Chapter 8


There were few farewells and fewer tears as Alquawen boarded the small ship. Its curving, misty-grey deck was warn under the beating rays of the sun, and the sails snapped crisply in the wind, but she could find no joy in the happy setting. In the arms of a strong Elf, her head lolling on his shoulder, Alquawen prepared to leave Middle-Earth.

*******************

Only a scant few days before, the child had been born, in a greater rush of blood than usually ushers a baby into the world. Weakened, the child's mother collapsed, her body exhausted from the pain. The Healers had hurriedly stopped the flow of blood, and tried to hand the baby into Alquawen's arms. But, awakened to conciousness by the motion, Alquawen raised her arms in refusal of the tiny baby girl.

The Healer had not pretended to be surprised as she pulled the baby back from her exhausted mother. In silence, she'd placed the baby on a soft mat, quickly, as if afraid to touch her. The door had opened then, admitting Lord Elrond, who'd looked upon the baby silently, his face a stern mask. His expression proved that he knew Alquawen's decision.

"The child is corrupted of Sauron, my Lord," the Healer whispered, her voice trembling. "She will be a poison to our people."

Elrond said nothing in response, only turned to face Alquawen.

"I do not want her," Alquawen breathed, her eyes closed and her flesh deathly pale.

To this, the stoic Lord nodded. "But you must name her," he said, gesturing toward the child.

With venom dripping from each of the words, she said, "She is Seregiel."


**********************

Under the welcoming sun, Alquawen shivered. Dressed in a robe of deep purple, her face was left looking even more pallid. Guilt and regret painted her face and even her usually-lustrous black hair fell limply and dull, weighed down with grief.

The strong arms carrying her relaxed and laid her down atop a soft cushion. Struggling, she pushed herself up on her elbows, straining to see those on the dock. In the waning sunlight, they were only vague shapes. But, the tiny blanketed bundle was unmistakable and her eyes filled with tears. Tears of shame over the child's creation, tears of sorrow and pain, tears of regret for leaving her home, and tears of guilt for the terrible namesake she'd placed on the child.

But the wind would not wait, and her daughter grew smaller and smaller as the ship moved toward Valinor and Alquawen's future.

*******************

On the shore, Elrond took the baby from the Healer's arms and held her high in the air. Her eyes held no fear as she peered back at him, her stare full of intelligence.

"Your fate his sealed, little one," he said, his voice soft, "You are outcast."