Post by fellrod on Jul 9, 2010 17:11:08 GMT -5
It was a quiet spot set somewhat apart; a place made for quiet contemplation in a city where that was taken more seriously than anywhere in the world they knew as Middle Earth. In the distance, the sound of a stream gurgled and chuckled in an endless poem that spoke of the cycles of nature, of clouds and rains, streams and rivers and… of the sea. Above, golden leaves rustled in the ageless breezes. It was a place where time marched at a different pace. It was home.
The golden haired Elf stood for several minutes listening to the sounds, a far away look crossing his face that bore more sadness than he was used to showing, though none were at hand to see. He stood beside a golden bench, and against this he carefully placed his sword, javelin and shield. And then he took a seat and rummaged within the small pack he bore, finally withdrawing a journal bound in black leather and a writing kit in a dark wooden box.
Opening the journal he looked for several minutes at the blank page inviting him to write upon it, and again his eyes looked to a time and place that was now far away. But finally he set his little writing kit beside him and carefully dipped the pen.
My name is Fellrod. I am an Elf of the Noldorin people, and this is my story, or at least a very brief outline thereof. It is not a story worthy of a minstrel’s time, so you will not hear it recounted in song or poem, and that is a good thing since songs are for heroes and it is a rare hero that lives to hear those songs. This is, rather, the story of a common soldier of the Elves in the Third Age. I am writing it now because I fear that before the children of Men who are now already born have grown old there will be few of my people left in the world, and I would have it remembered that for each of the great Elven Lords and Ladies of lore there were a great many others who did their small part.
As I write this the shadow of Sauron spreads once more across the lands, and like as not this will go unread by future generations. But those who are accounted wisest of this time seem not without hope, and so I will leave this account in the library of Lond Treneri in hopes that it will be read in the age that may yet come and I and my people will be a little better understood.
I, along with a brother, Fellros, was born during the twenty-first century of the Second Age of Middle Earth in a valley named Imladris, which some now call Rivendell. My parents were both born during the First Age, my father in the city of Nargothrond, my mother in the fortress of Himring. But this is not their story, nor my brother’s, though they slip in and out of it.
At the time of my birth, Sauron had arisen from whatever refuge he had taken during the Great Battle when the Valar overthrew Morgoth, the great enemy whom Sauron served as a lieutenant. And after deceiving some of my people for a time with a fair countenance, he had revealed himself attacking and laying waste to Eregion. Elrond, along with many of my people, withdrew to Imladris and it was essentially a fortress at that time, and as I matured and grew to full stature I was trained as a Warden.
The Wardens of Imladris were the front line guardians of the borders of that land, as they are in Lorien and other lands of the Elves. Wardens are watchmen, often patrolling far afield and expected to move unseen as needed, and to defend the borders largely unassisted. It is a solitary existence, and generally uneventful with moments of mayhem randomly interspersed.
In fact, one of the great dangers of the job is the boredom that can creep into uneventful days and nights. Against this Galthir, the Captain of the Wardens, warned us over and over during training, and unbeknownst to the recruits, against this he would often test his troops by visiting unannounced.
It was late night when I got my first such unexpected visit. Orcs had been reported prowling near the feet of the Misty Mountains and I had taken my station earlier that day with some apprehension. But it was a quiet night and the stars were blazing gloriously and I had just begun to relax when a sound close at hand startled me. Spinning about, I was reaching for my sword as Galthir stepped from the shadows nearby. He berated me harshly for allowing him to get so close, asking if I had been too busy star gazing. From that day forward he called me Star Gazer, or Elentir in Quenya, the language of my people, and that is a name I have carried since.
It was many years before Galthir told me that I had actually pleased him that night, though by then I was well aware that he usually managed to creep up and lay hands on new recruits before they noticed his presence. He told me this at the same time he asked if I would be willing to remain behind, guarding Imladris while the armies of the Last Alliance assailed Mordor.
Leading a company of archers, my father followed Elrond and our King, Ereinion Gil-galad to the Battle of Dagorlad, and my mother went also as an herbalist. But I remained behind, along with a select group of others, to assure the house of Elrond would still be there when the armies returned. My brother was off wandering, as he was inclined to do, and did not resurface for many years thereafter.
