The years passed, and many things occured. Numenor had both risen and fallen. And now, as told by sources in the newly named Middle Earth, Sauron, a craven servant of Melkor, had arisen and planned to dominate the men and elves, led by Ereinion Gil-galad and Elendil the Tall. Namo called me forth, before the council gathered in the hallowed halls of Taniquetil, and pronounced his desire to send forth one of his own into the world, namely myself. Manwe was opposed, having seen two of the previous five emissaries disappear altogether, one beginning to deviate from his path, another nearly forgetting his path, and one only remaining faithful. Sulimo had lost faith, and yet Varda, who knew of what little talent I had, spoke otherwise. And thus, after many hours of counsel among the Lords, it was decided that I should go to Middle Earth.

Before my departure, Namo spoke to me thus, "Lomendil, dark is thy destiny though your goal be lofty. Thou shall fall into misery and sorrow, more than any Man or Elf could bear. And yet, remember always the teachings of myself and Elentari. Think and speak for thyself, and never allow hardships to dampen thy spirit." And many more words of counsel, yet these I deem the most important, for he spoke them with the gravest tones. He gifted to me a staff, made of grey ash wood from the forests of Orome by the hand of a Noldorin crafter of immense skill. It was set with obsidian and onyx, and from these stones I derived my customary color: black. From Elentari I received a sword of masterful make, made of an alloy of high quality iron and miniscule amounts of silver. After bidding farewel to the denizens of Valinor, I boarded the ship, and was ferried to Middle Earth. I landed at the Grey Havens, although it was nearly deserted, for Cirdan had emptied them to add to the forces of Elendil and Gil-galad. The Last Alliance was camped at Weathertop when my ship made port. From those elves who remained, I received the name Nethron, meaning healer, for upon my shoulder was a satchel of potent medicines and salves I had made myself before I left the Blessed Lands. I stayed in the Grey Havens, until Cirdan returned from the war, sadly pronouncing the death of High King Gil-galad at the hand of Sauron himself and taking upon himself the leadership of the elves of Mithlond. It was at this time that I rose, and, speaking words of consolation and advice to Cirdan, let my vast knowledge be known. The Shipwright was impressed with my knowledge, and yet had mentioned Olorin, to whom he had given Narya, the Elven Ring of Fire, for the elf had perceived that Olorin was the wisest of all. Unbeknownst to me at the time, this planted a seed of jealousy within my heart. How could any , save of the Valar, be wiser than Lomendil, Friend of Shadow?

And so, there, at the Grey Havens, a seed of jealousy was planted in me. And in the years after it would burn my soul. With storming eyes and tumultuous thoughts, I then left Lindon, bidding my farewell to Cirdan and thanking the elves for sheltering me. As a parting gift, I received a robe of purest black, and a pointed hat of the same color, in the fashion of other wizards. Expressing my gratitude, I departed, never to see the elves of Lindon again, never to watch their great ships sail into a dusty horizon as I so loved to do in my years there. I have always felt a certain connection with that place, for it was my first contact with any of the peoples of Middle Earth in the years after Morgoth.

After leaving the Grey Havens, I travelled eastward, making my way through Eriador, the Gap and countryside of Rohan, and Rhovanion. Finally, I came upon a vast desert. Vaster than any can imagine, sand blowing everywhere and mountainous dunes looming in the distance like behemoths. However, I did not know just how huge it was at the time. Foolishly, I began my trek through the sands. I do not know what pushed me, and yet something did, something unseen. My horse at the time, a pale grey named Aravel, did not last long. I continued, the body of my friend and companion lying alone in the dust behind me. As one might expect, I soon depleted my strength, and fell, as one deprived of life but not so. A chance of fate saved me from returning to my master's halls once more.

A trader with skin darker than most elves and eyes smaller came upon me. He, as I later learned, was intrigued by my odd appearance. This man, whose name was Ammon, took me to the nearest village. He and his wife and daughters nurtured me until I recovered enough to walk on my own. The young girls, numbering somewhere around five or six, spoke a language alien to me, I could not understand one word. Ammon and his wife, on the other hand, spoke a degree of the Common Tongue, and so it was from them that I learned much of this strange land I was in. I learned that Ammon himself was the chief of this small village, and that he had learned Common Tongue through prisoner and travellers brought through his village in the wooden carts of the Rhunish Army. And in turn he taught this language to his wife.

