Oropher, who later became the king of Woodland Realm, had come among the forest folk with only a handful of Sindar, and they were soon merged with the Silvan Elves, adopting their language and taking names of Silvan form and style. This they did deliberately; for they came from Doriath after its ruin and had no desire to leave Middle-earth. They wished indeed to become Silvan folk and to return, as they said, to the simple life natural to the Elves before the invitation of the Valar.
Although Oropher's desire was to distance himself and his people from the affairs of the rest of the world, he could see the danger that Sauron posed, and that his defeat would bring about peace in Middle-earth. Thus, he joined the Last Alliance of Elves and Men. Woodland King himself was killed soon afterwards, whilst two-thirds of his army perished throughout the course of the war. Upon Sauron's defeat the remnants of the army returned to Greenwood under the command of his son Thranduil.
A long peace followed in which the numbers of the Wood Elves grew again, but Tatharion was unquiet and anxious, feeling the change of the world that the Third Age would bring. But for now the Forest Folk enjoyed peace. This was the time to have children. Soon Galdrien was with child, and Tatharion was overjoyed. Their daughter was born under the gleam of twilight, a little snowdrop bloomed among the woods. They called her Linglorel, ’woman of the golden tune’. When she began to grow up, she was fairer than the morning star, and whiter than the moon. Tatharion treasured his only child and did all he could to safeguard her and keep her content. But when she was fifty, still a child, Tatharion found sleep less easy than before.
In his dreams, he saw that he was at the glade, and his daughter was with him, as graceful as light and as free as the dawn, dancing among the trees in the starlight. Then he saw, to his greatest horror, that a Man came to her and she placing her hand in his. Then she vanished. This dream disturbed him greatly, and he spoke to no one of it, not even to Galdrien, his wife.
Tatharion called his daughter to him and told her that there was a creatures she must be aware of. He told her of all the monsters that the Elves had knowledge of: Orcs, dragons, goblins, giant spiders… But now told her about the race of Men. The Engwar, the Sickly Ones. They had no morality of their own save that which they adopted. Few could be called true Elf-friends.
„If you look carefully, you shall see that their ears are not pointed, but round” Tatharion explained, „Their language is uncouth and their bodies thick with hair, quite bestial. And they are unredeemably childish in their tempers. How can they not be? With only hundred or so years of life how can they accumulate any store of wisdom or patience? Men is at times a grief even to Iluvatar; wherefore if the giving of that gift of freedom was their envy and amazement, the patience of the One at its misuse is a matter of the greatest marvelling to both Valar and Eldar. Promise me you will run from a Man as soon as you see him”.
„I promise, Adar”.
Tatharion was comforted, but his daughter had strange dreams of her own. They were dreams of the Sea, a dream that terrified her and gave her joy all at once. Many of the Elves dreamed of the Sea because they were born with a longing to come back to Undying Lands. But what Linglorel dreamed was no sea longing. It was something else, it so distressed her that she told her mother, hoping Galdrien could guess the meaning of the dream.
Galdrien said: „My child, you have that dream so often... Perhaps it is destiny. The long days of peace must come to an end. But your future sings of joy. I wish that you shall find that bliss. And yet, I seem to sense a shadow hanging over your star. The penalty of love shall fall heavily upon your head, my sweet spring child”.
Little did this comfort her daughter. Instead, it only overwhelmed her because she did not understand. Then she slept... and she dreamed.
Before the young girl lay the whole beautiful sea, but not a sail nor a single boat was in sight. It was very lonely along the shore but Linglorel did not mind, for the sea was constantly changing. Indeed it showed more changes in a few hours than an woodland lake does in a whole year. When the sky was black with threatening clouds, the wind would blow and the waves would raise their white crests. But when the wind died down and the clouds were red, the sea would look like a rose petal. Sometimes it showed white in her dreams, and sometimes green, but however calm it might seem there was always a gentle lapping along the shore, where the waters rose and fell like the chest of a child asleep.
There was a mortal child, a boy with raven hair sitting upon a rock. Suddenly he rose and began walking toward her. As he drew nearer, the sky became black as pitch. The sound of the ridges rose to a great cry. Then the human child took her hand. He looked at her, and his eyes were gray as a clear evening. Sad, but bright.
„Don't be afraid, Tindomiel” said the boy, as the darkness swept over them.
Linglorel didn't know why he called her that, but the name seemed more natural to her than her own. And she answered: „I am not afraid”.
