The Elf-haven of Duillond is yet another settlement that is unmarked on my map, and I wonder how many more such places I shall find along my road. To my mind, neither Celondim nor Duillond are small to behold, but it seems that they are not large enough to be drawn on my chart. Mithlond is marked, for it is a vast port that straddles both shores of the Lhûn at the mouth of the great Gulf, yet Thorin's Hall is not; but Athal told me -- at great length -- that it is indeed a great Dwarf-mansion and is home to many Dwarves.¹ Therefore it seems to me that Middle-earth is peopled in far greater numbers than I thought (and that maps are untrusty!)
   Granted, to my mind vast numbers are bewildering. Twelve dozen² is to me a large host of Elves, for it is the count of the people of my clan at its height (and also the First Elves at Nen Echui³ of yore), and it is by this token that my mind measures the peoples of the world: thus the Elves of Celondim number well-nigh seven clans, while the count of the Duillond-folk is less than three clans. (But the horde of Harlond or the teeming throngs of Mithlond are far beyond my reckoning!)

   And so the thought came to my mind to seek a map with a closer view of the encompassing lands, for naught in this fashion did I see in the store of Thavroniel in Celondim. And lo! when I offered my greetings to Dorongúr Whitethorn, Master of Duillond, he told me of the Scholar's Enclave: an elven library where scholars are said to research ancient lore and artefacts, and a jewel of the haven. Alas that the library of Edhelion was buried in ruin, but what little was saved resides now within the Enclave, together with much lore gathered by Dorongúr in the afterdays.
   But no scholars have I seen within its walls, and it seems to my mind that fate has granted me a boon; for here I sit alone in utter silence amid a vast trove of lore, writing in peace without the keen eyes of Thavroniel watching over my shoulder, or her soft breath upon my neck! Nay, I jest! I am indeed beholden to my mentor for her wisdom as much as for her teaching, for the Elves of Duillond were ill-pleased to behold a ragged young woodland elf besmirch their treasured library, but clad in her clean robe I present a scholarly aspect and they are troubled no more! (Yet I have seen some wary looks at my unshod feet!)

   But it is strange to me to find comfort herein! I do not love having a roof over my head, while outside the grass is growing and the Sun rides unseen in the skies beyond; yet I cherish the solitude. After half a year in the constant company of Elves (and a Dwarf!), though they were strangers to me who grew in friendship, I admit that my heart is glad to be once more alone!
   Yet am I ever truly alone when my mind is ever haunted by the memory of Faethurin Fethurin who should, by rights, be wandering the World in mirth beside me? To him I made an earnest promise to fulfil our quest, and to record it faithfully here in my journal so that one day I might bring it with me across the Sea to the Lonely Isle, and there share the tale with him. (And, by the grace of the Powers that be, perhaps on a merry day yet to come you are reading these very words, my friend! This thought lightens my heart!)

   To my delight I have uncovered maps of the region that I deem are of dwarven-make, and of which there are not a few copies. Thus I felt no guilt nor shame in freeing one from its bondage and amending it with my own hand, marking the places I have discovered in the waking world, or but lately learned from lore or word of mouth. At last I can picture in my mind the lands that lie along the Road into the mountains!

   The Master of Duillond is both wise and kind; a High-elf who does not name himself 'Lord', though it is said that by his many noble deeds Dorongúr Whitethorn could have been a mighty elf-lord in Lindon, perhaps even ruler of a fiefdom akin to Lord Celeborn of old. But it is also said that he has no desire for power, nor to impose his will upon others; he is content to be Master of this humble haven, appointed by the grace of Lord Círdan to aid those who would depart for the Blessed Realm. He has found his place in the world, and in my heart I envy him.
   He has the same ancient yet ageless air about him as Selcheneb, our lore-keeper, yet his bright High-elven eyes have not dimmed with the passing of years uncounted.⁴ At our meeting his first words were: 'Well met, young Elf. Let me look into your eyes.' ⁵
   Light was his touch upon my mind, like a soft breeze that gently brushes the green leaves of a sapling tree without unsettling the butterfly resting thereon, and softer still was his test of my heart's purpose. 'I see no deception or ill will there, so I shall tell you what you need,' he said, and he told me the unhappy tale of Edhelion.⁶ Ovorlas' fear that the protection of Dorongúr over his realm is waning⁷ I deem now to be wide of the mark, for great is the strength of his will and his mastery!

