The Aging of Cirdan by Cirdan

Cirdan was pleased with his new boats. They floated upon the water like leaves and were both sturdier and more beautiful than the rafts that he had devised before. He went to Olwe and Elwe and sang to them a song about the boats that he had composed while crafting his newest work. They laughed, delighting ever in his handiwork and his tunes. Cirdan's kinsmen prevailed upon him to sing about his new boats before the Quendi so that they would know the name of his newest creation. After his song, Elwe and Finwe sang about the stars, and the Quendi assembled joined them in the refrain.

Their song was cut short by the booming echoes of hoofs. The Hunter, some whispered to each other in fear. They retreated to their simple dwellings when they heard the great neighing. Others stayed and looked to their leaders for instruction. Ingwe it was who first broke into song, for the music soothed the people. Finwe and Elwe quickly joined him in song. Few joined them, but Cirdan was one, for he was not afraid. They were near Cuivienen, the Water of Awakening. Here, they had ever been safe. As long as they did not wander far, they would come to no harm, for the water was sacred.

When they finished their song, a Rider did indeed appear before them. The great white horse upon which he rode neighed, and the neighing was like no horse that Cirdan had ever heard. Some of the Quendi hid. Some fled and were lost. But Cirdan perceived swiftly that the Great Rider was no shape out of Darkness, for there was a great light, brighter than even the stars, in his face.

Cirdan approached him, drawn to the brightness of his eyes. Others moved forward as if in a trance as well. Among them were those who Cirdan trusted most, those such as Ingwe, Finwe, and his kinsmen Elwe and Olwe.

Ingwe spoke first to the Great Rider, though he knew not if the Rider understood their speech for before this, the Quendi had met no other living things that spoke or sang. He asked for the Great One's pardon on behalf of the Quendi, for there were many who shunned him because of the tales of the Dark Rider upon his wild horse who pursued those that wandered to take them and devour them. Ingwe said that he did not believe that the Great Rider was this same Shadow, for there was a light about him that could not come from one of the shadows and evil spirits.

Then the Great Rider spoke, and all who had not fled beheld his voice with wonder, for it was fair beyond imagination to the ears. Cirdan felt as if he were floating leisurely on his back upon the still waters of Cuivienen and watching the stars above him. But the visions that the Great Rider evoked were not those of the stars, for his very words were like radiant light. Orome he was, a Vala, and he would speak with his kin and deliver the Quendi from the Shadow. Little of this did the Quendi understand, but they trusted his words and were heartened that they might soon be free of the evil that hunted them. Orome rode off on Nahar, and the thunder of the great horse's hoofs did not seem at all dreadful now to those who had stayed to treat with the Great Rider.

Thus it was that Cirdan and the other noble Quendi who had heard the voice of Orome returned to their people and sang to them songs of the Great Rider and his glory so that they would not fear him. They sang that the Shadow that would be chased away by the Great Rider and that the Great Rider would then return to them. Many believed the songs of the wise, but some thought this an evil trick by the dark spirits and fled. Cirdan and his brethren were saddened by this, for they feared that great harm would befall these faint-hearted Quendi. In those days, Cirdan was too busy consoling the people and convincing them to stay by Cuivienen to return to his shipbuilding.

---

Some time later, the words of the wise seemed to be proven false, for the Earth shook and groaned beneath them. The ever-still and peaceful waters of Cuivienen were moved. The great waves sank the rafts and boats that Cirdan and his people had built. Cirdan grieved for the loss of his creations. He looked to the North and saw lights as of mighty fires. Cirdan thought that he might die like those who had been devoured by the forces of darkness. He wondered what it would be like to feel nothing, to be nothing. He shuddered at these thoughts that haunted his waking as well as his dreaming. But always, when he despaired, Cirdan would remember the light in the Great Rider Orome's face and the sound of his voice and feel some measure of reassurance. Then, Cirdan would go to Cuivienen and watch the violent movements of the water in which he no longer dared to swim. He would move as close as he dared and dip his hand in the water. Or sometimes, the waves were so great that he could feel drops of water from the splashes though he stayed a far and safe distance from the tumults of the water.

Surely, the Darkness cannot have created this water, Cirdan thought to himself. And what of the rain, sometimes gentle and sometimes heavy? Or the snowflakes that were cold but beautiful? One of the Powers must surely have conceived of the calm of the waters of Cuivienen, beside which the Quendi awoke in peace and harmony.

At that, the last of Cirdan's fears seemed to be swept away in the waters. The Great Rider had said that the Powers would deliver them from the shadows and darkness. The waters of Cuivienen were troubled now, like the Earth around them, but the Lord of the Waters would not let this lake or its people be destroyed.

---

When the Battle of the Powers was ended, great clouds arose from the ruin of the North and hid the stars. Most of the Quendi became afraid, thinking that this was the end of the world. But the wise knew better, for the waters of Cuivienen were at last calm again and the land around them remained unravaged. Some force had guarded them throughout the tumult, and this was evidence enough that the Powers had protected them as the Great Rider had promised. Even so, the wise could not alleviate the fear and dread of the people.

Orome came among them again to deliver the summons of the Valar. He spoke of Valinor and the light of the Two Trees, but he did not speak about the ominous words of Mandos: "So it is doomed."

The Quendi feared the Valar though, for they had seen them only in their wrath as they went to war. Therefore Orome chose from among them ambassadors who should go to Valinor and speak for their people, and these were Ingwe, Finwe and Elwe, who afterwards were kings.

Cirdan doubted not that the splendor of Valinor was very great indeed. He knew that when the three leaders returned to the Quendi, they would indeed encourage the people to harken to the summons of the Valar. When the time came, Cirdan knew that he too would join the march westward. He had seen the light in the face of Orome and doubted not the brightness of the Two Trees. He had heard of the greatness of Valinor. All this he desired to see. But also, Cirdan desired to look upon the Lord of the Waters who had created this fair substance and thus created the very water of Cuivienen. He would do obeisance to the Lord and beg to serve him thereafter.

At that time, Cirdan did not yet know that the Lord of the Waters dwelt in all the deep waters about the Earth or under the Earth and came to Valinor only rarely.

---

As Cirdan had expected, the lords returned with Orome to Cuivienen, and they spoke before their people and counseled them to heed the summons of the Valar and remove into the West. Most of the Quendi were moved by their words, and they became the Eldar. Of the three hosts of the Eldalie, Cirdan was with the Teleri, who had for lords both Elwe and Olwe. The march was slow, and the Eldar delighted in the wonders that they saw. Whenever Orome departed, they halted and went forward no more until he returned to guide them. At such times as these, Cirdan set about making rafts and small boats as he had before. His boats became larger and stronger, and he delighted in playing with them upon the waters of the rivers and lakes. But when Orome did return to guide them, as he always did, though sometimes after much time had passed, always Cirdan continued towards the West, sometimes bringing along the smaller boats and abandoning the larger ships to the animals. At Elwe's urgings, the Teleri passed over the Misty Mountains and crossed the wide lands of Eriador. Then, when the Teleri were resting in East Beleriand, beyond the River Gelion, Elwe became lost to them.

Cirdan searched long for Elwe, but when they learned that Ingwe and Finwe and their peoples were gone, the Teleri pressed on to the shores of Beleriand, and Cirdan went with them. Thus it was that he witnessed for the first time the Great Sea. At the sight of Belegaer, Cirdan did not stop to rest like his fellow Teleri but continued traveling without tiring, for he desired very much to feel the water. When he reached the shores, he rejoiced and sprang straight away into the waters of the Sea. Little did he know then of the waves and currents. He swam in bliss for some time and was glad that he had indeed marched westward, for the water was unlike that of Cuivienen. It moved with a life of its own, and though it was not peaceful, Cirdan felt at peace as soon as he gazed out across the seemingly endless water of the Sea.

An undercurrent caught him and dragged him under the depths of the water. When he came up, he was miles from the shore. Dismayed, Cirdan began to swim desperately back towards the shore. He chided himself for not waiting for the other Teleri, for there was no one who had seen his disappearance under the water. The distance was farther than the entire length of Cuivienen, and the currents of the Sea were strong and difficult to fight. Eventually, Cirdan's body tired and grew numb, for the waters of Belegaer were also colder than that of Cuivienen. He wondered if the Deep Waters would be at all like the Darkness that the Quendi had so feared.

"Do not fear, Child of the stars." The voice came from the waters like a crash of the waves upon the shore, yet Cirdan was comforted. The water suddenly began to rise up in a great wave. Cirdan did not fight it. The great wave lifted him up and brought him back to the shore. It became smaller as Cirdan came closer to shore until at last it delivered him gently onto the sands of the beach.

