Beyond Canon
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In the countless years I have lived, I have written the tales of much of what happened in the time since the Elves journeyed back into Middle Earth. I watched as Doriath was built, and as Gondolin fell. I saw Beleriand burn, and Lindon rise. I knew the three who carried the rings, and the two who carried them after, and where they eventually rested. I have fought in battles for power and in battles for glory, and I have sat for days watching grass grow in the valley when it pleased me. I have no regrets.

Save but one.

This is not a story of an elf who performed a great deed, such as the slaying of the Balrog by the Captain of the House of the Golden Flower. This is not the story of sacrifice to pride, such as one would hear told in days of old about an Elven King who fought alongside dwarves whom he had imprisoned less than a month before. This is not a story of an elf who was wise and saw to it to call a great council to decide the fate of all races of Middle Earth.

This is a story about love, the love I lost, and how one word cost me that love.

Stay.

Not what you were expecting, was it? Just one word. Stay.

That word was my doom for three ages and beyond. I asked her to stay - nay, I begged her to stay. She left me with not a tear in her eye nor a pain in her heart.

It was long years before I heard her voice again.
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