The watchmen took their duty very seriously. They were all that stood between the Eldar of the Mouth of Sirion and the rest of Beleriand, and the rest of Beleriand was a dangerous place. Especially these days, when thunder stormed from the north and the earth shook and the river Sirion ran almost dry and sea was swallowing land hungrily. So the two Sindarin elves stopped the black-haired stranger woman whom they saw running under the trees. They were not sure even whether she was elf or human, wet she was certainly and had tangles in her hair. Her clothes might have been white once, now they were stained and torn, and she had no shoes. The watchmen wondered where she came from and why she was alone, and in weather like this, too. They asked her name and business.
'Who I am is no business of yours. I have come to meet the Lady Alatáriel.' She spoke the Quenyan language in a way that suggested it was very familiar to her.
'You mean Lady Galadriel?' They had never heard her original name.
'I might, and then again I might not. Tell the Lady Galadriel that El-Carnil has come to meet Lauremiriel.'
'El-Carnil? Some say Carnil is a star that means bad news when it shines bright.' The younger of the watchmen looked worried.
'I am not shining very brightly at the moment, am I, gentlemen, nor is my namesake up in the heavens behind all those dark clouds that are dropping their water on me all the time I have to explain things to you thickheads!'
The watchmen had never heard the noble tongue spoken in such a tone and the one who had shown an interest in reading fate from stars hurried away to find Lady Galadriel. His companion led El-Carnil under a thick-leaved tree that kept the rain away. He felt this woman probably deserved more respect than what she had received so far, so he offered her his cloak to sit on and welcomed her to their country with formal words.
'You mean, if anyone is ever letting me cross the borders', was the sharp response he got. For a while they sat in silence. The watchman tried to start a conversation.
'Any news of what's going on in the north?'
The woman stared up into the rain.
'Great messages are brought by great messengers. Have you not seen Eärendil? He was worthy of his message, a star brighter than others. El-Carnil is not bright, so fear not.'
Galadriel did not send a message; she came herself. Her clothes were wet and her hair was dripping water. The two women embraced, and started walking hand in hand towards Galadriel's house. The younger watchman stared after them, standing in the rain.
'What's the matter with you?' his companion inquired.
'You know, she's actually sort of beautiful.'
'Ha! Want to know what she said about you when you'd gone?'
'Tell me!'
'Nothing at all.'
'So what will you do?' Galadriel asked after having heard Tinwen's whole story.
'I can do nothing. Sauron has bound me bodily to Middle-Earth and his shadow stains my heart. I cannot marry before I am set free.'
'Yet your hands touched the Silmarils and were not burnt.'
'But my chain did not break.'
Soon Eönwë arrived with his army, but without the Silmarils. The jewels had found their fate.
Many left the changed face of Middle-Earth that time, both elves and men. And finally Eönwë left also, on the command of Manwë. When the last glimpse of his sails disappeared beyond the horizon, Tinwen turned her back to the sea and ran away. She ran for days without stopping, she ran all the way to the other side of Ered Lindon until she found a wilderness where no one dwelt. Then she fell on the ground and cried. In time she gathered fallen branches and made a fire, hunted meat and picked berries to eat. She built no dwelling but moved her camp about once a month. Her shape was small and nimble, almost like her child-shape, but without colour and joy, a shy, hiding, wordless shape.
One summer day she met a birch with a face. The creature walked with feet like roots. When it saw Tinwen it halted and spoke:
'Why are you here? What path brought you?'
'Tië útiervéra, mallë úestelvéra, irmë erëssëa, úráve ú-ohtacarë.' This means:
'The path of the pathless, the road of the hopeless, the longing for loneliness, the peace of silence.'
'You speak like one of us. I think you are welcome, but we must consider that a while. I am Fimbrethil, how do you wish to be called?'
'I have many names, would you like to choose from them?'
'Oh, but you must not tell your true names, we have barely just met, don't be hasty.'
'Then let us say I am Maialaurë.'
Under this name Tinwen learned to know the people of the Ents, the shepherds of trees. Most intimately she made friends with their children, the Entlings. Time passed unnoticed, for the life of the Ents was slow-paced. All of them did not accept a fire-spirit as a friend, before they saw her after one thunderstorm quench a forest fire. She walked into the blaze and breathed deeply – and the flames were all drawn away from the burning wood and into her small body. The fire was gone, although for the rest of the day Maialaur's skin was very warm and there was a red glint in her brown eyes. But generally the company of the Ents had slowly changed her more like them in shape, her skin resembled pale bark and a green sheen could be perceived in her dark hair. In her brown leathers and furs resembling beard lichen she could be mistaken for an Entling among others, and even her speech was full of their words.
This was Maialaurë like, when she one day was hiding from her playmate Bregalad among the branches of a great oak. All of a sudden she heard the ringing of hunting-horns, and soon a troop of elves rode underneath the branches, obviously returning home from a hunt, for the saddles were laden with prey and between horses a large stag was carried. They laughed gaily and sang. And Tinwen gazed at the elven man leading the group, handsome and noble looking. While their song still echoed in her ears Tinwen sought Bregalad and told him:
'Tell my farewell to everyone. Those hunters, they have snared my heart! I am called by towns and towers, silks and satins, parks and fountains! I must go before the moment fades, before the trail vanishes. Be you blessed a thousand times, young Bregalad, grow tall and handsome and remember me!'
With serious eyes Bregalad Quickbeam watched her hasten away, as confused as he would have been if he had found cherries growing in his mother's apple tree. He had not guessed Maialaurë was so very different. Of course she ate meat and could bend her body in strange positions, and had hands that could make a fire out of nothing and put it out with one gesture, but all in all she had been to him just a slightly different Entmaiden. With slow steps he returned to his people.