Cirdan turned to face the water and fell down upon his knees. "Lord of the Waters! Long have I sought for you. I am in debt to you for saving my life. In return, I would pledge my life to you."

A figured appeared from the foam of the waves. At first, it seemed to be water itself, but then the shape became that of an Elda. Very tall was he, and his hair was as white as the foam. He had chosen to appear in this guise so as to not frighten Cirdan. He sat upon a rock near to the margin of the land.

"I am not the one you seek," the water lord said. "I am Osse, a Maia and vassal of Ulmo, the Vala and King of the Sea who created with his Music all the waters of the world."

"I will serve you and him then," said Cirdan. "For I perceive that you are also great and that you can teach me much of the secrets of the waters."

Osse nodded. "I will teach you sea-lore and sea-music."

Thus Cirdan befriended Osse and later his spouse Uinen as well. Cirdan came to know Ulmo, though he never saw the Vala in a form other than water itself. Already enamored of the seas, Cirdan learned the ways of the water, the craft of shipbuilding, and songs that were filled with the sound of waves upon the shore. Cirdan and the Teleri dwelt near the shores of Beleriand for many years, but ever and anon, Cirdan would stray from the Sea and search for his kinsman, Elwe. Thus it was that, when Ulmo returned to the coasts of Beleriand to bear the Teleri away to Valinor, by ill-fated chance, Cirdan was away. Cirdan heard too late the great horns of Ulmo, the Ulumuri. When Cirdan arrived at the shores, the Eressea had departed. In the distance, he could see the isle as a small speck of light, and then it was gone.

Cirdan stood on at the coasts of Beleriand and clenched his fist as he gazed out across the Sea. "I will follow that light, alone if none will come with me, for the ship that I have been building is now almost ready."

Then Cirdan heard in his heart the voice of Ulmo. "Abide now that time, for when it comes then will your work be of utmost worth, and it will be remembered in song for many ages after."

This saddened Cirdan, for he wished very much to see the light of the Two Trees. Now, he would not see the Light in the Blessed Realm, nor would he be reunited with his kinsman Olwe. But he saw a vision of a white ship flying in the sky, and it shone brighter than any star. Cirdan decided that he would settle for this vision for now.

"I obey," he said.

Thus Cirdan and his people came to dwell by the shores of Beleriand. They were the Eglath, the Forsaken People, and they were the Falathrim, the people of the foaming shore, and first mariners in Middle Earth and the first makers of ships.

Cirdan left the shores of Beleriand rarely, but he did so when Menegroth, the Thousand Caves, was full-wrought. With Cirdan came few of the elves of the Falas. The Falathrim were not against the idea of traveling, rather, they disliked traveling by land. Like their lord, they did not want to be away from the Sea. Cirdan was in high spirits throughout the journey, and as a result, those who journeyed with him did not begrudge their time away from their homes by the water. After much time, they came to Menegroth in Eglador.

Thingol and Melian came out to personally welcome the visiting Falathrim at the gates.

"Cirdan, it has been too long," Thingol said warmly. They embraced and held each other for several moments. Their bond of kinship was renewed at their meeting.

"Elwe Thingollo, Melian the Maia," Cirdan said in greeting to both of them. "It has been too long." A beautiful, young girl with raven dark hair and piercingly bright eyes giggled at the Falathrim's accent. Cirdan felt his heart melt at the sight of her. There was a shining light in her face like that of Melian, and Cirdan knew without a doubt that this was like the brightness of the Two Trees. He felt a pang of sorrow that, after all these years, he had still not gazed upon the Light itself. Thingol, of course, was satisfied with the light in Melian's face, and now, undoubtedly, in the light in his daughter's face as well. "And this must be Luthien," Cirdan said. He had heard of her birth and sent words of congratulations and gifts, but before now, he had not had the opportunity to see her in person.

Cirdan knelt before her. She skipped away with laughter like silver bells and hid behind her mother. Cirdan smiled at her and gestured for her to come towards him. She shook her head. He took out a large, luminous pearl and rolled it to her. It was only slightly smaller than the Nimphelos, the great pearl that Thingol had given to the chieftain of the Dwarves of Belegost. The Sindar murmured in awe of the pearl, for its sheen was as starlight on the foam of the Sea. Luthien picked it up and smiled with much liking at it. She came over at last and held the pearl out to Cirdan with open hands.

Cirdan smiled at her and wrapped her small hands around the pearl. "You may keep it," Cirdan said, and this time he tried to imitate the Sindarin tongue. The pronunciation of several words differed from that of the Falathrim, and it had been a long time since Cirdan had needed to adjust his speech.

"Thank you." She curtsied before him. Then, after a moment, she wrapped her arms around his neck. She had seen him embrace her father, and not even their kinsmen in Eglador did such a thing. She decided that he must be someone close to the king indeed.

"Luthien," Melian said in gentle reprimand. She was an open-hearted girl after the manner of the innocence born before the marring of Arda. However, this was not Valinor, and Melian knew that Luthien could not so freely give her love to others. Luthien came to her mother's side and took her hand. The other hand held the pearl that was the size of a dove's egg.

"Is this the Shipwright of Falas who searched long for my father and missed the Ferry?" Luthien asked. Cirdan felt another pang of regret. His heart was ever drawn to the Sea, but more than that, his heart was drawn to the Light of Valinor.

"I am indeed," Cirdan said. "In fact, I journeyed with your father from Cuivienen."

"Come, Cirdan, do not let my daughter distract you," Thingol said. "We shall speak more in Menegroth. You have yet to see the glory of the Thousand Caves."

There, Cirdan saw the labor of the Elves and Dwarves that had wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea. Cirdan began to understand why Elu Thingol was content to dwell in Beleriand, though he alone of the Sindar had seen the Light. The pearls that Cirdan had given to Thingol for payment to the Dwarves was well- worth it. The pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Orome, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lorien; and there were fountains of silver and basins of marble, and the floors of many- colored stones. Carven figures of beasts and birds there ran upon the walls, or climbed upon the pillars, or peered among the branches entwined with many flowers. Already, Melian and her maidens had filled some of the halls with woven hangings wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning.

Cirdan and his companions stayed for several days in Menegroth and were entranced by its beauty. Indeed, Cirdan imagined Valinor to very like this, and like Thingol, he delighted in the light in Melian's face. Luthien was very fair and pleasant, and Cirdan delighted in seeing her dance and sing in the manner of children. But after a year had passed, Cirdan knew it was time to return home. There was something of everything in Menegroth, hidden away behind the forest of Eglador, except the Sea. Therefore, Cirdan went to the Halls of Thingol to take his leave of his kinsman.

"The horns of Ulmo call to me," Cirdan said to Thingol.

"It grieves me to see you go," Thingol said. "Before you leave, there is one other matter of which we must speak." Cirdan waited a moment, but then seeing that Thingol did not intend to continue, Cirdan bowed and left the Halls distressed. Later, Cirdan went to visit Thingol in his private chambers.

"Elwe, there was one last matter which you wanted to address," Cirdan said.

"Yes." Thingol waited until the servants had served them drink and food. Then he sipped on his wine until they were alone. "Do you remember the days after the Battle of the Powers, when we undertook the Great Journey?"

"Of course." Cirdan waited patiently for the king to reveal his mind.

"We both know that the evils of the North were not rooted out completely. Orome gave us arms with which to protect ourselves on the Great Journey." As Thingol spoke, dread slowly took Cirdan. "The Dwarves have told me that the remnant have long multiplied in the dark. Very few come roaming into Beleriand now, but this will not always be so. Melian has warned me that the Peace of Arda will not last forever, and this is the true reason for the existence of Menegroth. It is to be a place of strength if evil awakens again in Middle Earth. Were it not for her foresight, I would be content to dwell in Eglador as we had been doing for many years."

Cirdan shifted restlessly and said, "I too have begun to have visions of what is to come, though I understand very little of them. I thought them to be dreams of the past, when we still lived in fear of the shadows that dwelt in the mountains of Cuivienen. Now I understand that it is not what has been that haunts me but what is to be."

Thingol nodded solemnly. "Very soon, I will ask the Naugrim to smith weapons for us after the manner of the weapons that Orome gave to us long ago. They are a warlike race and are skilled in such work. It may be that we will not need such arms for many years, but even so, it would be wise to harken to the counsels of Melian. You should also prepare the Falathrim for the Darkness that may come to Beleriand."