For almost seven years we waited, though we would receive word on occasion of events that were unfolding in the east. And in the end the Last Alliance had the victory as is told in many other places, and the armies did return, but they were greatly diminished. My father fell in Mordor, and my mother saw so much hurt and grief that she sought the havens soon after their return.
And so the Third Age began. On occasion the wander lust would come upon me and I would take my leave for a year or a decade to explore the lands I knew only from maps. Sometimes I traveled in the company of my brother, yet most often alone, but my feet always carried me back to Imladris and my duty. Two thousand times the snows of winter melted and gave way to the flowers of spring, and I was happy. The stars were bright, the fires of Elrond’s house warm, and the wine and song inviting. But I began to long for a change.
Fellrod paused, his pen hovering above the page for several moments as the Elf looked out into the Golden Wood and again listened briefly to the voice of the distant stream.
I expect that many if not all of those who may read this will be of the Atani, the race of Men, Second Children of Iluvatar, and are now rereading my words wondering how I can dismiss two thousand years with the statement that I was happy. The lives of the Atani are fleeting while the Eldar linger. We are a part of Middle Earth and are doomed to remain within the circles of the world forever. And unlike the Atani we do not mark the passing of years in the same way. I do not even know the exact year of my birth. My parents did not think it important to note.
Each day of those years had its events of course. But during those years the most notable feature was that I was happy. Any particular day might have included a small battle with wandering orcs, or it might have featured a beautiful sunrise, or a wonderful meal and a night of song in Elrond’s Hall of Fire. But those things are not worth chronicling one by one for each of those years. Suffice to say that through that time little of great note happened to me and I was happy. But after enough of those days even an Elf may wish a change.
It came with the arrival in Imladris of Galadriel and Celeborn. The Lady Galadriel was the eldest member of the royal family of the Noldor remaining in Middle Earth, and one of the very few of my people remaining who had come to Middle Earth from Valinor.
At about that time news had reached Imladris that the Dwarves of Khazad-dum had awakened something deep in the bowels of the earth which they named Durin’s Bane. The great Dwarven kingdom was laid waste by the awakened Balrog and the Dwarves driven out, as were many of the Silvan Elves of Lorinand that bordered Khazad-dum to the east. Among those who fled was their King Amroth, whose tragic love of the maiden Nimrodel is well chronicled.
Celeborn was a high noble of the Silvan Elves, being a kinsman of Thingol, and he and Galadriel planned to make Loriand their new home, both because of the vacuum left with the loss of Amroth, and because that land was near the Greenwood where Galadriel even then suspected Sauron had taken refuge.
Upon hearing of this plan I begged to be allowed to join their entourage and that request was granted to my great joy. That was around the year 1981 of the Third Age and the beginning of what I consider the second part of my life.
After their arrival, Galadriel began the planting of the mallorn trees from whence the land eventually came to be known as the Golden Wood. The seeds were said to have come to the Lady from Numenor, though exactly how she came into possession of them I do not know. And it was also she who changed the name of that wood to Lorien, the Dream Flower, which was sadly fitting.
I really had no part in most of this, of course. Instead, I again took up arms and found a place on the borders among my new brethren, the Galadhrim. And, indeed, as the years have passed I think of myself more as Galadhrim than Noldor on a daily basis.
Again the years slipped by; Sauron was indeed stirring in Greenwood, which grew darksome, and most began to name the great forest Mirkwood instead. And while the Wise wrestled with the larger problems, the Wardens skirmished on the borders and kept the lands behind us safe.
For another thousand years the tides of time swept about the eves of the Golden Wood. The Balrog slept in Khazad-dum, now called Moria by all. The kingdoms of Men rose and fell, and the mallorn grew tall. These were the happiest years of my life and it seemed they might go on forever, but it was not to be so.
Sauron was driven from Dol Guldur by the White Council, only to arise in new power back within Mordor, and the whispers and rumors among the Galadhrim were dark. Three thousand years had passed since the Last Alliance had barely been strong enough to overcome Sauron. In that time the strength of the remnant of Men of Numenor grew and then again waned. The strength of the Elves had only declined. Many began to flee to the havens beyond the mountains, and yet Galadriel showed no sign of despair, and so I have held on to hope as well.
Finally, I sought an interview with the Lord and Lady. I reminded them of my service at Imladris during the last great war with Sauron, and of my service since. I explained that I felt the need now to go out into the world beyond the Golden Wood, and I was granted leave to pursue the forces of Shadow wherever I might find them.