   I wrote that I envied him, but beneath his cloak of contentment I sensed within his heart the weariness of his long years; and ever when I perceive this in my elders, I am filled with dismay that this doom is mine also. But my heart is young and merry, and it is - for now - content to tarry here for a little while, for I desire to explore the lore-hoard of Dorongúr and the green hills of his township.
   For although Duillond is but a small refuge, there are many folk who await the grey ships of Mithlond, and thus upon the eastern shore of the Lhûn is built a fair homestead of many elven-houses. It is my guess that the number of Elves who make there their abode is well beyond two clans. There are two score houses and ten, set on lush green lawns amidst tall glad trees, and from the east a river falls into a glimmering lake, whence its clear waters flow round in two wide arms that each cascade into the river vale. The music of the twin falls fills the marketplace, and the fresh air smells like it will be springtime forever.
   But I need not a roofed house, and in the woodlands by the riverside I have made my camp. The growing moon is six days old, and while the night is young I watch his silver crescent chase the shining belt of Menelvagor⁸ across the glittering fields of the sky; when both sink below the shadowed Blue Mountains ere midnight, I kindle a fire of dead-wood and let my mind wander in the flames and drift with the smoke.

   It is told that Duillond was founded by the survivors of Edhelion six hundred years ago, after that elf-city of old was brought to ruin by a dwarven-clan that turned to evil: the Dourhands, a name that makes Athal of the Firebeards spit fiercely upon the ground! (For not only were they under the sway of Angmar, but to swell their host they bought the friendship of goblins and trolls with gold, which he says is both dishonourable and intolerable!)
   But it is a sad tale: their king, Skorgrím Dourhand, lusted after life eternal and desired certain relics that lay amidst the elven-treasure, and so his host assailed fair Edhelion. Taken unaware, the ancient city swiftly fell, but Skorgrím perished together with Talagan Silvertongue, who brought down the walls of the Library atop them both. The remnants of the people of Edhelion removed to Gondamon (another unmarked city!), thence southwards to build the new haven of Duillond nigh Celondim.
   Gondamon was, in days long gone, a High-elven fortress; but it was forsaken after the ruin of Edhelion and rebuilt thereafter by the cunning hands of Durin's Folk.⁹ It lies three leagues to the north and west of Duillond, in the lowlands ere the road begins to climb the feet of the mountains past the travellers' waystation three leagues hence: Noglond,¹⁰ another former holding of the High Elves, which fared alike to Gondamon and has also been rebuilt by Dwarven hands.¹¹

   Now Edhelion stands forlorn¹² in the cold lands of the Longbeards, but it is said that it is a place of contemplation and reflection. The dwarven-realm is named Thorin's Gate, and at its heart sits Thorin's Hall. I have a mind to see it with my own eyes, but the road thither wanders up steep mountain-slopes for well-nigh six leagues from Noglond, and there is no path east unless I retrace my steps to the waystation. Thence I would traverse the lowlands and Haudh Lin (an ill name for a land of ill repute!) to the Wardspire, a watchtower of old that marks the north-easternmost boundary of Ered Luin.
   Across the unbridged Lhûn lies the Yondershire, and if I make my way along the southern eaves of the Hills of Evendim I will come at last to the Baranduin, which I can follow northwards to Nenuial. But this course is perilous, for goblins hold the western mountain path to the Grey Havens, and there are reports that they have taken the old dwarven-fortress of Orodost also; and, it is said, the remnants of the Dourhand clan have turned to banditry and also roam the land.
   My other recourse is to take the Eastway bridge straight out of Duillond and cross the Yondershire safely by road, which would bring me to villages of the Periannath (who name themselves 'Hobbits', I am told.) Now of this people I know naught save for the few tales of Athal, and thus in my heart I greatly desire to meet them for myself!

