The Hatred of Sauron

Short solace with my father

I, Callon, was born to my parents Celebrimbor and Isteth in 1603 of the Second Age. At the time we lived near Moria, in the elven city of Ost-in-Edhil in Eregion, following the destruction of Beleriand and its surrounding cities at the end of the First Age. When I was growing up with the short time I spent with my father, he explained to me how the universe came into being; of all the Valar and how they helped create this land. Personally, I was most fascinated with Aulë and Yavanna, who were dedicated to Craft and Nature respectively. With his knowledge, Aulë created the race of dwarves, and Yavanna channelled her energy into the creation of the Two Trees of Valinor as well as all the living creatures on this earth. 

Later on in my young life, he told me the dark tale of the Silmarils and my ancestors. Fëanor - my great grandfather, created them from the light of the Two Trees of Valinor, which were killed by Melkor. Fëanor was the greatest smith of all time, and his knowledge knew no bounds. But he was swayed by the whispers of Melkor, who questioned the trust of the Valar, who wanted the Silmarils to recreate the Two Trees. Untrusting of the Valar, Fëanor hoarded the Silmarils himself, only for them to be stolen by Melkor, who thereafter was named Morgoth.

Driven by rage, Fëanor swore to stalk Morgoth to reclaim his Silmarils and rid of him, urging the Noldor to leave the Undying Lands for Middle Earth. His sons, including my grandfather Curufin swore this deadly oath, to not rest until Fëanor's revenge was satisfied. The story became even darker when my ancestors betrayed their kin at Alqualondë, followed by years of mistrust and failure. It seemed that the Silmarils had tempted corruption from within them, leading to the death of them all, save my father. He told me, that he felt shame in the House of Fëanor, and that he had hoped the rings of power would be a gift from our House to redeem our family name.

'One day,' my father spoke one afternoon, 'I hope that the House of Feanor will rise again, in glory and happiness, and that we earn the respect of others in this realm. So that there will be peace and prosperity among the peoples of these lands, until days of old.' He looked out the high window to the bustling city below.

'And you, my dear daughter,' he spoke softly, touching my cheek with affection, 'You my sweet Callon, will pursue this legacy, until the Valar themselves look upon you as I do; with comfort and pride.' I still remember how clear his eyes looked that day, and I felt my eyes shine with pride too, for a moment. I glanced back down, after remembering the evil path my ancestors took, I knew that was too much evil to undo. In an instant my father knew and understood, so he said not a word, for he knew I would not be phased by anything he said. There would always be evil running through my veins, no matter what deeds me and my father committed. 

He left me to my studies that day, letting me flourish in peace. He knew that for an elfling, it was awfully odd how accustomed I was to knowledge, but it was in my blood. My mother often worried, but father always brushed her aside, sharing the love of quiet in the house instead of fuss. My mother and father's relationship was not always honest as others, and I spotted this from an early age. But I didn't let it bother me, though at the time I didn't realise it was odd that my parents kept secrets from one another. It would be fair to say that my father was the worst culprit. However, I didn't care much as they always told their secrets to me anyway, but I made sure not to accidentally slip the secret to the other.

One of the big secrets my father kept from my mother was that he was teaching me the language of the Noldor, which was banned in the First Age. This again was due to the use of it within my House, and when King Thingol and Melian learned of the followers of Fëanor had slain their kin at Alqualondë and thieved their boats. So, at the time, I was to speak Sindarin and nothing else (as I had not learned Westron speech that men used). If anyone was to find out that I spoke Quenya, I doubted that anyone would respect my family just yet. Most of the time I kept my mouth shut, it made things easier, as more people ignored me. Eavesdropping was a skill I mastered during my childhood in Ost-in-Edhil, and even Ada did not know that.

However, close to my 20th birthday, I started to become suspicious that my father was in some sort of trouble. I didn't realise the significance of my father's forging of the rings of power, as he held a blind faith that he could protect the rings from Sauron and restore peace. I only realised when I was older how wrong he was, and how much that cost him, and how much it cost me. He was corrupted, like his father, and his father before him, no matter how many times he told me he was different. 

So in 1695 Eriador was overrun and I could sense that something was not right. Tragically two years later in 1697, Sauron came to Eregion and sacked the city of Ost-in-Edhil, holding my whole family captive. He wanted to know where my father had hidden the three elven rings, and when I looked up to meet his eyes, he gave a painfully apologetic look. I knew what would happen next. I knew what Sauron wanted, and he had the perfect torture. 

My father loved me and my mother, but he knew the cost of Middle Earth was too great to sacrifice. When Sauron pressed him the question my father said he did not know, even as the blade neared my mother's throat. She trembled violently on the stone cold floor. Ada begged and pleaded, but alas, the will and force of Sauron was terrible. I witnessed my mother fall, her spirit floating away on the breeze towards the Hall of Mandos. I was soon to follow.

When Sauron asked again, I feel like my father begged more passionately the second time. For not only would he lose love, but also the eternal hope of reviving our House back to its former glory. I remember how he shouted, then screamed and cried aloud his answers to Sauron, and his apologies to me. Inevitably, my time came and with a sniffle I spoke to him, 'Namárië Ada,' (farewell father).

'Namárië Callon,' he replied, tearfully. And as the executioner pressed his blade to my neck, I looked towards the high window as I felt a strong pain beginning to burn in my body. I continued to stare, until I too fell asleep.