[Imladris]

I held my breath as Aman's hands guided my own over her face; my senses thrilled as I touched her fine skin, while I listened attentively to Elentari. It was wonderful, that they should show much kindness to one such as I. "You do not disturb me, Elentari," I said, smiling softly as I played with a lock of her hair, which I had somehow found. "Yes, I am learning to feel and hear as I have never done before."

I frowned slightly and bowed my head when Aman again told us that she must clear some dirty dishes. I could hear the thump of glasses, the patter of hobbits feet, the coarse laughter of a rugged man...heaving a sigh, I turned to Elentari and said, "My parents were farmers in Gondor and lived some miles from the White City. When I was around five or six, I was sent to a weaver-woman who lived in Minas Tirith so that I could learn her craft." I fell silent, and recalled the buried memories: sitting before the loom, hearing the wooden shuttle clack merrily back and forth, the smooth feel of the spun wool in my fingers as the design of the blanket took shape. I remembered curding the wool, freeing it from snarls and brambles that had somehow managed to bury themselves and ensnag themselves in the soft wool. Then spinning it into fine thread, the whir of the wheel purring softly as I spun in the firelight.

But that had been when I was older, when my sight was fleeing from me. I continued softy, braiding the elf's fair hair, and said, "Then the attacks came. I did not wish to live the White City, for it impressive and so fair that I could not bear to part with it. I ran from my the Weaver-woman's charge and snuck back to the her house, which was near the wall. I could hear the sound of battle, and I could see small round objects hurtling through the air. One landed with a sickening thud before me and I saw that it was a head: severed cruelly from its body, it's fair face frozen in enduring nobility, though the shadow fear hovered about his eyes. I screamed and rushed into the house, and cowered in the middle of the floor, beside my loom. I don't know how long I stood there, but suddenly, as I was leaving (my conscience having gotten the better of me) to see if I could find the Weaver-woman, a flaming ball of fire plummeted to the house and hit the walls of the house. Flying shrapnel exploded in a fiery rain, and some landed in my eyes. I screamed for the pain was great: that was the first taste of blindness. One found me and brought me to the Houses of Healing, where they later told me that my eyes were bleeding, and that it was a mercy I could see again.

"I learned in that time the art of weaving and sewing, and of the lyre. I could do both well, but there were times when my vision blurred, and my eyes ached. Steadily it became worse until I lost it completley."