"Once the houses of the Edain joined our fight against Melkor whom the Noldor have named Morgoth. Once we fought together for this Middle-Earth we love. Many centuries have passed since these days.
Over the years, elves and Mortal Men have become estranged. We Eldar have learned to understand the nature of human fate, for the One has granted them the gift of decision. Nonetheless, it pains me to say, but Men have forsaken the love for Arda that we have been teaching them since the first days of our friendship. Their love only belongs to their own wealth, power and amusement. They take what belongs to others, and make it their own. They take what belongs to Arda and use it, until it is utterly spent.
Some of us tried to intervene, and change things. But that is not our task. We planted the seed of understanding, and all the rest has always been up to Mortal Men themselves. If they do not find the right decision, nobody shall for them. Some of us learned that the hard way, with much pain, loss and blood. Others were more wise. We know we cannot change the After-Born. We know that we should not even try. Thus we have withdrawn from all matters concerning the Younger Children. May they find their way, a path on which, one day they may illuminate Arda Marred."
Memories, written by Edrahir Rumilion of Lindon during the year 1521, Third Age of the Sun
They rushed out of the tent, Macilvelco in great haste, Felyanáro with great concern.
There she was. Two men had grabbed her hair. They were dragging her through the snow, ignoring the yelling girl.
"Let her go!" cried Macilvelco.
The men stopped, and looked back.
The two elves approached.
"Help, Ngolo!" screamed the girl.
One of the men let her go and stepped forward. He shouted something, anger and fear in his voice.
Felyanáro sighed. But Macilvelco was adamant about his decision.
"Leave her, Atani!" he cried, his voice like thunder.
"Velco... look!" Felyanáro narrowed his eyes.
A dozen spearmen had gathered around them.
One stepped forward. He made a grimace and punched the girl in the face. Blood mingled with the falling snow. He pointed his spear at the elves, and barked something.
"Kill, Ngolo! Kill them!" the girl gasped out.
"It is none of our business, we should leave at once, Velco" hissed Felyanáro, his hand clenched firmly around the hilt of his sword.
"Leave her!" shouted Macilvelco. The harsh treatment of a helpless victim has stirred something dark and hungry within his mind, something he did not fully understand yet.
He stepped forward. The spear head touched his chest.
The man frowned. He appeared small in front of the tall Noldo. Fear crept into his face. He withdrew his weapon...
Suddenly he uttered a loud scream, and jabbed forward.
But Felyanáro was faster. Swiftly, a noldorin longsword was unsheathed, and the severed spear head fell to the ground. Then everything escalated.
The fight was short, but ugly.
The elves understood very quickly that staying on the defensive side meant instant defeat for them. The wild onslaught of the spearmen could only be stopped with an even more relentless counter, even if that meant the death of some Younger Children, younger Eruhíni.
Seven men fell to the deadly swords of the Noldor. The rest escaped, panicking upon witnessing the ferocious martial skills of the elves.
"You are safe. Come - come here..." said Macilvelco, speaking way rougher than what he had expected to sound, offering a hand to the girl.
But the girl did not react. Her eyes were fixed upon two corpses - those who had dragged her through the snow. Suddenly, tears appeared upon her face, and she began to weep, first silently and in a low voice, but soon crying as one seized completely by some strange madness.
Crawling towards the slain, she embraced the two, screaming and lamenting.
Macilvelco hesitated. Great grief came upon his heart, and he sheathed his blade, and kneeling beside the girl he was silent for a moment.
Suddenly the girl turned her face to him, and uttered, screeching:
"Brothers..! My brothers!! You...kill my brothers..! Curse Ngolo! Curse you! Curse you!"
She tried to punch the elf in the face, but failed.
"Curse..you!"
She did not stop. She cursed them both a thousand times, coughing blood, covered in vain tears. They had never seen so much hatred and despair before.
Macilvelco knelt there, like a frozen statue, unable to say a word.
"Velco...time to go!" said Felyanáro. Bells had begun to ring. The whole village was gathering. Voices arose. They heard the sound of weapons.
"We provoked the village's wrath! Leave that girl, Velco! We cannot help her anymore! Get up! Get up!!"
Felyanáro grabbed his friend. Macilvelco stood up, slowly. An arrow hitting his back woke him up. Chain mail and leather absorbed the impact.
And then the fury of the whole village was upon them.
More than fifty men, armed with spears, clubs and bows, and even more women, armed with sticks, daggers and torches. It was a mess.
After several attackers were smitten by the swords of the Noldor, the mob decided to kill the easier prey first.
Macilvelco defended the girl as good as he could, for she would not leave the corpses of her dead brothers. But the attackers were too many. Felyanáro was pushed back, and Macilvelco lost his sword after a failed parry. Picking up a stick, he fought on, but he could not keep the tide at bay. His stick broke, and he fell to the ground, his armour shattered.
He saw a spear head pinning the girl down, blood covering her neck. With a last death rattle, she cursed him and all elves. He felt a dagger penetrating his thigh, but the pain was nothing compared to seeing her die in front of him.
He was not aware of Felyanáro smiting down the village women who had been trying to scratch his eyes out, burn his face and smash his back with their sticks.
He was not aware of his friend dragging him through and behind a burning house.
The night was long, and the fleeing elves were hunted down like wild beasts of the forest. Wounded, with their armour broken, their weapons damaged or lost, in the end they could only escape the men from Tula thanks to their high resistance to the harsh winds and icy conditions of the north, and thus, after several days the hunt ended.
Where is the end of compassion, and the beginning of foolishness?
Where is the end of a sense for justice, and the beginning of mindless offense?
Where is freedom, with ever present guidance?
---
[Notes and translations:
Arda Marred - the current state of the world as it is: tainted by the works of evil (notably Morgoth and Sauron)
Atan / (pl.) Atani - Man / men (Quenya). Referring to man as a race
Tula - invented word. Fictive word for some place or people in the northeast of Beleriand, north of the place that was later called Forochel
Eruhíni / Younger Children - referring to mortal men, the Younger Children of Ilúvatar
Ngolo - barbarism of either Ngolodh (Sindarin) or Golug (black speech), in the tongue of a tribe of the Forodwaith (invented word). Meaning the Noldor]
