Broken Thoughts

This place somehow feels old and new at the same time; a fact that both puzzles and delights me. The tall silver trees with their golden leaves are beautiful, never before have I seen their like upon this earth. As I lie upon the soft green grass threaded through with delicate purple flowers, the winter sun shines through the golden canopy above, bathing me in light and warmth. Sleep will take me again soon and perhaps this time I will find rest. I am reluctant to sleep, although I have never been this exhausted before. My companions have left me here as they needed to fetch supplies from the market. I was happy for them to go; perhaps they might find something there to cure their sorrows. It is still strange to me to see such sadness upon their faces, although they try to hide it behind false smiles and laughter. What is the cause of their melancholy? I must ask them, but first I must sleep. My eyelids grow heavier, the sound of the stream the last thing I hear as sleep takes me.

We hear the sea lapping against the shore before the Haven comes into view, hidden as it is between the Sirion, the cliffs and the sea. I look around at my companions as we march; all are dressed in heavy armour that clacks and clinks as they move with grim purpose. There is no joy on any of the faces that I survey, only an ugly mixture of sorrow and anger. No songs have been sung upon the march, and few words spoken. It pains me to march with strangers such as these, but what choice do I have? Maglor is a worthy Lord, but he does not have the inner-fire that Caranthir possessed, and that is reflected in his soldiers. We all know that it should never have come to this, but their stubbornness and greed had forced us to march against our own kin once again. Under my breath I cursed again that they would force us into this position; that they would not give up the Silmaril willingly to its rightful owners.

I do not want to see more, I know what terrible things happened that night. My mind turns away from the truth of things, desperate for a way to escape. I see...

We stand facing an army, and there is little hope within our hearts. They come at us across the green fields of our homes, clashing swords against shields, and beating great drums of war and malice. We are outnumbered, that is clear, but we will make them pay dearly for every step they take. Our archers have already taken position, rows of spears and swords at their backs ready to charge forward once the range becomes too close for arrows. Our courage holds as they draw nearer; thousands of orcs, misshapen trolls, and wicked men. Our courage holds, until we see the banner. Gasps of horror and the sound of weeping fill the air as we see it; a roughly hewn cross of dark wood, a ruined body nailed and strapped to it to make an obscene banner. It is our Lord Celebrimbor, still recognisable despite the terrible condition of the body…

 A warmth flows from my hand, up my wrist, and slowly throughout my entire body. This is not real I suddenly realise. This is not my memory, and I am thankful for the moment of clarity. I remember who I am, and struggle to force my fractured mind to focus. Anger and pride flow through me, and I use them as tools to claw my way back to conscious thought. None of this is real! None of this....

Tears are falling freely from my eyes, whether from the smoke or sorrow I no longer know. I am covered in blood, and it is not my own. This night has brought nothing but madness and awful grief. I stand before a small house, the roof burning, the acrid smoke mingling with the pall of smoke from a hundred other fires. The Haven is in ruins, the last shelter in Beleriand destroyed by our own hands. The occupants of the small house lie at my feet, and my heart nearly breaks as I look down at them. The smallest of them could have run, could have hidden. Instead he had tried to protect his mother using nothing but a small wooden training sword. I do not know why, but I picked it up from the floor, wondering if he would have grown into a warrior had he not stood against me…

My grip loosens as sorrow fills me, and I find myself slipping back into oblivion, but still I cling on. What we did was terrible, but we did not choose that path! It was forced upon us by the pride of Elwing and Eärendil, and their refusal to surrender that which did not belong to them. My grip on reality strengthened and…

“And so I led the charge across Anfauglith, and for a time it was glorious my Lord. We slew many orcs, and took revenge for what they had done to us. But… there were too many, and I led those who would follow too fast. We were surrounded, and eventually only Forodhir and I remained.”

Caranthir stared at me in disbelief, and then anger started to creep over his features as he comprehended the extent of my failure. “You have failed me, you have failed your father! What were you thinking following the foolish charge of the usurper King? Why did you not return at once to Thargelion, to your own people? You abandoned us! You dishonoured us!”

I stood and said nothing, knowing that every word he spoke was true.

My heart ached at the memory of the harsh words, and I felt myself falling backwards into darkness again. But there was still hope! I would not fade, I was not that weak! I…

“He spoke of how power can be trapped and magnified in such rings, if one has the skill and knowledge to attempt such a thing. Such wisdom and compassion to teach us this!” I realised suddenly that it was I who had spoken, and to an Elf I did not recognise, but who seemed to know me. “There is much that we owe to Annatar, although he will not accept any gifts to repay him for his generosity. He told us, that as the giver of gifts, he cannot accept anything that we can offer! He wishes only to teach us, to guide us to greatness. Celebrimbor will lead us all into a new golden age with Annatar at his side, you wait and see!”