"I will do as you advise, my Liege," Cirdan said.

Cirdan returned soon thereafter to the shores of Beleriand. He prepared arms as Thingol had advised. The Falathrim mostly crafted slender bows and spears after the manner of the weapons that the Teleri had received from Orome. They were trained in these weapons, but they only used them to hunt. Thingol sent to Cirdan a sword and mail of linked rings that had been crafted by the Dwarves. Cirdan shuddered at the feel of the steel blade beneath his hand, but he practiced wielding it nevertheless. For many years, there was peace.

Then, fell beasts of the North attacked the Nandor. Denethor, son of Lenwe, led his people over the mountains into Beleriand. Thingol welcomed them, and they dwelt in Ossiriand, the Land of Seven Rivers. Cirdan received news of this and knew it to be a warning. Though there were long years of peace thereafter, Cirdan bore in mind the warnings of Melian and armed his people and taught them to fight.

Cirdan continued with his ship building as well, and he created such ships as the one that he had first seen in his vision. They were great white ships, more strongly wrought than any that he had created previously. And they were, he believed, finally strong enough to withstand the tumults of the Great Sea. Nevertheless, he remembered the words of Ulmo and abided in Middle Earth. He believed that someday he would receive a sign, and the last of the Teleri, now known as the Telir or Telerrim in the Sindarin tongue, would depart from the shores of Beleriand.

There were days when he thought about the Light of the Two Trees and told himself that he did not wish to be remembered in songs for his great work. He dreamt of leading the Falathrim to Aman, the Blessed Realm, where he would be reunited with the greater host of the Teleri and with Olwe. He longed to see Alqualonde, the Haven of the Swans, which Osse had described to him before when he asked for tidings of the Teleri in Aman. But these feelings he kept to himself, and after a time, they passed as they always did. And he consoled himself by journeying up and down the shores of Beleriand and increasing the numbers of their fleet.

Eglarest and Brithombar flourished under his guidance, and the Falathrim sang and danced and played their pipes. Their songs were joyful, for the Falathrim took pleasure in the beauty of Middle Earth. But there was also sorrow in their songs. This was not simply the sadness that arose from their desiring to be reunited with the Teleri of Aman. At the foundations of the Earth was unfathomed sorrow, and thus the sorrow was reflected in the music of the Falathrim, which echoed the sounds of the water.

In this manner, the Elves of the Falas dwelt by Belegaer in peace for many long years. Despite his caution and preparation of arms, Cirdan could not have predicted what was to come, and even his visions did not avail him, for Ulmo had not seen what was to become of the Two Trees.

---

It happened at a time of feast. By the coasts, only conifer trees grew, for other trees could not endure the cold winds that blew from the Sea. Further inland, however, there were melon patches and strawberries to be found. And in the south, in Taur-im-Duinath, the Forest between Rivers, fruit trees ripened, and nuts could be gathered. The Falathrim knew when these times of plenty came, and during such times, the Elves of the Falas would gather the melons and strawberries. The mariners would sail along the coast, dock at the Mouth of Sirion, and gather fruits and nuts from Taur-im-Duinath. They would hunt in the east in Taur-en-Faroth, the Forest of the Hunters, and bright back fowl and deer. Then they would hold a great feast. In this, ironically, the Falathrim differed from the Teleri from whom they had been sundered, for the Teleri in Aman reckoned little of seasons. But the Elves of Middle Earth did not have the luxury of deathless trees, and so the Falathrim celebrated the time of ripening. During one such time of feasting, a Darkness came over Cirdan and he fell into a deep sleep as one dead.

The Falathrim did not know what ailed their Lord, but Cirdan was put to rest in his house, and many of his people took up vigil by his slumbering body or outside of his house and awaited his awakening.

In that time, Cirdan received no visions from Ulmo.

When Cirdan came to, he remembered nothing at first and felt only sadness. He did not understand the words that were spoken to him, nor did he recognize those around him. He ate the food put before him, for he had been asleep for a long time and was hungry. Then his people sang for him songs of the Sea and played for him upon the pipes and shells as they would have at the high feast. Memories were slowly stirred, but his memories were those of his youth by Cuivienen. He wept, remembering those fair waters. The Falathrim wept with him, for their lord was dear to them.

When Cirdan could be calmed, he was brought to the shores of Belegaer. There, he gazed out across the Sea, and he thought he saw a faint light in the distance, but this he saw in memory only. It was the light from the Floating Isle that had carried away his kinsman Olwe and the Teleri. Though he had been strong then, proposing to travel to Valinor upon his great ship, he did not feel that same strength at his memory of that time. Cirdan fell to his hands and knees and wept again. The Falathrim knew not what to do about their lord, who seemed wrought with unexplainable sadness. His friends urged him on into the waters, for they believed that the water would heal him or at least calm him, as it always had.

Cirdan gazed out at the Great Sea and remembered the first time that he had seen the Sea. He stepped into the water, and then he began to run deeper into the water before any could stop him. When he was deep enough, he began to swim out to the Sea like one fey. Cirdan was a strong swimmer, and he was far from the coast when others had only begun to swim after him. He took a deep breath and swam down into the depths of the Great Sea.

"Osse, my Lord!" he called out. "Help me." Cirdan was careful not to breathe in water as he cried out. He did not know how Osse could help him. He did not even know the problem. He only knew that the Lord of the Seas would somehow help. After a moment, he cried out again. "Osse!"

"I am here, Child of the stars."

Cirdan felt himself lifted up to the surface of the waters. A great wave built up under him, and he was brought back to the shore as he had been that first time. The elves that had followed after their lord into the water were also pushed back to the beach. Osse arose from the foam of the coastal waters and appeared in the form similar to the Falathrim. He did this often, but this time, he did not completely take his accustomed form. A watery figure sat on a rock just within the coastal waters, with hair of foam. When Osse spoke out, only Cirdan heard his words.

"I am sorry, Lover of the Waters, that we have for so long delayed your departure from these shores," Osse said. In his voice echoed the lamentations of the water that the Falathrim had long heard but not understood, for the fullness of Arda Marred had not yet been realized.

"Osse, my Lord, what has happened?" Cirdan asked, though he dreaded the answer.

"The Two Trees that you have longed to see are no more." Osse turned his head toward Valinor. "The enemy has slain the Trees, and they will not be healed. But that Light is not yet lost to the world, for it dwells now in three gems which the enemy now possesses." At this, Osse's voice rose as great waves breaking violently upon rocky coasts. "More than this, I cannot yet say, for even the Valar do not yet know what is to come. Even now, Ulmo is in Valinor holding counsel with the Valar." The figure of water began to melt back into the Sea. In the air lingered his last words. "I must return to the vigil. I will return to you later, Shipwright. Know that you are not alone in your grief, for even the Valar weep. But beauty not before conceived shall be brought into Ea, and evil shall yet be good to have been."

At these words, great waves stirred in the coastal waters, and the Falathrim became afraid, for they did not yet know what was being spoken between Cirdan and Osse. For the third time that day, Cirdan wept. He was calmer this time, but the fullness of Osse's words stung to the very core of his being. Cirdan wept not only for himself but also for his people of the Falas, for though they had been strong enough to cross the Sea for many years now, they had not done so. Cirdan had awaited the great task that Ulmo had set for him, and he had been content with the vision of the white ship, whose light was like that of the Two Trees. Now, the Two Trees were no more, and Cirdan and his people would never see the Light.

At last, Cirdan spoke to his people. He told them all that Osse had revealed to him. The Falathrim grieved with him. Indeed, the last host of the Teleri grieved with all the Valar, the Maiar, and the Eldar. In this way, Cirdan was warned that the Peace of Arda had come to an end, as had been foretold by Melian long ago. His people prepared for the forces of darkness that were to come and renewed their skills with weapons.

From that day forth, the wrinkles of regret and sorrow never left Cirdan's face. The deep lines did not mar his beauty, but they were ever a reminder to the Falathrim that the Light of the Two Trees was no more. Some said that he had stayed in the water for too long and the water had claimed the smoothness of his skin. Others said that the burden of memory was becoming heavy on him and that these wrinkles were the result. Cirdan barely noticed them, for although there were wrinkles on other parts of his body as well, he felt no different physically. He took it to be the way that his body grieved for the slaying of the Two Trees.

