The Deeds Of Nimeldakal

by Ninquelenkar

The tale of one of the First of the Firstborn, from the time when the Elves awoke at Cuivienen to the onset of the War of the Rings

THE DEEDS OF

NIMELDAKAL

CALLED ASH-EYE

Walldancer, Guardian of the Whispering Arc,

Herald of Ingwë the High-King of the Calaquendi of Aman

Being the Last of the Vanyar Remaining East of the Grey Havens k the Sundering Seas

In the First and Second Ages of Middle Earth,

from the Placing of the Stars in the Heavens to the War of the Rings

Prologue 5

1- The Awakening of the Firstborn & the March of the Calaquendi 6 - 11

2- The Undying Lands 12 - 15

3- The Flight of the Noldor 16 - 18

4- The Naugrim, the Thornhoth, the Onodrim & the Atani 19 - 22

5- The Betrayal at Tol Morgwarth 23 - 26

6- During the Thralldom of Nimeldakal 27 - 29

7- In the Wake of the Dagor Bragollach 30 - 33

8- The Fall of Elvish Middle Earth & the End of the First Age 34 - 37

9- The New Sovereignties 38 - 43

10- Lithglin in the High Age of Númenor 44 - 48

11- After the Return to the Grey Havens 49 - 54

12- Annatar & the War of the Rings 55 - 57

Appendix A- Traits & Abilities 58 - 59

Appendix B- Appearance & Equipment 60 - 61

Appendix C- Timeline 62 – 66

Glossary of Terms 67 - 106

Prologue

Long grow the years, and paler the spirit.

Few of the Children of Iluvatar in the blessed land of Valinor recall how Middle Earth was before it was rent and torn and twisted by the convulsions of the world, when Morgoth strove with Tulkas, when Utumno fell, when Númenor sank beneath the waves of the Sundering Seas. Fewer still remain in the East, for though the memories of the Quendi endure, their frames and spirits in those lands last only as long as their lives, and their time in Middle Earth endures only so long as their tolerance for sorrow.

But some remember.

Some Elven eyes still gaze on the darkened skies as they did when the stars were first set into the heavens, even as the Three Kindreds awoke at Cuiviénen. Some memorial echoes still emblazon in the archives of the soul, the passage to the West, the delay of the Moriquendi and the sundering of the Kindreds. Some hearts still mourn the treachery of the Kinslaying, the long road from Helcaraxe, the death of Fëanor at Dor Daedaloth…

One of these is the Ash-Eye, Lithglin, now, amongst the Elves, though his old name is revealed to few. Like the embers of a once-raging fire his life burns in his form, degraded as the world around him by the ravages of time and pain.

Long grow the years, and paler the spirit.

But the time of Exile is over. Those who, over two thousand years ago, defied the Valar in their War for the Silmarils, are returning to the West. Some tarry, but few of the Elder; however, the Ash-Eyed has an Oath, and a cause, and a debt.

And if, until now, his name has been but softly and seldom spoken in the story of Eä, perhaps this is only because it was not yet time.

1 – The Awakening of the Firstborn & the March of the Calaquendi

It began when the unlit and unbroken void which hung in the heavens above Arda was perforated with the ire of distant flames, candles in their untold thousands placed as eyes of hope and light, by Varda, Lady of the Stars, she who the Elves named beloved Elbereth. It began with the blinks of waking eyelids, the rise from dreams without prequel; for these beings were the first of the Firstborn, breaking their ageless slumber by the waters of Cuiviénen, which that night sparkled in its stillness as a perfect mirror of the invested skies. Here, with their kin, woke Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë; and Nimeldakal woke with them.

While others of the group with whom Nimeldakal rose greeted one another, and wandered, without context or comprehension, explanations did not occupy his mind. Without averting his gaze from the myriad points of brilliance above, he scaled one of the trees of the Wild Wood that stood by the edge of the lake, to afford the view of the night sky. For hours, as others milled, he watched. So it was that he saw the Sickle of Doom, the Valacirca, placed in the heavens, even as he looked on.

This, then, when the Elves came to speak Quendi, gave the Vanyar his name: Ninquelenkar, or later Nimeldakal in Sindarin, meaning 'White Star Shining', for as no other in that place at that time did his fair skin reflect the lanterns of the void. But this is not the name by which he now goes, nor has it been for an Age of this World.

The early years of life for the Children of Iluvatar saw as much development as could centuries for other beings, for the Hidden Fire of wisdom was in the spirit of the Elves, and they were well guided. Moreover, unlike the Atani or the Naugrim, the Elves did not die, and the first were born in full stature, so their knowledge grew undiminished. This is their blessing and this is their curse.

It was during these early years that the Elves first chanced upon the beasts that were to be their closest ally until the coming of other speaking peoples, and were to be dear long after. At the dawn of the World, horses were greater than they are now, more solid of form and swift of hoof, taller and deeper, hardier and more long-lived; their thin pelt glistened with a purity of life, their mane danced like corn in the wind, and their eyes spoke the volumes that their tongues could not.

Though they could not communicate clearly or directly, in such times, horses had not yet learnt to fear the cruelty of masters, and were still noble and frightless creatures. Those Elves that they judged worthy, they would allow to ride them, and such a bond was a personal and individual affair. The Uruks that prowled the world had no such steeds, and so it was that with unexpected and unanticipated quickness, the Elves of the three kindreds began to undertake journeys on horseback.

The first to bear Nimeldakal was named Tempest. The horse found the rider, rather than vice versa, when tale of the taking of Oromë's horses, and others by the Elves, spread amongst the Horses of Beleriand. Some were curious, others actively inquisitive, and thus came Tempest to the outskirts of the regions of the Vanyar, and found the White Star Shining just setting out for other areas on the borders of the Wild Woods. Over years, a strong friendship grew between them, that was only severed at the Exile; for even more than Elves, horses who travelled into the West could not bring themselves to leave.

Ere long, therefore, the Quendi rode horseback, and mapped the darkened lands around them (for Ormal and Illuin had been spilt, and Telperion and Laurelin lit only the Undying Lands), and learnt what to eat and what not to eat, and the nature of things around them. Nimeldakal, after gathering unto himself the knowledge necessary for the task, joined a handful of others who scouted and charted that region of Middle Earth, leant to navigate by the stars, and who passed between the scattered hosts of Eldar as messengers.

While many learnt skills of forging or fine thought and speech, Nimeldakal joined the efforts of the explorers, striving to make the entire greater than the sum of parts. They were named the Walldancers, or Ramrandrim. This he did for his first seventy-three years.

But this time was not without sorrow, though the reward of his tasks was great, and the service full, for in the Pit of Utumno, dark Morgoth brooded and watched the Elves with hatred and envy and fear.

And this time was not without joy, for it was whilst thus travelling through the Wild Woods as a Walldancer that Nimeldakal chanced upon a group of Noldor on the edge of the forest, collecting fallen wood for their fires, burning visibly in the clearings deeper in those leagues of the forest. This was the first time Nimeldakal had found Noldor, and he marvelled at their craft and skills; for even now, their baskets and cloths and tools bore intricate decoration and design, the quality of which neither the Teleri nor the Vanyar had achieved. The Noldor, for their part, had heard tell that different Elves lay leagues sundered, and that travels by them were underway, but they, also, were awestruck by the difference in kin; for the Vanyar are the fairest of the Elves, and are gifted with the most potency of word and song. Ere long, the Noldor took Nimeldakal back to their camp, further into the forest.

Standing alone amidst flowering Niphrandele in a clearing set ahead of the camp, watching the rider approach, there was one, named Valtinwë. And on her did Ninquelenkar's eyes fasten first, as he moved ahead of his escorting Noldor; and he stopped, as though his way had become tangled, and placed a hand against the bough of a tree, as if to steady himself. He was struck. Valtinwë, for her part, had never gazed upon an Elf so fair; she too fell into reverence, even as Ninquelenkar was brought to his senses by the attention of the other Noldor, and taken to the camp.

His negotiations were as distracted as his speech was ineloquent, compared to many he had breathed; still, Nimeldakal made matters and intent plain to the Noldor, who accepted and welcomed him into their camp. As celebrations at the union of kindreds began, so too did Noldor set out to inform their lords and the greater hosts around them of what they had learnt. Nimeldakal was astonished at the quality of the instruments that were presented to him, for the Vanyars' skill was in use, not in production. Each inch of the wood used was intricately decorated with carvings and colours, though pastel and subtle in their division.

The Chief of that group brought Nimeldakal a lyre; to him by Valtinwë was brought a flute. This was the greatest thing she had crafted, Valtinwë, who was closer to the Vanyar in mind and temperament even as Nimeldakal was comparatively different. In flawless smooth, the flute dwindled imperceptibly from mouthpiece to pit, and its noise was soft-edged as the whispers of the wind over the water of Cuivienen, resonant as its howl through the highest peaks, but fast and changing as the babbling of Ulmo's streams. It had been dyed in many patterns on the surface, star-shapes and wind-designs, in white and silver and shades of grey; but its bulk was blue, though not uniform. At the mouthpiece, it was light, as a midday sky in tropical climbs, but then darkened, imperceptibly and gradually, through the fading day, so that at the far end, it was dark as the last blue before the vanishing of the Sun behind the horizon.

Then did Valtinwë, even as Nimeldakal wondered at the great quality of this gift, don light, filigree skirts and robes and fabrics that she had woven; and they were of little less brilliance than the flute. And at the first feast between Noldor and Vanyar, she danced for Nimeldakal; and so did many others that night, but not meant as she meant, and not received as he received; for then, and despite the difference of their kindreds, had love kindled between them. So for the first time did the Elf kindreds combine their skills and callings to their joy and celebration.

But this time was not without loss. Of the seven Walldancers (the name given to the explorers and messengers) with whom Nimeldakal rode, Celenim, then Golagor, then Denebrimdal, then Mitheniel failed to return. Nimeldakal searched oft for them with his closest companion in those times, before the parting of their ways, Sûltral, called Windfoot. From the feet of the Misty Mountains to the borders of the Northern Ices they searched; it was luck that Orcs were not yet abroad, and that they did not chance upon the Pit of Melkor.

Like Elves, Ents remember old deeds, for good or ill, and count them in favour, or against, until their dying days. It is well that this was so with the tree-herds, for it was by the Quendi that they were first taught speech, in these early days of Middle Earth. When they first spread, many of the Elves, particularly the Teleri, sent Walldancers through the wooded areas most often, for perhaps even in these times, the Elves understood those places best, and found them the safest havens. In these travels, the first of the Firstborn, and Ninquelenkar among them, found the Onodrim, and whispered to them, having noticed their reaction at the play and song of the Elves. The Ents learned slowly, and by the time the Calaquendi departed those lands, they still had mastered only the basics; it was for the Sindarin to finish the teachings. Nonetheless, the Onodrim gratefully remembered the early Walldancers, and they remembered Nimeldakal.

Time passed. Valtinwë's courting with Ninquelenkar continued, though there were some amongst both Vanyar and Noldor who said that such a thing so early could bear no good; and it was not until Finwë's second marriage that such a thing was to be done again. Oft more than was necessary did Ninquelenkar's steed fly in the direction of her host, and oft too did he tarry there, for there seemed permanence in the lot of the Elves, and no great cause for hurry.

But then came Oromë upon the Elves, whilst hunting, and thence he travelled to Aman, to Taniquetil where Manwë sits, and counselled that the Firstborn be spared from the ravages of the darkness. The Valar placed a seal and guard upon the regions of the Elves, so that they would be safely kept from the devastation that befell the North of Middle Earth during the siege of Utumno. Of this war, then, Nimeldakal saw but a little, though he, as a Walldancer, pushed the limits of the Elves' lot, and strained to understand the flashes of fire and cold ice. This was in his seventy-fourth year.

In this same year, growing love between he and Valtinwë of the Noldor came to fruition, and they bound themselves to each other at a ceremony on the isle of Tol Palano, midway between the Vanyar and Noldor hosts. This, the Vanyar sanctioned, but the kin of Finwë did not. Perhaps some foul bane were upon the moment, however, for even as their boats drew ashore, once-normal beasts of the ilk corrupted by the darkness spewed forth by Morgoth, creatures of horn and tooth, came upon the fellowship. All would have perished, but for the courage of Gilthalion of the Noldor; swords not yet even forged, and the Elves defenceless, he enraged the beasts until they charged into the waters of the isle, and drowned, while the others fled.

In recognition of the debt of life and love engendered by this act, Ninquelenkar bound himself to Gilthalion and his line. Since the three kindreds looked never to be sundered, no risk was born in this. At this time, moreover, Ingwë was not yet King of the Vanyar, and so the oath of fealty and protection sworn by Nimeldakal to Gilthalion was his first such, and therefore primary, binding.

Then Oromë came to Finwë, Elwë and Ingwë, who was known to Nimeldakal, and was a person of authority even now within the host that would one day be called the Vanyar. When many dissented and criticised, saying that solidarity was needed, not a wild quest to the West, Ninquelenkar countered, saying that doom would find them if they did not push their world to its limits; when some questioned the truth of Ingwë's vision, Nimeldakal rode to the other hosts and asked them if they too had been contacted. They had, and as his seventy-fifth winter set in, Nimeldakal went back to his people, and told them patience was needed.

In Ninquelenkar's seventy-sixth winter, two sons were born to him, twins no less, who were named Culfin and Carafin. Valtinwë was an artist and a poet, and was able, in their early years, to care for them well, even on the road that was their lot to take. They bound the pair together even more strongly than before, since at this time, the procreation of a new generation of Elves was seen as a duty by the first of the Firstborn. Still, even from early months, Culfin seemed closer to his father, and Carafin to his mother, though it seemed odd that this should be.

Patience sufficed. Ingwë returned, he who was to become the High King of all Elves in the West, came back to the Vanyar and told them of the journey to Aman. Without pause, Ninquelenkar agreed to the summons, as did all of that host. The preparations, however, were slow, and it was the next year, his seventy-seventh, before Nimeldakal left with his people. And there were many partings before.

The Walldancers of the Teleri, Noldor and Vanyar went out to the other Elves, telling them of the summons of the Valar. Nimeldakal went to the Nandor, those who would one day be the Moriquendi Green Elves of Ossiriand; long months he spoke, debated and argued with them, extolling the wisdom of the journey, but their minds were hard. Though they set upon the road, and then decided to turn back, the brash and untrained words of Nimeldakal as a persuader may have tipped the balance against. In Greenwood the Great, there are still descendants of Telthana, with whom Ninquelenkar vied in speech for three days and two nights, who have not forgotten the insult of presumption done to their ancestors that day.

