Prologue

Cormamin lindua ele lle, meleth nín--my heart sings to see thee, my beloved, my daughter.

The Elvish words came to her in dreams. Lessons they were, of a sort. Each time a light, very bright, very white, obscured her vision of the Teacher. Yet when it happened, when the dreams came, she felt his presence, saw the outline of his form, absorbed the thrilling presence of her father's magnificent spirit.

And always, always she yearned for more.

Sometimes he held her hands; sometimes he touched her cheek. Always she could feel his love. Always his voice was like magic, like cool water flowing over crystal, soothing and lovely, a bewitching hymn to elvish ways and elvish wisdom echoing throughout the mystical Halls of Mandos, like the clear ringing of silver bells in that magical place of waiting in the far off land of Aman.

It began when she was two or three, just learning to express herself in the common tongue of her mother's people. At this same time, at night and in dreams, she learned another language from her father, the Teacher, the words wrapping around her soul, enveloping her in their sweet, seductive sounds.

"My daughter," he would say in the fluid and melodious Elvish tongue, "I love you well. The time will come when you will want the knowledge I pass to you. Learn these words, heed my lessons, and know that someday you will be glad for the knowledge of this, the most beautiful language in Middle Earth or any other place. Listen, my darling, and sleep well, my daughter. Gerich veleth nín.

And thus it came about that Amarië learned to speak Elvish, though she never met an elf in the flesh until much later, when she was fully grown and much aware of her own feminine power . . . .

tbc

(Gerich veleth nín - you have my love)