But this was not the final grief to come of the Death of the Two Trees, for more news was yet to come. Osse returned to bring dreadful tidings. His words were wrathful, and he could barely contain the thunder in his voice. He told Cirdan of the flight of the Noldor, the theft of the white ships of the Teleri, and the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, where many of Cirdan's old friends and their sons had been wickedly slain by the Noldor. He spoke bitterly of Olwe's prayer that he could not answer, for it was not permitted by the Valar that the flight of the Noldor should be hindered by force, and he spoke of the tears of his wife Uinen that had swelled the seas and drowned some of the Noldor. Osse gave no advice; he only relayed news of Aman. When all was said, Cirdan was alone and grieved. He did not weep as he had when he heard about the Death of the Two Trees, for this was but an extension of that Darkness. But his sorrow deepened, and Cirdan sat on the beach for a long time, uncertain of how to retell this new misfortune to his people.

"Ulmo, Lord of the Seas, I have abided here on Middle Earth as you had wished, but the vision that you had sent me has come to naught." Cirdan's whispers were lost in the heavy wind, and he did not know if even Manwe could hear him now. But the waters carried his message ever dutifully back to Ulmo, and Cirdan's words were heard. "What should I do, my Lord? My heart desires to lead my people to the shores of Eldamar and aid Olwe in the rebuilding of the ships of the Haven of the Swans. Though our ships can never replace those that were stolen by the Noldor, we may yet alleviate their sorrow. But I do not wish to abandon my kinsman Elwe at this time, not when I know that the forces of Darkness will soon be invading Beleriand. I cannot leave him to fight alone. My heart is torn in two, as it has been since I first resolved to stay in Middle Earth and forsake the Light of the Two Trees."

Though Ulmo could not come to him, the water brought its Lord's response to Cirdan, and Cirdan heard that message in his heart. Ulmo revealed to him the Prophecy of the North and Doom of the Noldor that had been laid on the exiles. He had pity for the exiles and asked Cirdan to befriend Noldor. The vision of the white ship that Cirdan had beheld long ago was a part of that which Ulmo had seen in the Music of Ainur, and its fate would be all the more glorious now, for it would arise from amidst the Darkness. Evil would yet be good to have been, and the history of the Eldar would be greater than it otherwise would have been.

"All this will not come to pass unless you are willing to abide yet longer on the shores of Beleriand," Ulmo said to Cirdan. "This is not an easy choice that has been set before you. For even as you have said, your ships are now strong enough to sail to Valinor, but this will not be so for long. Even as is foretold in the Doom of the Noldor, soon the Valar will fence Valinor against the Noldor and shut them out so that not even the echo of their lamentation shall pass over the mountains. In the Hiding of Valinor, you and your people will also be unable to cross the Sea and find the Blessed Realm. The Doom of the Noldor will fall on all the Elves of Beleriand, even the Falathrim, last of the Teleri. Through the sacrifice of the Falathrim, the fate of the Children of Iluvatar shall be achieved. But the cares of Middle Earth already weigh heavily on you, Cirdan of the Telerrim. The death of the Two Trees has only strengthened your desire to leave these shores. What will you do?"

Cirdan bowed his head. The words of Ulmo lingered in his heart like the high tide. Cirdan did not know what to do. He did not know what strength would be in him once Ulmo's presence had left him. He ran his fingers across his face, feeling the wrinkles that had never before been seen on any elf. Ulmo asked him to befriend the Noldor, but how would the Falathrim react if they knew about the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, the slaying of the greater host of the Teleri from which the Telerrim had been sundered? He resolved not to tell his people of the latest tidings brought to him by Osse. But what of Ulmo's words? The Falathrim could sail to the West but only for a short time. He yearned to leave behind the grief of Middle Earth and lead the Falathrim forth, but he could not abandon the Sindar and the exiled Noldor to ruin. Through the sacrifice of the Falathrim, the fate of the Children of Iluvatar shall be achieved. He gave a great sigh and looked out across the waters to see if he might his last sight of Valinor before it was fenced from the elves of Middle Earth, but he could see nothing across the Sea.

"I will abide here, my Lord," Cirdan said. The waters brought his words swiftly to Ulmo.

Cirdan felt in his heart the love and pity of Ulmo for the Falathrim. "I will be with you. Remember that the true hope of the Elves lieth in the West and cometh from the Sea."

The armies of Morgoth suddenly came into Beleriand and assailed the peoples of its lands. Many Elves wandered free in the wild or dwelt at peace in small groups, and they had little defense against the Orcs. In those days, many refugees fled to the Falas. Soon, Cirdan was cut off from Thingol at Eglarest. Despite his preparations, Cirdan had not foreseen the great number of Orcs and their lust of ruin and death. He could not have known the power of Morgoth. The Falathrim retreated to the rim of the Sea, where they were better able to defend themselves.

Thingol withdrew into Menegroth, and Melian put forth her power and fenced all that dominion round about with an unseen wall of shadow and bewilderment so that none thereafter could pass against her will or the will of King Thingol. Thus Eglador came to be called Doriath, the guarded kingdom, Land of the Girdle. Within it there was yet a watchful peace, but Cirdan knew that it meant the Falathrim would have to defend themselves alone from behind the walled Havens of the Falas. Many times, Cirdan was tempted to use the great white ships to sail to Valinor and escape this ruin, but he had made his choice and knew it to be the right one. Instead, they sailed up and down the coast harassing the armies of Morgoth.

Then fleeting thoughts of escape into the West ceased completely, for as Ulmo had warned, Valinor became hidden in enchantment, and Cirdan knew that the path was unmanageable by any of his ships. The Falathrim were enmeshed in the Doom of the Noldor, and now that Doom would have to work to its appointed end. The Orcs poured forth from the North in seemingly unceasing numbers. The Falathrim were not strong enough to withstand all the hosts of Morgoth alone, and Cirdan saw many of his people fall. The Sacrifice of the Falathrim, Cirdan thought grimly. It seemed too high a price to pay, but he kept faith and led his people in the defense of the Falas.

Then one day, there was heard from the winds of the sea a tumult of great wrath from the North. All who heard that sound were filled with wonder. Scouts reported a great burning that shone red beneath the clouds at Losgar at the outlet of the Firth of Drengist. The Noldor, Cirdan thought, and yet he doubted it himself for he could not fathom the reason for the bright flames at Losgar. Later, he would mourn for the ships of the Teleri, fairest of all vessels, that had been destroyed upon the arrival of the first host of the Noldor to Beleriand.

The Orcs that had been assailing the Falas left to join the battle in the North. Thus, the Falathrim were at last spared from the unceasing assault of Morgoth's troops. Before long, tidings of the great deeds in the North came south to the Havens of Brithombar and Eglarest. The Noldor, out-numbered and taken at unawares, were swiftly victorious for the light of Aman was not yet dimmed in their eyes. All the Elves of Beleriand were filled with wonder and with hope at the coming of their mighty kindred, who thus returned unlooked for from the West in the very hour of their need, and they believed at first that the Noldor came as emissaries of the Valar to deliver them. The Orcs were driven from Beleriand in Dagor-nuin- Giliath, Battle-under-Stars. Later, another host of the Noldor arrived from across the Helcaraxe, and the Moon rose for the first time. The Sun rose soon after. The Sindar marveled at the Host of Fingolfin, for the Grinding Ice was deathly cold. Little was known of the strife of the Noldor and the division of their hosts. The Elves of Beleriand only knew that the Noldor were strong and valiant and armed with swords long and terrible.

The mighty Princes of the Noldor spread out primarily across the North of Beleriand, where they held back the forces of Morgoth. In time, Cirdan was able to forgive the Noldor to some measure for their past crimes. They were noble and strong, and they protected all of Beleriand with their valor. Finrod's realm of Nargothrond extended further south the realms of the other princes, and this came to include all the lands of Beleriand between Sirion and the River Nenning. Finrod came to the Falas to meet with Cirdan, Lord of the Falas, and great friendship arose between them. Finrod was a wise and fair lord, and Cirdan knew that Finrod's people had not participated in the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, so friendship with him was easier than it would have been with the other Princes of the Noldor. With the aid of Finrod's people, the Havens of Brithombar and Eglarest were built anew. Behind their great walls, they became fair towns and harbors with quays and piers of stone. Upon the cape west of Eglarest, Finrod raised the tower of Barad Nimras to watch the western sea. Cirdan knew that the watchtower was unnecessary, for he had already witnessed that the servants of Morgoth shunned the Sea. But Barad Nimras served as a token of the friendship of the Noldor and the Falathrim.

