My name is Elenath Ceredir. My history is a long tale, and one that I do not often tell. It stretches back through the ages, to the time when the high-elves returned to Middle-earth. My father was a Noldor elf who followed Fingolfin on the journey from Valinor. He met my mother soon after they arrived, while she was traveling away from her home in Doriath. I was born not long after, during the peaceful time before the Eldar first discovered the race of Men. My father had a wandering spirit, or perhaps a driven spirit, and as I grew older, I spent most of my time traveling with him. He spoke often of Valinor, and taught me much of the Valar. So vivid were his tales, that I could see the white shores and green hills in my mind. I could tell how much he now missed the land that he had left. As we traveled he also taught me the life of a warrior: knife work and archery, strength and fire.

All too soon, our peace was ended. My father fought in the Dagor Bragollach, and I fought beside him. I can still see so clearly, if I choose to, the pain and death that surrounded us then. It was my first view of Morgoth's evil. And the greatest of those evils, in my eyes, came when my father was killed at my side. The pain of his death was so much greater than the pain of my wounds, and for a time, I strove to keep it at bay by throwing myself into battle. Hatred grew in my heart, toward Morgoth and all that served him, and I knew no mercy. But finally I grew weary both in mind and body, and I fled to my mother's dwelling in Doriath.

For long years after, I stayed with my mother's people in the capital city of Doriath, seldom leaving that kingdom. I still practiced the skills my father had taught me, and kept the fire of his spirit burning inside myself, but I also began to draw on the peace of my mother's spirit. She was the deep pool which balanced my father's fire; she gave me peace, tranquility, patience. My quick-burning blaze became a slow ember, and though I kept my father's strength it was now tempered with a deepening calm.

But there was no peace in Middle-earth that could last for long. Feanor's sons were still driven by their oaths, and by the lure of the Silmaril which now lay with Dior in Doriath. They attacked Dior, and our city. I fought fiercely to protect the people and places I loved, but we could not hold them back. Yet again I watched one of my parents fall. My mother was killed in the attack, along with many others. After that I lost hope, and I fled with Elwing and a remnant of her people to the Sea. There I stayed, in the settlement at the mouth of the river Sirion, and the sound of the Sea became mixed with my sorrow. But Elwing still bore the Silmaril, and eventually the sons of Feanor attacked us again.

I survived their initial attack, and I joined Gil-galad's forces when he arrived to aid us. Afterward I would have left to wander alone, bitter and sorrow-driven, but Gil-galad had heard of my bravery in the battle, and he sought me out. The High King was wise, and skilled at seeing the hearts of others. He bade me join his force, saying that he needed my strength and skill. At first I disdained what I saw as pity, but he persisted. I told him that I would serve him for a certain time, and then I would decide whether to stay or leave.

Gil-galad placed me in his guard, and I served the High King for a while. He spoke to me many times, and I found myself speaking of things that I thought I never would. And I saw that I was not the only one he reached out to: there were many that he drew out of darkness into hope. We grew to love our King, for his kindness, his strength, and his wisdom. When the time came that he asked me what my decision was, I pledged myself to his House and his service. Though the world was dark then, my days were lighter than they had been since my father's death.

So it was that during the Black Years I served the High King Gil-galad in Lindon. I continued my training, and became one of the most proficient warriors in his guard. There came a time when Gil-galad needed to send a small party out of Lindon, and as the roads were very unsafe he chose five of us to accompany and protect them, under my command.

We reached our goal in safety, but on our return we were ambushed by a large force of both orcs and men. We slew many of them, but eventually we were overpowered. Their captain was an evil man of the south, cruel and merciless. He knew that it was I who commanded our small force, and from some twisted sense of malice, he let me live. He restrained me, forced me to watch as the other elves were tortured and brutally killed, and after torturing me as well, he let me live.

I made my way slowly back to Lindon, the pain in my heart as great as the pain in my body. I had failed my comrades, failed those I swore to protect, and I had failed my King. I presented myself to Gil-galad when I returned with little hope that he would accept me back, and indeed no wish for him to do so. But the High King gave me forgiveness: a forgiveness which was almost harder for me to bear than my guilt.

At the end of the Second Age, we joined our forces with the Men of Gondor in the Last Alliance. I went with Gil-galad to the battle of Dagorlad, and stood with him during the siege of Barad-Dur. I watched many of my comrades fall in our King's defense, and I myself was wounded near death. But ultimately it was in vain, and the last High King of the elves in Middle-earth met his doom. Although I rejoiced in Sauron's defeat, my sorrow at Gil-galad's death was deeper than my joy.

Since the Third Age began I have had no permanent home, but have spent my days wandering through Middle-earth. I stay most often in Imladris and Lothlorien, studying the books of Lord Elrond and resting in the peace of the Lady Galadriel. I travel alone most often, the past always present in my mind. Perhaps one day I will feel free to leave Middle-earth, but that time has not come. Yet I feel the call of my father's land ever stronger in my heart. How long shall I linger here? Shall my peace be found only in the West, or can I find a way to absolve my guilt here in this land that I love?