"Pilinmar"
I state my mother-name quietly, as names are exchanged with my new acquaintance. Under normal, or formal, circumstances, I would give my full title. Well, back in my youth I would have been expected to state all my names. Now, in the third-age…it really is not that important. Everyone only needs one name to be known. If they wish to know my title, then they can ask.
Or if my uncle is nearby, then I would have to say them all, less I wish my neck to be strung up.
My father and mother name have been translated into both elven tongues: Quenya and Sindarin, given during my youth, Quenya was banned under the rule of Thingol. Only my epessë is in Sindarin.
Why my second name, and not my first, though?
A habit, for one, and to keep the memory of my mother, who by now should be alive in the Blessed Realm. Ai, I look forward to the day when I step foot on those shores, and to see the ones I have lost over the years: family, friends, and comrades who fell by the sword…
Pilinmar, or Himpilin…even my father name: any elven name, is a fascinating thing with their meaning, and it ought to be held in great value to the one who bears one.
To finally understand its meaning can be…interesting, at the least.
Year 67 of the First Age…
"What is an arrow, ammë?" I ask from behind my father's back, as I was being carried in a small bag, being the equivalent of a human two-year-old (but I do not know this).
My mother has a bemused expression, if not slightly humored as well at the question. She shares a look with my father; what his thoughts are I cannot tell, since I cannot see…and I do not have the energy to try to climb up on his neck and shoulders to check, even though I want to know. I always like knowing what they think.
"An arrow is…a long, straight, thin stick with a sharp point on one end, little one." She finally answers.
I make a face. I have seen sticks, of course, I even chew on them from time to time…I get scolded when I do of course, but I get bored very easily. But I do not think I have ever seen such a stick ammë describes.
"Sticks fall off trees." I say smartly, "But they are never thin. They are fat and crooked."
Atar chortled a little bit, and I am confused. What is so funny about my statement?
"They do indeed," he says, "but an arrow is a refined stick, designed for a certain purpose for us to use."
"Not for fire?" I ask curiously.
"Nay, not for fire." But atar does not elaborate further.
I get confused a lot, and it makes me sad sometimes, but I get very tired easily too, so normally I go and sleep and the bad feeling is gone. But this time, I want to know why I am called an arrow, a bidding arrow, whatever that is.
"Why am I named a sharp stick? And what is a-bidding?"
Ammë stopped walking, and atar also stops. Why we stopped I do not know, but the next thing that happens is I am being swung off atar's back, taken out of my carrying sack, and then set on ammë's lap as we all sit on the forest floor.
"Abiding means to stay, dear sapling…" She says slowly.
"I stay with you all the time." I interrupt.
"Indeed, you do, anonya, but it is our job to keep you close to us until you reach your maturity."
These are big words I find…I cannot imagine that far into the future…
"But what does that have to do with my name?"
Atar brings me into his lap, and I grab at his hair. His hair is long and silky, brown like some of those birds that caw. A raven, ammë and atar call it.
"View it this way, Taunolindë," he says, "When you were born beneath the shade of the trees…I named you forest song, for you are a new song amongst the wood…in that moment, it was who you were at that very second that I named you."
I was going to say something, but he bids me to stay quiet, and I do.
"The name your mother gave you, she predicts that you will become a person that has certain qualities that are found in an arrow…and in the act of staying."
Again I want to say something; again atar keeps me quiet. I respect this.
"You will understand its meaning when the time comes, little one." Atar smiles faintly, "For now, be our song of the forest."
"Just like you are the sound in grass?"
My parents laugh a little bit, "Yes, dear sapling, just like that."
Indeed, I understand what my mother saw when she named me…I have lingered for a long time, despite the obstacles thrown at me. Even when I knew what an arrow was, its meaning escaped me still. My mother said I would be among the warriors, which I was, and still am. But I would be one among many in the quiver, most often the one that remains unused, until at the last, desperate strike: when I am needed, will be strung to the string and shot at the enemy.
I shall stay until I am no longer needed, or I have been used to my full potential.
Atar - father
Amme - mother