When twenty years of the Sun had passed, Fingolfin King of the Noldor made a great feast. It was held in the spring near the pools of Ivrin, whence the swift river Narog rose, for the lands were green and fair there at the feet of the Mountains of Shadow that shielded them from the north. The joy of that feast was long remembered in later days of sorrow. It was called Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting. Cirdan and a host of his people came out from the Falas. At Mereth Aderthad, many counsels were taken in good will, and oaths were sworn of league and friendship. Cirdan was also friendly with the three Houses of Princes, for the leaders of each of the Houses were worthy of respect and loyalty. In those days, there was joy beneath the new Sun and Moon, and all the land was glad, but still the Shadow brooded in the North.

After some time, rumors of the evil deeds of the Noldor before their coming to Beleriand spread among the Sindar. Cirdan heard these dark tales and was troubled. He knew of these deeds from the tidings of the Lords of the Water, but he had never spoken of this matter with his people. He perceived therefore that these rumors were put about at this time through malice, though he deemed the malice to be that of the younger Princes of the Noldor and the strife between the Houses. He sent messengers to Thingol to tell him about the rumors. Unfortunately, this accomplished little except to unify the tongue of all the Elves of Beleriand, for Thingol forbade the use of the Noldorin tongue in his realms.

The third great battle, Dagor Aglareb, did not affect the Falas at all. Fingolfin and Maedhros utterly destroyed the Orcs that had been sent forth from Angband, and so the armies of Morgoth never came as far south as the Falas.

Beleriand knew peace for almost 400 years after the Glorious Battle. There were small skirmishes, and the Siege of Angband never ceased in that time, but this affected the Falas little. Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, sought to assault Angband, but most of the Noldor were content with things as they were because the land was fair and their kingdoms wide. Thus, the Falathrim were never called to arms to assist the Noldor in their fight with Morgoth.

---

One winter, the armies of Morgoth burst forth from Angband again. In the fourth great battle, Dagor Bragollach, the Siege of Angband was broken, and many of the Noldor were forced to flee from their lands. Fingolfin fell in single combat with Morgoth, and Fingon took the high kingship in sorrow. Several messengers of Fingon delivered tidings of the Battle of Sudden Flame to the Falas. With these dark tidings came Fingon's young son Ereinion Gil-galad. The Doom of the Noldor and the sacrifice of the Falathrim, Cirdan thought to himself. Harboring such an important refugee would undoubtedly bring trouble to the Falas in the end, but Cirdan was not concerned with that. The Noldor had protected Beleriand from the armies of Morgoth for the last 400 years. Cirdan would not hesitate to protect one of the Noldorin Princes in return. What concerned him most was that Ereinion was still in his early youth, a time during which he should not be separated from his parents.

"Why has the High King of the Noldor sent his son to me?" Cirdan asked the leader of the messengers, for these messengers were also guards for the precious young Prince.

"The High King did not see fit to divulge too much information with me," the messenger said carefully. "Strategically, the Falas is farthest from Angband, except Ossiriand, and there is no lord there."

Seeing that he would not get a satisfactory answer from any but King Fingon himself, Cirdan returned with the messengers to Hithlum by ship. He was wise and knew that there must be some matter aside from safety that prompted such a drastic measure. Ereinion stayed in the Havens of the Falas for the time being. Fingon welcomed Cirdan, of course, but when all the pleasantries were aside, Cirdan spoke with the High King in private.

"A child should not be separated from his parents at such a young age," Cirdan said. He knew that Fingon also knew this. "Why have you sent him to me?"

"Because I wish to keep him safe, of course," Fingon said. "The Siege of Angband has been broken. The realms of the Noldor lay in ruin. I do not know how long I can hold Hithlum."

"Even if it were so, you would not be separated from your child." Cirdan sighed and covered his eyes with one hand for a moment. "Look at me, my Lord," Cirdan said solemnly. "I am aged like one of the mortal Men. I am a prisoner of the Shadow though I have not been captured and tormented in Angband. The very weariness of my body is evidence of the hold that Morgoth has over me. Memories of the past weigh heavily on me and will weigh even more heavily on me before the Enemy is defeated. I am marred even in the manner that Arda has been marred. When you crossed the Helcaraxe, those who survived were not aged by the trial but became greater in valiance and endurance. Even after years of struggle, you are strong, young and undeterred in your purpose. You may tire, but you have seen the Light of Aman that dwells now only in the Jewels of Feanor behind the Gates of Angband. Even if Hithlum is endangered, you would raise your own child better than me, and his very presence here would give you strength."

Fingon was silent for several moments. He looked at Cirdan with a critical eye. The wrinkles were few but unmistakably there. They ran deep in his face and the back of his hands. But in spite of the wrinkles, Cirdan was tall and strong. He was not bent and diminished in stature like those who escaped from Angband. The spirit was strong in him, and his eyes were bright like stars, like the Eldar who had seen the Light, though Cirdan himself had not. There was a heavy burden laid on him indeed, but he was not yet weary, not as he had described it.

"You are mistaken, Lord of the Falas. You may be weary of dwelling in Middle Earth, but you are not yet aged. You are wise, and my son can learn from such wisdom." Fingon looked out to the east and for a moment, a shadow seemed to fall over him. "Maedhros and I have spoken much about the Fall of the Noldor since that Day when the Two Trees were wickedly slain."

At the mention of the Death of the Two Trees, Cirdan felt the shadow fall over him as well. He remembered that day when he had become witless and his sorrow when he had learned that he would never gaze upon the Light of the Two Trees. If he had not delayed, the Telerrim could have dwelt in the Bay of Eldamar. No, but then they would have been killed in the Kinslaying of Alqualonde along with their fellow Teleri. Nothing would have been achieved. There was another fate in store for the Falathrim, though Cirdan did not know it yet in full. The shadow passed. He had chosen to remain in Middle Earth, and that choice was still the right one.

Fingon watched Cirdan intently as the shadow clouded his eyes and then left them bright and hopeful again. "You see, we are right," Fingon said. "Morgoth was unchained for 100 years before the fullness of his malice was revealed. That is 1,000 years of the Sun. He always targeted the Noldor, and after Feanor created the Silmarils, Morgoth's malice was turned to the Houses of Feanor and Fingolfin all the more strongly. My uncle Finarfin did not come to Middle Earth because he alone escaped the worse of Morgoth's corruption. He dwelt in Alqualonde for the most part, away from the turmoil of the Noldor in Tirion. Morgoth did not work his lies on the Teleri as he did on the Noldor, for he considered them too weak for his designs. But the rest of the House of Finwe, we are marred deeply, and that same pride that led us to join in Feanor's madness will in the end destroy us." Fingon took Cirdan's hands. They were wrinkled, yes, but they were strong and firm.

"You have heard of the Doom of the Noldor." Cirdan nodded. The light that had sprung into Fingon's eyes held Cirdan. Cirdan knew more than most, for he was deep in the counsels of Ulmo and Osse. "There is a second Doom, the Doom of Feanor. Do you know of that?"

Cirdan swallowed and shifted uncomfortably. The High King's words were hot and his eyes were aflame as he remembered the words of Feanor, the Spirit of fire.

"I know of it indeed, my Lord," Cirdan said. "Osse has spoken to me of it. 'We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.'" Though Osse had spoken to Cirdan about the matter only once, Cirdan remembered each word, for through Osse, Cirdan had also felt the great fire that Eru had placed in Feanor, mightiest of the Noldor. Even as he recalled the Doom of Feanor, Cirdan felt his courage kindled as if Feanor had planted a fire within him as well.

"Then you do understand," Fingon said. He gripped Cirdan's hands, for he felt the heat in his body and the fire burning in his eyes at the mere memory of the words of Feanor, which he had never heard but through Osse. The wrinkles meant little now. Cirdan was stirred such that he felt young and strong enough to assail Angband. "Yes, you feel it too, then." Fingon released his hands and looked out the window to the east again. "I was there, as were many of the Noldor. If not for Feanor, perhaps we would be cravens indeed, for I hear that the Noldor fled when Morgoth assaulted Formenos and that Finwe stood alone against the Dark Lord."

Fingon's eyes were a deep gray, and they were sharp, but there was sadness in those bright eyes. "We will either defeat Morgoth or be ourselves utterly defeated. But I will fight Morgoth even as my father did, and I will follow my Fate to the bitter end, if bitter it must be." He smiled wryly and laughed softly at himself. "The Pride of the Noldor will be its downfall. But you are different. You have never taken a kingship, yet you rule your people with wisdom. You are humble, but you are also noble and lordly. Teach my son to be the same." He looked out to the east again as the sun set in the west, and the clouds were aflame in soft oranges and reds. "Maedhros and I are proud. We will not be deterred from our path, and the day is coming when we will deal such injury to Morgoth that even the Valar in the Ring of Doom will be amazed. And our deeds shall, indeed, be a matter of song until the last days of Arda. If we are defeated, then it will be your teachings that stay my son's sword and stops him from following in our folly."

