I never knew Valinor, or the Helcaraxe, except in the songs sung and stories told under the stars. I was born seven 'days' after the crossing of the Helcaraxe, in the last hour of the Moon's light.. Black as sable when I was born, I'm told, my hair caught the rays of Arien as she rose flaming for the first time and turned golden in the Sun's light. A good omen, the exiles took it, and I was named Romeriel, daughter of the morning.
We followed my uncle's will to hold the north east of Dorthonion in feoff to him. My uncle, of course, being Finrod Felagund. My father was Aegnor and Quesse my mother. She was so named because she was light of touch, and light on her feet, graceful in the dance which she loved. There I grew to womanhood in the keep my father built, Minas Aeluin on the shores of Tar Aeluin, learning all the things expected of a scion of house Finarfin. I was Mother's constant companion.we were very close, and I miss her still, both her gentle wisdom, and her love. More accurately, though, I was her companion when I was not pestering the warriors, or following after my father. Adventurous, brash even, I ached for great deeds, hungered for glory. Many times I followed the soldiers or scouts on their rounds, often to be gently turned back with kind words, praise for my boldness...and rebuke for my rashness. Even as the days of the Dagor Bragollach drew nearer I was turned back to stay safe in the keep. Minas Aeluin was part of the ring fencing in Morgoth Bauglir, and as he grew more bold, his creatures more and more tried our borders. Then, when the Dagor Bragollach fell upon us, and every sword was needed, even _then_ I was bid to stay safe at home. Not that that safety lasted over long. When the armies of the dark lord pushed south, those of us in the keep were spirited out of Minas Aeluin by the guard left there to maintain its security. And none too soon did we leave, for as we rode away, in haste, our backs were lit by the firing of the hills of Dorthonion, and the clouds of ash born aloft by the winds outpaced our speeding horses to cover us with soot.
I skip over a great many things, in but a few words. There were days of joy, there in Minas Aeluin, golden days. Hunting through the woods, dancing in the halls, singing under the stars. Courting in the gardens. They were indeed golden days of great joy and happiness. Their memory saw me through a great many dark days, bringing me comfort.
After the Dagor Bragollach, and Father's death..mother and I both grieved long..but afterward, we went to my uncle, Orodreth at Tol Sirion. When Tol Sirion fell two years later, despite Orodreth's valor and that of his people, he led us to Nargothrond. It was a running battle, leaving Tol Sirion when it fell to the Enemy. I remember it all too well. Days and nights of running, turning to fight, and then running again. I'd been to visit King Finrod there in Nargothrond before, so the splendor of its halls was no surprise. The comfort and welcome we found there were like a balm to soothe the terror of our route. We soon settled into a comfortable life there, again. Though one filled with talk of war, and constant watch, and patrols, and weapon training and battles. To the dismay of my mother, I wished to be much involved. They pleaded, and then she ordered, and then had King Finrod order, seeing to it that I kept to the duties tradition dictated. Safe. I could go on, telling of all that happened in Nargothrond the last hundred years of its glory. Those things are well recorded in tales, histories and songs. I played only small part in them, mostly watching, kept from the middle of them by my mother and uncle. I yearned to follow after Beren and Luthien in their quest for the Silmarills; I was sent home from trying to go forth with the warriors in the battle that became the Nirnaeth Arnoediad.
When Turin came, then calling himself Mormegil, I strove still to do deeds to make a name for myself, to accomplish something. I sought to gain Turin's favor and through him, my Uncle's. Orodreth became King Orodreth, taking Finrod's throne after King Finrod left Nargothrond to follow Beren and Luthien. He became grim, then, burdened with the duties of ruling a kingdom at war. He had little time or inclination to listen to the pleadings of a 'day dreaming maiden'. Turin, though, had my Uncle's ear. Alas for me, he saw only my cousin, Finduilas. And for him, she later died, slain by the orcs. I rush ahead though. When Turin came, Finduilas and I watched him as he spoke with her father. She shivered, taken with some presentiment. I was felt no such thing, other than the magnetism of a warrior king. Alas, she had the truer thought.
