The time has come. We are leaving. The time of the elves is over.
I am in my room in Rivendell, in the house of Elrond. I sit on my bed which is draped with a crushed blue velvet cloth. I think about the times that have passed.
In the many years I have lived, I have seen much turmoil, as almost all elves do. I have seen great civilizations which once were a burning flame, die out and become a mere smoldering cinder. The dwarves have dug too deep into the dark caverns of the earth. Men have become weak and too easily tempted by the evil. The great power of the wizards have faltered, and died away. The Ents have become dormant; they are taking root and sleeping forever. And at last, the elves, once the most powerful beings, have become all but a memory to most. Our time to go has come; our time to fade into the West is here. We are leaving.
Before this time, I lived in Rivendell, in the house of Master Elrond. All my years I have gazed upon the tumultuous falls of Rivendell. Yet with evil growing, hope dieing, and the power of the elves diminishing, we are leaving this place. Elves from all of Middle Earth are now leaving; from the forests of Mirkwood, to the deep depths of the woods of Lothelorien, we are all fleeing to Valinor. There we shall find our reprieve.
I think back to the days before the shadow was near. Before a great evil filled my heart.
My father died in the Great Battle, over 2000 years ago, on the slopes of Mount Doom.
I shut my eyes, trying to rid the thought of his body trapped within the dead marshes outside of Mordor. I then remember another painful memory.
My mother died of grief soon after. Alone, I stayed in Rivendell. I knew no other place, and I had lodging at the house of Elrond. I spent the years alone, never finding love as some elves do. I instead devoted myself into reading the scrolls of the peoples before even my time. I learned the languages of the past and present. I learned to speak the common tongue fluently. I would spend a lot of my time walking around the outskirts of Rivendell as well. I would spend hours on a small bridge, staring into the stream that flowed beneath it. It was one day, while I was on the bridge staring into the watery depths, that I noticed one brown dead leaf floating along the stream. Little did I know that this autumn of Rivendell would foreshadow the fate of the elves. It seemed that nature knew the time of the elves was over.
As the months became years, the formerly lush, green, thriving with life Rivendell turned into a dieing grove. The trees shed their brown and yellow leaves. The waters became a brutal cold. Winds scattered the dead leaves across the halls and into the rivers.
Even in this time of gloom though, I remember a few travelers that changed all. I sit up from my bed, and begin pacing. I know I must ready, yet I can not bring my heart to think such thoughts. To leave Rivendell forever seems heart-wrenching. I look at my table in the corner. I begin to think again. This time about the hafling that changed all.
It was an ordinary day when Frodo son of Drogo was carried into Rivendell by Asfaloth. After him, his halfling friends followed, along with Aragorn, along with the Grey Pilgrim. With them, the greatest evil of all came with. I caught glimpses of the group; I would see Aragorn sitting quietly by himself, a few Halflings talking and wandering about, or the Grey Wizard discussing matters of what must have been great concern with Master Elrond. For their departure, I stood behind the Lady Arwen for I wished to see who exactly would be traveling with this great evil. I noticed that three more had joined the group; an elf from Mirkwood, a dwarf, and a man. I watched them leave from Rivendell.
They left for their perilous quest as I stayed to experience my own sort of peril. It is the peril of all the elves now. I stand in the open air door which looks out upon a river. I must ready for the journey. Today is the day we are leaving Rivendell. We leave for Valinor tonight. I see many an elf already leaving; their lanterns bob in the darkness giving an eerie glow.
I must stop thinking of the past I mumble to myself and I ready myself. Over my dress, I dawn my traveling cloak. It is a pale purple and leaves only my hands and part of my face visible. I hold up my leaf-coil necklace. It is the only thing I have left of my mother. I put the beautiful piece around my neck, and attach the clasp. I brush some hair from my face, and feel the great pain in my heart.
I pick up a glass lantern and extend my arm. The light is a transparent yellow. I wander through the halls until I reach the stables. I place my light on a small trunk outside and blow out the small flame. I croon to my horse, Ithil, who nickers softly. I rub the grey gelding's nose gently. I call to him, and gently swing on. I ride as most elves do: without bridle nor saddle. I walk out to join the long procession of elves leaving Rivendell. Many travel on foot, holding their lanterns out. Their faces seem ghostly in the pale light. Yet aren't the elves ghosts now? Only memories of what was once grand and golden. Ghosts are what we have become.
Ithil senses that we are leaving. He gives a soft neigh which seems to echo in the almost silent valley. I look back at what was my home. I see the grand arches or the House which have sheltered me one last time. I hear the waters falling one last time. I see the golden leaves fall and be blown across the ground one last time. I look at Rivendell for one last time.
Under my breath as I gaze, I softly say to the elven haven, Námarië.