Cirdan bowed his head. He calmed himself and banished the fiery passion that had awakened at Feanor's words. "I will raise your son then."

---

Some time after his meeting with Fingon, Cirdan received an unexpected visit from messengers of Turgon, who had left Vinyamar in Nevrast and gone into hiding at the behest of Ulmo years ago. Cirdan did not know the location of Gondolin, but he knew of its existence and knew that, like Nargothrond, it was situated along one of the great rivers under Ulmo's protection. The messengers did not say anything about Gondolin, only that they had been sent by Turgon. Turgon had learned of the breaking of the leaguer of Angband, but none of his people would be issued forth to war. Cirdan took note of this warning, for the lessening of the hosts of the Noldor was but an advantage for the Dark Lord. Furthermore, Turgon believed that the ending of the Siege was the beginning of the downfall of the Noldor, unless aid should come. Of that, Cirdan had little doubt. He had received these same warnings.

The companies of the Gondolindrim had been sent forth to seek Cirdan's aid in the building of ships so that they might sail to the uttermost West upon Turgon's errand, seeking for Valinor, to ask for pardon and aid of the Valar. This path seemed wisest to Cirdan, for he knew that the white ship that he had seen in his vision would be the salvation of the Elves of Middle Earth. Thus Cirdan aided the Gondolindrim and guided them in the making of ships. The white ships were strong, but the way to Valinor was hidden. Though the messengers of Turgon besought the birds of the sea to guid them, none of the messengers came into the West, and many were lost and few returned.

Evil would yet be good to have been, and the history of the Eldar would be greater than it otherwise would have been. Cirdan mourned for the loss of so many fine mariners, but he kept his faith and waited for the mightiest mariner of song to arise from the Darkness.

---

Although Ereinion was sundered from his father, Cirdan would often take him up the coast of Beleriand and up the Fifth of Drengist to visit King Fingon. Both father and son delighted in these meetings, and though they were always too brief, Ereinion did not feel that his father's presence was lacking in his upbringing. By spending time with Fingon, Ereinion learned what no Sindar could. He learned the strength and bravery of the Noldor. He witnessed the light in Fingon's eyes and the burning fire in his heart. He saw the differences between the Noldor of Hithlum and the Telerrim of the Falas, those that had seen the Light of Aman and those that had not. In such a way, Ereinion understood himself to be the scion of kings, descendant of the great line of Finwe. Ereinion was proud, as was befitting for a Prince of the Noldor, but with each parting from his father, Ereinion also understood the weakness of the Noldor, for if Morgoth could be defeated, there would be no need to send him away. In such a way, Cirdan taught Ereinion to be humble and wiser than the Princes who had come forth from Aman.

When seven years had passed since the Fourth Battle, Morgoth renewed his assault, and he sent a great force against Hithlum. Cirdan came up the shore to lend aid to Fingon, and with him came young Ereinion. Ereinion was too young to fight, and Cirdan would not have endangered him in such a skirmish. Instead, Ereinion's ship stayed a safe distance from the shores of Beleriand while the ships of Cirdan sailed in great strength up the Firth of Drengist and came upon the host of Morgoth from the west. Fingon had been hard put to hold back the army of Angband that came down from the north, but now, with the aid of the Falathrim, the Orcs broke and fled, and the Eldar had the victory. Only then, when victory was won, did Ereinion come to Hithlum. He sat beside his father at the celebrations and was filled with admiration and love for Fingon the valiant. But after some time, Cirdan brought him away again. The parting from Fingon was too much for him. For the first and last time, Ereinion asked to stay with his father at Hithlum. King Fingon refused his plea.

As Ereinion sailed back towards the Sea, he looked out at Hithlum once more and asked Cirdan, "What would have happened if we had lost the day? Surely I would not have been able to join my father then in celebration of his victory."

"No, indeed you would not have," Cirdan said. "The ships would have borne away what survivors they could on swift winds, and you would have learned an important lesson."

Ereinion was solemn and silent. He touched the sword at his side. Though he wore this sword with pride, he knew that he was not yet strong enough to wield it with the deadliness of his father. The day might have been lost despite the battle prowess of Fingon the valiant.

Ereinion said slowly, "Although there was no need for us to retreat with survivors this time, I think I have nevertheless learned the lesson."

Cirdan nodded. "Then you will be everything that your father hopes that you will be. And perhaps you can avoid the Doom of the Noldor and the Fate of the Falathrim."

The Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, was sung throughout Beleriand. The Falathrim delighted in the tale of Beren and Luthien. Amid sorrow there was joy. The strange love between a Mortal Man and the most beautiful child of the Eldar brought hope to the people of Beleriand, taught that the Darkness did not encompass all that was good. Cirdan first heard the song from a minstrel who had studied under Daeron, the greatest singer in Middle Earth.

The images that Cirdan saw were not the same as those evoked by the talented minstrel of Thingol. When the first meeting of Thingol and Beren was told, Cirdan saw the High King of the Sindar, proud and contemptuous of the Mortal Man, for he did not even take Men into his service. He remembered that same look on a young and fearless Thingol when he had first agreed to travel with Orome the Great Rider to Valinor. The pride that had moved Thingol to demand a Silmaril in return for the hand of Luthien was also part of Thingol's majesty and greatness. Cirdan found that he could not fault Thingol, though he had thus inadvertently brought the Doom of the Noldor upon his own people.

Cirdan remembered Luthien, the young girl with midnight black hair and a shining light in her face. When Cirdan had visited Menegroth again, Daeron had fallen in love with her and taught the Falathrim many songs of Luthien's beauty during their short visit. Many of these had already seeped into the lore of the Falathrim from other Sindarin minstrels, but there were always new ones, songs of dedication and love, of joy and beauty, for Daeron never tired of his source of inspiration. That same young woman, who sang the songs composed for her by Daeron, had danced with unmatched beauty and grace before Thingol and Cirdan. In one dance during Cirdan's last visit to Menegroth, she played with a large pearl, and Cirdan recognized it to be the one that he had given to her many years ago. It remained free and had not been set in any metal, gold or silver. Luthien raised her right arm up at the sky and let the pearl roll smoothly along her arm and across her shoulders. It landed neatly in her left hand. She brought both hands to the pearl and kissed it. There was a twinkle in her eyes. Then in a skip, she was moving and turning and dancing before her father and her father's esteemed guests once again. Cirdan had cherished that last dance as the highlight of the years before the Dagor Bragollach.

The Falathrim also mourned when they heard the demise of Finrod Felagund, fairest and most beloved of the Noldorin princes. The malice of Celegorm and Curufin reminded Cirdan of the words of Mandos: "Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue." The dreadful deeds of the sons of Feanor seemed to be a sign of that the Curse of Mandos was drawing near, and Cirdan feared that his friendship with the Noldor would bring ruin to his people.

After hearing the Lay of Leithian, Cirdan wanted to travel to Tol Galen, to see the beauty and light of Luthien one last time, but he knew this to be wishful thinking. He wanted to visit Thingol and gaze upon the Silmaril, within which was locked the last Light before the Sun and the Moon. He wanted to go to Tol Sirion to pay his respects to Finrod Felagund, who had been buried on his own isle. But before Cirdan had time to do any of that, he received summons from the High King of the Noldor to join the Union of Fingon.

---

In the valleys and the woods east of Ered Wethrin, well hidden from the eyes of the Enemy, the host of Fingon was assembled. Marching under the standard of Fingon were the Elves of Hithlum, the Elves of the Falas, Gwindor's company of Elves from Nargothrond, the Men of Dor-lomin of the House of Hador, and the Men of Brethil of the people of Haleth. The Elves, Men, and Dwarves, assembled on Anfauglith under Maedhros's command, were to attack the forces of Morgoth from the east. The host of Fingon awaited Maedhros's signal before attacking from the west.

Cirdan stood with Fingon on Eithel Sirion. With them were Beleg Strongbow and Mablung of Doriath. While the Men of Dor-lomin and Brethil had trained for war, Cirdan and Beleg had renewed their friendship and contested their skills with the bow. Beleg was now the stronger archer and was able to shoot any target regardless of distance, but Cirdan was still the faster archer and barely even needed to aim before letting loose his arrows. Fingon had been glad to see such camaraderie in his army, but his joy had also been touched with sorrow.

