Saranna I was born in the year 201 of the Third Age, as Men reckon the ages of Middle Earth. In Greenwood the Great my happy childhood passed, before the Shadow came, before the spiders wove their dreadful webs, before the halls of the King were delved for safety deep below the ground. In my youth I was known as the Wanderer, because I loved to journey across the realms of Middle Earth, often alone, enjoying the solitude of the wild places and visiting other kingdoms of elves. In Eregion the deserted land I tarried, sighing for the departed ones. In Laurelindorenan I sat at the feet of the Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn, learning from those wise ones of the history and sorrows of the Kindreds of the First-Born. To the Grey Havens I journeyed, speaking there with many who set sail for the Blessed Realm, wondering to see them depart and abandon the shores of Middle-Earth forever. So lovely did these lands seem to me, I could not dream that any would forsake them. The Lord Cirdan spoke gently to me, explaining the call of the Sea and the West that arose in the hearts of my people; but I did not understand him then. Other friends I made in my journeys, many of the kindreds of Men and some of the little elusive people called Hobbits. In the Old Forest I stayed long at the home of Master Bombadil and the fair lady Goldberry, whom I count among my dearest friends. Such great stores of wisdom and knowledge they shared with me. Then came a year when I and a small group of childhood friends from Mirkwood conceived a daring plan; we would journey far into the east of the world, seeking the waters of Cuivenien, the waters of awakening; it seemed a wondrous idea to look upon the birthplace of our people. So in the year of the Men of the West, 866 we set off on our long journey, crossing the Misty Mountains and Wilderland beyond. In those days we had little to fear from Goblins and the homesteads of Men were peaceful and welcoming. We sang as we journeyed, under sun or moon or stars, strength and youth were within us and great joy. The Lonely Mountain, the Iron Hills we passed, far off upon our left hands, and we journeyed under strange stars. At length we found ourselves crossing a great grey plain, a cold desert devoid of features and of life. At first there were a few scattered homes of Men, but they fled from us; there were no signs of any other of the Speaking Peoples. At last the only life to be seen was our own band of travellers. As we crossed this plain our songs were silenced, our footsteps weary. We felt more keenly than any of us could remember those sensations of cold, weariness and a kind of elusive sorrow, that our Human friends had told us of. They envied us, they said, because we did not suffer these afflictions. Yet in the Grey Desert we learned of their reality. Time itself became strange to us, we sensed not its passing by either Elven of Human telling, and knew not whether days or months or years were going by us. Then one morning as we looked to the east, we saw a lightening of the dull sky and the gentle swell of hills on the horizon. Gladness returned to our hearts and we hurried on towards this vision. At last we were walking again under blue skies, under the Golden Light of Anor, and upon green grass that healed our weary feet. Singing once more, we hastened on, delighting in the fruits and flowers and pure streams of this far land, growing strong again. When we came at last over a final curving hill, and saw before us the tranquil waters of Cuivenien, gladness filled us like a pure liquid in a vial of crystal. Long days and nights we sat beside that water of our people's awakening, and listened to its ageless voice. Lost is it now to those who seek it, and I hold that gladness in my heart, that I walked its shores. Far to the south we swung on our journey back, passing along the northern shores of the sea of Rhun, and so avoiding the Grey Desert. Many, many years had now passed, and we marvelled at the increased numbers of Men who dwelt in the lands east of Greenwood, and at the great strength of the walls and fences of their homes. On we hurried, eager now for a sight of the land of our birth. We looked daily for the green-gold light that glowed above the trees of our childhood. But though we drew ever nearer, ahead of us we saw only grey. So under the eaves of a strange forest we passed, scarce able to believe that we had indeed come home. Foul webs of spiders barred our way, and we had to fend off a coven of the beasts that attacked us. We looked in vain for groups of our people feasting or dancing in the woodland dells; and at the last when we met a heavily-armed party, they seized us as though we were enemies, bound us, and brought us to the Halls of the Elven King, now deep underground. Thranduil gazed as us solemnly as we recounted our tale. Then he rose and spoke; "Ye are welcome indeed to this forest of your birth, my lost kin. Yet have I only sorrow and pain to offer you as homecoming gifts. For ye stand now beneath the earth of Mirkwood, under a great Shadow whose source we know not. And none of you will find your Mothers or Fathers again on this side of the Sundering Seas. For those who have not been slain by the spiders have sought the Havens and sailed over sea." Then sorrow fell upon us like a dark cloud hiding the sky, and we wept long for our lost kin. Some resolved that they would also seek the Havens as soon as might be. I chose to stay in Mirkwood for a while but after some years moved to Rivendell, where I dwell in an isolated cabin just below the tree-line at the eastern end of the Valley. My time is passed for the most part in writing tales and poems, and sometimes visitors come to hear them. On feast-nights I may come to the Hall of Fire and share in the songs and stories there. I will be among the last to seek the Havens, though I long to see my lost ones again, for Middle Earth has ever been fair to me. It is my home. Back to the top Return to the front page of the book