I am in my room in Rivendell, in the house of Elrond. I sit on my bed which is draped with a crushed blue velvet cloth. I think about the times that have passed.
In the many years I have lived, I have seen much turmoil, as almost all elves do. I have seen great civilizations which once were a burning flame, die out and become a mere smoldering cinder. The dwarves have dug too deep into the dark caverns of the earth. Men have become weak and too easily tempted by the evil. The great power of the wizards have faltered, and died away. The Ents have become dormant; they are taking root and sleeping forever. And at last, the elves, once the most powerful beings, have become all but a memory to most. Our time to go has come; our time to fade into the West is here. We are leaving.
Before this time, I lived in Rivendell, in the house of Master Elrond. All my years I have gazed upon the tumultuous falls of Rivendell. Yet with evil growing, hope dieing, and the power of the elves diminishing, we are leaving this place. Elves from all of Middle Earth are now leaving; from the forests of Mirkwood, to the deep depths of the woods of Lothelorien, we are all fleeing to Valinor. There we shall find our reprieve.
I think back to the days before the shadow was near. Before a great evil filled my heart.
My father died in the Great Battle, over 2000 years ago, on the slopes of Mount Doom.
I shut my eyes, trying to rid the thought of his body trapped within the dead marshes outside of Mordor. I then remember another painful memory.
My mother died of grief soon after. Alone, I stayed in Rivendell. I knew no other place, and I had lodging at the house of Elrond. I spent the years alone, never finding love as some elves do. I instead devoted myself into reading the scrolls of the peoples before even my time. I learned the languages of the past and present. I learned to speak the common tongue fluently. I would spend a lot of my time walking around the outskirts of Rivendell as well. I would spend hours on a small bridge, staring into the stream that flowed beneath it. It was one day, while I was on the bridge staring into the watery depths, that I noticed one brown dead leaf floating along the stream. Little did I know that this autumn of Rivendell would foreshadow the fate of the elves. It seemed that nature knew the time of the elves was over.
As the months became years, the formerly lush, green, thriving with life Rivendell turned into a dieing grove. The trees shed their brown and yellow leaves. The waters became a brutal cold. Winds scattered the dead leaves across the halls and into the rivers.
Even in this time of gloom though, I remember a few travelers that changed all. I sit up from my bed, and begin pacing. I know I must ready, yet I can not bring my heart to think such thoughts. To leave Rivendell forever seems heart-wrenching. I look at my table in the corner. I begin to think again. This time about the hafling that changed all.
It was an ordinary day when Frodo son of Drogo was carried into Rivendell by Asfaloth. After him, his halfling friends followed, along with Aragorn, along with the Grey Pilgrim. With them, the greatest evil of all came with. I caught glimpses of the group; I would see Aragorn sitting quietly by himself, a few Halflings talking and wandering about, or the Grey Wizard discussing matters of what must have been great concern with Master Elrond. For their departure, I stood behind the Lady Arwen for I wished to see who exactly would be traveling with this great evil. I noticed that three more had joined the group; an elf from Mirkwood, a dwarf, and a man. I watched them leave from Rivendell.
They left for their perilous quest as I stayed to experience my own sort of peril. It is the peril of all the elves now. I stand in the open air door which looks out upon a river. I must ready for the journey. Today is the day we are leaving Rivendell. We leave for Valinor tonight. I see many an elf already leaving; their lanterns bob in the darkness giving an eerie glow.
I must stop thinking of the past I mumble to myself and I ready myself. Over my dress, I dawn my traveling cloak. It is a pale purple and leaves only my hands and part of my face visible. I hold up my leaf-coil necklace. It is the only thing I have left of my mother. I put the beautiful piece around my neck, and attach the clasp. I brush some hair from my face, and feel the great pain in my heart.
I pick up a glass lantern and extend my arm. The light is a transparent yellow. I wander through the halls until I reach the stables. I place my light on a small trunk outside and blow out the small flame. I croon to my horse, Ithil, who nickers softly. I rub the grey gelding's nose gently. I call to him, and gently swing on. I ride as most elves do: without bridle nor saddle. I walk out to join the long procession of elves leaving Rivendell. Many travel on foot, holding their lanterns out. Their faces seem ghostly in the pale light. Yet aren't the elves ghosts now? Only memories of what was once grand and golden. Ghosts are what we have become.
Ithil senses that we are leaving. He gives a soft neigh which seems to echo in the almost silent valley. I look back at what was my home. I see the grand arches or the House which have sheltered me one last time. I hear the waters falling one last time. I see the golden leaves fall and be blown across the ground one last time. I look at Rivendell for one last time.
Under my breath as I gaze, I softly say to the elven haven, Námarië.