For some years, about three and a half in my reckoning, I lived peacefully in Rhun. I learned the ways of surviving in the desert and how to find water when there seems to be none for miles round. I was contemplating the possibility of staying with Ammon, and living the rest of my life here. But that was not to happen. The peace and tranquility were shattered in the time of a few hours.

I had left the village to go and find a certain desert plant with a strong odor, for Ammon's wife had a need to expunge the scent of animal excrement from her home. I found this plant with ease, and returned to the village. However, what greeted me was death and blood. Houses lay ruined, dead bodies lay in the street, and the crest of the Easterling army was sloshed in bright red paint upon every door still standing. I was awestruck. What sort of emotion could provoke such wanton destruction? And who would possess the cruelty to do this? I frantically made my way to Ammon's house, and found his entire family killed, their heads perched on pikes at the back wall. However, one daughter, the youngest, whose name I have since forgotten, was missing. Perhaps she escaped, thought I in vain, or more likely she was taken prisoner. I kneeled there on the blood-stained floor, and wept for the life of the man who saved me and protected me. My grief was all-consuming, I felt as though I might never be joyful again.

Then, I remembered the words of my master. "Think and speak for thyself, and never allow hardships to dampen thy spirit," he had said. I could never in good conscience disobey him, and so I lifted myself with a heavy soul. With one last glance back at the village I had called home for years, now a shattered memory, I walked out the gates, and continued eastward, intending to see the edge of the land. But that was not so, for Fate and Fortune, those fickle sisters, once again frowned upon me.

And so, my heart burdened by the loss of my former benefactors Ammon, his wife, and all but one of his daughters, I made my way further east. I had heard tell of a great sea, that lie to the east and north, so I went there as quickly as possible. I had completely lost my bearings by the time I reached a large city. The sandstone walls and completely alien architecture intrigued me, for nothing in Ammon's village had been made out of such material. Horse drawn merchant carts bustled through the streets, while peddlers and vendors hawked their wares at passersby. It was clearly the capital, for a large, domed palace, with golden accents, loomed in the distance. The hope struck me that perhaps I couldfind out about Ammon's missing daughter here. I made my way to the nearest tavern, which was a seedy joint with shady characters and brawls every now and then. But I struck up a conversation with a man who seemed nice enough. I asked him about young Arminella, the daughter, and described her in detail. He said he had seen nobody like her. Having asked many others, who knew nothing, I became discouraged and decided to call it a day.

After renting a room in the tavern, I fell quickly into sleep. But a rattling noise, seemingly coming from the window, awoke me when the moon was high. I arose and walkedover to the window to see, and when I turned around, there stood three imposing figures. The fear I felt in that moment has been unrivalled in my entire lifetime. All were of similar build, hooded and cloaked. The center one spoke, and said, "Foreigner. You are a trespasser in the lands of Rhun. By order of His Majesty Kormanazar, we three are to apprehend you and take you to the palace dungeon." I shook my head in confusion. What would they want with me? My thoughts were interrupted however, when one of the figures rushed forward, quick as lightning, and plunged a thin needle into my neck. There was no time to feel the pain, for a fast-acting poison dulled my senses and sent me to a waking sleep.

I awoke in a cold, dank cellar, standing on the stone floor with my wrists in shackles chained to the wall. I lifted my head, and found that I was still groggy from the poison. I stood there for what seemed like hours, lolling about in an effort to regain my senses and somehow escape. Then, two bronze-armored warriors entered my cell and unlocked my manacles. They dragged me by my arms (for I could not walk without falling) into a wide room with no adornment. At the end of the room stood the three figures that had taken me. When the guards let me fall to the floor, I did my best to sit up. The three figures turned around, and spoke to me. They said, in essence, "Trespassers are forbidden in His Majesty's domain. You have come without permission into our lands. Those that harbored you have been killed. However, His Majesty's oracles say you are special. You are no ordinary man. Usually, we would kill you. But, we would like to see what makes you tick first."