Black Hawk, not yet dead, once again planning to kill Rivendell's rulers and take the elven home. He was stopped again, and destroyed--for good this time--by a group of elves including myself and the General Laebeth. But before he died the Hawk imparted a final shot, gaining a victory even in death: he told me that he was truly my father, the elf once known as Celetirin. He had not been killed during the war of the Alliance as I had thought, but had been captured by the Dark Lord's forces and corrupted until his soul was bitter and evil.

aving been wounded during my battle with the Black Hawk, I was helped to heal in Rivendell. But there my father's dying words that had turned my life upside-down caused me to lose my will to live. I did not want to continue an everlasting life, because I was afraid of what else I might learn. What other secrets were there for me to find out about myself? I did not want that question answered. I only wanted to destroy any chance of me living long enough for something horrible to happen again. So I forsook my immortality in favor of living a simpler, yet perhaps sweeter, life as a woman of Gondor. The King and Queen of Gondor accepted me without question, giving me a new life to live in the city that had fascinated me for hundreds of years, the city where I could start a new life without fear. I came to Minas Tirith with but a few possessions: my black stallion Manduloome, whom I had found years ago and befriended; a cloak-clasp given to me by the elf I had loved; and a black steel sword, Atalantë, which I had been given after my father's sword Nare was broken. The sword has a story of its own.
Almost immediately I joined the Rangers of Gondor, wishing to continue upholding the strength of the land. The decision of which division to join came easily to me. I became a Muinamacar, an assassin, the darkest of the Ranger divisions. This suited me very well. The Muinamacar used methods that were more direct and sometimes contrary to those of the other Rangers to achieve their goals, and although many did not and still do not approve of this I did. Before the second incident with the Black Hawk I had always believed in fighting honorably and fairy, but afterwards I realized that sometimes fairness was not an option in anything and could get one killed. So while I still retained some beliefs about honor and honesty the darker part of me preferred a job where I could fight enemies in any way necessary, not using regular rules of combat. I did not want to fight fairly, I just wanted to get things done, and being an assassin allowed me to do that. It also ensured me at least some solitude, something I wanted badly.

now live within the walls of the White City, as an assassin of the Rangers, staying either in my rooms at Dor Moretirith or in a house on the Fourth Circle with my cat Seabreeze. I travel back to Rivendell often, to visit my friends and to reminisce over old memories… but always, I return to Minas Tirith. For it is my home now, and will remain so until I die.

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