This account was written by Norliriel for the healers and scholars of Imladris, to aid their research regarding the goblin poison that led to Themodir's demise.
We found Themodir within the goblins' slave pit, senseless and tied to a stake. I deem he had been thouroughly ill-treated. He could be roused, and was wakeful enough to speak words of thanks to those who freed him, but collapsed upon being cut loose.
Indeed, so severe was his weakness, and the numbness in his limbs, that while at first able to walk with great difficulty, supported by his brethren, he soon needed to be carried, even before we had yet left the goblin tunnels.
Upon his chest, he bore a deep wound carved with a cruel goblin blade. It had the shape of the rune ᚷ. After soaking the first set of bandages, it stopped bleeding. The edges of the wound were discoloured - a vile, greenish tint. Eliriael and I discerned that he had been assaulted with poison.
Here, there is a depiction of the wound and its location, drawn by Norliriel's own hand.
We could not dare to linger so close to the goblin pits, thus we retreated to the outpost at Vindurhal as fast we could, through a raging snow storm.
Themodir fainted again along the way; while he was awake, he would ask if he was dying, much to my dread, for it is a truth well known to any healer that one who feels like he is dying, often times is near to death indeed.
The wound gave him a burning pain, which he described as feeling like embers unto his skin. I shall remind you in this regard that Themodir was a surpassingly brave and staunch warrior - for him to utter any word of complaint at all, the pain must have been unbearable beyond imagining.
At the outpost, I bathed his wound with an infusion of athelas. There was little we could do for him up there in the Hithaeglir, so it was swiftly decided to bear him back to Imladris. Despite our desperate haste, the journey would take us three, almost four, days.
On the first day, he was shivering despite being covered with what cloaks and blankets we could spare, and talking nonsense, yet I still held hope that he might recover once we had reached Imladris.
On the second day, the seizures began. Nothing would stop them. It was then that I knew that Themodir would not survive, though I told him not. In truth I believe he would have died on that day, or sooner still, had his will not been as strong. I sang to him, I sang my own strength into him, knowing all the while that all I could hope for was a few more hours of life. It would have taken a miracle for him to live another day.
The miracle never came. For most of the third day, Themodir was delirious, muttering amidst a hail of seizures. His eyes had become pale, and he was often going blind.
Throughout these days of agony, Themodir could take no food nor draught, for his stomach no longer obeyed him.
Despite it all, during his final moments, his mind was clear just long enough for him to say his last words, and be joined in marriage to Manadhlaer. He smiled as he saw her. I deem this cannot be ascribed to any quality of the poison, nor to what care I bestowed upon him. Rather it must have been the love between him and Manadhlaer that gave him that final strength, when all other had long failed.
This is how Themodir passed on to Mandos. As Manwë is my witness, I would have given my own life in his stead, but it was not to be. I failed to save him.
Norliriel,
humble servant of the Order of the Harp and Pillar