Orcs, the dragon, the fall of Nargothrond is not something I will repeat. It too, like all that age, is told in many songs and stories. We were spirited out by our personal guards, and so avoided much grief. I heard later of the valor of the men of Brethil. They found us as they hurried to the Crossings at Teiglin, and sent us with a guide to Ephel Brandir on Amon Obel where they later rejoined us. They were late, sadly, to rescue our kin from the orcs. We heard the news when they returned to Ephel Brandir, Even in their failure I call them valorous. They tried to save women and children they knew not at all from they knew not what. Dorlas, who led that band of warriors, proved his mettle again when he took us to see the grave of Finduilas, Huadh-an-Elleth. He was gentle in that sad duty, explaining to Mother and I, and the other elves there who knew and loved Finduilas how they had come on her and tried to save her. Turin I never saw again, though I heard he came later to Ephel Brandir, how he later went back to Nargothrond, and slew Glaurung the wyrm. I've been to the mound raised for him. It, like Huadh-an-Elleth is a sad place.
After Nargothrond fell we, Mother and I, fled to Gil-Galad's court. In time we went with him to Forlindon.. It was peaceful there for many years, giving us time to heal, to mourn, and then to go on. It was almost stifling, though, hearing the tales and songs of the lost glories of Beleriand sung time after time. Hearing tales such as the Lay of Luthien, and the Song of the Sons of Hurin. Songs of the Dagor Agroleb or the Dagor-nuin-Giliath or the crossing of the Helcaraxe. Tales of the splendors and valor of old. Even worse, I was not allowed to take part in any of the events that occurred while we lived in Gil-Galad's court. I was treated as a fragile flower, to be protected, or a songbird to be kept in a gilded cage. Mother, in particular, worked to keep me safe. She had lost Father, her own parents, her brothers in law, her home. I was all she had left, she said many times. King Gil-Galad honored her wishes, and ordered me into household duties, seeing to the kitchens, or crafting new tapestries or sewing tabards for the guard. How I chafed at it all! War and strife, though, were often about..as the Shadow moved across the land still, and in greater power. We heard the rumors of Men come to the coasts of middle-earth and of the kingdoms they founded. News reached us of the 'gifts' given to Celebrimbor and the smiths of Eregion by Sauron, and news reached us when he at length turned on Eregion and launched war on it. I yearned to go to Eregion when Elrond went to rescue our brethren there, and founded Imladris. I started out with the host, but was sent home at the command of one of the Captains. A disgrace, in my eyes. My friends, and they were many, cheered me, though that was a thankless task. I felt better only when King Gil-Galad commended my bravery for the attempt in a dispatch. As fiery then as in Minas Aeluin, I had many friends. I was quick to give, regardless of station or my dissatisfaction with my lot. Some, jesting, called me Faemeriel then, the fire's daughter, for my life and spirit burned brightly.
When Gil-Galad marched again, in the War of the Last Alliance, I was bid to stay and oversee the foodstores and harvest and household. This I could not bear, being left behind, again! In secret I marched with the King's host, disguised. I gave no thought to the anguish I would cause my mother. I gave little thought to anything, I confess, save my own desires. I wished to win honor, through great deeds on the battlefield. Any such are lost...for I fell during battle while helping hold a salient against a counter-attack, victim of an orcish mace and fell magics. I did not die, however. In the night, the battle having raged on past, I awoke. Confused, dazed still by wounds and the magic, I wandered off to the north, and the trackless wilderness. I was taken in by a family of Men only a few days after the battle, my wounds tended. I stayed with them a few seasons, gaining them as friends. When I left them I wandered, alone, long years through the wilderness. Many would have died, given up, but even though I did not remember, I could no more give up and die than I could jump to the moon. Always willful, my stubbornness stood me in good stead then. My memory came back after a time, a few years I think, those first ones are unclear. There were times I wished it had not. Still, I pressed on. Orcs hunted me, but I eluded them, always. Taken in now and then by this people or that village, I survived. My skill as a hunter, not only with the longbow but also by other means such as snare or net or fishing line, my ability to help catch dinner, made me welcome in many places. Still in me, too, burned that spark of spirit that would not quit. Even as low as it burned, it was contagious to those who took me in, winning me friends, and sparking small tales of the pilgrim elf, or the wandering woman or the lost one.
