[…] But there was in Thranduil's heart a still deeper shadow. He had seen the horror of Mordor and could not forget it. If ever he looked south its memory dimmed the light of the Sun, and though he knew that it was now broken and deserted and under the vigilance of the Kings of Men, fear spoke in his heart that it was not conquered for ever: it would arise again.
(J.R.R. Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, p. 336)
There are many among the Eldar who believe that the Valar have long forsaken us, not wishing to interfere in the matters of Arda anymore. My father, however, was of the few who considered such notion nonsense. He often told me, time and time again, that the Valar talk to us constantly. That one could hear the Lord of the Waters speak if they listened to the murmurs of the river, understand Manwë's bidding by looking up at his very servants, the birds; or savour Elbereth's love for all living things whenever they gazed upon her creations, the stars. All one had to do was open their mind and heart, and they would indeed understand.
That was what I had trained myself to do as well, under my father's guidance. And what was revealed to me, on the day I came of age no less, was of such unspeakable beauty that I allowed myself to become part of it - much like my father had.
But then I grew up to realise that there are other whispers as well. Seductive words offering knowledge and power when, in reality, they lure anyone unfortunate - or, I should say, foolish - to ruin. I witnessed their subtle work long ago. I saw elven-lords give chase to material things and watched men become greedy, all of them seeking more and more and even backstab one another to have it all Yet I believed, in the innocence of my young age, that those deeds of the past were merely that: deeds of the past, remembered so that they should not be repeated in the future.
But then, a man's claim to the One Ring, wishing it as an 'heirloom', proved me false again. Worse, it made our war for freedom pointless and my father's – and so many others' - death meaningless. For through the One Ring, Sauron himself survived; he always would as long as the foul thing existed. Though there were people amongst us wise enough to foresee that, none gave heed to our fears and sense of foreboding. Everyone preferred to celebrate the Evil One's defeat, believing that peace would be everlasting.
How I wish we were wrong and they on the right; but now it seems our fears have become true once more. Even without the power of a Great Ring, I can sense malice stirring, becoming stronger every day that goes by and coming closer into the haven which I had hoped would protect my people. Dark Arts have made the river dangerous, Arien has stopped casting her magnificent warmth and light into these parts of the world, and the kind animals have fled to be replaced with loathsome creatures, filled with the malignancy of their master. And then, the first elves fell, leaving us with nothing else to do but mourn them… my own wife amongst them.
Even now, everyone within the realm turns to me to guide them and help them, just as they did when the king before me, my father, was lost. Little do they understand that patrols can only do that much, no matter how many I send out. And that only makes me come to terms with the truth that I had been unwilling to face for so long: that my people will have to fight against Sauron's evil again.
Where lies the problem is: will I have the strength to fight it this time?