   Is it to be Dwarves or Hobbits? Whither shall I go? In my mind I know not which course to choose, but I should not tarry here overlong ere I make my choice.

*      *      *

1. "The great halls of Thorin, delved beneath the Ered Luin in western Middle-earth are amongst the greatest wonders of craftsmanship and building found anywhere in the world. It has been nearly 80 years since Thorin himself journeyed away from this Dwarf-mansion of soaring stone to reclaim his rightful place beneath Erebor, in his noble quest to Lonely Mountain to defeat the dragon Smaug (a well-documented adventure, indeed!). Though Thorin was never to return to this place, having fallen in the Battle of Five Armies after successfully reclaiming his throne, Thorin's Halls in the Blue Mountains remain a vibrant center of activity in the region."
   - Lorebook

2. "And so it was that the Quendi ever after reckoned in twelves, and that 144 was for long their highest number, so that in none of their later tongues was there any common name for a greater number."
   - The War of the Jewels, "Quendi and Eldar: The legend of the Awaking of the Quendi (Cuivienyarna)

3. Nen Echui is the Sindarin rendering of Cuiviénen, "Water of Awakening", where the First Elves awoke.

4. "In  general the Sindar appear to have very closely resembled the Exiles, being dark-haired, strong and tall, but lithe. Indeed they could hardly be told apart except by their eyes; for the eyes of all the Elves that had dwelt in Aman impressed those of Middle-earth by their piercing brightness. For which reason the Sindar often called them Lachend, pi. Lechind 'flame-eyed'."
   - The War of the Jewels, "Part Four. Quendi and Eldar: C. The Clan-names, with notes on other names for divisions of the Eldar"

5. Quest: Chapter 4: The Wandering and the Lost

6. "Skorgrím Dourhand is descended from ancient dwarf-lords who ruled one of the great kingdoms of the Blue Mountains, a realm that has long since fallen into ruin. His people became scattered and declined in number, but poverty and dishonour bred within them a great greed and lust for power. When the Elves of Mithlond founded the Refuge of Edhelion, in the Blue Mountains, Skorgrím sought to rob them of their relics and treasures. He rallied the remnants of his people and laid siege to Edhelion. Worse yet, he had paid Goblins and Trolls to assist him...something of which no honourable Dwarf would conceive. His evil ways brought him to ruin, though Edhelion was also lost."
   - Lorebook

7.  'Perhaps Lord Dorongúr's protection is weakening as we make our way to the shores to depart -- or perhaps the Enemy grows stronger faster than we expect.'
   - Quest: A Word of Warning

8. The Swordsman of the Sky (Orion) (Q.) Menelmacar

9. "The fortress of Gondamon was once an Elven fortress, abandoned when the Elves of Edhelion abandoned their former refuge for Duillond, after Skorgrím Dourhand's treacherous assault. The dwarves rebuilt the stronghold to their liking."
   - Deed: Places of the Dwarves

10. "The waystation of Noglond serves as a provisioners' outpost and resting place for merchants and weary travellers."
   - ibid

11. "Both Noglond and Gondamon were once Elven holdings in the days of Edhelion, but was abandoned and fell into ruin when the Elves of Refuge of Edhelion fled for Duillond after Skorgrím Dourhand's treacherous assault. The dwarves later rebuilt the stronghold to their liking. The dwarf-exiles of the Lonely Mountain rebuilt them, under the leadership of Thráin and Thorin, and the Elves of Duillond welcomed them to the mountains. In these evil days, the guards of Noglond and Gondamon must be ever-vigilant against the return of the treacherous Dourhands and goblins out of the north."
   - Lorebook

12. "Hundreds of years ago Edhelion was abandoned in respect for its many fallen defenders. The Elves removed themselves to the foothills of Ered Luin and founded a new refuge, Duillond, nearer to the elven port of Celondim, which ferried the wood gathered in the mountains down the river Lhûn to Mithlond, the Grey Havens. The Elves of Duillond lived in relative peace with the dwarves of Durin's line who had followed Thráin and Thorin into exile in the Blue Mountains, but now tensions between Elf and Dwarf is rising once more."
   - Lorebook

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