Silfaer was born Laiquendi, a green-elf, in the beautiful elm-woods of Ossiriand during the waning years of the First Age. Her gentle smile and easy laughter were a delight to the elusive people of her realm, but she was perhaps loved best by her older brother, Calgalen. Long she walked in joy by the many singing rivers of that land, and she was well content to follow her brother on his hunting forays. In this way Silfaer learned much of woodcraft and the use of a bow, for Calgalen was counted a mighty hunter among that folk. Though not of the same age, Silfaer and Calgalen were seen to be as nearly like in face and form as might be among males and females of their race.

Yet Silfaer’s fate was not indeed to wander in peace among the seven shining rivers. Her people, scattered and few, nevertheless knew rumor of war and growing shadow as the desperate battles against the Great Enemy, Morgoth, raged in the north. Silfaer found her steps more often straying to the reedy banks of the Gelion, in search of what she knew not; yet in the voice of the river playing through the rocks and grasses she first awoke to the Sea Longing of her race. In this way Ulmo still spoke to all her kin; nor did he forsake the Firstborn through all the long ages.

Silfaer counseled Calgalen that they were needed elsewhere; and in truth only for his great love for his sister was he willing to leave the land he loved well.  Following the Dwarves’ Road west, had they but known it they enjoyed the last carefree moments they would share together.

It was not long, as the elves would reckon it, that they neared the edges of the hidden realm of Doriath. That kingdom was then still protected by the Girdle of Melian, a maze of shadow and bewilderment set about it by the Maiar herself, who was Queen of those lands.

The pair would have had their journey cut short there but for the wisdom of Melian, who saw them from afar and granted their entrance. In that she found agreement with her husband and king, Elu Thingol, who welcomed all of the elder race not counted among the House of Feanor.

Calgalen quickly found a place and a welcome among the king’s warriors, for he was strong of arm and fearless of spirit. Silfaer’s heart led her in another direction when first she beheld Melian and the shining Lady Galadriel, who then dwelt there. In awe she perceived a light glimmering about Melian; and in only slightly lesser measure around Galadriel, as stars glowing through a thin veil. In those Ladies Silfaer espied indeed the distant Light of Aman. She knew the greatest honor and joy of her life when they accepted her service as handmaiden.

Dwelling happily in the vast halls and gardens of Menegroth, she learned weaving and something of the making of armaments; for she was quick and nimble of mind and hand. Yet with growing delight and surprise she also discovered a quickening of wisdom within herself, in small part seeming to reflect the light shining in her beloved Ladies. In her long service to Melian and Galadriel, she found a growing ability of her own to act in simple ways as a tiny conduit for the Light of Valinor. Pale and fragmented though her talents were, with deep concentration she found she could channel splinters of that great Light through carefully prepared stone. Though she knew it not, in ages to come her small skill would serve many more than the Ladies who aided in its kindling.

Too soon Silfaer’s time of peace in Doriath was to come to an end. Elu Thingol, King Greycloak of Doriath, had long held his people hidden and apart from the wars that raged through Beleriand and Eregion. So it was that largely through secrecy had the great elven kingdoms of that day remained as havens from the worst ravages of Morgoth and his armies of goblins, demons, and dragons. Yet not all were safe, and the day came when Calgalen sought out his sister in great distress, when he learned that their home in Ossiriand was overrun.

Thingol forbade his warriors to ride out into the fray, for until later days when his wisdom failed and he tied himself to the Doom of the Noldor and the fate of the Silmarils, he knew rightly that the Girdle of Melian would cheat both the thought of Morgoth and the feet of his minions. But Calgalen was a doughty warrior, and his heart was hot within him knowing his people stood alone against a frothing tide of evil. Bidding his sister farewell and gently putting aside her pleas that he heed the king’s words and remain in safety, he left Menegroth to find and lend his aid to those dear to them still dwelling in the lovely greenwood of Ossiriand.

Silfaer was heavy with a dreadful foreboding as her brother departed, and soon in secrecy she left the hidden realm to follow him. And after searching, in the midst of terrible battle, she found him. From afar she saw him, and his visage was grim and terrible to behold, yet he was singing as he slew the enemies thick about him. In his battle wrath he could not hear her calling, and in horror she watched as a great wave of orcs crested and broke over him, pulling him down even as she for the first time turned her slender gifts towards destruction. The victorious ones had scant time to enjoy their spoils, for in her rage and sorrow she laid them all low, piling them as warrior’s prize about the body of her beloved brother Calgalen.

She sank down beside him, and there she stayed, for a day, for an age? The rising of Earendil brought back the first hint of life to her eyes, as the great star’s light glittered on the armor she had crafted in brighter times for Calgalen. She stood then, and the howling of wolves across the desolate battlefield seemed no more than the voice of her grief. She took his armor, and donned it herself, looking with fell determination towards the north, and the echoes of war.

Even Silfaer may not fully tell the tale of those next years. She was not to return to Doriath, but wandered in darkness through much of the Second Age, making short alliances and ever-desperate forays against the enemy. Yet as her fate had not been peace, no more so was it to be despair. At long last, the Light within her rekindled, like indeed unto the rising of Earendil those many years before. And it drew her east, over mountain and into strange country, until she found her heart’s home, in Lothlorien and the service of Galadriel once again.

And here she remains, though a quiet part of her yearns to the West and the Halls of Mandos where the spirit of Calgalen waits. Her smile and her laughter do not come as easily as once they did, though they have returned to her. In her eyes still may be seen the light of Earendil, which in equal measure shines softly on the sleeping faces of children and glints off the terrible point of the lance.

She will not leave Middle Earth while she is yet able to fight the Shadow.