I was born in the year 3214 of the Second Age to Lucíen and Tasarë Dín’elen of Lórien. I had only one sibling at that time... a twin brother by the name of Sarin. Since our father was in the service of Lord Amdir, and my mother had passed away shortly after my birth, Sarin and I were essentially raised by our grandmother Arelsa. A kind Noldor woman who despite her maternal appearance could turn hard as granite when we grew too out of line. Terrors, she once called us, as we trudged home covered in mud from one of our escapades... though there was always a hint of a smile around her seemed mouth during her scoldings. And she never carried a grudge over the mishaps of childhood... even as we grew older she never sought to tame us... regardless of her opinions on how a young elfling should act. Figuring that it was better to let us blaze our own path then force on one which we had no wish to walk. She was the one to whom we came crying to over the little hurts, and she who told us stories at night to brush away the frights of nightmares.

Life was quiet in the early years of my life. My brother and I could often be found racing each other under the vast boroughs of the forest. Running till neither of us had strength left before collapsing together, breathless but laughing, beneath the trees. The woods were our playground. And it was here some of my fondest memories still dwell. Many happy years did I spend in Lórien. Learning wood-lore and healing from my grandmother and the ways of weapons and warfare from my father on one of his brief visits home. But I think that it was the stillness of the woods, the trees and the brooks that could sing music like no minstrel ever born, that stilled my young heart in a way that no other could. The nightingale and the wolf became as kin to me, and long would I lay and listen to their sad songs. The woods became a part of me. I thought then that I could no more leave this place then I could shed my pointed ears for a day. My world was a safe haven of oak and pine... nothing could touch me there. But my simple dreams of youth would never come to pass for darkness was spreading over the land.

As I grew older so did the rumors of a shadow in the East. At first I took no notice of it... after all they were merely tales bloodshed and battle. Interesting though they may be they were no ‘real’ threat. I quickly learned how wrong I was. While visiting kin in Mirkwood, Arelsa and her party were attacked by spiders. Though my grandmother survived the conflict and recovered from her wounds she was never the same. The light in her eyes had dimmed. It was not long before she took a ship into the West. And thus was I fated to loose the only mother I had ever known. Taken away from me as cruelly as my birth mother had been as I drew my first breath. I thought then that I had learned the full extent of heart break and sorrow... well, as I said, I was still very young.

At length word of the Last Alliance reached my small corner of Arda. Having been raised on stories of valiant knights seeking vengeance for their fallen comrades I made the choice to ride with a score of other Silvan elves to join with Amdír Malgalad to avenge my grandmother and defend my home which, by now, I had realized was in danger of being destroyed with the rest of Middle Earth. Upon hearing this my father was beyond furious. He forbid me to go, saying that a battlefield was no place for a woman. If there is one thing that will truly get on my nerves even to this day is someone telling me that I cannot do something. Never before had I recognized the benefit of having a twin... well there was a first time for everything. Posing as my brother I rode to Imladris. That was the last time that I saw my father. He fell with an arrow in his back riding to join us.

The fighting was terrible, as you can no doubt imagine. Countless were slain and many more wounded as we tried to wrest the world back from darkness. Eight years was I at war. From the first strike to the last death scream. Sarin, my brother and best friend, had been beside me throughout all. He was my strength when mine failed, and I his courage when his own flagged. But Fate did not see it fit to leave me the last of my kin. During the last battle he took a sword thrust to the heart from an orc blade. He was one of the lucky ones. He was dead before he hit the ground.

When the smoke had settled and the dust had cleared we looked out upon the true damage that had been done. Battered but victorious we marched home. Not even a quarter of the numbers that we had set out with. But as we neared the borders of Lórien I found that I could not return. Too many ghosts walked beneath those trees to many memories that rose to plague me in the night. All that I once had was lost... there was no re-claiming it. And so I left hearth and home behind in search of a new life. But as I rode I too changed from who I once was. Gone was the curious and playful child of my youth... in her place stood a bitter and reserved woman who had seen and done too much.

From then till now is a great swirl of events and emotions. Both good and bad. I became a wife at the age of 1000 to a wonderful elf named Jirikal. A man whom I bore a child. A son, I called Varien. There were a few wonderful years we spent together in Mirkwood... and all too quickly ended. My husband was killed while our child was still in the womb.

Throughout all my life I have been dictated by the way of the sword. There have been brief times when I could settle down but it would never last. Generations of men have fallen into dust and yet I still linger onward. A time will come when my time in this place will end... be that by an enemy blade or a ship gliding over silver waters. Until then however I strive to honor the memories of my fallen kin. After all, the dead cannot cry out for justice; it is a duty of the living to do so for them.