Fingon had only recently lost his father. The eagles had brought news of Aradhel's death many years ago. Argon had died in the Battle of Lammoth. Fingon's only surviving brother Turgon had not been seen since his departure from Vinyamar to his Hidden Kingdom. Even Cirdan knew more of Turgon's whereabouts and well being than Fingon. And Fingon's own son was at Eglarest, many leagues south of the war. Fingon had been close in friendship to the children of Finarfin, but Angrod and Aegnor had been slain in the Dagor Bragollach, and Finrod had recently died in the Quest for the Silmaril while fulfilling his Oath to aid the house of Barahir. Orodreth was hidden away in Nargothrond and refused to join the Union because of the evil deeds of Celegorm and Curufin, and Galadriel remained inaccessible in Menegroth. In many ways, Fingon was alone, and his last close friend from the Days of Bliss in Aman was Maedhros, son of Feanor.

The sons of Feanor, on the other hand, had come together for the Fifth Battle. By chance, none had been slain in the Dagor Bragollach though the forces of Morgoth had heavily attacked their lands. The divisions in the ranks, between that of Himring and the March of Maedhros, the Gap of Maglor, Himlad, Thargelion, and East Beleriand, were less noticeable than that of Fingon's host of the Elves of Hithlum, Falas, and Nargothrond. The Elves fighting under Maedhros's standard all followed the sons of Feanor, and Maedhros's brothers supported him. Though the sons of Feanor were the ones who were cursed, their unity made their Fate seem enviable. Though Doomed, they met their Fate together.

"How is my son, Ereinion?" Fingon had asked of Cirdan the night before the appointed day of Midsummer.

"He is well and safe, my Lord," Cirdan had said, for he knew that it was the answer that Fingon sought. If the Siege of Angband had not been broken, Fingon would have wanted to know of his son's growing strength and skills, his learning of lore, and his adventures and exploration as a young Elf approaching maturity. He would have asked if any young Elf-maiden of the Falas had caught Ereinion's eye. Instead, on the eve of the Fifth Battle, all that mattered was Ereinion's safety. It was the sole reason for the severance of son from father and the cause of much anguish.

"When this is over, we will go to see him and maybe he can join me at Hithlum," Fingon said, but his eyes misgave him, and Cirdan could read the doubt in his heart.

Now, looking out at Thangorodrim from the walls of Eithel Sirion, Fingon's eyes clouded with doubt once again. He turned his gaze eastward, toward the host of Maedhros. Cirdan remembered the tales of Fingon's valiant rescue of Maedhros from the precipice of Thangorodrim. Their ancient friendship is stronger than the malice of Morgoth. Our doom hangs upon a thread, Cirdan realized. If we unite with the host of Maedhros, we will be victorious. If Fingon and Maedhros are not reunited in the midst of battle, then we will fall. Fingon's wistful gaze to the east stung at Cirdan's heart.

But then a cry went up, passing up the wind from the south from vale to vale, and Elves and Men lifted their voices in wonder and joy. For unsummoned and unlooked for, Turgon had opened the leaguer of Gondolin and had come with an army ten thousand strong, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest. When Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted.

"The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!" Fingon shouted. His eyes were clear and bright. Though not yet united with the son of Feanor, the sons of Fingolfin were reunited with each other. Surely this is enough to defeat the malice of Morgoth, Cirdan thought as he looked out at the eleven houses of the Gondolindrim.

After reading the banner of each of the eleven houses and seeing the King of Gondolin with his elven sight, Cirdan joined in the chant of those who had heard Fingon. "The night is passing!"

---

Cirdan and the Elves of the Falas were the archers of the host of Fingon and were not at first at the forefront of the battle. Thus, Cirdan did not know about the premature attack of Gwindor until much later. He only knew that Fingon put on his white helmet and led them to war before they had received the signal of the approach of Maedhros. The Elves of the Falas marched under Fingon's banner, for the Elves of Hithlum were few in number because of their loss in the Dagor Bragollach and Cirdan never went forth to war with his own standard.

The bright blades of the Noldor were deadly, and the Orcs fell before them as if a great wave of the Sea had swept the enemy away. The Elves and Men wore bright mail like the moonlight upon crested waves, and so it was easy for Cirdan to target the darker, iron-clad enemy. The armies of Fingon passed over Anfauglith and moved ever northward. They proved stronger than Morgoth had expected, and soon the banners of Fingon were raised before the very walls of Angband. Cirdan warned Fingon that they were too far north too early. Turgon was yet far south, guarding the Pass of Sirion, and Maedhros's army in the east had not been sighted. Fingon refused to listen and established the lands about Angband as his base and main battlefield.

That first night before the gates of Angband was the one of the worst in Cirdan's life. Being so close to the Dark Enemy of the World, Cirdan felt his heart waver. The Falathrim were more susceptible to the presence of Morgoth than Men and had not seen the Light of Aman so were not as strong as the Noldor. Many broke into heavy sweat; some broke into tears. Here, the sweet and sorrowful sounds of the Sea were far away, and instead of the fresh smell and airs of the ocean breeze, the Falathrim were choked by the dust and fumes of Morgoth's black clouds. Cirdan felt the power and majesty of one who had before been accounted among the Valar. He beheld the peaks of Thangorodrim and knew that no power of the Eldar would ever overthrow them. He feared that the Darkness would swallow him and that he would die in the Gasping Dust without ever feeling the refreshing waters of Ulmo again.

Cirdan tried his best to maintain his composure and bolster the spirits of his people. He played on his lyre made from a great turtle shell and sang the Aldudenie, the Lament for the Two Trees. He sang of the grief and terror on that fateful day when the Light failed and the Darkness sought to strangle the very will. He sang of this not because he despaired but because he had hope, for the Moon and Sun had arisen over all the world after the Darkening of Valinor. Cirdan had beheld his long-time home of Middle Earth bathed in light for the first time, and the waters of the Sea were no longer dark and fearful but bright, beautiful, and peaceful. The Noldor had found a way to continue to live though the Dark Foe had done the most injury to them. Even amid the Darkness and sorrow, there was hope and joy. The Falathrim were calmed. Though many now wept for grief of the Two Trees, none wept for fear of Morgoth.

Cirdan continued to sing, but now he sang a song of his own invention. He had shared the vision of Ulmo, who had been instructed most deeply by Iluvatar in the Music of Arda. Cirdan's voice reflected the power of the Lord of the Waters, but his music also reached beyond that of the Valar and touched upon one of the two musics of the third theme of Iluvatar. His voice was soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in the delicate melodies in the midst of the smothering Darkness, but it could not be quenched and took to itself power and profundity. His song was deep and wide and beautiful but also slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came.

When Cirdan's song ended, night neared dawn. Fingon had been surveying his troops and had stopped to listen to Cirdan's enchantment. He came to join Cirdan, who now settled in his tent to get what little rest he could.

"The Ainulindale, the Music of the Ainur, is very great in you," Fingon said.

"I was of the Lindar, the Elves of Song." Cirdan served the High King some rice cakes, white wine, and some dried fruits.

Fingon smiled wanly, welcoming the change from corn cakes. "I always eat well when I'm with you, Lord Cirdan."

"The Falas is blessed by the protection of the Noldor. Our fertile lands could not have yielded such crop if the servants of Morgoth had defeated us in the First Battle. And our ships brought us supplies from as far south as the Mouths of Sirion before we began the journey north. I gladly share what I have with you."

"I know. If you hadn't brought supplied, especially lembas, I'm not sure I would've been able to feed all my troops. Queen Melian would never have gifted to us lembas, nor would Thingol have given us dried persimmons, mangoes, hazelnuts, and other such delicacies. I have not tasted such things since the bountiful harvests in Aman." Fingon's eyes were distant, and Cirdan wondered for the hundredth time about the splendor of the Blessed Realms. "Maedhros and I used to share persimmons in our youth. He was a picky eater and would always skin the persimmons and cut them into fine slices no thicker than a sheet of parchment. I'd eat three or four slices at once, but he'd savor the delicate flavor of each thin slice."

Cirdan put his hand on Fingon's. "He is coming, High King of the Noldor. Let us retreat south and await the coming of his troops from the east."

"Nay, Lord Cirdan." Fingon sighed and looked toward the Gates of Angband. "We cannot turn back now or Morgoth will think that we do not have enough strength and will let loose all his forces upon us. We will go on, and if we meet defeat, then let it be so. Our deeds shall be the matter of song for those Elves who survive to fight on. Do not ask me again to take the path of cowardice."

