At times I wonder; are all of my tasks attempted in vain? Do all things I accomplish turn to ashes in my hands? Or is this The Doom of my forefathers still reaching out across the ages to curse my kin?
Whilst it may not read as so, I do not ask out of despair but rather out of curiosity. This recent journey of mine had turned my heart away from these lands and now it rather looks towards the West.
Years ago, when this Middle-Earth was still young and I was yet younger, rumour reached my ears as I trod the pathless ways of a broken land, of the Pardon of the Valar, that we were once again given leave to cross the sea to Elvenhome. It is true that the offer sorely tempted me, for I was deep in grief after abandoning all whom I had held dear to me. For long years did I wander without purpose, all the time replaying the events of the past and reliving my previous mistakes. I was forced to learn the ways of the wild to survive, for no company did I desire and those folk that came upon me hid their faces from me, for I was miserable and uncouth in those days. There were times when I stole food to eat and almost set upon a traveling dwarf who I spied from the trees.
I was able to move quietly if I wished, as most Elves may, yet I did not have the skills as I do now. He did not see, did not hear me as he plodded along the road. He carried a great pack on his back and I imagined it to be filled with Dwarven treasures and food to last me many days. I knocked my arrow and drew back the string of my rustic bow, yet as my eyes tracked him, he began to whistle. I paused for a moment, for as strange as it seemed to me, the tune was familiar. I do not remember it now, yet I know it was sang to me as a child. Not the very same perhaps, yet close enough for me to give me cause to reconsider my actions.
Who had I become? Was I to remain forever a vagabond of the wild, preying on helpless folk, no better than the scattered bands of orcs and evil men that had found refuge in the wilderness after the fall of Angband and the Coming of The Host of The West? For the song that he whistled to himself, whilst he plainly took delight from his journey and was unaware of his peril, served to remind me that whether Elf, Dwarf or Man, we are all Eru's children. I still have no great love for either Dwarves or Men, save a scant few who have been most kind to me at times, yet I do not hate them for who they are. This I have tried to explain to Estarfin to no avail, yet perhaps the fault is mine for not conveying my feelings on the matter correctly. It makes no matter. From that point on I presented myself with a choice; to dwindle as a shadow in the woods with only myself and bitter memories as comfort, or to seek out my kin and to make amends for what I did. With only the slightest reluctance, I chose the latter.
Now I find myself in Imladris, in the House of Lord Elrond with friends dearer to me than any possession could be: Parnard, though at times still strange to me, has proved his qualities on our journey East and I am honoured to count him as a friend. Danel, with her copper hair echoing her fiery spirit, undimmed by these long ages of the world. I value the company of Rainith, her bare feet never ceasing to bring a smile to my face, and of course, Estarfin, my battle-brother. A ruthless warrior he is, yet the most loyal Elf I know to those he trusts. There are others, more members of The House of Vanimar, Elloen, Daegond and Hingalas to name a few yet none so dear to me as those I have mentioned. I have sworn myself into the service of the Lord of the House, Anglachelm, himself a refugee from my city, and in turn joined the Order of the Arrow under Lord Farasilion, by comparison with whom I am only a student of the hunt. I took an oath to safeguard the people and interests of Vanimar, and it is to that very oath that I hold, and it is the reason why I am poised to leave the Valley again so soon after my return.
The others have already departed, for even now I see them climb the steep, winding path upwards on their steeds towards whatever they find in the South-lands. I will catch them later. Their trail shall not be difficult to find. Yet for what reason do we ride again?
Upon our company's return to Imladris, we met with the Lord of The Hammer, Lord Veryacano, in the Hall of Fire and he informed us of the happenings whilst we had been abroad and there was great sadness in his voice. The Lord Anglachelm has been taken hostage, he told us. The words ring in my ears even still. We ride for Eregion three days hence.