I have since allied myself with the Lond Treneri, the friends of Caellian Edanadar, a Woman of Rohirrim descent. This is a thing I would not previously have done. Not because I consider the race of Men or the jolly little Hobbits to be beneath me, as some of my people may, but because I once befriended an Atani, or perhaps he befriended me. It was during my longest sojourn away from Imladris and not long after the beginning of the Third Age. Boland was his name, and he was a fierce fighter and trusty companion. But as we traveled together I watched him age, and eventually returned with him to the shores of Lake Evendim. His passing came as no surprise to me, of course. But it came with far more sadness for me than I would have expected and I vowed never again to become close to one of the second born.
Things are now different. It seems I have only three possible paths ahead of me and none are to my liking. Most likely of all is that I shall be killed in one of the battles that loom ahead of all free people and I shall go to the Halls of Waiting in Mandos. But, if somehow we prevail and Sauron is defeated, I am told by the Lady that my options will be to either take ship and go into the West, or to remain when the last ship finally sets sail and fade to something unrecognizable today. This path of fading I will not take.
But going into the West to sit at the feet of the Valar is far from an attractive option. I am a warrior, the son of warriors. I know nothing else. My parents knew nothing else. My grand parents defied the Valar and crossed the Grinding Ice following the banner of Fingolfin and winded their trumpets in defiance when first the moon rose into the sky of Middle Earth. I have no idea what I shall do if I come to Valinor where there is no need of warriors. But I cannot throw my life away in battle either, and if this is to be my last war I will make the most of it. No matter what though, I shall not have to watch any of my short-lived new friends grow old.
Fellrod blew the ink dry on his last words. A number of pages remained blank and as he closed the cover of the journal he wondered if he would have a chance to fill them. Then, after several moments listening to the wind whisper in the rustling leaves, he again opened his pack and withdrew a single sheet of parchment, warping paper and twine. On the parchment he wrote a quick note before sliding it inside the front cover of the journal.
Ceallian,
Here is a contribution to the Lond Treneri library. I am sending this by post because I leave at first light for Mirkwood, and perhaps on to Dol Guldur. I shall return when and as I can.
Fellrod Elentir
He then carefully wrapped the journal and bound the package with twine before addressing it. Slinging the pack, he quickly scooped up his weapons and shield before squaring his shoulders and gazing for a moment longer up at the golden leaves. Then, with a grim smile and a brisk gate, he set off to find a mail box.
The golden haired Elf stood for several minutes listening to the sounds, a far away look crossing his face that bore more sadness than he was used to showing, though none were at hand to see. He stood beside a golden bench, and against this he carefully placed his sword, javelin and shield. And then he took a seat and rummaged within the small pack he bore, finally withdrawing a journal bound in black leather and a writing kit in a dark wooden box.
Opening the journal he looked for several minutes at the blank page inviting him to write upon it, and again his eyes looked to a time and place that was now far away. But finally he set his little writing kit beside him and carefully dipped the pen.
My name is Fellrod. I am an Elf of the Noldorin people, and this is my story, or at least a very brief outline thereof. It is not a story worthy of a minstrel’s time, so you will not hear it recounted in song or poem, and that is a good thing since songs are for heroes and it is a rare hero that lives to hear those songs. This is, rather, the story of a common soldier of the Elves in the Third Age. I am writing it now because I fear that before the children of Men who are now already born have grown old there will be few of my people left in the world, and I would have it remembered that for each of the great Elven Lords and Ladies of lore there were a great many others who did their small part.
As I write this the shadow of Sauron spreads once more across the lands, and like as not this will go unread by future generations. But those who are accounted wisest of this time seem not without hope, and so I will leave this account in the library of Lond Treneri in hopes that it will be read in the age that may yet come and I and my people will be a little better understood.
I, along with a brother, Fellros, was born during the twenty-first century of the Second Age of Middle Earth in a valley named Imladris, which some now call Rivendell. My parents were both born during the First Age, my father in the city of Nargothrond, my mother in the fortress of Himring. But this is not their story, nor my brother’s, though they slip in and out of it.
At the time of my birth, Sauron had arisen from whatever refuge he had taken during the Great Battle when the Valar overthrew Morgoth, the great enemy whom Sauron served as a lieutenant. And after deceiving some of my people for a time with a fair countenance, he had revealed himself attacking and laying waste to Eregion. Elrond, along with many of my people, withdrew to Imladris and it was essentially a fortress at that time, and as I matured and grew to full stature I was trained as a Warden.