I wandered widely in that age, all down the Anduin valley, through Gondor, and across the Misty Mountains into Arnor. I've lost count of the villages I passed through. Most were on the fringes of the realms, far from the armies and strongholds.many were the battles.battles, Hah! Skirmishes, really, though battles to the villagers.I fought. I like to think that my presence saved some of the Men. Some, I know were saved from slavery, or worse, at the hands of the Witch King of Angmar. I was much in the North in those days, and in what is now wilderness between Bree and Imladris, then known as Arthedain, and Rhudaur. I often aided the outlying villages, or the small garrisons by scouting for them, or lending them my skill with the longbow when that was necessary. Sometimes I was drawn into the larger battles, going along with a garrison when it was summoned to join one of the main armies. I found myself, by doing that, drawn to Amon Sul when it fell. I was one of the last to leave, making my escape just as dawn rose, when the orcs of Angmar were blinded by the sun's rays. It was almost painful..no, it was painful to watch, those wars the Men of Arnor fought. Seeing the Men battle Angmar was akin to seeing the battles we elves fought there, all over again. Seeing their fair cities and strongholds lost, and their valor come to little or nothing.
When it was done, and Angmar thrown down, I left again, to wander in the east this time. I passed to the North and around the mountains, and then south and east. For years I saw no one, then, once again, humans took me in, when I happened on a farm outlying a city. The people were kind in the North, feeding and clothing me, giving me place to rest. Mostly though, I lived by my skill as a hunter, as I had often done previously as well. I saw many strange and terrible things in the east and south, when my wandering feet took me there. The Men there are strange beyond all measure. I was nearly enslaved several times, only saved by my swift feet and the skills I'd learned long ago hunting for my dinner or scouting enemy encampments. I did not stay long in those lands.soon returning north and west, into the Anduin valley. There, now and then, as in years past, I ran across elves. Always I passed myself off as a traveler from elsewhere. Which is true, but not all the truth.
Mostly I kept to myself, eschewing contact with elf or man. Now and then my paths would cross with that of the wizard, Radagast. Our first meeting began on a poor foot, but was soon mended. He found me hunting deer, and took me to task for it. One thing I'd learned in my long years of wandering and soldiering was some humility. I accepted his brow beating, and then explained how the hart I had been stalking would have been my first meal in a week, other than a few handfuls of berries now and then, and how it would feed me for over a month. If I must hunt, I learned long ago, use all of what is taken. Radagast liked it not, but he did take me in and house me and feed me for a time, taking me along with him in his rounds, to help. When the wanderlust struck again, I would leave, and later, be it days, months years or decades later, we would meet again to share a meal, and the news we'd heard.
Now, looking back, I can reckon the years I passed in solitude as a wanderer, though then I did not count them, purposely ignoring the passage of the years. Orcs were my downfall, and in a curious way, my saviors also. The tumult of the Battle of Five Armies reached into the wilderness, and touched me. Fleeing orcs stumbled across my hiding place, and attacked me. The band was small, fortunately, and I was able to best them, but I was sorely wounded in the fight. The Eagles saw me fighting, and reported of me to the elves of Thranduil, who sent rescuers. Beyond their healing, I was sent to Imladris, where I lay long in the healing halls, but eventually recovered my vigor. I took a new name then...given to me by the Eagle who spotted me, Laurarien he named me, Golden-sunrise, for they thought to find only death there in the wastes where the orcs fled, and even at his great altitude he could see the sun on my hair.
The changes wrought by years of exile, and wandering; and the fading of memories, have kept me from being recognized, something I mean to keep that way until I can win honor enough to erase the stain of my failures. I'm older now, and somewhat wiser, and far more patient. The fire still burns in me, the fire of the last fruit of Laurelin, Anar. I will win my place in song yet...and more, as is told in the songs, what Manwe said of Feanor: 'So shall it be! Dear-bought those songs shall be accounted, and yet shall be well-bought.' It's not so much the song I seek, as the doing of deeds worthy of them.