Sûltral was also one of the Moriquendi, but also an Avari, one of the Unwilling who did not even begin the journey westward. No argument was brooked, then. Nimeldakal and Sûltral sat on the Ridges of Emyn Duarn, talking of the beauty of Nan Meneldaglar upon which they had first chanced, in its untouched purity, three decades before. But Ninquelenkar knew his friend's mind, since long had they discussed the boundaries of their exploration; their farewell was a fond one, with love, though bitterness at the first of many partings. Sûltral, on horseback, cut only a silhouetted shape in the stars of the sky as he watched Nimeldakal ride through Nan Morenya, with the trailing last of the rearguard. Ninquelenkar never saw his friend again, and in all his years of lore, never learnt the Avari's fate.

Those who stayed to search for Elwë Singollo when he strayed into the clearing in which stood Melian the Maiar, also spake against Nimeldakal; those who lingered before the Misty Mountains as the Chill settled, faced his tongue; Cirdan the Shipwright himself took counsel of departure with Ninquelenkar. And though all of these then stayed in Middle Earth, Nimeldakal's speech, reason and persuasion were the more honed for these meetings, and his heart, more importantly, heavier at the thought of departing the East.

It was en route to the shores of the Sundering Seas that tragedy once more struck, worse for its unexpected and immediate pain. Valtinwë disappeared with a group of seven other Noldor women, whilst bathing. Nimeldakal was carrying messages between the Vanyar and the Teleri, and did not hear of this for a week after the event. No others saw their disappearance, and no tracks or marks were found where they had been. There were no clothes, there was no blood, and nothing had been sighted by scouts in the area. The vanishing was sudden, absolute and thus all the more difficult to accept.

Though Ingwë cared for the loss of every one of his host, he felt within that a foul presence unseen before was responsible, and also that the time had not come to face it. He forbade his people, including Nimeldakal, from searching for the lost ones. Obedient, Ninquelenkar rode no horse, spoke no word and ate no food for a month following; indeed, the tragedy was twofold, for uncertainty about the fate of Valtinwë helped to draw him on the path that he ultimately took. He was capable of caring for his sons, but only poorly, and became much troubled by his inability to do their childhood justice. So it was that Gilthalion took them as his Godchildren, and his wife, Mithuviel, cared for them until the arrival of the hosts of the Calaquendi in the West. By the time his grief had passed sufficiently to continue his journey with the Vanyar, Nimeldakal was in his eightieth year.

He, and others, began to question why they had been born in Middle Earth, tainted as it was with many fell beasts and a nameless, shapeless darkness. They wondered how this had been allowed to arise by the Valar. Yet even as these thoughts troubled their minds, three months before the onset of Ninquelenkars eighty-first year, the host of the Valar reached the Western coast of Beleriand and were carried atop Tol Eressea to the Blessed Land of Valinor.

And so began the count of days for the Fair Elves in Aman.

2 – The Undying Lands

Nimeldakal waited on the shores of the West, for Gilthalion of the Noldor to pass across safely with the rest of his host, for in the time since the attack on the ceremony, and especially since the loss of Valtinwë, the two had become close friends and allies. When Gilthalion arrived, the two broke from their hosts and rode ahead of the Noldor towards Taniquetil and the city of Tirion, which was even then under construction. The two Walldancers spent their time together moving from place to place in Valinor, and looking down from many positions and heights, upon the Timeless City that was the haven to the Elves from all the hurts of the world.

But there was more in Aman.

With Lorien, Master of Dreams and Visions, Nimeldakal walked at times, in his Gardens, of which distant and future Lothlorien was but a sorrowful memory. They talked of many things, though the shape of the thoughts that Lorien placed with him, he did not at the time conceive. As with most of the Elves, the Valar was most interested in how Ninquelenkar saw Middle Earth, how it became the landscape for his dreams. But little did Nimeldakal say of the variations in his dreams, for little variation there was; only the pace of man's sleeping mind may move at speed, as do their brief lives.

Poets, writers and singers were the Vanyar and, despite his errant tendencies, Nimeldakal was no exception. His Lays and Songs were not notable amidst such splendour, and it has only been in more recent times, in Middle Earth, that they have taken any attention. Nonetheless, before the Sun and the Moon wheeled the sky, Ninquelenkar has crafted music and song, and seen their effects; and over long years, this experience has developed into a rare strength, seen only fleetingly in the power of words and breath amongst the elder Elves of the East and the darker spirit servants of the Enemy.

With Radagast, the Maiar ally of Yavanna, giver of fruits, did Nimeldakal also tarry, oft in the rougher places of the West – beyond the riven gulfs of rock that would one day be the Pelori Mountains. But then, they noted the growth of darker beings in Middle Earth but not in Aman, and reported, and watched. They spoke much of the relinquished East, for which Radagast seemed to have a passion and a curiosity mirrored by the inexplicable sense of yearning that kindled in Ninquelenkar's heart. But in the West, there was no sense of urgency or rush; death had no meaning, mortality, no bite. Even the Followers, the Atani, were but a distant thought, and little was known or suspected of the Valaraukar who had escaped the destruction of Utumno and fled to Angband, or of Sauron, called Gorthaur. There must have seemed little need, for time passed strangely and inconsistently in the West.

Long years passed into decades, which passed into centuries. Fëanor was born to Finwë, then Amrod, Amras, Curufin, Caranthir, Celegorm, Maglar and Maedhros to him. Fëanor fashioned and tested the letters of the Tengwar, and formalised the tongue of Quenya; now well learnt in lore and letters, Nimeldakal and Gilthalion disseminated these, helping the craftsmen learn them. Ninquelenkar, as much of a poet and musician as most of the Vanyar, penned many Lays, mainly of the tragedy and joy of the Teleri still in the East, and the rest of the Moriquendi. Decades passed like falling snowflakes; each was distinct and unique, but not to a naked eye of memory. Time is only the important in the story of emotion, and without variation in misery or elation, the years seemed as unimportant to them as the cold flakes of ice that scattered themselves across the forsaken peaks of Middle Earth. In this way, nearly thirteen hundred winters passed in peace and joy, a Golden Age that many of the Elves were to never see again, and which would soon form mere context for their suffering.

But there was still more in Aman.

Morgoth lay beyond the Walls of Night, curled in void and emptiness, until his doom of three ages had come to an end. Then, on his knees, he pleaded for mercy from Manwë and the other Valar; true to their nature, they granted it. Thus was the Dark Enemy of the World once more unleashed, to work slow poison into the minds and hearts of those of Arda, and the labours of the Valar to protect the Firstborn were doomed to nought.

A few there were who urged caution and some who outright refused to behold the countenance of Morgoth; against these was his deceiving tongue most often turned, and one of them was Nimeldakal. Many opinions grew dark towards Ninquelenkar and many doubts arose regarding his work with the Walldancers. Despite this, Nimeldakal felt he knew Morgoth of old, and in the core of his soul, felt the darkness beneath fair exterior. He ceased working with Fëanor on the intricacies of the Tengwar and the teaching of Quenya when he learnt that, no matter how fair the endeavour was, it was Morgoth who was teaching him how to construct the Silmarils. The gemstones were completed shortly after Ninquelenkar's 1327th year.

It was not until shortly before this time that Ninquelenkar first held a sword. The craft of weaponsmithing was another bittersweet gift from Morgoth, but the Noldor took to it with consummate skill. On the occasion of the birth of his first daughter, Gilthalion received from Nimeldakal a song crafted by him and played on the Noldoran flute given by Valtinwë. In return, so that the Oath sworn by the Vanyar might bear use in any dark times, Gilthalion presented his friend with two swords – Laegereg and Lancavorn, or Sharpthorn and Swiftedge. Though imbued with no magic or enchantment, they carry within the light of the West, and were forged by the first Noldoran smiths. Their quality, as that of their still-maintained scabbards, is great.

Then followed the ill-starred estrangement between Fëanor and his brothers, Finarfin and Fingolfin. The former was banished to Formenos with his father, Finwë. This, Nimeldakal wholly attributed to the feelings subtly instilled in the Elf's heart by Morgoth, though the fire of his spirit was doubtless partly to blame; this took place a quarter of a century later.

When Morgoth fled, Nimeldakal rode near and watched those that pursued, but like the others, found nothing; he counselled that a watch be placed upon the darker borders around Valinor. However he, like nigh all others, attended the Feast held by the Valar, under the distraction of which Ungoliant and her new ally were able to destroy the Trees of the Valar, Telperion and Laurelin, the year after. Finwë he killed, and the Silmarils, fairest of all things wrought under the heavens, were lost to his malice.

Thus it was that Fëanor and his sons, Fingolfin and his sons, and some of the children of Finarfin swore their oath to recover the Silmarils at any cost, even their own and presaged doom. But this fate bound Nimeldakal as well; for his oath to Gilthalion, who was sworn to Maedhros, Fëanor's son, predated the primacy of Ingwë, High King of the Vanyar. When Gilthalion called on his old friend to attend the host with his sons, Nimeldakal was much troubled, for this meant the abandonment of his fealty to Ingwë, and the Undying Lands, and obedience to the Valar. He came before his liege and begged counsel. Ingwë would on no account be held the cause of an oathbreaking, and though it pained his heart to do so, for he would have it that none of the Vanyar ever left Aman, he commanded Nimeldakal to follow the host of Gilthalion. It is not known for certain if Nimeldakal wept as he left Ingwë's hall on in the foothills of Taniquetil.

Nimeldakal made ready; since Morgoth had taught the Noldor to forge weapons, Gilthalion had kindled in the Walldancer a competence with swords, though not a love for them. This was honed as the army prepared, and Nimeldakal gathered his resources. Of his kin, he asked only his sons to go with them, and bound no order to this; Culfin travelled with his father, but Carafin refused, saying,

"Father, it is not the place of a Vanyar to rebel against the authority of the Valar on account of the Noldor. They have made plain their wishes and intents."

To this, Ninquelenkar replied, "The intent of Iluvatar is always cast half in mist, and the Valar know not his thoughts. We began in this world without knowledge of the Valar, and knowledge only that our oaths doom our lives; to which would I listen, nature or nurture?"

And to this, Carafin gave no answer. Ninquelenkar placed his hand on his son's shoulder and spoke again, breaking the silence:

"You shall stay here, for I am loath for all future of my line to be bound to the twilight of Middle Earth. Begin your House here, in Tirion, but make it of your name; for mine, it seems, has bound to it great loss and endless searching."

When he left, Nimeldakal took with him Lancavorn and Laegereg, but, of all his other many and fair possessions, bore only the flute given to him by his wife, Valtinwë.

3 – The Flight of the Noldor

One thousand, four hundred and fifty three years after his awakening at Cuiviénen, Ninquelenkar began the long and ill-fated journey back to Middle Earth. He tarried long at Tirion, trying to persuade those Maiar that would now still speak with him, that their course was wise and necessary. For though he would not have left Valinor were it not for the bond of his oath, in truth, more than a part of him yearned to see the imperfect shores and shadowed skies of his former home and to learn the fate of his love, Valtinwë.

He arrived at the Eastern shores of Aman just as the Noldor, frenzied by their obsession with the return of the Silmarils, were boarding the stolen ships of the Teleri who lived in the East of the Undying Lands, near Tol Eressea. It was not until the vessels were underway that Nimeldakal heard the truth about the Kinslaying; this grieved him sorely, for he now saw that he was bound, through no clear choice of his own, to a dark path that could not but beget dark steps. He expected the Doom of Mandos, though not in his most dread dreams could he imagine how this fate would manifest. On board, he spoke out against the decision to steal the White Ships, and declared disgust at the death of Elves at the hands of their kindred firstborn, especially in the West.

It is thus, perhaps, hardly surprising that he and Culfin were left in the freezing nightmare of the ice-plains of Helcaraxe, along with Fingolfin, his kin, and the sons of Finarfin. The flight of Fëanor and his sons was quick, and quiet, but not so much so that, alone of the entire host left behind, Nimeldakal noticed. He raised no alarm, made no alert to the rest of the army, merely watching as the retinue departed. And on the last ship, drawing away with the slowly icing snow gathering still on its bow, stood Gilthalion, eyes bitten by cold wind or pain. His gaze met that of the silent and standing Nimeldakal, and the Vanyar knew, somehow, that this would be the last time he saw his friend.

This action constituted the reneging on a responsibility of fealty, thus rendering Ninquelenkar's oath of loyalty null and void; but Aman was already behind the host, and there could be no going back. Travelling with the company of Finrod Felagun and Galadriel, the children of Finarfin, Nimeldakal and Culfin pressed onwards.

The journey was to see the loss of great numbers of the Noldor, and, despite the strength of his frame, Nimeldakal was much weakened and nearly fatigued to collapse by the journey across those northerly wastelands of white. Cold bit Culfin's body so wildly that he walked with a limp where his flesh froze as he walked. These marks never fully left them.

For more than a year they travelled, losing their way, finding it, and cursing the blinding and ubiquitous pale for robbing them of their warmth, joy and sight. During these times, the Walldancers, and the sure-footed Nimeldakal in particular, guided them, seldom by sight of the stars, more often by memory of their places, and an inexplicably inner guidance to the paths of Middle Earth. There, the Walldancers laid down, learnt and developed ways of finding tracks, of following unseen footfalls, that sight, smell and sense could not comprehend. Without their efforts, the host could not have come back to Middle Earth, and scarcely did so with them.

By the time the host approached Hithlum in the North-West of Beleriand, both the First Battle and the Dagor-nuin-Gilliath had already been fought, and the forces of Angband driven back to their dark lair. So too had Fëanor pressed foolishly on to the fortress, and fallen at Dor Daedaloth.

Gilthalion, too, was dead; he was in the vanguard of the deposition sent with Maedhros to negotiate with Melkor when he then feigned a desire for surrender. His body was lost, and never seen by the hosts that passed Helcaraxe. In a later age, in quieter days, Nimeldakal searched for the passage of many moons for the grave, or word, or any mark of mound or memory. He found none.

As this army moved towards the lands held by the Sindarin Moriquendi, and the hidden realm of Doriath, a dream came one night to Ninquelenkar, from his one time companion, Lorien, though the Valar did not take familiar shape in the vision.

In the dream, a chalice lay before Nimeldakal, on a pedestal in the distance; it was sapphire, and marked with the same runes and sigils that Manwë's sceptre, forged by the Vanyar, bore. The path towards it consisted of myriad paving stones, each darkened and shadowed to different degrees, but only three stones of thousands fully lit, and none of them nearby. Behind the pedestal, he saw four forms, two familiar, two not. The first two were a Noldor and a Teleri and, like the other figures, their hands were outstretched for the chalice. The third was completely in shadow, and nothing more than its bipedal form could Nimeldakal make out. The fourth was stunted, squat, and bearded; never had Nimeldakal seen such a creature. He knew, sight unseen and word unspoken, that no one set of hands could seize this chalice, even his; that all must come to it at the same time, and that this was the journey that lay ahead of him. For the first time since leaving Valinor, his heart rose, realising as he looked down at his apparel, that he bore the Vanyar Herald's garb once more, and that he, neutral of the kindreds, could expedite this. But then his eyes rose to the dark path before him, and were blackened by the pitch and shadow of so many of the steps. As his form shifted forward, foot outstretched towards the first stone, he awoke.