The Wardens of Imladris were the front line guardians of the borders of that land, as they are in Lorien and other lands of the Elves. Wardens are watchmen, often patrolling far afield and expected to move unseen as needed, and to defend the borders largely unassisted. It is a solitary existence, and generally uneventful with moments of mayhem randomly interspersed.
In fact, one of the great dangers of the job is the boredom that can creep into uneventful days and nights. Against this Galthir, the Captain of the Wardens, warned us over and over during training, and unbeknownst to the recruits, against this he would often test his troops by visiting unannounced.
It was late night when I got my first such unexpected visit. Orcs had been reported prowling near the feet of the Misty Mountains and I had taken my station earlier that day with some apprehension. But it was a quiet night and the stars were blazing gloriously and I had just begun to relax when a sound close at hand startled me. Spinning about, I was reaching for my sword as Galthir stepped from the shadows nearby. He berated me harshly for allowing him to get so close, asking if I had been too busy star gazing. From that day forward he called me Star Gazer, or Elentir in Quenya, the language of my people, and that is a name I have carried since.
It was many years before Galthir told me that I had actually pleased him that night, though by then I was well aware that he usually managed to creep up and lay hands on new recruits before they noticed his presence. He told me this at the same time he asked if I would be willing to remain behind, guarding Imladris while the armies of the Last Alliance assailed Mordor.
Leading a company of archers, my father followed Elrond and our King, Ereinion Gil-galad to the Battle of Dagorlad, and my mother went also as an herbalist. But I remained behind, along with a select group of others, to assure the house of Elrond would still be there when the armies returned. My brother was off wandering, as he was inclined to do, and did not resurface for many years thereafter.
For almost seven years we waited, though we would receive word on occasion of events that were unfolding in the east. And in the end the Last Alliance had the victory as is told in many other places, and the armies did return, but they were greatly diminished. My father fell in Mordor, and my mother saw so much hurt and grief that she sought the havens soon after their return.
And so the Third Age began. On occasion the wander lust would come upon me and I would take my leave for a year or a decade to explore the lands I knew only from maps. Sometimes I traveled in the company of my brother, yet most often alone, but my feet always carried me back to Imladris and my duty. Two thousand times the snows of winter melted and gave way to the flowers of spring, and I was happy. The stars were bright, the fires of Elrond’s house warm, and the wine and song inviting. But I began to long for a change.
Fellrod paused, his pen hovering above the page for several moments as the Elf looked out into the Golden Wood and again listened briefly to the voice of the distant stream.
I expect that many if not all of those who may read this will be of the Atani, the race of Men, Second Children of Iluvatar, and are now rereading my words wondering how I can dismiss two thousand years with the statement that I was happy. The lives of the Atani are fleeting while the Eldar linger. We are a part of Middle Earth and are doomed to remain within the circles of the world forever. And unlike the Atani we do not mark the passing of years in the same way. I do not even know the exact year of my birth. My parents did not think it important to note.
Each day of those years had its events of course. But during those years the most notable feature was that I was happy. Any particular day might have included a small battle with wandering orcs, or it might have featured a beautiful sunrise, or a wonderful meal and a night of song in Elrond’s Hall of Fire. But those things are not worth chronicling one by one for each of those years. Suffice to say that through that time little of great note happened to me and I was happy. But after enough of those days even an Elf may wish a change.
It came with the arrival in Imladris of Galadriel and Celeborn. The Lady Galadriel was the eldest member of the royal family of the Noldor remaining in Middle Earth, and one of the very few of my people remaining who had come to Middle Earth from Valinor.
At about that time news had reached Imladris that the Dwarves of Khazad-dum had awakened something deep in the bowels of the earth which they named Durin’s Bane. The great Dwarven kingdom was laid waste by the awakened Balrog and the Dwarves driven out, as were many of the Silvan Elves of Lorinand that bordered Khazad-dum to the east. Among those who fled was their King Amroth, whose tragic love of the maiden Nimrodel is well chronicled.
Celeborn was a high noble of the Silvan Elves, being a kinsman of Thingol, and he and Galadriel planned to make Loriand their new home, both because of the vacuum left with the loss of Amroth, and because that land was near the Greenwood where Galadriel even then suspected Sauron had taken refuge.
