My name is Elenath Ceredir. My history is a long tale, and one that I do not often tell. And when I do speak of it, I rarely speak of it all, so do not expect too much. It stretches back through the ages, to the time when the high-elves returned to Middle-earth. My father was a Noldor elf who followed Fingolfin on the journey from Valinor. He met my mother soon after they arrived, while she was traveling away from her home in Doriath. I was born around the hundredth year of the First Age, during the peaceful time before the Eldar first discovered the race of Men. My father had a wandering spirit, or perhaps a driven spirit, and as I grew older, I spent most of my time traveling with him. He spoke often of Valinor, and taught me much of the Valar and the land that he now missed with an aching pain. So vivid were his tales, that I could see the white shores and green hills in my mind. He also taught me the life of a warrior, knife work and archery, strength and fire. I had a sister as well, called Mellyrn, but just as my father’s spirit lived in me, my mother’s spirit lived in her. She stayed in Doriath with our mother, and was content.

All too soon, our peace was ended. My father fought in the Dagor Bragollach, and I fought beside him. I can still see so clearly the pain and death that surrounded us then. It was my first view of Morgoth's evil. And the greatest of those evils, in my eyes, came when my father was killed, fighting beside me. The pain of his death was ever so much greater than the pain of my wounds, and for a time, I strove to keep it at bay by throwing myself into battle. Hatred grew in my heart, toward Morgoth and all that served him, and I knew no mercy. Eventually, however, I grew weary both in mind and body, and I fled to my mother's dwelling in Doriath.

For long years after, I stayed with my mother and my sister in Menegroth. I still practiced the skills my father had taught me, and kept the fire of his spirit burning inside myself, but I also began to draw on my mother’s peace. She was the deep pool that balanced my father's fire; she gave me peace, tranquility, patience. My quick-burning blaze became a slow ember, and though I kept my father's strength it was now tempered with a deep calm. I enjoyed my sister’s company, although we were not extremely close. In time, Mellyrn married, and as the years passed, her light-hearted husband, Dindraug, came to be truly a brother to me.

But there was no peace in Middle-earth that could last for long. Feanor's sons were still driven by their oaths, and by the lure of the Silmaril. That fateful jewel now lay with Dior, there with us in Menegroth. They attacked Dior and our city. I fought fiercely to protect the people and places I loved, but we could not hold them back. Yet again I watched one of my parents fall: my mother was killed, along with many others. After that, I lost hope, and fled with Elwing and a remnant of her people to the Sea. My Mellyrn and Dindraug were with us as well. There I stayed, in the settlement at the mouth of the river Sirion, and the sound of the Sea became mixed with my sorrow. But Elwing still bore the Silmaril, and eventually the sons of Feanor attacked us again. I managed to survive their initial attack, and I joined Gil-galad's forces when he arrived to aid us. After the battle, I would have left to wander alone in bitterness and sorrow, but Gil-galad had heard of my bravery in the battle, and sought me out. The High King was wise, and seeing my heart, he bade me join his force, saying that he needed my strength and skill. At first I disdained what I saw as pity, but he persisted. I told him that I would serve him for a while, and then I would decide whether to stay or leave.

Gil-galad placed me in his guard, and I served the High King for a time. During that time, he spoke to me many times, and I found myself speaking of things that I had never spoken of before. And I saw that I was not the only one he reached out to: there were many that he drew out of darkness into hope. And we grew to love our King, for his kindness, his strength, and his wisdom. When the time came that he asked me what my decision was, I pledged myself to his House and his service. Though the world was dark then, my days were lighter than they had been since my father's death.

So it was that during the Black Years I served the High King Gil-galad in Lindon. I continued my training, and became one of the most proficient warriors in his guard. In the year 1698 of the Second Age, Gil-galad had need to send a small envoy to the newly-formed haven of Imladris. As the roads were unsafe at that time, he chose five of us to accompany and protect them, under my command. We reached our goal in safety, but on our return we were ambushed. We slew many of our attackers, but eventually we were overpowered. Their captain was an evil man of the south, cruel and merciless. He knew that it was I who commanded our small force, and from some twisted sense of malice, he let me live. He restrained me, forced me to watch as the other elves were tortured and brutally killed, then after torturing me as well, he let me live.

I made my way slowly back to Lindon, the pain in my heart as great as the pain in my body. I had failed my comrades, I had failed those I swore to protect, and I had failed my King. I blamed myself for the deaths of those under my protection. I presented myself to the High King when I returned with little hope that he would accept me back, and indeed no wish for him to do so. But Gil-galad gave me forgiveness: a forgiveness that was almost harder for me to bear than my guilt. I continued in my service, but I swore that never again would I be responsible for the life of another.

I continued to serve the King in Lindon, but my sister and her husband spent much of their time traveling through Middle-Earth, although Dindraug traveled more often than Mellyrn. In the year 3256 of the Second Age, word reached me that my sister had been killed by Numenorean men while traveling in the South. In my grief, I left Lindon to seek out Dindraug. I found him: but neither of us found comfort in that meeting. He was consumed by his hatred, as I had been after the death of my father. We parted ways, and I saw him only rarely after that.

As you know, in the year 3430 of the Second Age, we joined our forces with Men in the Last Alliance. I went with Gil-galad to the battle of Dagorlad, and stood with him during the siege of Barad-Dur. Dindraug was with us as well, and both he and I fought next to Gil-galad in that final battle. I watched many of my comrades fall in our King's defense, and I myself was wounded near death: but ultimately it was in vain, and the last High King of the Eldar in Middle-earth met his doom. Although I rejoiced in Sauron’s defeat, my sorrow at Gil-galad's death was deep and enduring. My last tie was severed, and after that I called no place home.

Since the Third Age began I have spent my days wandering through Middle-earth, staying here and there before moving on again. I stay most often in Imladris and Lothlorien, studying the books of Lord Elrond and resting in the peace of the Lady Galadriel. I travel alone most of the time, the past always present in my mind. Perhaps one day I will feel free to leave Middle-earth, but that time has not come. Yet I feel the call of my father's land ever stronger in my heart. How long shall I linger here in the land that I love, before I seek my peace in the West?

Graphics provided courtesy of Aon Celtic Art