Four days later, the host made contact with one of the Falathrim of Cirdan the Shipwright, who was making for Menegroth, to take tidings of the great battle against the Orcs. He spoke of Doriath, and of the kingdoms of the Teleri; so too did he speak of a new people, the Naugrim, unleashed into Middle Earth by Iluvatar, and even now hewing a fate for themselves in gold and stone.

Then, Ninquelenkar knew his vision to be true, and these Naugrim to correspond to one of the figures he saw. Not waiting for news of the battle to be relayed, and only arranging to rendezvous with the host of Finrod Felagund after it had contacted Thingol, Nimeldakal set for the Blue Mountains and the outer habitations of the Dwarves.

His heart much desired to bring back into union the sons of Finarfin and Fingolfin, and those of Fëanor, but of this, the former Houses would not hear; for anger at their abandonment in Helcaraxe and the loss of their loved ones, was close. So he bode his time, for now, and searched for the new people, for in them, and in the figure he was sure would follow, as much as the Elves, he knew the fate of Middle Earth to be bound.

4 – The Naugrim, the Thornhoth, the Onodrim & the Atani

Nimeldakal thus dedicated himself to locating the other intelligent races placed in the world by Iluvatar and bringing them into the alliance against the Dark Enemy. He made for the Blue Mountains of which the Falathrim had spoken, but before he reached them, he met the vanguard of the retreating host of the sons of Fëanor.

He learnt of the Dagor-nuin-Gilliath and told the host of the hatred held towards them by the other Noldor. The host, comprising the six remaining free sons of Fëanor and their men, took camp and waited, as Nimeldakal rode hard south to Doriath, and was admitted to the court of Thingol. There, slowly, for he had not yet learnt Sindar, were explained the affairs of the Noldor, though the truth of the kinslaying was but partially told. For his pains and travels, Thingol Singollo provided him with Sheen, one of the horses descended from those of the Nandor travellers who searched Western Middle Earth for a home, and amongst the fastest in the Kingdom. Stabled and groomed with the horses of Melian the Maiar, on Sheen did Nimeldakal ride much faster than the reckoning of those who counted against him, much to their loss.

Other Teleri sent speakers to both camps of the Noldor, and Ninquelenkar remained in the Thousand Caves, learning Sindar. Lessons completed, Thingol sent messengers to the Dwarves, requesting that delegations be sent to instruct the Noldor in their tongue. Nimeldakal thus rode back to the hosts of the sons of Fëanor, and thence to the army under Fingolfin. There, the story of Maedhros and his capture by Morgoth was made plain, as was the fate of Fëanor, which many saw as just.

Fingon, however, took Ninquelenkar aside, and spoke to him of his hope for the Elves. Against the might of a renegade Valar, none would stand, unless they stood together. In Dwarves and other free peoples perhaps some trust could be found, but at first and at once, the unity of the Firstborn was crucial. Thus Fingon explained his plan to rescue Maedhros. Ninquelenkar spoke his desire to help; few, with the wind behind them and the stars above, could ride faster than he. Fingon refused, however, saying that this task was before him; and the son of Fingolfin could see that, for all his age, there stood before him no great warrior.

It was Ninquelenkar's part to prepare the ground, to rally the focus of the divided peoples to this act. Thus it was that the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains were told, in their own tongue, of the drawing together of the Elf kindreds; that the sons of Fëanor were promised a light of hope in their perilous holy quest. So it was that, by chance, on returning from his travails, Nimeldakal met for the first time, the Eagles Manwë had fashioned for Middle Earth, that were called the Thornhoth. He did not, of course, expect them to be speaking creatures, for only the Elves and Dwarves, he thought, could master tongue. The first he met, below a lookout Eerie on Amon Goltian, was named Menasphir, Watcher for the Lower Marches in the foothills marking the edge of the domain of Thorondrir, King of Eagles. Long time they spoke in that windy place, Nimeldakal's cloak wrapped tightly about him, while they vied in words over the part of the Eagles in the coming story. The conversation ended in stalemate, though Menasphir promised to carry the message of greeting and plea to his lord. Manwë, sending aid to Fingon and Maedhros at Angband, works his works quietly. So it was that Maedhros returned, and passed his claim of kingship over the Noldor of Middle Earth to Fingolfin.

Over the following twenty winters, until Nimeldakal's one thousand, four hundred and seventy fourth year, he spoke with the Laiquendi, and the tribes of the Noldor Calaquendi, with the Falathrim and the other Avari. He spoke with the Naugrim, as well as the Thornhoth, and, in slowly learnt tongues, with many manners of birds and beasts. His works and those of other speakers brought about the Mereth Aderthad, the 'Feast of Reuniting'; slow in coming was that bonding in strength, but gladly welcome when it did come. Some factions were weakly represented, but for the most part, a unity of purpose was given to the Moriquendi of Middle Earth. No longer was this a fight simply to defend a home: by whatever route and for whatever cause they came, the Noldor brought news that this Dark Enemy of the World was the bane of all the hopes of the free world.

Borne from this Feast, but recorded little in the Quenta Silmaril, was a new generation of Walldancers, not drawn only from the kindreds of Elves, but Eagles and Dwarves, though few of the Naugrim saw fit to travel so. Of the Elves, the Grey Elves were the best represented, for they knew well the paths of Middle Earth; conversely, only feofees of Maedhros, of the hosts of the sons of Fëanor, joined the force, out of gratitude to Fingon.

Had the Walldancers not marked the Leaguer of Angband, then it mayhap the Dagor Aglareb would have fared very differently. When, thirty years after the Feast, the Orc hordes spilled forth once more like the unleashing of long stagnant waters, tainting the rich earth of Ard Galen, it was Nimeldakal who dispatched runners, carrying advice to undefended settlements to withdraw their people to safer places. It was during these flights that Culfin, Nimeldakal's son, was captured by the servants of Morgoth. News came to Ninquelenkard while he escorted a group of Dwarvish artisans through Nan Benegot, from the same Menasphir who now named Nimeldakal as a friend.

Guided by Menasphir, Nimeldakal and four companion Walldancers turned back and made for the dark foothills of Emyn Halthad, where the Orcs were fleeing in the cover of the brackish undergrowth. A small number of them there were, or the five Elves would never have overcome, fuelled though Ninquelenkar was by the responsibility of a father. Seventeen Orcs fell to them that day, the first time Nimeldakal led friends into an assault; but this was not without cost, for one of the Walldancers fell, and both Nimeldakal and his son were grievously wounded. Indeed, Ninquelenkard never fully recovered from those wounds, and the flame of his heart wavered and dimmed from the hurt of the flesh.

This was in the 50th year since the return of the Noldor to Middle Earth. The next century, Ninquelenkar spent in a despair of victory, for it seemed to him that against a foe such as Morgoth, and without the might of the Valar behind them, no victory could come; yet, they could not go back. He dedicated himself to contacting the Valar, travelling to the Westernmost shores of Middle Earth, and pleading the greater of the flying beasts, even the Eagles, to carry news across the Sundering Seas to salvation in Valinor. No messenger returned.

During this time, he spent long whiles with Cirdan the Shipwright, and amongst the Falathrim who inhabited the coasts, learning much of Ulmo of the Deep. Over the hundred years, hope and faith slowly returned to him, for it seemed that even despite the decree of Manwë, not all of the Valar had forsaken their charges. Cirdan and he had met at Cuiviénen, before the long march Westwards; and despite the division of their fates, the kinship of age was strong. Here stood an Elf who had never seen the Light in Aman, yet here he stood defiant of all those who would destroy the Firstborn. Thus it was that some ninety winters after his wounding, Nimeldakal returned to Doriath, and thence to the company of Maedhros in keeping his Leaguer on Angband. It was well that he did so, for the attack that came in the early days of the seventeen hundredth year of Nimeldakal's life was barely averted, and only done so by the efforts of the Walldancers.

Two years later came the time of Fingolfin's great duel with Melkor before the gates of Angband itself, and though he fell, like a Phoenix came his martyr's cry, raising not only Nimeldakal's spirit, but that of those who heard tell. For if one Elf could defy the mighty darkness alone and unaided, and almost prevail, then perhaps victory would not be the blessing of chance, but that of perseverance.

Even as Fingolfin died, so too a new ally rose in ranks, albeit a passive rather than active one. It was sixteen years after that battle that Ninquelenkar was introduced to the Ent, Fangorn, by the Laiquendi Maeglodelfas. It was sixty-six years before the Ents had made their decision to side with the Quendi, though informally, and not outside the boundaries of their forests. This required extensive negotiation between the Ents and those Naugrim who hewed such forests with their axes, and even then via intermediary. Such an intermediary was Nimeldakal during this time, and for the years before the 255th year after the Noldor's exile began, when Glaurung came down from Angband. Little of lasting effect was achieved, for the Dwarves died, or left, or changed their minds, and counted the agreements as sterile or myth; the Ents remembered, and counted the agreements as broken. This was the cause of much future sorrow between the kindreds, but for whiles, at times, they stood strong together.

However, Glaurung came into Ard-Galen, two hundred and five years after the Glorious Battle; Glaurung came, and Nimeldakal heard of his arrival from the fleeing Eagles, and set out at once – not towards Doriath, to prepare the defences, for others took this route. He made for Turgon and Fingon to plead reinforcements, for he knew that Maedhros and the sons of Fëanor could not risk breaking the Leaguer of Angband to drive back the Great Worm. On Sheen he rode, even into the heart of Ard-Galen, as it was burnt and blackened by Glaurung; and though the Father of Dragons was young, and not flightworthy, so too should he have seen and sensed the lone Elf, which would have been Nimeldakal's doom. But by some ephemeral whim of the Powers that Be, he was not detected, and brought help from the rear of the Drake's swathe, eventually forcing his retreat. Still, it pained Ninquelenkar greatly to see the beauty of Ard-Galen so blackened and wasted; and seldom in years to come would he traverse those plains, lest memory of the time of fear and loss rise again in his heart.

In the 305th year since the return of the Noldor, fifty after the coming of the Father of Dragons, a dream came to Ninquelenkar. He had, during that time, spent long years in Doriath, healing from hurt and learning finer crafts and arts of astronomy and travel from the Teleri, who knew those lands better than he. In it, his vision was broken by a brilliant sphere of gold rising above Middle Earth. It passed overhead, and on, eclipsing in light all the stars, moving beyond the distant horizon; as it did so, he became aware of another sphere, pale and quicksilver, reflecting the beauty of the stars. And in these things, he believed he saw a doom laid by the Valar upon his foes. But in the dream, a voice he did not recognise spoke at this thought, saying,

'A doom comes, but these chariots only mark its coming; for your Oath and your Fate lies not with Anar and Isil, but with those who will arrive with their rising.'

Waking, Nimeldakal sent messages with creatures of the air straightway, to Hitlhum, Doriath, East Beleriand, Falas, and all places that knew him, asking if they had seen anything or anyone new; but he expected no answer, for Isil and Anar had not yet lit the sky.

A month and a day later, Ninquelenkar was awoken by the first sunrise in Arda. Two years later to the day, after Nimeldakal searched long, his friend, Fingon, found the Atani moving towards Beleriand from the Eastern lands. On that day, the Times of Men began.

5 – The Betrayal at Tol Morgwarth

Nimeldakal was one of the first to whom Fingon reported his discovery, and he was made an Envoy to the Malachim, one of the three houses of the Edain. Lessons of language, wisdom and craft he taught them, before handing over to the Noldor and Teleri, for several years after their coming. Over following twelve, until Ninquelenkar had seen one thousand, seven hundred and seventy eight winters, he strove to bring the scattered bands of men to the Elves, to show each mutual gain, and to strengthen the hands of the allies against Morgoth.

But the Atani were much akin to Melkor, and before the Quendi found them, Men had laboured in his shadow. Most of their tribes were corrupted or enthralled, and often, Nimeldakal would find Sheen taking him through menacing paths and even into the domain of the Dark Enemy himself. From these travails, little good came.

In the sixteenth year after the rising of Anar and Isil, word came to Nimeldakal from Muzdrankul, a grand-smith of the forges in Belegost. His Dwarves had gone to the Isle of Morgwarth, wherein lay veins of precious gemstones of strains seldom elsewhere found, which lay in the broken lakes to the East of Dor Daedaloth. There, they found a cluster of men, hiding; the Naugrim could not convince them of their neutral intentions, but managed to understand that the Atani were searching for Elves to relieve them of their plight. At once, Nimeldakal set forth with three other riders, one Nandor, one Sindar, and one Noldor. Tol Morgwarth was on the border of Morgoth's domain, but it was easier to travel unmolested now by light of day, for Orcs and others of Melkor's spawn could not travel in its brilliance. However, this very boon brought carelessness, and carelessness, a fall.

Whether Muzdrankul had deceived him deliberately, Nimeldakal never knew, for the Dwarf was dead when next he walked the Earth free and whole. The men were from Carmenath, lately converted to Morgoth's cause and eager to prove their worth – or avoid his displeasure. They attacked the four Elves in great number and overwhelmed the Walldancers quickly, who were not prepared for combat. Sheen was killed and consumed by the Orcs. Two died, but the Nandor, Aglarnandel, and Nimeldakal, were captured.

Many moments would come over the following decades when they would rather the former fate befell them.

Ninquelenkar was taken to the Black Gates of Angband, and dragged into the dungeons. He was not to leave for one hundred and twenty years. Utter night was his only companion, save for the dirty red flickers which gave the horror definition of edge, and the twisted, eldritch screams of other residents – friend and foe alike. Time unknown he hung from his wrists in one of the upper caverns, out of sight of any other living thing save the bats, rats and insects of rot which adopted the foul rankness of Angband as their home. Hours unnumbered, his mind resisted the dulling effect of unburnished time.

It was, in truth, over a year before his time came; until that time, he had been fed, but not spoken to, and had endured the screams of his kindred tortured, but undergone no such torture himself. Then Gothmog, Lord of the Valaraukar, came.

The Balrog-King spoke to Nimeldakal, and the Elf flinched at the words, turning his gaze aside. He spoke again, asking, in words that were not speech, what endurance was possible in such despair.

Ninquelenkar replied:

"Though I hang here as flesh for a feast, so I can still feel the starlight. No dungeon of your Dark Master can hide the stars."

But he was wrong; Gothmog had Ninquelenkar taken down, down, far down into the depths of the Earth, where even the stones were midnight black, and the flames were wreathed in reluctant jet, as if forcing aside the night. And there, he was left for a year and a day, before Gothmog returned, and his blazing eyes asked what hope was possible now, in the ultimate night without stars.

