III
Long the lords of Andúnië had lived upon the
Western shore and welcomed, where the sunlight
waned, the Elven emissaries from Eressëa in
vessels white, and friendship found for long bright
years. Elendili, Elf-friends, and ever did their
loyalty stay strong and straight their course.
But as the bitterness toward the Blessed Realm
did grow and gain a grasp upon Armenelos
and many who might trace their line to Tar-Minyatar—
Elros, he who though Half-Elven freely chose
the Doom and Gift which did his own descendants flee—
the friendship of his people with the Firstborn failed.
Loathe were king and council to countenance
the wisdom of the words which sent the Valar
to urge understanding and assuage the growing
madness of the Men who meant to conquer
death—though this was not a thing that could be done.
The Elendili stood apart as all their kindred bent
themselves upon the path of power and of pleasure
and of domination by defeat of more defenseless Men.
Then by the word of Gimilzôr, the grandfather of Pharazôn,
the Elf-friends were uprooted and sent unto the eastern shore.
Andúnië! Your silver spray of salt and sea and
mountains looming large above the lanterned bay
replaced by lower, louder Rómenna of loyal King’s Men
and the many massive ships which made their way to Middle-
Earth to take tribute for its tireless new lords.
Yet Elendili they remained. For though the Eldar came unto their
friends no more the Faithful kept the flame of Eru and the
Valar in their hearts, and heeded both the things they heard
and things they saw as seasons passed and sanity did
leave their land. And at the last Amandil was their lord,
and Elendil the Tall, who took his father’s tasks in times
he was away. Wise they were in planning and in waiting
for some sign to show them something of their fate—
and with the news of Nimloth did they know that time
had come to put in place such plans as they had made.