Upon hearing of this plan I begged to be allowed to join their entourage and that request was granted to my great joy. That was around the year 1981 of the Third Age and the beginning of what I consider the second part of my life.
After their arrival, Galadriel began the planting of the mallorn trees from whence the land eventually came to be known as the Golden Wood. The seeds were said to have come to the Lady from Numenor, though exactly how she came into possession of them I do not know. And it was also she who changed the name of that wood to Lorien, the Dream Flower, which was sadly fitting.
I really had no part in most of this, of course. Instead, I again took up arms and found a place on the borders among my new brethren, the Galadhrim. And, indeed, as the years have passed I think of myself more as Galadhrim than Noldor on a daily basis.
Again the years slipped by; Sauron was indeed stirring in Greenwood, which grew darksome, and most began to name the great forest Mirkwood instead. And while the Wise wrestled with the larger problems, the Wardens skirmished on the borders and kept the lands behind us safe.
For another thousand years the tides of time swept about the eves of the Golden Wood. The Balrog slept in Khazad-dum, now called Moria by all. The kingdoms of Men rose and fell, and the mallorn grew tall. These were the happiest years of my life and it seemed they might go on forever, but it was not to be so.
Sauron was driven from Dol Guldur by the White Council, only to arise in new power back within Mordor, and the whispers and rumors among the Galadhrim were dark. Three thousand years had passed since the Last Alliance had barely been strong enough to overcome Sauron. In that time the strength of the remnant of Men of Numenor grew and then again waned. The strength of the Elves had only declined. Many began to flee to the havens beyond the mountains, and yet Galadriel showed no sign of despair, and so I have held on to hope as well.
Finally, I sought an interview with the Lord and Lady. I reminded them of my service at Imladris during the last great war with Sauron, and of my service since. I explained that I felt the need now to go out into the world beyond the Golden Wood, and I was granted leave to pursue the forces of Shadow wherever I might find them.
I have since allied myself with the Lond Treneri, the friends of Caellian Edanadar, a Woman of Rohirrim descent. This is a thing I would not previously have done. Not because I consider the race of Men or the jolly little Hobbits to be beneath me, as some of my people may, but because I once befriended an Atani, or perhaps he befriended me. It was during my longest sojourn away from Imladris and not long after the beginning of the Third Age. Boland was his name, and he was a fierce fighter and trusty companion. But as we traveled together I watched him age, and eventually returned with him to the shores of Lake Evendim. His passing came as no surprise to me, of course. But it came with far more sadness for me than I would have expected and I vowed never again to become close to one of the second born.
Things are now different. It seems I have only three possible paths ahead of me and none are to my liking. Most likely of all is that I shall be killed in one of the battles that loom ahead of all free people and I shall go to the Halls of Waiting in Mandos. But, if somehow we prevail and Sauron is defeated, I am told by the Lady that my options will be to either take ship and go into the West, or to remain when the last ship finally sets sail and fade to something unrecognizable today. This path of fading I will not take.
But going into the West to sit at the feet of the Valar is far from an attractive option. I am a warrior, the son of warriors. I know nothing else. My parents knew nothing else. My grand parents defied the Valar and crossed the Grinding Ice following the banner of Fingolfin and winded their trumpets in defiance when first the moon rose into the sky of Middle Earth. I have no idea what I shall do if I come to Valinor where there is no need of warriors. But I cannot throw my life away in battle either, and if this is to be my last war I will make the most of it. No matter what though, I shall not have to watch any of my short-lived new friends grow old.
Fellrod blew the ink dry on his last words. A number of pages remained blank and as he closed the cover of the journal he wondered if he would have a chance to fill them. Then, after several moments listening to the wind whisper in the rustling leaves, he again opened his pack and withdrew a single sheet of parchment, warping paper and twine. On the parchment he wrote a quick note before sliding it inside the front cover of the journal.
Ceallian,
Here is a contribution to the Lond Treneri library. I am sending this by post because I leave at first light for Mirkwood, and perhaps on to Dol Guldur. I shall return when and as I can.
Fellrod Elentir
He then carefully wrapped the journal and bound the package with twine before addressing it. Slinging the pack, he quickly scooped up his weapons and shield before squaring his shoulders and gazing for a moment longer up at the golden leaves. Then, with a grim smile and a brisk gate, he set off to find a mail box.