Ninquelenkar answered:

"Though the feel of starlight is gone, memory of sensation will not fade; it is the fate of the Firstborn. And so at every glint of dim fire on metal, every reflection on wet and polluted stone, in every flicker of light, I see reflected the incandescence of the stars."

But he was wrong; for Gothmog, with but a thought directed at the pitiful and weak figure, blinded Nimeldakal. And from that day, his pupils, iris and his whole eye, was charcoal-grey as ash, dark as an overhung sky; and on that day, he who was Ninquelenkar renamed himself Lithglin, the Ash-Eyed.

When Gothmog returned again, after another year and a day, when questioned how his hope could still live on, Nimeldakal spake still, and spake thus, through tears:

"Life, you may never kindle, only death; and hope, you may never defeat, not even that of redemption for yourself. For that is the fire in which you burn."

In this, the Elf was right. And then, Nimeldakal began singing the Eldaquendi, the Saying of the Stars, naming each in the sky, in turn, and by Constellation. And as he did so, voices around, in the darkness, distant and faint, lifted in faint chorus.

At hearing this, Gothmog struck the Elf once, across the face, and all manner of speech was taken from him. His face was charred and blackened, his mane of hair burnt. Despair and twilight hitherto at bay crept into his skin and veins and flesh with that blow, a sickness that did now slow or stop.

With this, the Balrog-King left.

A year and a day passed once more. When the Balrog-King returned, Nimeldakal did not, or could not, reply, and offered no resistance as he was lowered and led to the Pits. His body was broken, his spirit dimmed, but his mind and soul were still his own.

They were eroded, wisp by wisp, fragment by fragment, over the course of the next thirty-one years. Outside, above, in the open air in which the Vanyar once took such joy, Ninquelenkar's one thousand, eight hundred and fourteenth Winter was passing. In the depths of Angband, time had lost all meaning; and perhaps it was better that way. Nimeldakal worked until he dropped, was whipped until he rose, then dropped, and rose, and on until he was too tired to care if he was struck to death, each of the eleven thousand days that passed. But he was old, and he was strong, and his will did not fail. Until the day in that passing Winter when Sauron, who was working hard to forge spies with which to infiltrate the Elves, discovered who he was.

It was decided Nimeldakal could be useful, but only with his will utterly shattered.

On that day, he was taken from the Pits by six Orcs; unnecessary, for he yielded to six as he would have one. He was led down paths he had not seen, and into caverns of Angband in which a stench arose which tortured even his dulled senses. In the echoing remnants of his mind, piercing and horribly placable screaming resonated sourcelessly across the walls. The screaming, Nimeldakal realised dispassionately, was seemingly exclusively female.

Nimeldakal was thrown into a pit. It was near-pitch, but with his sight gone, this was unimportant. With touch, and sound and smell, he began to feel his way. Fleshy matter lay on the rock floor, rotting and festering. Flies buzzed and maggots crawled about the matter. Biting back convulsions of nausea, Nimeldakal honed his slowly waking mind. The flesh and fluid he could not bring himself to touch and identify. Then there was a sound of shifting. Another creature in the pit.

He half-rose, slowly, and dragged himself across the putrid rock. The sound of a chain moving. Something waking up. Ninquelenkar moved his hand towards the form; it made contact, and confused him. In patches, the skin was soft, though sight unseen, it was unhealthy, limp and pallid; in others, it was more akin to hide, and bore thick, hard hairs, like Orc skin.

The face, when Nimeldakal reached it, horrified his very being. It bore semblance of both Orc and Elf. Rumours had come from the Thralls who had been caught and questioned, dark myths of the origins of the Orcs… and now, there was no doubt in his mind. They were bred from contorted and twisted magical hybrids such as this.

The figure wholly woke at the touch, and whispered, words gurgled from choking mucus and blood, slowly, as if speech were now a rare thing:

"Ninquelenkar?"

Ninquelenkar was silent for several moments, and then dropped to his knees, then onto his face, oblivious to the fetid mush about it. His lips peeled back into a rictus grin, and a sound half-howl, half inane laugh ripped from his throat. The sound, and its echoes, lasted some while.

When it ended, he was silent. The Orcs came from him and, despite repetitions from the figure, increasingly urgent, Ninquelenkar made no reply to the creature whose voice he had recognised as that of Valtinwë, his wife.

6 – During the Thralldom of Nimeldakal

Ninquelenkar had no perception of the following eighty-four years. He was just shy of two thousand years old when he was released. Until that day, he helped his new Master, faithfully and well. All intelligence he could pass on to Morgoth, he did so. Strategies, allies, back doors, strongholds, secrets, truths, weapons, names; and from this information, much evil was done, for Nimeldakal was one of the bonds holding the many disparate threats of the loose alliance together. He prepared faked documents, sent messages to draw his one-time allies into traps devised by the Dark Enemy, and took pleasure in their successful execution; for this brought less pain to him when his services were not required.

During these times, he was extensively and timelessly tortured. The abuse of Ninquelenkar's physical form brought little discomfort after he learned to detach his mind and senses. He screamed primarily for the Orcs' benefit and pleasure, and, on rare occasion, Gorthaur's and Morgoth's. Of this, they were fully aware.

On the day he was released, it was Gothmog that led him forth to open air. It was night but the moon and stars were hidden by vast palls of choking smoke and fog. Had it been as clear as the first moments of awakening at Cuiviénen, Nimeldakal would not have noted them.

For nineteen years, Ninquelenkar wandered, and from that time came his new name. He moved at random, much to the chagrin of his new masters, and nowhere near the Elf strongholds. Whether his mind had withered, or this was some inner spark still burning defiant, they did not know, and there was no sign to read. Many Dwarves saw him as he moved amidst the foothills of the Blue Mountains, and named the wandering madman 'Duz-Kuhlal', 'Ash Eyed'. They told the few Elves that came there in those times, and the Walldancers they knew, but all attempts to find him were thrown off, as if by some higher power. He passed through the Northern Ices, and the Misty Mountains, and the Eastern lands of men. Word spread of this Ash-Eye, or Lithglin, as it is in Sindarin, as a half-believed rumour.

But nineteen hundred and seventeen years after his first awakening, Lithglin found his way back into Elvish Beleriand. He was taken in and sheltered by men of Amras, Fëanor's son. By long roads, he came to Menegroth and there found Culfin, now himself a Walldancer. Until that time, he spoke no word, broke no reaction to those who rescued him.

The Ash-Eye told his son of a camp, some dozens of leagues south of Angband, from which he escaped by secret paths, saying that his mother and many other Elves known to Thingol were there. Most Elves decried the recovered Vanyar as insane, or worse, a Thrall, but Lithglin swore by the life of his son Carafin that he spoke the truth. Thingol forbade a rescue attempt; Culfin, Nimeldakal and a host of some hundred Elves defied his will. This host was taken from Amras' forces that placed leaguer on one part of the border with Angband, with some from Doriath. As a result of their departure, one link in the chain constricting the Dark Enemy was broken.

Lithglin watched, unmoving, silent, reactionless, as he led his son's Elvish host into a trap. Some two thousand Orcs slaughtered their column as they moved through a Valley that he had claimed led unseen to the camp. He trudged up the slopes and turned to view the carnage as Culfin, in the vanguard, rallied the Noldor around him and counterstruck the Orcs who were pouring into the gulch.

A pride rose in him from some nameless origin at the sight of one who had risen in times now past to become not only a speaker of unity, but a great warrior. For two hours, the remains of the vanguard kept off the Orcs from both directions in the floor of the valley; it was only when their archers took up position behind Lithglin that the Elves were cut down, one by one.

Another Elf fell to the ground, unseen and unwatched. At the sight of the death of his son, known within his core to be his doing, a great vying began in his mind. The Orcs, believing him another dead Elf, stripped him of all his worth and threw his body on a pile at the base of the Valley. Lithglin did not know how long he lay there; in his soul, ages of conflict passed, the faint glimmer of hope and faith flickering distantly amidst oceans of jet despair. Yet the light brightened, slowly, gradually, strength by little strength until, near dead of dehydration and starvation, Lithglin's dead eyes slid dryly open.

And he saw the stars.

After a minute, when the pain became too excruciating, his eyes closed again and the vision did not ever return. But this was enough. The darkness was lifted from his inner sight. Painstakingly, he drew himself to his side, and searched, uncryable tears scratching his eyes, through packs still on some of the bodies atop which he lay.

He found a little water, and some lembas bread. He ate and drank, and for the first time in over a century, he tasted. And for all the agony in his flesh and his being, for all the loss of a world now sightless to him, for all the ardour still ahead, Ninquelenkar felt glad to be alive.

This name, however, he left behind him, and to it, he would never again answer. From that day, he was Lithglin. He did not allow himself to dream of forgiveness, or of redemption, or of returning the scales to balance. He thought only that he might once more glimpse on the free woods of the Quendi, taste once more the beauty of their music.

But by the time he returned to the lands of the Elves, most of that which he once loved had been utterly destroyed.

7 – In the Wake of the Dagor Bragollach

The destruction of most of Elfkind still on Middle Earth, in the Battle of the Sudden Flame, left Beleriand weaker than it had been since the First Battle in the wars of that region. For the next five years, Lithglin was hunted as a traitor. Believing he would be unable to convince his people that the darkness had been taken from his eyes, he fled their searching, still hoping to make right some of the wrong, which he had brought about.

Two Walldancers he came upon, whilst keeping hidden from prying eyes within the outer edges of the forests which bordered the Misty Mountains. They were searching those lands, which, though they held Elves, were a far cry from Lothlorien of the future. Their names were Telanormin and Mithaglar, and they were Teleri, but Sindarin of the realm of Doriath, rather than Elves of Falas or Nandor. They had not heard of the ash-eyed wanderer, and were intrigued, rather than concerned, by his silences, for they were young. Mithaglar set out at once for the Girdle of Melian, while Telanormin stayed with Lithglin, who was but dimly aware of the potential consequences. Here were Elves, full of innocence and joy, who did not turn their weapons against him. Though, perhaps, the part of his mind still working on such levels knew that he was in danger, so did the greater part of him, which had lost so much, find itself drawn to their light.

For nineteen days, Telanormin and Lithglin spent time together, the elder Elf seldom speaking save for tales, lays or poems of more ancient times, for the younger elf, until the seventeenth night. It was then, before the fire, on the lip of the wood, that Lithglin explained his fate these past years. Telanormin, more for naivety than wisdom or insight, believed him, and for two days, Lithglin recounted his betrayal, imprisonment, torture, fall and, ultimately, his return. The Moriquendi sensed others approaching; he went to the roadway from their camp, not knowing that Lithglin moved in his wake. He found Mithaglar with a body of Elves, some thirty in number, armed and hunting for Lithglin; shocked, he fled back to the camp, to warn or hamper, it is not known. However, by the time he reached that place, he whom was sought, had departed, with all trace of his presence. Lithglin never encountered those Elves again – both Mithaglar's and Telanormin's voices were snuffed into silence during the Nirnaeth Arnediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.

Knowing the deterioration of relations with the Dwarves, Lithglin also sought refuge in Hadhodhrond, the Dwarrowdelf of the Dwarves, but the folk who there lived did not trust him or the story he gave any more than they would other Elves, and turned him from their doors with axes raised. Since then, he has not placed a foot in Khazad-Dum.

But he was caught, by Carafenimbrar of the Falas and summoned for execution at the halls of Cirdan of the Falathrim. Lord Cirdan took the right to question him before his death.

The interrogation took six days and six nights, during which time the two Elves seldom ceased speaking, save to take rest and sustenance for a handful of hours. At the end, Cirdan rose before his old companion, and was heavy of heart. For though he wanted to believe that Lithglin was no longer a Thrall of Morgoth, he could not afford to take the risk that he was wrong.

At that moment, the light clouds surrounding the bay parted in the West, and high in the early-evening sky, the Valacirca shone brilliantly. No other constellation was visible, not even those stars nearby and normally clear. Cirdan ordered his guards from the Vanyar, for as a sign he took this that the Ainur still intended some part for the Ash-Eyed tatter before him.

Lithglin was never told why Cirdan changed his mind.

For the next fifteen years, until the 486th year since the Noldor returned, Lithglin relentlessly tracked down those who had been his friends, contacts, spies and allies, warning them of what the Enemy knew, persuading them of his true conduct. In this, the word of Cirdan bore heavily, and the Ash-Eye has never forgotten his debt in this redemption.

Over a hundred he had known, contacts made either by him or other Walldancers; as he searched, he discovered that barely a dozen remained. From the Nandor, Marnephalim, Elkaborn and Thronamon had been tracked down in their camps in the edge of Greenwood and killed; six others, whose names history does not record, had passed into the West. Thronamon was the kin of a lateral line of the Kings of the Silvan Realm, and it took both great luck and a letter of Marque from Cirdan, to save the Lithglin from being shot on sight. However, Celarnafel lived still, and had with him archers and runners, and agreed to help Lithglin however he could.

The Noldor held Lithglin responsible for the weakening of the watch in the Leaguer of Angband, but, after the ruling of Cirdan, responsible in body if not in mind. They would not draw sword to thwart him, as they knew he was in Middle Earth, and had suffered all this on their behalf; however, they would not draw sword to aid him, either, for much evil had come of his breaking. Tanthelmor, grandson of Amrod, was dead, as were Menegorbil and Antaracel, kinsmen of the House of Gilthalion; and these losses were grievous, for they were the very supporting pillars of the Walldancers. The thoughts of the Elves fade but slowly, and even now, some see him as corrupted and tainted. But Cirdan, Galadriel and the followers of Fingon would always listen to the Ash-Eyed and now, for the most part, his allegiance is seen as clear, not least because most of the Elves of the First Age are dead or departed.

Again, under orders from Cirdan, the Falathrim aided Lithglin, but reluctantly, and with marked clarity that redemption lay on the road ahead, not behind. It is a redemption that Lithglin still seeks, even now that there are few who recall the darkness of the times, and fewer still who might grant such forgiveness.

The Ents had withdrawn into the distant hearts of their forests, and would not, even when roused by words of ancient right, form an Entmoot to discuss their stand. Their sapling hearts had hardened to bark, and they now bore no patience for the little moving things who had, with the exception of a minority of Elves, treated their people as a resource not an ally.

Menasphir, the Wind Rider, the Eagle from whom Lithglin had received help several times in the past, was also dead, the location of his Watch-Eerie given away by the Ash-Eye during his Thralldom. Lithglin found the great bones of the Eagle; an Orc seemed to have attempted to carve his head from the corpse, perhaps as a trophy or garb. The cause he never knew, but Lithglin found the skeleton of the Orc, eyes pecked out, at the base of the pile of Menasphir's bones. The Ash-Eyed spent the weeks that followed this time writing a panegyric for the Eagle.

