My Dear Cousin Findarato,
I hope this letter finds you well.
I am writing to inquire about a rumor your brothers started. Actually, to be more specific, it was Angarato, and he was not entirely sober at the time. It is horrifying to discover that Morgoth could easily obtain our secret plans if he simply plied my cousin with Dorthonion wine. Anyways, he informed me of your intent to build a realm in the south with your capital in a cave off the Narog River.
Are you seriously building your fortress in a cave? Or did I misinterpret your brother's slurred conversation?
When we played games as children, you refused to hide in your mother's wardrobe because you were frightened of the dark. Do not deny it, I remember what I saw. When Arien first rose in the sky, you nearly blinded yourself by staring at it too long. You are a child of the light, and I cannot picture you as "Findarato, Lord of the Caves!" I will assume your unnatural behavior is due to Sindarin brainwashing.
I am also writing because I have decided to answer your question. I will refresh your memory in case you have forgotten which question. After I returned from Angband with Maitimo, you asked me how I was able to travel through Morgoth's dark lands without despairing.
The trauma of that quest was too close when you asked me, and I could not talk about it then. I am able to answer you now, however.
You were wrong. I did despair. Morgoth's realm is indeed hell. Not a single seedling remains unwithered, there is not a drop of water that is not poisoned. The wind carries the sound of tortured screams from captives and thralls. The air is heavy with smoke and the smell of death.
But it is the darkness which is worst. Unlike the clear, empty darkness which fell after the Trees died, this darkness is tangible. It is oppressive. It strangles the memory of light, hope, and joy. And so yes, cousin, I did despair. I almost fell victim to the madness which permeated my spirit.
How did I overcome this? I will tell you, but I doubt you will believe me. Do you remember when Makalaure taught us to play the harp? During one of his lessons, he explained that music had its own power. He told us that one could accomplish things with music. Music was light and magic, a more useful tool than a bow, a lamp, or a smith's hammer. We did not understand, and we certainly did not believe him, and so we laughed.
But when I was wandering through the Thangorodrim, losing the battle for my sanity, I remembered Makalaure's lesson. I have no idea why I recalled my childhood music lessons, out of all the knowledge I gained throughout my life. I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my harp, and I played a song. The power of the music called out to my cousin and restored my spirit. I regained my hope and my courage. Music helped me accomplish my task, just as Makalaure said.
I hope this answer is satisfying.
I wish you well with your endeavors, even though I doubt your sincerity and your sanity.
As the Sindar say, may the stars shine upon your path.
Your cousin,
Findekano
Elven music throughout Tolkien's work intrigues me. Perhaps Finrod was inspired by his cousin during his musical duel with Sauron.