Ah, the Golden Mallorn, symbol of elven freedom, and power. Ancient as the days are old, strong as the foundations of the mountains, and graceful as the fairest of the firstborn. As the Mallorn are, so are we elves of Lorien. Great magic and power dwell in the lands of Nimrodel, Cerin Amorth and Caras Galadhon. It is kept un-corrupted by the ring of power, Nenya, still adorned on the finger of the Lady of Lorien. The rivers and streams still run with a quiet, peaceful enchantment, the trees yet blossom wisdom, and the flowers splendor. The air dances gently to the music of the elder songs, hymns of light and joy of times long forgotten. Here is the heart of elven-dom in Arda, here is the Haven of the Lord and Lady.
Though light is yet to be found in Lorien, we are but a shadow of the past. We cling with all our might to what little light we have left, and the shadow ever tightens it's noose. We have not the strength to go outside of our borders. Haldir and his wardens protect our lands, but outside, the hills and valleys are festered with orcs. To the west is the abandoned city of Khazad-Dum, Moria, now the cavern and den of goblins. To the east is Dul Guldur, our once beloved Amon Lanc, now raveged by trolls and dark sorcerers.
Though we yet have a refuge, a small haven from the wars and fires around us, we cannot conceal it forever. One of the three will not keep out the ruler of the nine, much less the One. The light of the Mallorn is dwindling, but it has not yet faded.
Within the forest one can yet see companies of elven bowmen, the finest in Arda still marching through our lands, on errand from the Lady to mount the defense of the border. We have the strength to resist Sauron for a time. But in the end, in the passing of years, we will fade. Though we may forbear him, we could never assail him, To him we are but a wild beast, ready to be hunted, and then destroyed.
In loom of this fate we are left with a choice, leave middle earth, sail to the undying lands, ever to ponder the fate of these shores; or to give our last efforts, the hindmost blood of the firstborn in forlorn resistance. All our strength hurled against his gates in the embodiment of glory, to wit, the finest hour of the elves, this side the Sundering Sea! For though it be our last hour, by Elbereth it shall also be our finest! May the stars be a light above us, eternal illumination guiding the bows of the Galadhrim! May the strength of the Valar be upon our courageous warriors! May the blessings of the Lord and Lady, be a shield to all sons of the Mallorn! And by Eru Illuvatar himself, may the ring of Adamant, and the blood of our kindred yet save our beloved Home!
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