His human allies – who had numbered some twenty, drawn from the Edain who still wandered in those parts of Middle Earth – were, to a man, dead, mainly from sickness and old age. The Walldancers had made fresh contacts, but only a few, for as the darkness gathered, mortals grew afraid of taking sides with the Elves.

Once, during this time, he wandered near a copse of trees, just as the edges of Autumn invested the slender trees with a sheen of cold dew, and the leaves had just begun their spiralling descent to dead piles. The forest was many leagues across, but had nothing near the depth or breadth or age of Greenwood the Great, or Fangorn, or the boughs that were to become Lothlorien; yet upon passing within, Lithglin became aware of an inner light to it. He was drawn to the centre of the wood, following a stream that sang with a light voice, running over the stones and wedged flotsam in its shallow path. The trees broke their cover above it, to allow streams of sunlight to emblazon the water, and Lithglin found himself captivated by it. He followed a path by the edge of the stream, oblivious to his journey, feet falling before him without thought.

The stream terminated at a dim outcropping of rock, twice a man's height and thrice length, which broke, almost alone, from the floor of the largely flat forest. Sitting atop the rock, in front of a pedestal of some kind, which lay in its centre, was what appeared to be a young Elvish boy, feet dangling in the rippling water. Even as he gazed upon the boy, caution and alarm entered the Ash-Eye's heart, and he looked about him; men stood around, their weapons – mainly bows or clubs – readied. He thought the Atani had bested his lack of caution once more – save that the child before him was clearly not an elf, but a spirit. Young, comparatively weak, but a Maiar, and, given that Lithglin had passed this wood many times but not been drawn within, a guardian for the place.

The Men were descendants through many generations of the members of the Houses of the Edain who refused to make their way East into Elvish Beleriand, and settle there. It was many years before the spirit which had lived there since early in the story of the world, made itself apparent, and many more before it came to trust these Men. But, as the Maiar, whose name was Adrechi, explained to Lithglin when they spoke in the Old Tongue, there was radiance in their eyes and spirits, and together, the Men had helped Adrechi to defend and maintain the patch of woodland. There were Orc attacks, and migrations of fell beasts, particularly when the feckless and sometimes irresponsible spirit was not paying attention, but they were rare and the forest had passed largely unnoticed.

Adrechi agreed that Lithglin could use the forest as a sanctuary, even a place of rest and healing, provided that he did not approach it whilst actively pursued. By this time, a friendly port in the wild reefs of Middle Earth was a welcome thing indeed. He took his rest and spoke with the Maiar, who seemed aware of little outside the borders of the forest – that area was his world, and so long as fell beasts and Orcs preyed outside of it, they were not his concern. Adrechi conceded that he might need to at least agree not to hinder those who worked against the greater darkness, but said that nothing short of a summons from the Valar would force him to take up arms or sides in this fight. The Ash-Eye was grateful for what he had managed to achieve, so took provisions and moved on.

Few of the kindreds of Dwarves had even received him, and only Durin's folk had answered the call. Of the men, the Edain were much weakened, though Lithglin counted amongst his victories the embracing of the kin of Ulfang into the alliance. There was dissent amongst the Elves, as the sons of Fëanor were furious that Thingol had taken one of the Silmarils, which Beren had retrieved. Little he could do would solder that rift; even Maedhros, long open to his counsel, was bound by his Oath. Much had been lost, many killed, while time, like resources, grew short.

Then it ran out.

8 – The Fall of Elvish Middle Earth & the End of the First Age

Thirty-three days before he would be nineteen hundred and forty one years of age, Lithglin watched the Orc hordes wash over the fields of Ard-Galen as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears began, and believed that the eveningtide of Elfkind had come.

Ulfang and his men proved treacherous, and for this, and that many men fought alongside Morgoth, Lithglin has never forgiven the Atani, nor wavered in his judgement that they are, but for luck and fated exception, weak and feckless. Though there is a measure of hope and belief in his heart for the Edain, and thus the Numenoreans, most Men are, to him, a lost but tragically necessary cause. Doriath was ruined, and many of the Elf lands lost. From this time forth, the Ash-Eye was involved in desperate runner action, taking much needed and dangerously borne information and messages to and from what points of resistance remained.

He nearly despaired of his efforts once more when the Nauglamir was forged, and Thingol was killed by the Dwarves; this, too, is a grudge he holds closely against that race. After seven years, the paths became suicidally dangerous, with Lithglin but barely avoiding death several times. These times, he owed as much to the quality of his garb, designed to remain hidden, and to the Eagles who oft kept a quiet and anonymous watch on him; this, he never knew, save for such times when they warned him of danger. However, the Eagles' flights grew more infrequent, and the senses of the Enemy sharper, so the Ash-Eye was eventually forced to flee to Gondolin and hide.

Twenty-seven years passed, in which Lithglin took joy that any time at all remained to the Elves in Middle Earth, and more so, a time in a place of beauty; so too, however, he knew in his heart that this place could not withstand the eye of Melkor forever. The Encircling Mountains were not high enough to hold back the Darkness, and no secret could keep the midnight out. Maeglin, for his own ends, undertook his betrayal, and so doing gave the location and secrets of one of the last places of Elvish power in Middle Earth.

Five hundred and twenty two years after the return of the Noldor, Gondolin fell. Lithglin was with the handful of Elves who escaped that place by the Secret Way of the dried riverbed, scouting paths ahead of the evacuated few. He never saw Gothmog's final battle at the Fountain, never relished in his fall; for Ash-Eye knew that his part in this was not to fight. As much as anything, he despaired of triumph in combat, and hoped against hope that some other solution could be found.

Lithglin fled to Cirdan and the Falathrim, bearing news of the fall of Gondolin, and told that a Time of Void was waiting to be born. But he was wrong. He knew nothing of Eärendil's flight to the West, nor the death of Elwing.

The Valar, at last, returned to Middle Earth, and the War of Wrath was waged. Their late arrival, despite his love of them, Lithglin bitterly resents; for he saw it as always in their power to forgive the Noldor their presumption and fire, and that such was the Valars' duty, if compassion were truly their nature. There is much he still does not understand to this day. The rest of the Noldor, and the great host of Ingwë, King of the Vanyar, came too. The rallying cry went out to the corners of Arda and Lithglin bore it aback the Eagles of Manwë. The Edain came, the men of Hitlhlum, and Durin's Dwarves, and most of the remaining Elves of Middle Earth.

This was the first great battle in which Lithglin fought, and though his spirit was dulled, and his frame wracked with much damage and toil, still he shone as never before. With his King's host he fought, in the Vanguard with Ingwë; and though it may have been the strength of so mighty an Elf, charged with the power of the Light of Valinor from many ages, the Orcs fell before them as kindling in a blaze. Even so, the War of Wrath lasted half a century. During it, the Ash-Eye learned not only to fight, but to fight blind.

In that conflict, Lithglin gained for his efforts a wound that has left a scar from his right cheek, down through the edge of his jaw, across his chest and to his midriff. Burned marks from combat with the Valaraukar still mar his neck, left arm and hand, but from the day of their issuing, they bore no pain.

It was not until three years into the conflict, when the bulk of the scattered pockets of native Elvish resistance had finally coagulated under the banner of the Valar, that Lithglin once more met his surviving son. The remains of the hosts of the Noldor were positioned near forces of the Vanyar who had come from Aman, some thirty leagues East of the Nan Dungortheb, making to destroy a flanking manoeuvre being attempted by Melkor's Orcs. Lithglin passed between the hosts, carrying messages of strategy. As he entered the Vanyar host for the sixth time, one of the Captains, face masked by his helm, hailed him.

"Hold, please, Master Walldancer. For your countenance has been described to me as belonging to the one I seek, though I have not gazed upon it as it is."

Even amongst Elf-kind, and indeed his own kindred, Lithglin grew wary, saying:

"My countenance, as my past, is unique, as is my Vanyar blood in this Middle Earth; it would take a Man or a Dwarf to miss such a mark when looked-for; so, please, Captain, speak plainly or delay me not."

The Captain replied, "Much that has happened here, we know not; I was bade look for you by one of the Oldest of the Moriquendi, knowing that he for whom I search reckoned in age the same as Cirdan the Shipwright."

"Few there are now who could boast so many Winters."

"And, it would seem, few who would wish to do so. But your voice belies your old face, for it is your words that have remained with me most strongly these past centuries, my father."

Lithglin narrowed his eyes out of habit; Carafin, when young, had not displayed the marks of warriorhood, and he could scarce remember the look or feel of his son; having laid long before the darkness of Thralldom, and only in the West, his memory was dimmed. But it seemed to the Ash-Eye, as the Captain spoke, that a veil dropped from his inner-eye, and he recognised the feel of the Elf before him as that of his living son.

"Have you no words for your own?"

"That you are my own no longer; or, in truth, that he who was your father is no more. The House you have forged, is yours to bear, and not mine."

"Your words, I do not understand, father."

"And this is all to the good, Carafin. This little, I can make clear: your brother is passed into the Halls of Mandos, and he who was your father is leastways half there. You would do well to set the memory of a memory aside, as I have done."

With this, Lithglin urged his horse, but Carafin stepped in front of the beast, saying, "Gilthalion is dead, and so too is your Oath. Whosoever you now take yourself to be, will you not return to the Undying Lands, when our war is done? And where is my mother, Valtinwë, for I know it was in your heart to find her?"

"In finding her, my heart was lost, Captain of Aman. Step aside, and leave a messenger to bear the words of others, since he no longer treasures his own."

With this, Lithglin turned his steed, and rode into the host, coming by wider routes to his goal. He did not speak with Carafin again, and has not until the present day.

When the fiftieth and final year of the war was ended and the remains of the day gathered, and the Valar setting much, but too little, to right in Middle Earth, Lithglin came before Ingwë. Said the High-King to the Ash-Eyed:

"Your long exile is over. What you have endured, we cannot imagine. But the healing light of Aman awaits you, Ninquelenkar. Come home."

A long time, Lithglin swayed, in thought, before he replied, "Ninquelenkar cannot return, as he no longer lives. Lithglin breathes in this frame, now, and it is not his time to go to the West. His part in the story still lies here."

"Then you would defy our will."

"This is the calling of my heart, but I am done with rebellion; if I am torn from these shores, it is a fate I would take. However, I yearn another path."

Then said Ingwë, "Then we will meet again, some time, at the end of it."

Lithglin left Ingwë's court. As the last of the Moments of the First Age dwindled into the incorporeal hourglass of history, the Ash-Eye reined in his horse atop the foothills near Dor Daedaloth. Around him, under feet of dead soil, the bones of the Host of Fëanor, dead these five-hundred years, lay in uneasy peace; before him, the wasteland of Ard-Galen sprawled. Evil still lay on the new dawn, as the fate of the Silmarils was yet to be finally woven.

Still in this moment, Lithglin felt the light of the stars on his temple, as he did before his eyes had first open, and he was glad to draw breath. So ended for the Ash-Eyed the darkness of Morgoth and the First Age of Middle Earth.

9 – The New Sovereignties

Much still remained to be done on the path ahead. Maglor and Maedhros were raising Elros and Elrond, and the last of the Silmarils remained still on Middle -Earth, but were not in the hands of the sons of Fëanor. All dooms must fall eventually, and the last two Kinslaying sons cast themselves into the ocean and into the earth, taking with them the last of the light of the Silmarils into the realms of Aulë and Ulmo, save for the light of Gil-Este, Earendil on Vingilot. The brothers half-elven were given their choice, and took it, and Elrond took to Forlond in the lands of Gil-Galad, while Elros awaited, unknowing, the great gift of the Valar.

In the first year of the 2nd Age, Cirdan the Shipwright founded the settlement at Mithlond, the Grey Havens beyond the White Towers. It was to be the primary port of Lindon, the Land of Song, country of Gil-Galad, whose twin capitols were Harlond, under Cirdan, and Forlond, under the son of Fingon. The first decades of this Age, the Ash-Eye spent being healed, first in Mithlond and then in the halls of Gil-Galad in Forlond. The recovery was long, for greater than the quickly-mending wounds of Elf-flesh were the wounds of spirit and inner strength which Lithglin had sustained.

His part was to be a peacemaker and a communicator, a bridge and a translator, a wanderer and an observer; but how could this be, when most of the faith that he had in the peoples of Men and Dwarves was lost? How could he translate when little but bitter words moved between kindreds? How could he wander and watch when all he sensed was tainted with darkness, and nought but memory remained of the previous beauty of Arda?

Twilight days these were for him, though before a greater dawn or a greater night, he knew not. In all things there seemed the light of magnificence and the taint of degradation. A revelation turned the tide but it took its time in coming.

Elros and Elrond requested that Lithglin translate treaties and communiques sent between the Edain, the other Atani, the Naugrim, and what Elves remained on those shores, on an informal basis, as he bore no desire in his heart to resume his duties as a Ramrandir.

In Year 32 of the 2nd Age, when Lithglin was 2059 years old, the vessels of Cirdan set out for Atalante, Westernesse to the Edain, the Isle of Númenor. Borne on them were the remains of the Edain, brought together as the blessed tribes of Men. Elros was their king, now in his 90th year, and though conversation with his brother was not difficult, Cirdan and Gil-Galad did not speak the tongue of the Númenoreans as it developed. Lithglin was thus invited into the court of the latter at Forlond, to develop bonds of communication between the two sovereignties; these, however, were slow to come, and did so mainly at the labour of the Elves. For the Númenoreans found great delight in the expenditure of time on the wonders with which the Ainur had blessed their new home.

For eight years, the Ash-Eye did this. Though this time saw his recovery, the brightening of his spirit and the growth of a love of beauty even in his blinded senses, he never left the capitol of Forlond, nor went again to visit his old friend Cirdan. Many visits he received from the emissaries of Tar-Minyatur, as Elros came to be known, requesting his presence on the Western Isle; every time, he politely declined in a missive of poetic form. Indeed, if one thing solidly increased in quality, it was Lithglin's song, poetry and writing; perhaps it was a deeper appreciation of sorrow, or the greater focus on sound and word, over sight, with his new blindness.

Even over these first forty years of the Second Age, he spoke little of himself. Most of those who knew him, and who knew what little he had told of the darkness which had touched him, were dead, and those who were not spoke seldom and softly of such times. So it was that, with passing time, fewer and fewer knew the reason for the colouration of his eyes. Strangely, as he healed in Lindon, so came to him gifts as compensation for the loss of his sight. Though he could no longer wield a bow, he did not need to see his foe to strike at them with precision and accuracy, and this he could do regardless of conditions. He could use the stars to navigate, by their feel, even on a cloudy night and knew so well the paths of Middle Earth that rarely would he place a path a league out of its position. As his capacities returned, so too did his old love of Middle Earth and the calling of Valinor weaken. Years passed, and slowly grew his faith that remaining had been a true calling. Then came certainty.

