Chronicled in Mithlond in the realm of Lindon,
On this the 42nd day of Iavas in the Year 3018 of the Third Age,
By Angollon son of Ioriston the Learned.
Alas! That this day on which I come of age should be one of bitter and grievous loss, not joyous celebration; for with the red dawn came ill tidings, and the shadow of Mordor reached into our home.
My father is dead.
O! To see these words set in ink upon parchment in my own hand, as though by being written here they make real this terrible truth that my heart would sooner not believe.
Adar, nínion an gurth lîn.
He had been visiting in the House of Elrond this past season, and was now journeying home from Imladris to rejoin Naneth and me in commemorating this one-and-fiftieth anniversary of their union in love and my begetting, when his company was waylaid by yrch near the ruins of Amon Sûl. None survived.
Yrch! The revulsion I once felt for these fell creatures of Morgoth, these vile servants of Sauron, is now full grown into hate; that the arm of the Shadow has grown so long as to reach my family in Mithlond, fills me with both bitter despair and a burning desire for vengeance.
As Oromë is my witness, though I am no warrior trained in the art of war, nor have I before committed any violent deed in my brief lifetime, I swear that henceforth I shall hunt down and slay every foul offspring of Morgoth Bauglir that crosses my path, for as long as I linger in Middle-earth. Gurth anin yrch!
This is my oath to your memory, Ioriston of Doriath, my father. Long may I live to fulfil it.
Nínion an gwannad lîn, Adar, savo hîdh nen gurth.
