I tried writing more Mornel-verse and crack in an Angband or an Oath-rabid Feanorion setting… but it is not happening. So here is an attempt at crack taken seriously. This is a standalone that may be read without reading any of my earlier crack fics.

Prologue

I am embarking on writing my memoirs, partly as a means to cope with the mind-numbing boredom of sailing among the stars. Yes, it sounds novel at first, but try doing the same route over two millennia. Not much for company up here, apart from Tilion and Arien. Actually, Lady Arien hardly bothers with the rest of us. It is probably for the best as the last time Tilion tried to pay her a courtesy call, the Last Fruit of Laurelin set the Last Flower of Telperion aflame. I do not wish to wager Vingilot on getting her to Lord Aule's before we end up in Lord Ulmo's realm, or worse - Lord Namo's. Tilion has probably exhausted any conversation topics he has left. The last time I checked, he was trying to weave moonbeams into a net to catch stars. Perhaps he is going a bit loony for a Maia.

Also, it is a probably hopeless attempt to set the record straight for posterity about certain things. I am (well, was) mortal and prone to missteps as the next man, dwarf, or elf. We are nowhere as infallible or heroic as those pesky balladeers suggest. I swear if I hear that Hobbit song about me one more time, I might just steer my vessel into the Void to get away from it, Morgoth or not.

My dearest wife Elwing has kindly agreed to edit the manuscript with the help of our newly-arrived son, Elrond (that is if we can persuade him to leave his own wife to spend time with his mother). Elwing's tower is a good distance from Tol Eressea where Elrond has set up his household which unfortunately includes his father by adoption. Not sure how Maglor Feanorion managed to give the Valar and Lord Cirdan the slip to take ship. Perhaps Lord Ulmo had enough of his caterwauling by the shore. There was also something about decent folk being struck down with fits of black despair thanks to his singing and jumping off cliffs. Doubt he is anywhere near sane now, but it is hard to tell with the House of Feanor.

Having him about makes Elrond happy. Elrond gets to sate his need to play nursemaid with his foster-father. I for one will not tolerate so much fussing and mother-henning. In Valinor, no one is going to lose a limb or catch a plague, so Elwing believes our poor boy is being bored out of his mind. I suppose everyone in Tirion has heard about the rolling bandage races by now. And that scandal involving that overly-pious Vanyar couple and Elrond setting them straight in a very direct manner on how elflings come about. My companion Tilion did not get that one. Somehow, he still believes children come from thoughts. Or is that a Maia thing again? Back to Maglor – so long as he is quietly ensconced in Elrond's House and not infecting anyone with his despair, I guess the Valar and everyone are fine with it.

I dedicate my memories to my darling long-suffering wife Elwing Dioriel for having to put up with my long work hours, constant absences, and overall sorry wreck of a marriage thanks to our shared stubborn pride. I really hope we can work things out before the foretold Dagor Dagorath.

- Earendil Tuorion

Author's Notes:

Just a short little prologue to start things off.