Beleriand, as a result of the convulsions of the Earth that befell Arda, was sinking. Some of the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost refused to believe their places would be touched; Nogrod fell utterly, and Belegost, though it was inland, was so weakened by depths of water in its lower caverns that it too was evacuated. Many Dwarves fled to Khazad-Dum, others to Mountain Halls, but some were caught as they left, or were sick or injured on the way, and they brought with them their lame and injured from the War of Wrath. Despite the misgivings of many of Thingol's folk from Doriath, before they both fell, Gil-Galad refused to allow the Dwarves to die as they passed by the borders of his land. Those who could not help themselves were taken and healed, and in this, Lithglin found his first true peace.

The healing arts were slowly learned, beyond the normal skill of Elves with herbs, treatment and lore. Elrond had already, by virtue of his blood and his fate, gained great aptitude, and moved between the Naugrim, finding his footing in what was to be a long life, and still searching his path.

Lithglin first observed, then neared, and finally walked behind him as Elrond undertook his ministrations. What symptoms others identified by art or by sight, he knew from touch and smell; and while all but a few such as Elrond could use only base matter to heal, there was a skill and a blessing in the Ash-Eye which went beyond the manipulation of a flesh frame.

Many were the Dwarves that Lithglin healed, and as he did so, perhaps the sharp edges of his heart dulled slightly, for he felt pity for the Naugrim so suffering, and appreciated the brevity of wisdom that comes with brevity of life. One of those he tried to heal was named Nardi Orcbane, who had fled from Belegost whilst sick, and whose infirmity, near the end of his second century, was great. The suffering of his Dwarf, the Ash-Eye greatly reduced, and made him peaceful at the end; however, the end could not be delayed, for the hurts were too deep. Nardi died three months after arriving in Elvish care, and his son, Razi Grudgebearer, went on to Moria. Lithglin tried to keep him as a contact there, but once arrived, Razi seemed to care little for the needs of the Elf or for recalling the painful time of his father's death.

Whence came and whither led this power of healing, Lithglin himself could not tell, but that healing bodies as much as bonds was his place now the Vanyar was certain. Elrond Half-Elven and Lithglin spoke often and long into the night in that great city of Elves, and as they together healed the wounded of the flight from the Sunken Lands and the War of Wrath, so too did their words heal the hurt of the Ash-Eye's heart.

This took time, and though Lithglin embraced his duties in Gil-Galad's court with ever greater dedication, and though reliance on his skills and those of his officers grew, as he recovered, a yearning for journey once more took him.

It was the 74th year of the Second Age, and Lithglin's 2101st, when he begged leave of Gil-Galad to travel Middle Earth once more. By this time, he had taught and trained sixteen Elves who formed Gil-Galad's chancery, and twenty-four Elves, drawn from across the kindreds, to be the next generation of Walldancers. When he set forth, however, the liveries of Ingwë and the Walldancers were left behind him, but he bore sapphire blue. When he left the great silver gates of the city, he left behind all allegiances and fealties to Earthly powers, for the time being.

Six years he spent at Mithlond, which was still being extended and reconstructed, the final of the White Towers between it and the Eastern marches, still not in place. The kinship of age he felt with Cirdan had not dwindled, but a division came between them when they met in the Great Hall of the Grey Havens, whither the Shipwright had chanced to pass; not of love, but of understanding. It seemed that Cirdan had knowledge denied to Lithglin, for the Ash-Eye asked if he was free to leave the shores of the East for Valinor, as were all other Elves. He had expected to be told that he could; he was told that he could not.

In words of confusion, he asked Cirdan why this choice would now be denied him; and this, the Falathrim Lord would not answer, save to say,

"Your path begun cannot be turned aside; further words and wisdom are not mine to give."

Many times over those six years, most often when he felt the stars clear in the Western sky, Lithglin wondered at this; why he was the last of the Elves with a ban on his passage to Aman. However, curiosity and confusion brought no taint to his mind, or to his love of Cirdan, and the matter passed into silence.

Forty years had passed since the founding of Edhellond, the Southern Haven at the mouth of the River Ringlo, in the 40th year of the Age, and the towers now spread across the basin of the valley, and along its rim. Flecks of blue and green sparkled like myriad rainbow dustings in the pale moonstone of the buildings, and though they looked often deep and dark as the depths of Ulmo's domain, so to they carried the shifting lights on their surfaces which reminded of beauty in vastness.

From this place, Lithglin rode out for a further twenty three years, until the 103rd of the Second Age. He met many of the Ents of the South who had remained hidden in their forests during the latter wars, speaking with them but knowing that it was beyond their nature to treat with the Firstborn and the Followers. The Eagles he met but seldom, for they too saw their time of involvement dwindling now that Morgoth had fallen. The sense of urgency had gone, and with it, the speed of decision and unity; instead, there was the strangest feeling of relaxation in the diplomacy. All story-curves led towards understanding and healing, as if further loss were now inevitable. True, Men died, but Eagles and Ents were long-lived indeed, and did not forget the price of the present.

Of the Ash-Eye's journeys into the Hitherlands and Rhûn, little in the way of records remains. The maps which he brought back after just short of a century of travelling were extensive, detailed, and accompanied by volumes of reports, taken back each year to Mithlond and thence to Lindon, where they were kept by the Court Library. If this was by some design or agreement, no report of it exists, and little use was made by the Elf-kin of the intelligence regarding their Southerly ally in the War of Wrath. In the 201st year of the Second Age, the Ash-Eye returned to Western Middle Earth.

This was the time when the Sindar and Noldor were forging kingdoms among the Silvan Elves. Linguistic barriers had long since fallen, as had walls in understanding, so Lithglin's wandering was largely easy, save in such instances where the Naugrim were involved. Then, even he found it hard to summon the heart to believe the sides could co-exist happily, for there was open water between the races now.

It was in this time that Lithglin came again to the Forest of Adrech, for the first occasion since the turning of that Age and the War of Wrath. He found that all was not as he had last seen it. Adrechi had the terms of his engagement fulfilled: a summons had indeed been issued by the Valar and the Maiar had asked the Men of the forest to go with him into battle. They agreed, and the Maiar and Atani joined the hosts of the Teleri, with whom they felt most kinship. The host had come into battle with a great many Orcs by the Fords of Telchuin – or so was maintained in the fading writings still kept by the descendants of the survivors. Adrechi had been grievously wounded, his form losing its connection to the material plane even as it was carried from the battlefield. The Maiar died with the Chiefs of his attendant Atani beside him, and, for their valour, begged a boon of the Valar, who, unbeknownst to the Men, were aware of these events. So it was that his life-force and power went into them and their blood, and over time, strange had been the consequences.

Over two centuries had passed, and in this time, the Men of the forest – the Adrechim, as Lithglin called them – had developed an inhuman sense for the borders of the place, for its rivers and paths, and a kinship with the animals they once hunted. Most of all, this kinship was with the great black bears of the forest, who had grown, over long years, trusting of and dependent on, the Adrechim.

It was only over the past generation that the descendants of the Chiefs blessed by Adrechi had seemed, at times, to become one with their bearskin robes – taken, not after hunting, but at the natural death of their owners. It was said, but not written, by the Adrechim, that the souls of the bears passed into and fused with those of the men; and so it was that the Atani of the Wood had become Changelings, amongst the first of Middle Earth. Sometimes, over the coming centuries, the Ash-Eye visited the place again, and found it a haven during dark times, and a preserve of older ways when all else was rushed forward in the brief lives of Men. The Adrechim held their old ways, protected their forest and lived in harmony with it, while outside, the passage of years darkened the world.

In the 238th year of that Age, after 2264 winters had passed since the Wake at Cuiviénen, Cirdan and Lithglin met at Mithlond, and the Shipwright asked the Ash-Eyed to go to Númenor.

"There are many from Valinor, both your kin and mine, with whom we have not spoken long whiles. Your journey there would be much to the advantage of the Númenoreans, mayhap, and quite possibly to your own."

Lithglin thought long, then asked, "Are the limits of my fate in the East there defined?"

"Far closer than that, if my senses do not deceive me. But if the truth must come to you from a distant voice, then that midpoint in the Sundering Seas may be where you find it."

Ash-Eye was silent, and went from Cirdan's presence. He boarded the Swanship, sculpted from pearl and silver and white woods, which was in harbour. As if the vessel were waiting for him, scarce had he presented his Letter of Marque to the Captain, that the ship cast off without a word to its crew, and began the voyage to Númenor.

10 – Lithglin in the High Age of Númenor

The next three hundred and sixty-two years, Lithglin spent on the Isle of Númenor, until the 600th Year of the Second Age, which was his 2626th. The first two centuries were Elros' reign, until the year 442, and in these years, much of profit came to both the Númenoreans and to the Ash-Eyed.

In Númenor, Lithglin found that there were already some Elves, come from Valinor itself, teaching the summit of accomplishments in art, writings, craftsmanship, seamanship and lore. The light that gleamed already in the eyes of the Númenoreans, Lithglin knew to be the same strain as that in his own eyes, and those of the Calaquendi. Respect came to him for these Men, as, despite the treachery of their kin and the mortality of their memories, there was much they accomplished, and much that, for all the power of the Firstborn, only they could accomplish.

With the Noldor and Teleri from Aman, the Ash-Eye found it easy to speak; they were not so sundered from his experience. But the Vanyar, his own people, he had not seen for centuries, and their curiosity bore down on him. As their only internal link to the experiences of Middle Earth, save the five bloodletting decades of the War of Wrath, Lithglin took by the legion enquiries, demands for stories and songs and poety. His maps of Hithlum and the rest of Middle Earth were requested time after time. Worse still, his early works of writing were dug out, either from him or those who knew a little of them. For both the other Vanyar and he, Lithglin's writings were an embarrassment. By human standards they were exquisite, but to receive so much attention from so highbrow and mighty an audience, and to hold so little comparative merit, was immodest. Lithglin felt discomfort.

Joy he did take in building bridges of comprehension between the Calaquendi who had never glimpsed Middle Earth, and the Númenoreans who had never glimpsed Aman. In this place, exactly between the two worlds, he felt at home, as if this were the destined focus of the meeting of Men and Elves. Slowly but with gathering speed, the lands of Middle Earth passed to the periphery of his thoughts. Word came from Lindon from time to time, and word was sent back, but for the Men of Middle Earth, few moments were spared. Thus time passed as in a dream, and the Blessed Isle, as close to the Light of the West as Lithglin could come, healed much that would not have been touched in Middle Earth; and his presence there was one of the few Elvish constants amongst the Númenoreans.

But even the Númenoreans died, as no power in Eä can unmake the laws of Iluvatar, save Iluvatar himself. Two hundred and four years after Lithglin's arrival in Atalante, Elros died. The Vanyar Lithglin was tenth in procession in the funeral march, representing his kindred in the vanguard. For the occasion, and over a period of several weeks, the Lay of the Times of Elros Lithglin penned, to date the only piece of his work deemed meriting transmission back to Valinor. Of his authorship, however, Lithglin does not speak; it is commonly and confusingly attributed to an unknown Elf named, 'Ninquelenkar'. That name, now, only a few, such as Cirdan, know as the Ash-Eye's true one.

The next king, Vardamir, was king in less even than name. For it was with him that began the tradition of passing kingship before death. Vardamir did not want the throne and so, in the 442nd year of the Second Age, elevated his heir and son, Tar Amandil, instead. Vardamir felt he was not called to kingship, but rather lore and learning, and that he could strengthen Atalante better with a wealth of manuscripts, teachers and wisdom, than through statecraft. He restored and illuminated texts that had been brought to Númenor, and pleaded, on behalf of the realm, for the lore of the Elves who came from Aman. Much there was which was refused to the Númenoreans, though much too was given. The arts of shipwrought, of many letters, of strange languages and ways of healing, were bound to the very enlightened frames of that people. In this expansion of minds, Lithglin perforce featured heavily, for he was one of a handful of Elves from Middle Earth, and since their arrival, the Númenoreans had not yet sent any of their number back to the East. Thus, the sum of knowledge and wisdom of the Moriquendi of Middle Earth was passed, second hand, through the Vanyar. Over time, his love of some Men on the Island grew to the extent that he granted them tutelage; and in return, they taught him. To him came the strange teachings of mankind, the nature of the gift of mortality, and beauty through their eyes; but so too did they hone his blindfighting skills, for the Ash-Eye knew that one day he would be called back to the dark lands in the East. Long ages had passed since he had the potential to be counted a great warrior, but for all the greying of spirit and sinew, subtle powers were subtly his.

Over the fifty years before the death of the former in S.A. 471, Vardamir and Lithglin grew to know each other well, for they were unified in the purpose of overcoming barriers of culture and race for the common good and profit. Their tools were the same, and, as much as the two kindred can do so, they thought along similar paths. Vardamir was the first Man whom the Ash-Eye would call a friend; but as his love of Vardamir grew, so waned his interest in the other Númenoreans who sought his knowledge.

Tar Amandil, the 3rd King of Númenor, ruled for one hundred and forty-eight years, thus for one hundred and nineteen after Vardamir's death. During this time, Lithglin's interest and love in the Númenoreans dwindled; his perseverance on the island may well be due to the fact that he did not understand the source of this loss. In truth, he had never before lost a friend to old age, and, indeed, never faced the loss of anyone except his wife, whose place in the Halls of Mandos he doubted. Men did not go there. His spirit was disquieted on the Blessed Isle, though for a century, Lithglin did not realise it. Though he now taught other Númenoreans, including the son and heir of Tar Amandil, Elendil, he withdrew more and more from their ceremonies and celebrations, and often took to standing at the Easternmost and Westernmost points of the island, and looking out to distances unimagined by the Men around him. Often, too, did he take to Meneltarma, to make his own, quiet worship of Iluvatar, though he went only at times when few others were there.

In the year 587 of the Second Age, Elendil, now two hundred and thirty seven years old, spoke to Lithglin of the Palantiri. Before that time, they had grown to know each other but slowly, for although there was much of Vardamir in the future king, the Ash-Eye was curiously reluctant to form close bonds with Men, now, after the loss of his friend had hurt him in strange ways. However, there was great respect between the two, and Elendil understood the mind of the Elf more than Lithglin dreamed was so, for it has always been his wont to underestimate the capacities of Men.

The other Vanyar had made Lithglin uncomfortable, and, hitherto, he had borne no desire to speak to the Elves, Maiar or Valar in the West, with whom the Palantiri could communicate. But in that year, which was the 2613th of the Ash-Eye in this world, Elendil, through long debate, persuaded him to seek through those far-seeing eyes a truth that his own could not find. He, like a handful of other Númenoreans, knew from Lithglin's inability to read text that does not bear elevation or impression, that the Elf was blind, though the Ash-Eye told this to no one, nor its reason. Elendil did not leave the Chamber of the Palantir in Armenelos while Lithglin used the stone, nor did the Elf ask the heir to do so. For an hour after arrival, the Ash-Eye simply stood with his left hand – twisted and scarred still from past hardships – placed on the stone; when he spoke, he spoke Quenya, though he himself had taught this tongue to Elendil and needed no secrecy.

