When we awoke under the starry skies of Middle Earth, all was new. Each tree, each blade of grass was a new experience. We Quendi were children. In ages to come, the elven peoples came to be considered wise and knowledgeable, yet within the oldest of us is a memory of those first hours. The simple wonder of a pebble upon the ground, or a leaf, or the light reflecting from the few flowers that bloomed under the never ending starlight. This was the time before we learned the power of language, much less the use of magic, or how to bear arms. It was a time of unearthly bliss, the beginning of the tale. All the strife and pain that would follow were yet far from our hearts. I look back now, to the fading memory of those times and see how they fit into the pattern. There must be a beginning, when like infants we must struggle simply to comprehend our world, our lives spent in pursuit of our goals and ambitions and finally the end, which is yet to come and for lack of knowledge, I cannot speak of it. The Ainur speak of the Halls of Iluvatar and often it seems to strike a chord from somewhere deep within my very soul, perhaps I will go there one day, perhaps that is the final end of the journeys of the Quendi, my people.
Much has been written of how the Quendi were sundered, of those that followed the Vala Oromë to the Isle of Aman and of those who stayed, so I will not repeat it here. Suffice to say that while the earliest events in time seem to fade from the memories of my kin, I remember it all. I remember how, before the journey, Melkor captured some of our kin and corrupted them. Even now, I sometimes see, in the faces of the orcs, reminders of kinsmen once I knew. I weep to know that the same Quendi whose eyes were once filled with such wonder have been so corrupted by the evil of Melkor. Nor are my own hands clean of sin. I joined with the host of Finwe and the Noldorin house of Fingolfin - I was there at Alqualondë and the blood of the sea elves, the Teleri of Swanhaven, stains my hands and conscience as much as any of my kin.
It was in the middle of the Third Age of the world that I felt something stir within me. It was as though my soul was watching and waiting for some sign, some portent to tell me to go out into the world and make a mark upon it. I had, since leaving Valinor, dwelt in the sanctuarys of my people and was at this time living in the House of Elrond. I passed my time in quiet contemplation, or taking joy in the creation of wondrous things, a skill I seemed to have an almost preternatural ability with. I heard that my cousin Vern, a Noldorin mage of some skill was exploring Eriador, so I went to join him.
This was the start of a great adventure, which would take me from the House of Cirdan at the Grey Havens and far to the south, beyond the desert of Far Harad. I would retrieve ancient artifacts from the ruins of Hollin. I would find the descendants of lost Maglor, explore the dwarven stronghold of Khazad Dûm and take part in the largest battles of the time. So much did I see that as I look back through the uncounted years, I think maybe that call within my soul was to tell me it was time to place the building blocks of the future. Though the Witch King overthrew the human kingdom of Arthedain, we thrust back his first attack and so Argeleb's son was able to escape. Sometimes it pleases me to visit some of the ruins of the past in Arthedain and reflect that it was worthwhile, for the Reunited Kingdom now flourishes under Aragorn Elessar. I wonder though how it was that I was so driven to take part in these actions. I wonder what is inside me that pushed me forward. Some of my comrades hinted at something they had seen within me, but would not speak of it, yet still I sometimes feel a pull, a drive to be about and doing.
All this seems to fade now, for with the destruction of the One Ring, it is time for the Quendi to depart these shores. Even some of the darkest of my people, those who lived in the deepest south are returning, for with the downfall of the dark lord, their own corruption is lifting and the doom of Mandos is finally at an end. It fills my heart with joy to be reunited with them, though still I cannot forget the kinsmen who will never sail with us, doomed forever to be hated orcs. Ah, sweet Valinor, how I have missed you. My ship is due to sail upon the morning tide and I shall be reunited with those of my kin that I have not seen in over seven thousand years.
I reflect that I am, perhaps now, the oldest of all our people. Those who awoke under the stars with me are long gone into the halls of Mandos, though mayhap some of the Vanyar may equal me in years. I have never been one of the greatest of the elven lords and my name is not written in legend, yet I know I have done my part and I am in that regard content to have contributed. This time has been full of strife and conflict. Time now to move on and enjoy peace, with the Quendi reunited, for this last great journey brings us all together, one people, as it was in the beginning of all.