An Unfound Door

by Dreamlord-(T)
March 13, 2001
Stories > Dreamlord's page > An Unfound Door
    Glorfindel was my brother in arms. And though we were not kin by birth, our lives and our destinies were always interwoven. He it was that rode by my side through darkness and death on fields of battle, his was the harp that blended with my voice on many happy occasions. From the Elder Days and through the troubled ages of the world my friendship with Glorfindel lasted. It outlived wars and alliances, witnessed new kingdoms rise to power and old ones crumble.
    And finally, when the last of our people took ship from the Grey Havens, when nothing but memory remained of the ancient Elven realms in Middle-earth - it was he who lingered for many long years, riding through the wilderness of a changed world, still searching when no hope remained, still seeking his lost friend and brother in arms. And ever and anon, in secret places where only wistful shadows dwelled, the soft lament of an Elven harp was heard.
    They say that in the end, Glorfindel the Fair was last of the Firstborn to wander these mortal lands and that he too set sail Westwards, in a single white ship. Sail he did, but he was not the last of the Elves in Middle-earth - for I still remain.
    My name then was Araglar. It is a name of the ancient tongue - a language whose alluring sound may still yield pleasure to unwitting ears, but whose meaning is as forgotten as those who once spoke it. Fate willed it that this language would slowly fade along with its keepers, and many of the places that used to resound with Elvish song and laughter are now grey and silent. It is these hidden, desolate regions that I still visit from time to time. There I may hear echoes of my old life, or see fragments of unnumbered years - and there alone. For my Fate was unlike any other...
    Of my captivity, I have almost no recollection. Like most of my old life, it is veiled by a dark cloud of oblivion and only specks of light remain. But from deep within me, beneath the merciful oblivion, I sense images and scenes returning to me: fragments of the past. And I know that the light is growing.