Doriath

(Previous chapter: Sun and Stars)

"Open the gate!

Open it!"

(Previous part of the story: here)

Every morning, I watch the sun rising.

Among the third host of elves traveling to Valinor was a peculiar group, the Undecided Elves, closer in spirit to the Avari, they didn't wish to join the Great March West, yet they did so out of love and loyalty to Elwe and his people, hoping to settle in a definitive decision by the time they reached the Final Shores, however this didn't happen, for Elwe disappeared before the end of their journey and that facilitated the choice of the Undecided Elves, never could they have traded Middle Earth for Valinor, even if the cost was departing with Elwe and their kin, b

The dragon Glaurung had turned Nargothrond as his residence in the following days of it's sacking, and it became clear to all the refugees that there was no turning back. Telpenaro got together with some of the refugees and for a while they figured out how to survive as a group and they grieved together, though they did not know about all of the others. Later they received news that the Orcs had killed all their captives as they were waylaid by the Haladin.

Naurdam strode across the courtyard to his waiting steed. He had spent the past few months within the valley of Imladris and he was keen to be out on the road once more. He had visited the Halls of Lord Elrond on only a handful of previous occasions since their creation and on this most recent trip it had proven hard to mask his displeasure at finding the Halls open to not only the race of man but to the race of Dwarves also.

The black-clad host of Elves moved as quietly as they could through the deep winter snow. Their heavy armour prevented them from moving silently, but they knew that their approach would be marked long before they neared their destination, silent or not. The mood of the company was grim, but hope remained that King Dior would see sense; that when the Sons of Fëanor arrived at Menegroth the doors would be open, with the Silmaril awaiting them.

Truly, there was no more collection of yore that was vaster than those found in Imladris! To this Indralas had submitted defeat, even as he had boisterously claimed his knowledge would remain unsurpassed by all his peers here, in the valley where no shadows lie.

Indeed, even as he had greeted the hauntingly quiet library – no words were exchanged in the greeting, of course, nothing but a nod of recognition – there were nothing that could deter him in the endeavour to categorize, arrange, submerge and feast upon every cover, every leaf, every parchment, every book.

The great Doriath, kingdom of the grey elves, was in ruin. The Feanorian Noldor came, reclaiming what they thought was theirs. Easy it was for them to reclaim a silmarils from their lesser kinsmen. Afraid they were  to go and claim it from the crown of Morgoth... While a mortal man did it out of love, to obtain a far greater jewel.