Penned in the Library of Lore,
In the Realm of Dorwinion

And so, with my heart burdened by shame, I -- as is as my wont -- bore the grief of my olor to my friend Ioriston in his library, for I would hear his counsel. And in silence he hearkened to my tale.

Firstly he deemed that it was indeed the visage of Círdan that I beheld; he whom Ioriston knew as Nowë ere the War of Wrath at the end of the First Age. Too often do I forget the long life of the Lambengolmo, and the passing of  Ages that he has endured; for his forefathers were among the Teleri, the Úmanyar who set forth on the Great Journey from Cuiviénen to Valinor in days of yore, and followed the Arata Oromë unto Hithaeglir, and thence through Cirith Forn en Andrath into Beleriand-that-was, wherein he was born. But, says Ioriston, though he himself is old, Círdan is much more ancient, for he was born during the Years of the Trees, and is kin of both Elwë and Olwë... and Elwë Singollo is a name of old that I yet recall, somehow, for he it was who led the Teleri to the western shores of Endórë, but was lost in the forest of Nan Elmoth wherein he was enraptured by Melian the Maia, and he was called Elu Thingol thereafter. Indeed, it was in his great city of Menegroth in Doriath that my friend was born in the early years of the First Age, shortly ere Thingol was slain by the Dwarves of Nogrod for the Nauglamír.

But I digress... for whensoever I fall prey to the vagaries of my broken memory, my mind unwittingly returns to that lore that it yet somehow holds, despite my misfortune; for it is a comfort to me that I retain some measure of recollection at the very least, however little it may be.

And then Ioriston said unto me, "Mithfang... mellon nîn... have hope."
   "I have no hope," said I.
   "A!" he exclaimed, "But there is amdir, and there is also estel. To which is your heart unbound?"
I had no answer.
   "Here," he said, and he unrolled a scroll of fine vellum, "Is the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth."
And so I read the words that were spoken of old by the Elven-king Finrod Felagund to Andreth, a wisewoman from the House of Bëor, during the Long Peace of the First Age:

  'What is hope?' she said. 'An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none.'
   'That is one thing that Men call "hope",' said Finrod. 'Amdir we call it, "looking up". But there is another which is founded deeper. Estel we call it, that is "trust." It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhín, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. Amdir you have not, you say. Does no Estel at all abide?'
   'Maybe,' she said. 'But no! Do you not perceive that it is part of our wound that Estel should falter and its foundations be shaken? Are we the Children of the One? Are we not cast off finally? Or were we ever so? Is not the Nameless the Lord of the World?'
   'Say it not even in question!' said Finrod.
   'It cannot be unsaid,' answered Andreth, 'if you would understand the despair in which we walk. Or in which most Men walk. Among the Atani, as you call us, or the Seekers as we say: those who left the lands of despair and the Men of darkness and journeyed west in vain hope: it is believed that healing may yet be found, or that there is some way of escape. But is this indeed Estel? Is it not Amdir rather; but without reason: mere flight in a dream from what waking they know: that there is no escape from darkness and death?'
   'Mere flight in a dream you say,' answered Finrod. 'In dream many desires are revealed; and desire may be the last flicker of Estel...' ¹

   "You grieve for your lost friend and would bear the guilt of his passing," said Ioriston to me, "But heed these words that the messengers of Manwë spake to the Dúnedain of Númenor:

And the Númenóreans answered: 'Why should we not envy the Valar, or even the least of the Deathless? For of us is required a blind trust, and a hope without assurance, knowing not what lies before us in a little while...'

Then the Messengers said: 'Indeed the mind of Ilúvatar concerning you is not known to the Valar, and he has not revealed all things that are to come. But this we hold to be true, that your home is not here, neither in the Land of Aman nor anywhere within the Circles of the World. And the Doom of Men, that they should depart, was at first a gift of Ilúvatar. It became a grief to them only because coming under the shadow of Morgoth it seemed to them that they were surrounded by a great darkness, of which they were afraid...' ²

And at these words of wisdom I wept in profound relief, and in my heart hope was rekindled; for I know now where it lies... though I have not amdir this day, I have faith in the will of the Valar and the purposes of Eru Ilúvatar; and now I deem that it is my part to stand with the Free Peoples against the Shadow that imperils Middle-earth, in all its many hues.

Thus heartened, I pursued the purport of my dream:

   "But how can it be that he, an Elf, is bearded as I?" I asked, for to my knowledge all Edhil are smooth of cheek and chin.
   "The Eldar, as you well know, are not immortal as is thought by Men, but long-lived and bound to Arda until its End; and within our long lives there are stages of our lifetimes. Círdan now is in the third and last cycle of life as measured by the Elves, and his beard is a sign thereof."
   "And what, do you think, does his appearance in my dream forbode?"
Ioriston looked at me long before answering, his gaze as keen as a blade.
   "I think," he replied, "That long have you waited for just such an portent, and that it is now time to prepare to depart Dorwinion and repair to Mithlond to seek the answers to your questions. But prepare, I say, not do the deed... not yet. For if you are to enter the world of Men, you must needs a vocation, and perhaps learn more than one craft even, if you are to live the life they lead; for it based upon the garnering of coin, and even small favours oft require payment thereof. You cannot expect the hospitality of Elves when dealing with Men."
I had not spared any thought to this before.
   "Also," he continued, "While I deem that they are mostly true at heart, beware that some Men are guileful with regard to gold, and dealings with them can be fraught with trickery and deceit; and some there are who, be it through greed or malice, will give no thought to purloining your possessions by force. Some training in arms will serve you well."
Nor had I considered the wiles of my kinsmen, for I have become accustomed the virtuous and honourable ways of the noble Dorwinions. But what skills do I possess for which others would trade?