Too late, Cirdan saw the glint in Fingon's eyes. Before these very gates, Fingolfin had dueled with Morgoth. The mighty pits of Grond bubbled with the black blood of Morgoth. They were vivid reminders that the most proud Elven-king had been slain here. Fingon would not retreat. Battle lust had entered his heart, and the need for revenge for the deaths of his father, his grandfather, his brother, his cousins, and many others besides made him fey. It was as if the fumes from Morgoth's black blood had poisoned his mind.

The sun did not rise over the plains of Anfauglith, for the black smokes and vapors of Angband clouded the skies, but in what Fingon knew to be morning, the battles began anew. The Orcs swarmed forth like insects but fell like rain before the fury of the hosts of Fingon. This time, the fighting did not end with the coming of the night or the following day, nor would it until the end. There were few moments of rest for the Elves and Men, and warriors were rotated in shifts to the forefront of the battle. By the third night, the foul odor of the multitude of slain Orcs filled the plains with the smell of death, but Fingon would not retreat. Many times, it seemed as if they would break down the very Gates of Angband. Still, the hosts of Maedhros did not show. Then, on the fourth day of the war, Gwindor and the Elves of Nargothrond burst through the Gate and slew the guards on the very stairs of Angband. A great cheer was taken up among the warriors of Fingon. But at that moment, Morgoth issued forth his main host from the many secret doors of Thangorodrim, and their numbers were very great and there were wolves and goblins and trolls amidst their ranks. Thus began Nirnaeth Arnoediand, Unnumbered Tears, for no song or tale can contain all its grief.

Fingon was beaten back from the walls and forced to call a retreat over the sands. Without the support of the eastern troops of the Union, there was no hope of victory. The Men of Brethil held the rearguard, and Cirdan's Elves of the Falas stayed ever by Fingon's side and kept the enemy at bay with their deadly arrows. The enemy pressed ever nearer, and Cirdan was forced to cast aside his bow and instead draw Kirwath, the sword gifted to him by Thingol. The Falathrim followed their lord's example and drew their long knives of hard shell with edges of glass shards from the sands of their beloved shores, but the close combat was difficult, and Cirdan lost many of his shoreland pipers. The Men of Dor-lomin fought fiercely, and many fell in brave combat against the Orcs and trolls. The Elves of Hithlum were the most deadly of Fingon's host with their swords of steel, but exhaustion was setting in and many were slain in the great onslaught from Thangorodrim. So it is that few cannot always fight against the many.

On the fifth day as night fell, Fingon's western host was surrounded while still far from the safety of Ered Wethrin. Dark clouds blocked the starlight. The enemy pressed them ever closer, but a white fire burned brightly in Fingon's eyes and his trumpets and cries in battle brought courage to his troops time and time again. In the morning came hope when the horns of Turgon were heard in the south. At that trumpeting, the clouds broke for the first time since the beginning of the war, and pale moonlight shone through the patches of clear sky. The Gondolindrim marched to the aid of Fingon clad in mail that shone with the bright colors of their jewel-encrusted shields, and the sight of such brilliance of green and blue and gold and silver and many colors besides was a great relief from the darkness of Morgoth's troops. Turgon hewed his way to the side of his brother, and the meeting of Fingon and Turgon in the midst of battle was glad. Then hope was renewed in the hearts of the Elves. In that very time, at the third hour of the morning, the trumpets of Maedhros were heard at last coming up from the east, and the banners of the sons of Feanor assailed the enemy in the rear.

But before the hosts of Fingon and Maedhros could unite, Morgoth loosed his last strength from the pits of Angband. The dragons and balrogs came between the western and eastern armies, and Maedhros was assailed from the rear by the Men of Ulfang. Many of the Easterlings that had been summoned for the war joined in the treachery of Uldor the Accursed or fled the battlefield. The ancient friendship between Fingon and Maedhros remained unfulfilled. The Union of Fingon failed and was later known as the Union of Maedhros, for most believed that the Curse of the Oath of Feanor had been the cause of the defeat.

Fingon was now assailed by a tide of foes thrice greater than the force that was left to him, and of those remaining, most were of the Gondolindrim, for the Elves of Hithlum and Falas and the Men of Dor-lomin had long been diminished by the earlier days of the war. Gothmog and his legion of balrogs drove a wedge between the Elven hosts.

The Gondolindrim and Men of Dor-lomin were separated from the Elves of Hithlum and the Falas and were forced toward the Fen of Serech. The two Elves of Doriath were nowhere to be seen. Fingon fought as he yielded ground and retreated toward Sirion, but at last he was surrounded by balrogs and werewolves and drakes. The Elves formed a tight circle around Fingon, and Cirdan was by his side. Twice they broke through their enemy's formation, but each time, they were surrounded again. They broke through the ranks of their enemies a third and final time. Fingon and his bodyguards managed to elude their pursuers for a while, and at that time, it was but noon, yet the sun was partially hidden by the clouds and offered no comfort. They rested for a short while in the plains that offered no place for hiding.

King Fingon looked skyward and said, "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed," and the Elves shuddered, for such were the words of Mandos of old.

"All is not yet hopeless while we have you with us," Cirdan said.

Fingon shook his head. "It may be so, but I know that Morgoth seeks the scion of Fingolfin, who wounded him seven times ere the end. If I am slain, Lord Cirdan, fight not against doom and seek safety in flight. To you, I have entrusted Ereinion, last of the High Kings of the Noldor. Do not fail me."

Tears feel freely from Cirdan's eyes. "I will obey, my Lord."

"But until that moment, we will fight by your side," said Erellont.

Fingon nodded. "Until the bitter end, if bitter it must be."

The guards of Fingon were hardly rested when their pursuers attacked once more. Cirdan was separated from Fingon's side but fought to break through to rescue the High King. At last Fingon stood alone with his guard dead about him. The drakes kept Cirdan's small group at bay. They watched the fight between King Fingon and Gothmog but were unable to come to his aid. A seventh balrog came from behind and stung Fingon's swordarm with his thong of fire. Then Gothmog hewed Fingon with his black axe, and a white flame sprang from the helm of Fingon as it was cloven. The balrogs and werewolves beat him into the dust with their maces. The remaining Elves became fey as they saw Fingon's blue and silver banner trod into the mire of his blood. The servants of Morgoth laughed as they mutilated the body of the High King and barely noticed that a small group of Elves yet remained.

A flash of lightning, as white as the fire that had sprung from Fingon's helmet, filled the dark skies of the empty plain of Anfauglith. A heavy rain began to fall. A great wind came out of the west. The balrogs let out a cry greater than any that had ever been heard or would be heard again until the fall of Gondolin. The drakes hissed and retreated to Angband with the balrogs and werewolves following. The waters from the skies awakened Cirdan from his madness. He stopped his Elves from assaulting the retreating enemy, for they had absolutely no hope of victory. Only three besides him remained now: Falathar, Erellont, and Aerandir.

"We are all that live of the host of Fingon," Cirdan said grimly. "We must return to Hithlum and evacuate Fingon's people."

"What of the body of the High King?" Falathar demanded.

"We do not have time to properly bury him, but nor should we leave him for the return of the werewolves," Aerandir said.

Cirdan and his companions crossed the sands to where King Fingon had at last fallen. Cirdan knew that what Aerandir had said was true, that they could not bury Fingon but could not leave him to the wolves. Even as he pondered this dilemma, a glimmer of green amid the broken body of the king flickered as the sky lit with lightning once more. Cirdan drew the necklace out from beneath Fingon's mail. It was a brilliant green stone set in silver in the shape of an eagle with spread wings, and Cirdan knew it to be the Elessar, the Star-stone. At the next crack of lightning, the stone became a green fire in Cirdan's hand. Cirdan dropped it and stepped back as the body of Fingon became engulfed in the flame despite the heavy rain that drenched the four Elves. Cirdan was too tired to honor the funeral with his voice, but in his mind, he sang a song of the Eglain for High King Fingon.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar,

I'll find the heavens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-earth at last.

I see the Star above my mast!

When the green fire died, all that remained was the Elessar and the broken shards of Fingon's sword. He unclasped his cape, and with one scrap, he reverently gathered the ashes of the King and folded it into a small blue bundle. He wrapped the shards of Helluin in the remaining tatters of his cloak and took the Elessar. The Star-stone was cold and dark now and seemed unnaturally heavy. Though Cirdan yearned for peace and release from the burden of memories, he knew that his time had not yet come. "The sign has been given," Cirdan said. "Day will come again."