It is dark here. Though the caves seem tall enough to encompass a world, there is no sun in this world. There are no stars. The only light comes from the flickering torches of the dwarves, the eerie glow of some strange crystal, or the fires that scorch the rocks in the depths. In the dark, terrible things lurk, and the glow of torches cannot push back the shadows entirely. At times I wonder how easy it would be to disappear into this darkness forever – to forget the sun, forget the world outside and remember only this: this twilight world where darkness holds sway and we must do all we can to push it back, or be swallowed.
Sometimes I see friends pass by: Tingruviel, who came here with me but was called away long ago, Aelaer, bringing cake and warnings, or Himwen, passing in a blur of weapons and shouting. They pass by like candle flames, shining bright against the darkness, but flickering out, while I remain.
Galdorion brought me a flower. The flower itself was gone in an instant, and even the stem withered here in the dark, long after Galdorion was gone. For the briefest moment when he gave it to me I almost did not recognise it. There are no flowers here.
In some ways I am fortunate – occasionally I am asked to return to the valley of Imladris to consult with the scholars there. There, I can join the gatherings of my kin who meet in the warmth of Elrond's halls. Yet now these gatherings seem more overwhelming than at any point since Aelaer first found me – and though I try to take joy in seeing my friends, and sharing the company of others, I find myself longing for the simple peace of the darkness once more.
I am no stranger to the dark, nor it to me. All of the person I once was is lost forever, shrouded in night as though it had never existed. Perhaps that is why it seems as if it would be so easy to lose myself down here – to vanish as though I too were as insubstantial as a flickering candle. Sometimes I fear that only the thought of those I would lose keeps me fighting to avoid such a fate.
