Blog #3 - Life As I Know It

Based off Chapters 16-22

I write these words in a time when grief and glory are mingled together, and it is hard to tell which weighs heavier upon my heart. So much has unfolded in the lands, and though I once gazed upon the light of the Two Trees in Aman, now I dwell beneath a sky ever darkened by the will of Morgoth. At times, this tale feels too vast to grasp… so many battles, betrayals, and deaths, yet I cannot help but return in thought to my own part within it.

The Doom of Mandos lingers over all of us who dared to forsake the Blessed Realm. I can still recall His words on the shores of Araman, echoing in my memory like the toll of a bell. Indeed, those tears have fallen, and the count of them grows ever greater. When first I heard that pronouncement, I felt defiant. Surely the might of the Noldor, trained in the wisdom of Valinor and armed with the fire of Fëanor’s oath, could overcome any doom. But now, after years of war and ruin, I perceive the truth more clearly: it was not a curse only, but a warning born of pity. And still, despite my fears, I cannot turn away.

My greatest fear is not of death. What I fear most is that all our striving will come to nothing, that our long struggle will end with the dominion of darkness unchallenged, and our deeds will be forgotten like dust scattered by the wind. So many of my kind have already fallen. Fingolfin, noble High King, rode alone to the gates of Angband, and there he challenged Morgoth himself. Even now, when I close my eyes, I see the vision of him, proud and resolute, striking seven wounds upon the Dark Enemy before he was laid low. His sacrifice was not in vain, for it showed us all that Morgoth, though mighty, is not beyond hurt. Yet the price of that knowledge was the loss of our king. His courage steels my resolve, but it also reminds me how narrow the line is between hope and despair.

And yet, though the doom presses heavily upon me, I also feel a strange confidence. I have walked beneath the light of the Two Trees, I have heard the songs of the Vanyar, seen the shipyards of the Teleri, and studied in the halls of Tirion. That light remains in me, though I am far from Aman, and it cannot be wholly quenched by shadow. When Morgoth’s darkness grows strongest, I remember that I carry within me a fragment of the radiance of Valinor. It may be small, but it is enough to endure.

Do I feel hopeless? At times, yes. When word reaches me of fallen comrades or the ruin of once-fair lands, hope flickers like a candle battered by the storm. There are moments when I wonder if all our choices, our pride, our exile, our oaths, have led only to endless sorrow. But even then, I remember that despair itself is Morgoth’s greatest weapon. He would have us yield before the battle is lost. I cannot give him that victory.

What comes next for me? Likely more hardship, perhaps even death. I do not deceive myself with dreams of sudden triumph. Yet I believe that our resistance matters. If nothing else, our songs will endure, and the memory of our defiance will live on. Perhaps the Valar will, in time, hear of our suffering and pity us. Or perhaps it will be left to those who come after us, to finish what we began.

Still, I take pride in this: though banished, though cursed, though surrounded by darkness, I have not bowed to Morgoth. We are the Tareldar, the High Elves who beheld the light of Aman, and though that light is now a memory, it yet shines within us. That memory guides my steps, and it will continue to do so until the end, whatever end awaits me.