Prologue
Lothlorien, the middle of the Second Age
The ethereal woods of Lothlorien were quiet. No sounds were heard, no singing, no talking, no laughing, nothing, save the quiet rustle of the mallorn leaves in the gentle night breeze. Some of the Elves had taken rest, and some of them had gone to Rivendell with the Lady of Light for the birth of her granddaughter. The sentries in the trees, stoic and ever watchful, were keeping guard over this serene sanctuary of the Elves – carefully watching for Orcs, goblins, or other mischief that would disrupt the quiet harmony of the night. The March Warden of the Golden Wood, Haldir, stood quietly regarding the beautiful night around him. The stars twinkled, and the moon cast a faerie like glow on the leaves of the mallorn trees of the city of Caras Galadhon.
Suddenly, a sharp cry of a child resounded through the forest, shattering the serenity of the night. Haldir, startled by the sudden noise, jumped. Celebrin is having her child, he mused silently and went back to watching the beautiful quiet night.
The Elf in question, Celebrin, had just given birth to her first and only child. She laid back on the pillows of her bed, exhausted, pale, and weak. Her husband Nurtaur regarded her with sad silver eyes. "Our child," she breathed heavily, attempting to smile.
He hid his teary eyes from her and looked down at the newborn Elfling, "Yes melamin, our child. A girl." He said quietly.
"A girl," Celebrin sighed in contentment, "We have a girl."
Nurtaur thought that this would be the happiest day of their lives; Celebrin had given birth to a beautiful girl, their child. Saddened, he realized that this child cost Celebrin her life. The birth had been difficult and she was probably not going to make it through the night. Anger seized him suddenly, this child, this helpless being, had taken his beloved's life.
"Her name, melamin?" he asked his dying wife, trying desperately to control his emotions.
Celebrin's jade green eyes faded to a silvery-lime, she looked at her husband one last time with life in her eyes, "Her name shall be Isilwen."
She closed her eyes for the last time and Isilwen started to wail. Nurtaur looked at his daughter, anger, helplessness, and sadness overcame him. He gripped his wife's limp hand and held it to him as he sobbed as violently as the newborn babe.
Moments later, he was up and storming about the talan. He grabbed a rucksack and filled it with little more than necessary clothing and food. He was leaving, he could not bear to hold his tiny daughter, who held so much of his wife in her. Leaving the crying child, he fled the talan and disappeared into the night. He was leaving Lothlorien and he was never coming back.
The baby's wailing did not cease, it broke through the night like a desperate cry for help. Haldir had been standing at his post for the last fifteen minutes, wondering why the crying failed to stop. He looked to his brothers, Rumil and Orophin, who was standing watch with him, "Brother," he said sharply, looking to Rumil, "Will you attend to Celebrin and Nurtaur?" Rumil nodded and climbed down from the guard tower among the tall trees.
Rumil reached Nurtaur and Celebrin's talan within a few minutes, the sight before his eyes shocked him. The baby lay on the bed, flailing among the sheets, a sheet of paper beside it. Celebrin lay in the bed, and he knew instantly that she had passed after the childbirth. He picked up the sheet of paper next to the crying infant; the Elvish script was smeared and messy, yet still legible. It simply said: "My daughter, Isilwen, who cost my beloved wife her precious life. May she live to see many days, for I shall never return."
Rumil was puzzled, he couldn't believe Nurtaur's actions. Why would he leave this child? He picked up the crying infant and held her in his arms. She quieted instantly, he looked down at the baby who was intensely regarding him with her silver eyes. What was he to do now?
Rumil, with Isilwen bundled in his arms, ran towards the center of Caras Galadhon, he may not know what to do, but he would find someone who did. He climbed up the winding glowing staircase, taking the stairs two at a time. Finally he reached the top of the stairs and he entered through the intricately carved doorway, "Lord Celeborn," he said breathlessly.
Celeborn rose from his chair at the head of the table, he was in the middle of a late night chat with Thranduil, King of the Elven Realm of Greenwood, who was there on a diplomatic visit. He regarded Rumil, worry clouding his gray eyes, "What brings you here at this hour and with no messenger, Rumil?" he asked.
"Lord Celeborn, here is the infant child of Nurtaur and Celebrin." he replied.
"Why did you bring that child here?" he asked.
"Celebrin is dead, my lord," he said, "Nurtaur has fled Lorien. The child has been abandoned."
"Bring her to me."
Rumil placed Isilwen in Celeborn's arms, and immediately the infant started to wail again. Thranduil laughed. "The child hasn't taken a liking to you, eh Celeborn?" he said jovially to his friend.
Celeborn glared at the King of Greenwood.
"Here is the note that lay next to the infant when I found her," he handed over the smeared letter.
Thranduil, took the child from Celeborn, as Celeborn reached for the letter. The child's wailing stopped, and she started to coo noisily.
"What am I going to do with an orphaned Elfling?" Celeborn wondered aloud after reading Nurtaur's scrawl.
"You, my old friend, are to do nothing," Thranduil said authoritatively.
"I beg your pardon?" Celeborn lifted an eyebrow in question.
"I will take her to Greenwood, and there she shall be raised. My son, Legolas, is still very young as well, and he is in the care of my staff. So it shall be with Isilwen....Isilwen, Princess of Greenwood."