   "And now," Ioriston said, "There is the matter of your passage, for the road to Eriador is treacherous and beset with peril. Come, let us look to the charts of my library."
And so saying, my friend selected some tightly rolled parchments from a high shelf, and unrolled them upon a tabletop.
   "See here," said he, "Arda unfurled and outspread for your perusal. Here we will determine your course."
And laid out before my eyes was the design of Middle-earth, as though seen on high by the great Eagles of Manwë, but beautifully drawn in inks upon flat parchment; and if ever I had before seen such a marvel, I do not so recall. Seeing my delight, Ioriston described to me the aspects that the wonderful map displayed... from Forodwaith beyond Ered Mithrin in the North and the Iron Hills, to great Hithglaeglir and the lands of Eriador in the West.

He pointed to the Gulf of Lhûn described upon his map, a small fissure cutting in-between the mountains of Ered Luin, and the small point there marked 'Mithlond'.
   "That seems not too far away," said I. And Ioriston gave to me the exasperated glance that I have grown to know well.
   "This is a scale of distance," he said, indicating a small line marked with numbers, "And it would serve you well to learn the meaning and use of this device."
And so with his guidance, I have discovered that Mithlond is, in fact, more than four hundred leagues from Dorwinion, as the crow flies; and as Ioriston wryly noted, I am no crow! However he softened at my crestfallen countenance, and described to me the best course I might follow. And I am grateful for his wisdom, for where I thought to skirt the southern eaves of Eryn Galen and follow Aduin northwards, Ioriston reminded me of his scouts reports that Darkness has returned to Dol Guldur in the form of Khamûl, no less; and I have no desire to again encounter my tormentor from the East.

And so he deems my best course is to follow Celduin northwards and take the Men-i-Naugrim through Taur-nu-Fuin that I recall as Eryn Galen, but was defiled and named anew he says, like unto the highland forests of Dorthonion, north of Beleriand of old, that also was called aforetime Taur-nu-Fuin when Sauron's shadow fell over them in the First Age. The Old Forest Road is yet perilous, says he, but less so than any other passage through that treacherous forest, and I wondered aloud if I should rather remain here in the haven of fair Dorwinion.
   "Nay!" said Ioriston, "For the answers you seek to the riddle of your passing into the East lie surely with Círdan in Mithlond. If you know his face, then surely he knows yours also!"

And this is the course he set before me: to follow the ancient road through Taur-e-Ndaedelos (why does he tell me these Dark names?), wellnigh seventy leagues beneath the drear canopy of corrupted trees; then nigh another fifty leagues to Cirith Forn en Andrath and yet another thirty to the haven of Imladris, which to Ioriston's astonishment, is a place whose name I do not know, for he says that it was founded ere Sauron overan Eriador in the 1699th year of the Sun of the Second Age. And then I travel some two hundred leagues more along the Great East Road through the divers lands of Eriador: the Trollshaws of the ancient realm of Rhudaur, so named for these woods are the haunt of Stone-trolls from the mountains; then the wilderness east of Bree-land where Amon Sûl lies upon the boundary of old between Arthedain and Rhudaur; then Bree-land itself, whose inhabitants I had thought might be my kin; then across the Baranduin into I Drann, that is called 'the Shire' by Men, a small country of which Ioriston knows naught; and finally skirting Emyn Beraid where stand the White Towers that Ereinion Gil-galad raised for Elendil the Fair of Númenor, first King of Arnor and Gondor; and so finally to Mithlond to seek out Lord Círdan. And he gave to me a map for my own, and I carefully marked this course upon it.

Well, bless my beard! I know not how far, nor how long, my friend and I wandered the Eastern wastes, but Ioriston has here described a journey of five hundred leagues or more, and that to me seems somewhat daunting. And so I thought to set forth without delay, ere the snows of winter close the High Pass over Hithaeglir until the thaw, but Ioriston counsels patience and bade me to delay my departure until spring has come. But I cannot linger here through the long cold days of Hrívë and Coirë; awaiting with impatient heart for Tuilë.

But nay, Ioriston speaks wisely and truly, and I needs must forgo urgency and tarry here, learning whatever skills and arts I can that will avail me in the lands of Men. I shall make no steadfast plans for now, and abide with trust and patience for whatever chances my way.

Valar valuvar!

1. Morgoth's Ring, "Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth"
2. The Silmarillion, "Akallabêth"