"In this Land of Gift, I have found only new questions, and seldom lasting answers. I am still bidden not to return to Aman, yet I cannot find peace here."

In voices like snatched whispers of wind-borne song, fused with music timeless and yet sorrowful, words flowed from the dull-glowing sphere on the plinth:

"You did not travel East for peace, White Star Shining, nor did you find this midpoint in the Sundering Seas to bring an end to your journey."

"Wherefore, then, do I stand in this place of Men?"

There was no reply for some moments, then the voice continued:

"The answer to this, you know full well, but by the light of a faded soul, truths inscribed may remain hid."

"I am blind, Voice of the West."

"You are not, Child of the East."

Now Lithglin was silent; the absence of sound summoned the quiet breathing of Elendil to primacy, until the Elf went on:

"If you have words of guidance, I plead them, for my heart is worn and weary of life unending in a web of uncertainty. If not, I shall await whatever fate should come."

"Your journey was not to find the end of the path, but the way back to the true road; you have done this and learnt far more besides. Though still there be toil ahead and great suffering, know that you bear within all that you need to play your part in the story of the world that is to come."

"In the world of Elves?"

"In the world of Men."

"But that may not come to pass for another Age of this world."

"You speak truly, Lithglin. Your full doom it is not my place to tell; but until your frame fails you, or this Age is ended, the Way to the West is barred to you, Last of the Vanyar."

The Ash-Eyed paused for the merest of beats, and spoke as he withdrew his hand from the sphere of stone, the last words escaping his lips as the light therein died from ember to darkness.

"Then I swear that only when the time is right, will I take the Way to the East; that until then, my words and thoughts will bridge the gulf between we and the Atani."

And at this, Elendil paused, and looked askew at the Elf, for on those matters had his mind often dwelt.

Three years later, Elendil ascended to the throne of Númenor, and spent the following decade convincing his people of the wisdom of journeying back to Middle Earth, preparing them and vessels that would bear them. In this, Lithglin assisted with more heart and vigour than any in which he had indulged that age; for from Men he had begun to understand how the brevity of time brings both value and vigour.

Many songs would be written, and many sung for centuries after, about that voyage, when the White Ships came back to Mithlond and the Edain once more set foot in Middle Earth; not least Entulasse, by Nimeldakal himself.

Many times would Elves remember, as the Darkness grew mighty, the joy and light and hope of the return to the Grey Havens, for soon, all three were to fade into a depthless Autumn.

11 – After the Return to the Grey Havens

Thus it was that in the 600th Year of the Second Age, Tar-Elendil sent a fleet of ships, headed by the 'Entulasse', and Captained by Veantur, back to Middle Earth. Lithglin sailed on the 'Entulasse', advising, perhaps unnecessarily, on the safe way East. When approaching shore, the Ash-Eye sent signals to the watchtowers, too distant for even Númenorean eyes to see, that a friendly fleet neared. The vessels came into the Harbour at Mithlond, and were greeted by Cirdan and the lords of the Falathrim, with honour; for long had the Quendi of those shores desired the return of the Edain, as little strength or nobility lay in the other kindreds of Men.

The Elves of Lindon greeted the Númenoreans, much as had their Western kindred, but perhaps with a different air. For whilst the Calaquendi of Aman had little to fear, and little to gain from the friendship of Men, beyond friendship, Middle Earth had once more begun to darken with the secret return of Gorthaur to its overshadowed places. Elves rode from all over Forlindon and Harlindon, to the Grey Havens, including Gil-Galad, Galadriel, and Elrond, brother of the first of the Númenorean kings. There they did great honour to the Men, and feasted long, with many tales and songs. Lore was taken up by the wise men of the fleet, and those more practical marvelled at the skill and craftmanship of the Firstborn. It seemed to Lithglin as if this were a mark, a torch to guide the way for him as well as them; for there and then did the Firstborn and the Followers truly meet as he was sure Iluvatar intended.

Even as prior chapters thus concluded, new strands started afresh. From Cirdan and some of the Ramrandrim, he learnt both that sightings of Orcs had once more begun, and that two new kingdoms of Men had risen from the anarchy of the time after Morgoth. Rhûn, the land of the Easterlings, and Harad, the Kingdom of the Hitherlands to the South, bordered Middle Earth, the Atani of which bickered in petty principalities. Cirdan asked Lithglin to go to Rhûn and Harad; for they could influence towards unity the Men of Middle Earth, should they prove well and good in mind. Númenor, he said, was but recently come to these shores, and the Age of Help had scarcely begun.

However, the Ash-Eyed refused, though no history records his mind. He gave to Cirdan all of his maps and writings on his previous journeys in and near those lands, and began to train Walldancers to go to those parts, though he would not go himself. Save that some burden weighed upon him, nothing was known as to the reasons for his refusal. Those that returned from such lands spoke of strange suns, relentless and parching; creatures and beasts unseen before, some huge as hills, like the Oliphaunts, some small as ants, but all deadly. The men of those lands, the Elves said, were divided, but less so, and had crafted artefacts and treasures to surpass those of the Men of Middle Earth. Strange tales came from the East and the South, but little of lasting value was secured, as those places found little interest in Elvendom.

It took Lithglin some twenty years to train to his satisfaction the Walldancers to go into the Kingdoms of the South and the East. He sent word back to Tar-Elendil, which the King had long expected: that his companion was not to yet return to Númenor. He was not to do so for nearly three centuries.

In S.A. 621, when the Walldancers began their journey, the Ash-Eye went with them as far as the larger settlements of Men beyond the lands that were to become Eregion. In all the towns he found, few welcomed him, for the Firstborn had grown to keep their matters to themselves, and things strange are often feared; he was viewed with suspicion at best, and outright hatred at worst. From several towns and hamlets he was hounded by Atani bearing weapons in hand, as soon as the tips of his ears or his slender frame revealed his blood. Still, he persevered, until S.A. 677, when 2703 winters had passed him. Over two thousand settlements he passed through and in all those places, found no more than a dozen men who thought as he did, whose word and reason he felt he could count on. This was clearly not yet the fullness of the Time of Men, and if the Elves were slow to correct and assist, and the Númenoreans for now, too distant, yet it seemed to the Ash-Eye these were not the only possibilities.

Lithglin conceived that it might be his part to make Men ready, but as a lone mariner before a raging ocean, he felt that, even with the whole life of the world before him, there could scarce be a more difficult task than such preparation.

Thus it was that he set out once again for the Halls of the Dwarf Lords, the Eeries of the Eagles and the woods of the Ents, and these were long paths. His wandering took him across the length and breadth of Middle Earth, and steeds grew old and faded under him as he travelled. For forty-seven further years, until the 724th year of the Second Age, he rode, and spoke, and debated. The Naugrim would seldom admit him, no matter the letters of Marque or favours that he proffered. Their answer was that the Days of the Quendi were waning, and that ancient holy quests bore nothing on the present; the time of co-operation between they and Eregion was not yet come.

One band of Dwarves, who had forsaken the Deep Places of the Mountains for the deep places of lesser hills, closer to human habitations, was receptive to him. Their group was formed from various misfits from Moria, who felt their race too cut off from the rest of the world. Their leader was named Karun. They agreed to act as a line of communication with Moria, to which some of their number journeyed often. Few of the Naugrim would believe bad news that came from an Elf; no Naugrim would disbelieve such news, should it come from a suitably morose member of their race.

A familiarity closer than usual between the two peoples, grew between Lithglin and one of Karun's Dwarves, Zori Deathbane, so called because of his dedication to the arts of healing. These arts, through tutelage and imparted wisdom, Lithglin honed, showing what herbs and poultices to use and when, how to bind, how to extract shards from a wound, and many other kinds of healing, both for the field and houses. Though Zori's son, Rathi, had little time for such arts, Deathbane was one of the first Dwarves to gain respect from the Ash-Eye. He agreed to remain as a line of communication to Khazad-Dum, and, to the end of his life, much good came of this, even if the Naugrim perceived not the hand which helped them.

Of the Thornhoth, many went to Aman as storm-petrons ahead of the Swanships of the Calaquendi, or perched in the masts of the ships of the Valar, when Morgoth fell. Some remained, in the highest places, and several times, Lithglin came close to death from element, rock and fall, when trying to reach those inaccessible climbs. They proved the most open and ready to his word, perhaps on account of previous alliance, or the bond between the Vanyar and Eagles, in Manwë. Because of the speech between Lithglin and Falsathrir, then King of the Eagles, the kin of the latter rejoined the Walldancers, and kept high and distant eyes upon the affairs of Middle Earth. Though that monarch of the skies is long dead, and their reluctance to touch matters of the Groundlings much grown, still do the Eagles count the Ash-Eye as a friend, and an ally. Oft did they warn the Vanyar of Orc parties, or Wildmen, as he travelled Middle Earth; and this rekindled Lithglin's belief in his cause.

The Onodrim seldom answered his calls, and even avoided the Elf when he travelled through their woods. Before, their responses had been sluggish and weak; now, they were non-existent. The Nandor and Avari still had contact with some of the Ents, but perchance and inconsistent; contacts amongst these people, then, Lithglin sought and found, and through them, news of the forest shepherds.

Returning to the Grey Havens in S.A. 724, Lithglin found many settlements of Elves, which hitherto had not stood. Many Sindar and Noldor had colonised the area in the past quarter of a century, and he passed slowly through these lands, passing on word of the lands he had visited, that they might be better prepared when borders met. Eregion, Hollin, was growing from its firmament.

The year after, Veantur, on a return journey, brought the future King of Númenor, Aldarion, then called Amandil, to Middle Earth. At Mithlond, he too met the high persons of Elfkind on Middle Earth, and much good for the future was forged. By then, Lithglin had also returned to the Grey Havens, to consider and follow up his expeditions. He attended the feasts and councils, and saw in both the first streams of a new dawn's light.

Lithglin remained in Mithlond for a further twenty-five years. The first fifteen of these were golden times, as Tar-Elendil kept vessels moving to the Havens. Scholars, architects, poets, dreamers, warriors, administrators, all soaked in the knowledge of Middle Earth as they had the West, and the Light, in Númenor. But then, Elendil passed the sceptre to Tar-Meneldur. Though both wise and kindly, he had little interest in the seas or ships, or the lands to the East, and despaired of his sons' infatuation with them. Though many of the Númenoreans retained their attraction in that direction, without Royal patronage and support, efforts were slower. Thus it was that the latter ten years of this period saw a dwindling of interest from the Edain of Atalante, which ended for Lithglin when Ost-in-Edhil was founded in the 750th year of the Age, and with it, Eregion. Celebrimbor took to the city as his capitol.

Around the same time, Aldarion, whose talks with Cirdan and others had touched him deeply, founded the haven of Vinyalonde and the Guild of Ventures. With Lithglin's help and oversight, the Falathrim, knowing Celebrimbor's city and Aldarion's port to both be fledgling and vulnerable, created a runner line. Between Ost-in-Edhil inland, in the North, and Mithlond, Harlond and Forlond, and down to Vinyalonde on the coast in the South, Elves and some Men passed messages in relay back and forth. Though the Ash-Eye often tried to extend this system to the borders of Elvendom, particularly Eregion near the lands of Men, few in those parts cared for warnings to or from the other Houses, and because of this, much evil swelled on the borders of the watched lands. The runner line, called the Whispering Arc, the Cuturhoss, took seventeen years to recruit, build posts and secure resources; and it was a success.

In S.A. 767, Lithglin retired from the Whispering Arc, as it was finally prepared. He then settled in Ost-in-Edhil, which became a focal point for the histories, tales and lore of the Elves in Middle Earth. He spent the next century in that city, both learning what he had missed whilst in Númenor, and other views of times past. As Eregion grew in strength, more outsiders came to request peaceful relations, to threaten, cajole, or plead. With various others, Lithglin met these requests, considered then answered them; for these hundred years, he was a sedentary diplomat, letting the new power of the Kingdom of the Elves draw speakers to him, rather than moving himself. So, this was a time of great peace for him, but a deceptive one, for outside Elvendom night drew on.

The power of Sauron was growing and, as a cancer in the world, the shadow of the past stretched forth once more. Only a Maiar he was, beside his Ainur master, but the strength of the Elves had passed, and the power of Númenor was distant. Thus it was that troubles, watered with momentary tears and tended with unconcern, grew mighty, so much so that Eregion itself began to come under sly attack. The enemies were not yet so numerous that they could strike as an army, still much was lost to the scattered bands who preyed upon the borderlands. Far more importantly, few quests set forth beyond the borders of Eregion, so evil was free to grow unwatched and unremarked.

In the 882nd year of the Second Age, the 2908th of his life, Lithglin helped Gil-Galad write his missive to Tar-Meneldur, requesting assistance against the dangers, which became ever stronger. In response to this request, Meneldur descended the throne of Númenor and passed the sceptre to Aldarion. Almost immediately upon this, he passed Armenos to the Regent Hallatan and went to Middle Earth for nigh on eighteen years. Though he never entered battle alongside Gil-Galad, he met with Galadriel and others of the Noldor, both renewing the settlements of the Númenoreans on the shores of Middle Earth, and helping defend Elvendom against the Orcs and other foul beings.

From the following year, then, Lithglin began moving once again between Númenor and Middle Earth. In S.A. 902, he took up the livery of the Court of Gil-Gilad as a Herald and Messenger; in truth, his calling was to the role of a Walldancer, for initially he counted as assumed the loyalty of Númenor. However, Gil-Galad reminded him that even the Númenoreans died, so even they could forget the truths that bound their gifts. Not only in Middle Earth, but also Atalante, there was need for the words of the Elves. This role he tended for a century to the day, and came to much respect during this time.

Two years before then, Sauron settled in Mordor and began the construction of Baradur. As this needed darkness, quiet, anonymity, to all of which he was close, the Orc attacks on Elvendom and the lesser Men, the corruption of the Wildmen, and the penetration of evil spirits into the Halls of the Dwarves doubled and redoubled. Even the wisest of the Elves became concerned mainly with the security of their borders; for at this time, Sauron the Deceiver was unknown in shape and nature, and there was no face at which to point, to gather an attack against the body. All assumed these were simply darkening times; but Lithglin knew the taste of that taint and a great fear grew in him.