Again, I feel a strange warmth from my hand, and I see a red fire there, but I am unafraid. It is a healing fire, and once again I find myself. I am seeing memories that are not mine, and I need not fear them. I have no love for Annatar, Sauron the accursed. He will fall before the swords and spears of the Noldor, as he did long ago…

I stood watching in disbelief as they carried the body of the King past us. Some wept, others tried to touch him as he passed by us. The last High King of the Noldor, carried in honour from his great victory. No men dared to interfere in our grief; for surely they had enough of their own that day as well. All hope died inside of us, who now would lead us? Would we simply drift in the wild, until sorrow and exhaustion claimed us from the waking world?

Was that what happened now, I thought. Has hope left me completely? Will I never wake again, unless it is to the endless cold of Mandos? It is the fate that I fear the most, to be trapped…

They were trapped like rats in the maze of Menegroth, and we cut them down, despite their pleas and cries. I grinned along with the others as we ended their lives, but there was no joy in the actions. My companions would see me as weak, as disloyal if I betrayed the doubt in my heart. And so I killed, and killed again. Caranthir had commanded this, and so I would see it done. But would I ever escape the looks in their eyes? Pain, fear, hate, sorrow, pity. Why did they pity me, it was they who fell that day. Fallen due to the madness of Dior. How I hate him…

Hate? Is that all I have left? Is that what has kept me bound to life? Hate, and fear of death. No wonder there was pity in those dead eyes…

Danel and Belegos look at me with wry amusement written upon their faces as I tell the tale again of Parnard in the tunnels of the goblin king. “He looked almost relieved when we returned! I cannot imagine that Nirhen and Daegond were friendly company for him in the dark!” I laughed with them and drank the fine wine of Sogadan with contentment.

They turned against you, they spread lies. But have they not helped you ever since you have fallen into this madness? I have seen their faces through the fog that clouds my mind, kind faces with worry and sadness etched upon them. Parnard too, he has watched over me in the darkness. How can he forgive me after all that I have done? I must return to them, do they not need me? I will pull myself from this pit of despair and madness, no memory can stop me. Nothing can, nothi…

I think everyone was weeping as they marched, and there were tears falling down my face as I looked around. How could we have failed, so terribly? The leaguer was broken, our forces were destroyed. All hope of victory was lost, and we were forced to flee for our very lives. The Valar had forsaken us, the world had grown darker. Nírnaeth Arnoediad. Will any ever sing of it? Can any song or tale contain all of the sorrows? I do not think it possible. I am covered in blood and a hundred cuts and bruises. Lord Caranthir marches next to me, and I have never seen him look so… deflated. So pitiable. His trust in Men was proven to be folly, and to be the undoing of all that we had worked for. I saw the blue and white banner above the field that day, and I felt joy in my heart. How could this have happened?

The defeat almost destroyed us. Perhaps our spirits were broken that day. What else could explain the madness of our actions in the years that followed? What hope is there for the world to escape the darkness? Fëanor and his sons have passed into the West, never to return. The line of Finwë has ended, and we are left naked against the power that grows in the East. All will be ashes and dust… I feel my grip loosen, the warmth from the fire in my hand fading. I begin to fall, and all of my fear falls away from me. Perhaps this is best. I smell the sea, and hear the sound of singing so beautiful I cannot believe it to be real. The wind rushes over my face, and then I…

“Estarfin, Estarfin.” Belegos kneels next to me, shaking my arm and calling my name. I try to speak, to tell him of all that I have seen. But what was it? The sea? No, that was not it.

“I have missed the passage of the stars again?” I ask in a hoarse voice, looking up at the bright morning sun. “That is a shame; the stars are so beautiful here.” I give a weak smile and sit up slowly. Everything is so beautiful here, and I know that I will stay here in peace and happiness until the end of my days.

“Did you rest well Lord?” asks a familiar voice. I look up in delight to see Parnard standing behind Belegos.

“I must not have rested long, for I am as tired as the moment that I closed my eyes. I dreamed, I think. Or perhaps not, the morning sun robs us of nights memories does it not?” I smile and hold my arms up. Parnard steps forward and takes one with a firm yet gentle grip. Belegos looks a little surprised at the movement, but after a moment takes my other arm and helps me unsteadily to my feet.

“Perhaps a little food this morning will help you to remember last night’s thoughts my Lord?” asked Parnard, trying to hide the concern in his voice. How can I tell him? I have tried to eat, I try every time that I am alone with no-one watching over me. Everything that I have tried tastes of blood, or of ash, or of bone. I cannot eat such things, no matter how much I want to. I hate to see that look upon his face when I lie to him.

“Not now Parnard, it is a little early. I ate enough last night to last me for a while.” I smile weakly as I lie, but I know he sees through me. I cannot bear it, and so I look to Belegos instead. The sudden movement of my head leaves me dizzy and I almost lose my balance, grabbing onto Belegos to stop from falling. “Perhaps a little too much wine last night!” I try a little laugh after I speak; both Belegos and Parnard look far too serious for my liking. What sorrow can there be here, in this beautiful place? Once more, I bite back the question that I wish to ask the most, too embarrassed for them to know. Where are we?