"Tears unnumbered ye shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. ..."
Something truly disturbing caressed my mind during nighttide: I was dreaming of a solemn figure shrouded in mists, uttering a terrible curse. I remember those words, the Doom of Mandos, from the chronicles of Thranduil's Hall, centuries have passed and yet that story chills my blood to these days. It is a reminder of why we woodland folk should always be weary of the Noldor, the Cursed Ones. Everything they touch becomes infested with the seeds of treachery, everything they touch is eventually doomed to decay and disappear from Middle-Earth.
I also remember when I wandered through Lindórinand, the Nandorin "Vale of the Land of the Singers", I can't help but to notice how different it was from the Lothlorien of our days. Whenever I walk beneath its boughs I feel great wonder and peace... but then I try to pierce through the bliss, what happened to the flow of time? What happened to the normal dance of seasons? Everything seems so warped and transmuted.
I know when everything changed, it was when the Noldo Sorceress crawled out of the Naugrim caves with her Sinda prince, and co-opted the lordship of the Vale. My poor deluded Galadhrim cousins, what have you done? Didn't you remember of the Doom of Mandos and of the fate that befalls everything the Cursed Ones touch? The bliss of Lothlórien is not real, it is a fantasy of the mind used by the Mistress of Magic to lull our Silvan kin into complacency.
What is she plotting? I fear I-Calen-Tirith will be ensnared into her web of machinations if they overstay under the Golden Wood. I must speak with Taurithon, I worry the subtleties of diplomacy may be well beyond him.
