Mortals: A Case Study (Introduction)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
2 Ender in the Reckoning of Imladris
I begin this journal for the reason of ordering my thoughts regarding the complex and peculiar experiences I am observing. I hope that, as time and the seasons progress in their natural order, I may look on these notes and reflect on their deeper meaning.
To begin, let me state for the record my unique perspective on the subject: I despise Mortals and all they represent.
The Firimar, whether they be Dwarves or Men, have ever been the downfall and ruin of the Eldar, ever since the Elder Days and the start of all the sorrows my kin have known. They are the reason for my being made an orphan, my parents taken from me by war and despair. Their treachery, their greed and lust for power, their scrambling for meaning to their brief, pointless lives – these things and more define their existence. So have my thoughts and conclusions been, based upon years, then ages of observation and experience.
That is, until recently – which compels me to write.
I have in recent years had much more traffic with Mortals, at the behest of others whom I confess are wiser than I. I am learning much, for instance, of the deeper nature of the Dwarves, especially Dúrin’s Folk. The eldest of the Seven Houses has held the friendship and esteem of Elves in ages past, and in these later days that holds fast and true.
I have been abroad with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, and their cousins, the Iron Garrison of Khazad-dûm. They have challenged my preconceived thoughts at every turn with their honor, their skill and craft, and their fierce devotion to those whom they give their guarded trust. That trust has been granted me, with the bestowal of the title of Khazush-Khazad, Sister of the Dwarves – an honor I did not seek nor look for but moved me to tears of delight.
Let me state here, for record, let none speak ill of Dúrin’s Folk in my hearing.
Now I must turn to thoughts of Men. I blame these Mortals most of all, and I lay at their feet the greatest share of blame for the suffering of my people, and me personally. I have made no secret of my contempt; I have a point of pride that one of my earliest writings on the subject, On the Faults of the Firimar, is still kept in the archives of both Duillond and Imladris. With the notable exception of the Númenoreans, and later their heirs the Dúnedain, the children of Men are artless, bucolic, and the barbarous usurpers of every land they touch, worthy of all scorn. And yet, for all that deserved debasement, I have recently found my wisdom uncertain, and my own counsels regarding Men questioned in my mind – and my heart.
It is for this reason that this journal begins. I am compelled to reexamine, think once more, and view the children of the After-comers with new eyes. For unforeseen, and utterly unexpected, something has happened which has rocked the foundations of all I have held true for six thousand summers:
A Mortal loves me.