This did not abate when Tar-Aldarion passed the sceptre to his daughter, Tar-Ancalime, his only heir. There was much fear in Númenor that the line of kings would be broken, so Ancalime's betrothal was unwise and hasty. Her husband, Hallacar, she resented, and she cared little for her heir, Anarion, the future King. Little of good was forged in her time, which lasted from the 1075th year of the Second Age to the 1280th. The places of Aldarion in Middle Earth were left to ruin, and only a few Men remained. Lithglin divided his time, working also to maintain the Whispering Arc, which he would not allow to fall into oblivion. He and five others, including kinsmen of Cirdan, Elrond and Celebrimbor, were named its Guardians; only he and Nelegorphril, nephew of Cirdan, survive.

For two hundred years, Númenor and Elvendom stood apart, the seemingly inexorable spiral upwards in their alliance broken. This caused much grief to the Ash-Eye. Many and often were his travels to and fro, trying to forge a future for the two kingdoms, but to little avail for twilight grew deep.

In the twelve-hundredth year of the Second Age, when 3226 had passed since Lithglin's wakening, Gil-Galad refused the right of Annatar to enter Lindon, and sent emissaries to warn other Elves of Eregion that a subtle deceiver was among them. Lithglin met Annatar; Ash-Eye was at the court in Harlond when the request for entry was received from Sauron, and the Elves rode out to meet him. As any of the elder Quendi would have, or those who had long tasted the darkness of Melkor, a sourceless dread attended the fair form of the Maiar, and one that they had come to trust. Lithglin was one of those who warned the Elves of Eregion upon his return, as well as Dwarves and Men, that here lay a danger. But too few listened and to great harm.

Before the end of the 13th Century, Annatar, once called Gorthaur, found a home in Eregion. By the dawn of the 16th Century, he worked fine metals into rings of power. The slow sickness had found foothold; the path to Orodruin and the forging of the One Ring began.

12 – Annatar & the War of the Rings

Between the year 1280 of the Second Age and the present, 1696, Tar-Anarion, Tar-Surion and Tar Telperion, the Second Queen, have ruled the Númenoreans. Truly, they have each brought greater wisdom and intimacy to relations between the Firstborn and the Followers than the last, but nothing that has rivalled times past; and though their people and those of Eriador are close in communication, as yet, no help has come to the beleaguered Elves.

But Men have not failed Lithglin utterly, for on one visit to the Adrechim of the Wood, some twenty years ago, he discovered a rare star amidst clouded heavens. The Changelings – now so far down their strange path that the ways of most tools and letters have dwindled in their knowledge – took into their fold a Man-child named Gorrah, which is 'Foundling' in their tongue. Something more than co-incidence, the Elf's coming seemed, for he had not glimpsed the Forest of Adrech for over a century. Though the Adrechim did not see it, and though the Ash-Eye has not told them, he noticed that Gorrah had within his eyes light of the West – in his stature and the flame of his spirit, the Elf saw he was without a doubt, Númenorean. Since then, Lithglin has nurtured imprecise plans for the boy, and has visited the wood an uncharacteristic number of times – twelve occasions in two decades – and for a duration of weeks or more, each time.

During these periods, he has, gently and quietly, guided the growing Man-child, Gorrah. Wise in matters of Men, Lithglin did not push, or enforce, or lay down epic histories – but he did kindle an understanding of the outside world, and its beauty, and he did teach Gorrah his letters and some tongues, though his speech is uncouth and basic. Gorrah bears within him the fire of the Númenoreans, and the adaptability coming with this has kept him from degeneration.

This fire will be needed. For nigh on eighty years after their alliance in S.A. 1500, Annatar and Celebrimbor wrought the Seven and the Nine; though Narya, Nenya and Vilya were afterwards made, so too was the One Ring completed at the end of the 16th Century. Then mastery came to Sauron over the Men and Dwarves of the Nine and the Seven, and their wills he began to corrupt. Though at the moment he first donned the Ring, the Elves knew him, little has this availed.

The Darkness of Mordor has strengthened and spread, and Baradur is now complete; like a fell blade stabbing the purity of the heavens it stands in the East, and thither are most too fearful or wise to tread. The Orc hordes were, until recently, kept at bay, but only because their agenda and preparation was not full-wrought.

But the great war, the War of the Rings, is one which all Elves on Middle Earth have feared since the fall of Morgoth; now it has finally come.

The Whispering Arc stands, and from it, the boldest, the strongest and the wisest have set out, moving through the lands of Middle Earth outside the Elvendom and seeking allies, ears, speakers, and forging them where there were none. The Ash-Eye, at long last returned to the livery of a Walldancer, though he retained his honour, if not position, from Ost-in-Edhil. Until the invasion of Eregion, Lithglin served the Cuturhoss through all of its strains and paths, but now Orcs rampage through Hollin, and their hordes approach the capitol.

Lithglin is no warrior and his place is not on the front lines; he has not marched to war with the Orcs, instead serving, as ever, as a messenger and a crier of rally. It was he that bore the first message back to Ost-in-Edhil that the Uruk armies were coming to Eregion; he has been waylaid and attacked four times, despite his stealth, and has come through. He is not alone.

The Ramrandrim still serve, as scouts for the failing war effort. Few there are who will do this now, no more than twenty, though perhaps two hundred began; for these are dangerous times for the peacemakers and the bridge-builders. Sauron knows the strength that Men and Elves and Dwarves could make, and knows how to prevent this. Over the past four hundred years, one hundred and eighty one Walldancers have been found and killed.

Few Dwarves will talk with Lithglin. Now that they have been given the Seven Rings, the minds of the Dwarf Lords turn to gold and hoard and cavern. One of only four Naugrim who will tlk is Razi Streamtwister, one of the inhabitants of Hadhrodhond, and only then because Lithglin judged him of a worthy lineage. Descended from Razi Deathbane, the Dwarf has agreed to act as a courier of words and, very occasionally, small objects, since their initial meeting in the year 1645 of the Second Age. The Ash-Eyed has not disclosed his knowledge of Razi's ancestry, but has come to find the Naugrim's service reliable, even if he does not trust Razi himself. Razi does not permanently dwell outside Khazad-Dum, however, so Lithglin's capacity to contact the Moria Dwarves is impermanent at best.

In the last four centuries, Lithglin had largely abandoned visits to Atalante, sensing that quiet allies speak for him, there, and that the fullness of the Númenoreans' part against whatever foe stands against them, was not yet come. Now, there is no time to set out, prepare and sail; the days grow thin once more for Elvendom. With belief in this, it is to the lesser Atani that he has turned, though with little result.

A handful of contacts, motivated almost exclusively by the ephemeral boons of wealth or information, have agreed to gather or pass on information. However, outside what remains of Elvish Eriador, Lithglin will not rely on his people amongst the Atani, for he sees them as faithless and crude. On more than one occasion he has been chased, bleeding and bruised, robbed or rankled, from towns or villages of men, after chance made too much of his face visible.

However, in the year 1692 of the Second Age, Lithglin once more met, and drew hope from, Gorrah of the Adrechim, when the boy was only sixteen. The Ash-Eye and two other Walldancers were fleeing through the Wood of Adrech from a band of Orcs who had caught their scent whilst scouting. The young Man attacked the Orcs' ambush and, with the help of the Changelings, overwhelmed them, before leading the two surviving Elves to safety.

Lithglin did not then visit Gorrah until his twentieth birthday, after the invasion of Hollin, to check on his progress; upon leaving, he was sure that both the capacity and the desire now lay in the young Edain. Whatever road he was to embark upon, its first footsteps lay close ahead.

The Ash-Eyed, as he has not since the days of his Thralldom, fears a weight of despair upon him. Visions have come, dark and terrible, that have disturbed his meditation and trances from time to time; with every sinew and synapse, he will strive to fulfil his oath, but more than half of him thinks the task hopeless. Though Men he has known and trusted, much of him is darkened by the seeming truth that they cannot be relied upon and will not maintain the world; and if this is so, and the Elves cannot contain Sauron, then is the Middle Earth as good as ended.

But some glimmer of the Light of the West that still burns within keeps him from hopelessness, and knowing that there still lies before him some path unseen.

Thus, the will of Sauron is not absolute, and much good can the Ash-Eye accomplish on fleet-footed routes through Middle Earth. The land has once more fallen into twilight and the new day seems uncertain, the new sky, tainted with the blood of yesteryear. Elrond's host has set out from Lindon towards Ost-in-Edhil and the weakening Eregion. Much work lies ahead for Lithglin and time grows thin.

And if, until now, his name has been but softly and seldom spoken in the story of Eä, perhaps this is only because it was not yet time…

Appendix A – Traits and Abilities

The Ash-Eye is blind. He can sense nothing visually, but his other faculties have honed to compensate, to a remarkable degree, over the centuries. He is able to blind-fight with two swords, and will always know when there are individuals within ten metres of him, and where they are. He can walk and run without tripping, by intuition. However, he has no skill with missile weapons. He cannot read text from a distance, or recognise symbols, marks, flags, liveries or landmarks. He cannot, during combat, tell an allied Man from a hostile Man, but can sense distinct races; were he fighting against three Orcs, alongside an Elf and a Dwarf, his blows would not fall false. Alongside two men against five men, complications might arise. He can sense the stars and navigate by them even when inside, under shallow ground or during cloudy weather. All visual stimuli are denied to him, though were he to hear an object - say, an axe - clinking on the ground as set down, or to smell a plate of food before him, he would not need to fumble to locate it precisely. His capacity to identify objects from their sounds, smells and touch has been elevated by long, long experience and, though very accurate, is not infallible. He can also read by running his fingers over text, when it is raised or depressed into the material in which it lies, but only with his right hand, for his left was burned and feels little. Lithglin's skill with horses has been honed since his awakening at Cuiviénen. He can express himself to his steeds, simply, and can empathise their emotional state. His familiarity with the physics of riding make him capable of quite astounding feats – should he be called on to undertake them. Most of his life, Lithglin has lived in Middle Earth; not only that, but travelled as wide as any, as a Walldancer and a member of the Whispering Arc. Thus his knowledge of the geography and topography of that land is quite extensive; some areas are known little to him, however, particularly Mordor and the Far North. Whilst recovering from the War of Wrath and all the hurts he had received before, the Ash-Eye came to great skill at healing. This he can do even beyond the normal high skill of the Elves, for this is one way in which he can channel the Light of Valinor that lies in his old spirit, this skill learnt alongside Elrond Half-Elven. Since before the Sun and the Moon rose, Lithglin has been amassing allies and contacts amongst all the species of Middle Earth. With men, this is hard, as they die so soon after birth, but many he knows in the kin of Dwarves, Ents, Eagles and the other Elves; so too is he familiar with many spirits, lesser and greater, that may still lay in that land. A diplomat to all Free Peoples for the greater portion of his life, the Ash-Eye can call on a great number and depth of languages and is well practised at the art of persuasion. In Naugrim, Atani, Ent, Eagle, Sindarin, Quenya and even Orcish, he enjoys fluency. Though his calling to song, poem and tale is not as strong as with many of his people, his words and music are borne with a light normal for his age, and these too he has called into his service. They can inspire or instil fear, and do much else besides. Of all instruments, his greatest skill is with the flute; he will, however, only play that one given to him by Valtinwë. For long ages has the Ash-Eye striven with dark foes, and well has he come to know their taint, from tale and taste alike. Though dim, his spirit gleams white, and highlights the shadows falling on the land in a sense for evil, which may rouse or alert him at critical times. As with other Elven folk, he is dextrous and immune to sicknesses of the body; his frame has taken much wear in his time, and his spirit has lost potency, but none of its nature. Lithglin is bound by his Oath, though to this day, he knows not to whom this was made. As with all sworn truths by the Elves, death would come before the failure to execute this. Through long ages of experience, there are few peoples, places and objects with which the Ash-Eye has lacked a passing contact, or more. Thus he has some skill in identifying much of what he finds, without the use of texts or other knowledge.

Appendix B – Equipment and Appearance

Lithglin's height and build are little outside the normal range for his folk, standing as he does at 6'3", and at perhaps 140 lbs. His skin radiates faintly with the light of Valinor, and the strength of the spirit that once burned within him. But whereas most Elves' skins reflect more light than touch them, as with an inner sun, Lithglin's reflections are dimmer, colder, like the pale of the moon, or distant and lonely stars. He stands often almost imperceptibly slouched, for in his ages, his back has borne much weight, and so has his soul. His frame is that of a messenger and traveller, light and slim, lacking the strong form of a great warrior; this was not his calling. Blond hair, slightly grey-bleached by hundreds of thousands of arcs by the son, cascades softly onto his shoulders, framing his visage.

His eyes are striking, though often invisible for the cowl of his cloak. They are charcoal-ash grey, all over, without a break for pupil or iris. No light reflects on them, not fire or moon or sun, but one looking into them may be caught in the indeterminable depth of that gaze.

A scar runs down the right side of his face, from the upper cheekbone, sharp in definition, down to (and once, through the edge of) the edged jawbone. Though hidden by apparel, this continues just below his neck, and runs down to his midriff. The Elves heal well, but he was weak when this was caused; still, it is all but invisible save in daylight.

He wears atop all a grey cloak, woven by the Noldor for him, with a voluminous cowl, which can keep all his features in shadow. When drawn over him, it distracts searching and hostile eyes; he sleeps in it, and due to its making, has often escaped detection and death. His overshirt and leggings are a light blue, and on the chest bear the sigil of the Walldancers – the Ramrandrim – three stars placed low above a dark horizon. The design is old, and faded. The hems and highlights of the material are sapphire blue.

Around his left arm is a band of mithril, engraved with the writing of Cirdan, the mark of the Whispering Arc; it is called a Band of the Tirithor Cuturhoss. He also wears gloves, mainly to disguise the burning to his left hand and arm, though these must be removed if he is to 'read'. Beneath his overshirt lies a well-made, thin but hardened, studded leather jerkin, and he walks in the soft boots common to his people.

Two Elvish long-swords hang in sapphire encrusted scabbards at his waist, usually concealed by his cloak. Though they are not magical, their craft is magnificent, and they have never failed him, at such rare times as he has called on them. Forged by the Noldor in Valinor, their names are Laegereg (Sharpthorn) and Lancavorn (Swiftedge).

In a napsack, which can be slung as a backpack, he bears Letters of Marque from Cirdan the Shipwright, Gil-Galad and the Throne of Númenor; though of little value outside Elvendom, they are useful for proof of his name, and of his quality.

So too does he carry lembas, inks and scrolls for the making of maps, and a thin dagger along the inside of his right ankle. In addition, he bears most of the basic necessities for his skills in healing, though the storage of these items is delicate. So too does he bear one of the Horns of the Ramrandrim; it can blow in soft and subtle tones, barely audible above the winds, or harsh and sharp and resonant as a storm.

Finally, he carries in his napsack the flute given to him by his wife when first they met, nigh on four thousand years ago.

As is typical of the Walldancers, Lithglin has a steed to bear him, named Rochalahgos – Stormsteed in the Common Tongue – with whom he has ridden for six years.