Before the composition of any text, I have always held that the author must explain their reason for writing it. Why it is not kept in memory, why it is not simply told in conversation, why it is worth the use of parchment and quill. In this way it may be known to any who find it why it is worth reading. The purpose of these letters then is to show I have in fact not been kidnapped by dwarves.
I have also, despite my earlier warnings, not departed to the Havens without giving warning to my colleagues and students at Falathlorn. However, that time draws close, and it may be that these words will serve as farewell to many of you.
This may not be well known to some of the younger ones but Falathlorn once was once a much smaller community of scholars and naturalists who dwelt by the shores of the Lhûn, a place where one could retreat from the bustling shipyards of the Havens and the courtly politics of Lindon. From the dawn of the First Age its natural beauty made it neutral ground for the all the elven peoples of Eriador, its groves a place of spiritual meditation. While some on their journey West would come for contemplation they did not stay to dwell here as they do now but instead awaited the arrival of the ships further south by the Tower Hills. Even in the beginning of the Third Age, the involvement of this place with the outside world was only as a waypoint for the supply of wood from the realm of Edhelion to the north to the Havens to the West.
However, Edhelion came to its end, and so ended this time of dreaming. In greater numbers came those of us who resided to the north, fleeing both dwarves and goblins to found these havens and the city of Duillond by the cliffs of the Lhûn. We have made every effort to preserve what has been but this realm must now meet the demands that were once kept by Edhelion. In increasing numbers, the Havens must provide passage for all the Noldor, perhaps all the elves of Middle-Earth. And the ships that pass into the West do not return.
When possible, this wood is taken from branches already fallen, but as you may have seen some of the older trees are marked with the Cirth-runes for use in times of need by the Havens. Therefore, being remote from other realms, we have come to rely on trade with the other races to preserve our own groves. This was the motivation for the Shipwright to call for the delegations at Gondamon. And so my reason for leaving was to secure from the dwarves timber gained from the desecration of woods we once tended. Thus, I left the house of my study to walk the road to the dwarf-fortress in the west.
For all roads must eventually lead to the West. While they may bend and curve around forests and the mountains of dwarves, while they may lead across Ages and the kingdoms of Men, in the end the traveler finds the straight path to the blessed realm of Aman. My road has bent a certain degree to the north, perhaps a degree more than was initially expected but still one that shall convey me to the West in the end.