Our victory of the Dark Tower in Mirkwood was to be bitter-sweet it seems. For after finding what it was we had set out to seek, we were only met with solemn faces and dark tidings. The fingers of The Enemy grope everywhere, it seems. I sat once amongst others of Lord Elrond's company to hear the tale of the Hobbit, Bilbo. Some had heard it before, yet all was new to me. At one point in his story he used a strange phrase of words that I found most amusing, "I felt like I had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire!" he said, and it is those words that I now think of. We return from the dark lands of the East and our troubles we encountered there, only to be met with despair and anger at the loss of one much loved and respected, which only served to harden my resolve to leave these shores once the task to search for Anglachelm was over, for I am weary and when I look at the lands about me, I see toil and hardship; a slowly decaying land in which our influence grows ever weaker. I have told Danel and Estarfin as such and I do not wish to leave without them, but if they indeed desire to remain here, stubborn as they are, I would sail alone.
During my escape from Gondolin, as I have noted elsewhere, I came across a young elf-girl of five or six years, her parents slain or taken captive. As all around me burned and my friends lay dead or grevious-wounded, the full realisation of the horror of battle overwhelmed me and I succumbed to my grief. I sank to my knees on the Plain of Tumladen and watched through tear-filled eyes as the countless hordes sacked the jewel of my people, yet in my hand appeared the most wondrous thing unlooked for. A beautiful flower from the meadow lay in my palm, it's petals as blue as an untainted sky. I still see that flower now, as vivid as the day I held it, for it was Eliriael, the young girl, who had given it me with three simple words. Don't cry, Belegos. She had lost everything. Her friends, her family, her home and she knew no more of me than my name, yet it was she who stood there, her back to the flames and smiled. I did not know which was sweeter, the flower or her smile, but it was then that hope was kindled within me, for I knew that this girl, with a strength greater than mine, did not deserve this fate and I would do what was in my power to see her safely across the mountains and to whatever town or homestead we were led. Eliriael had become my purpose.
Yet it was not to be so.
Once we had made it over the Echoriath I abandoned her and the company into the care of another, he who had once been my friend and accused me of serving his family to Morgoth as slaves. The choice had been mine, yet still I know not if I chose right. It was for my shame that I left them, feeling that I did not deserve to live whilst so many others had been slain or carried off into thralldom. It was the last I would see of Eliriael. Until now.
Oft, even in the darkest of times, there are causes for hope and joy. As I sat on the East Porch of Elrond's House planning the next journey and listening to the rush of the Bruinen, I was disturbed from my musings by an Elleth. So engrossed was I in my own thoughts that at first I did not hear her enter through the door, nor walk toward me. After a while, she asked me if I was Belegos of Gondolin, to which I obliged her with a bow. She was plainly nervous, yet her eyes held the faintest look of mischief about them. She told me that she had heard my name mentioned by others of Bar-en-Vanimar and had sought me out especially. One who wished to join the Arrow, I thought, or maybe wished for training with the bow, yet she looked unlike such an elf to me. Curious, I asked her what her business was with me and it was then that she revealed herself to me. Eliriael. The name was like a blow to my heart and it struck me dumb. As I looked at her I saw the girl's face before me, now an Elleth-grown. This cannot be so, I thought, for throughout these ages I had presumed her dead or sailed West, yet here she stood, unmistakably Eliriael. I could feel my eyes filling with tears. Don't cry, Belegos. The meeting seems as a blur to me in part, for my heart leapt and I most certainly acted as a fool out of happiness, but I do remember her saying to me, I am here to protect you, as you once did for me, and I laughed, for this was not the way of things! She owes me no debt, though she will not agree.
We talked for long. I had, and still do have, many questions for her and one was what she intended to do now she was in the Valley. She told me that she too would depart for look for Lord Anglachelm who she never knew, for she intended to swear an oath to the successor of the House which gladdened me all the more, and also she told me she would remain in Middle-Earth as long as it took for the shadow to be wiped clean from it's strongholds and peace to return. This troubled me greatly and has been a most severe test of my heart's desire. So glad am I to be reunited with Eli after so long that I could not bear to part with her so soon, yet as I said previously, I wish to see the faces of my kin again in Valinor. Ever since she presented herself to me, this choice has smarted like a wound. The night we met again, I did not sleep but walked in Elrond's gardens until the sun rose. I was about to visit Sogadan to purchase some of his wares when I remembered. It had escaped my notice before, yet now it was as plain as the day.
I could see her standing there, telling me her name, and in her hair were flowers. Beautiful, blue flowers. There is yet joy to be had in these lands, it seems.
