Chapter 6: The Passing of the Wood-Elves
The age of the Quendi (all kindred's of Elves; such we call ourselves) has passed. The age of Man has begun. And all Elfkind know in their hearts that we shall dwindle and fade into shadow and legend should we remain in the World. To hide from mortal eyes, flitting from shade to shadow to illusion, is a poor life indeed. Renewed is the call to go into the West, and only a fool would not heed this final summoning of the Valar.
Already the last great migration has begun. I see it as I watch my people leave beautiful Greenwood the Great, for such was Mirkwood called before the Enemy arrived. My people are taking the long, slow journey to the grey ships moored in Lord Cirdan's crumbling harbor in the North. Some few of us have relocated South to Ithilin for awhile to bless the woods there. But eventually we will also seek harbor to build the ships for our true home. Then we shall pass into tales.
We are already loosing our connection to this place. We travel single file through the dappled forests, cool glades and golden meadows, clinging to twilight and starlight and misty days. Mortals usually cannot see us now unless they are unusually perceptive. We have lost our desire for Middle Earth, and the land is forgetting us as well. Only when Elbereth's blessed lights illumine our paths and Manwe's soft airs stir our voices can mortals perceive my brothers and sisters as we pass through their lands.
I accompany many of my kin as we travel to the Great Sea. Only when we pass near to the Shire do I sometimes feel drawn back into this Age long enough to visit with my friends there. Master Samwise Gamgee unfailingly comes to the place he calls the Woody End each autumn, whether we pass that way or not. He comes to salute the travelers on our journeys. His loyalty and steadfastness is unique, and he has earned the titled "Elf-friend" on his own.
Sometimes he brings a daughter or a son with him. His younger children are afraid of us and cling to the protection of his sturdy hobbit legs. Save for his eldest. She is as clear-eyed as he, and as unafraid. But such is the sundering of the Children of Iluvitar. A great evil engineered by Morgoth the Deceiver, and only now being laid to rest by the passing of the elves.
I believe Elanor Gardener will be the last mortal in Middle Earth to see the elves. Someday I too shall take a tall grey ship and pass beyond the Seas. I can no more deny my longing for the music of Osse than any of my brethren. But I shall not go alone. And I hope to visit with the Ringbearer once again.
The age of the Quendi (all kindred's of Elves; such we call ourselves) has passed. The age of Man has begun. And all Elfkind know in their hearts that we shall dwindle and fade into shadow and legend should we remain in the World. To hide from mortal eyes, flitting from shade to shadow to illusion, is a poor life indeed. Renewed is the call to go into the West, and only a fool would not heed this final summoning of the Valar.
Already the last great migration has begun. I see it as I watch my people leave beautiful Greenwood the Great, for such was Mirkwood called before the Enemy arrived. My people are taking the long, slow journey to the grey ships moored in Lord Cirdan's crumbling harbor in the North. Some few of us have relocated South to Ithilin for awhile to bless the woods there. But eventually we will also seek harbor to build the ships for our true home. Then we shall pass into tales.
We are already loosing our connection to this place. We travel single file through the dappled forests, cool glades and golden meadows, clinging to twilight and starlight and misty days. Mortals usually cannot see us now unless they are unusually perceptive. We have lost our desire for Middle Earth, and the land is forgetting us as well. Only when Elbereth's blessed lights illumine our paths and Manwe's soft airs stir our voices can mortals perceive my brothers and sisters as we pass through their lands.
I accompany many of my kin as we travel to the Great Sea. Only when we pass near to the Shire do I sometimes feel drawn back into this Age long enough to visit with my friends there. Master Samwise Gamgee unfailingly comes to the place he calls the Woody End each autumn, whether we pass that way or not. He comes to salute the travelers on our journeys. His loyalty and steadfastness is unique, and he has earned the titled "Elf-friend" on his own.
Sometimes he brings a daughter or a son with him. His younger children are afraid of us and cling to the protection of his sturdy hobbit legs. Save for his eldest. She is as clear-eyed as he, and as unafraid. But such is the sundering of the Children of Iluvitar. A great evil engineered by Morgoth the Deceiver, and only now being laid to rest by the passing of the elves.
I believe Elanor Gardener will be the last mortal in Middle Earth to see the elves. Someday I too shall take a tall grey ship and pass beyond the Seas. I can no more deny my longing for the music of Osse than any of my brethren. But I shall not go alone. And I hope to visit with the Ringbearer once again.