The Silmarillion

In the beginning, there was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar. Of his thought he made the Ainur, the Holy Ones, and he spoke to them, propounding themes of music. Together, they sang before him, and their voices, like harps and lutes, pipes and trumpets, and countless choirs, wove a Great Music that filled the Timeless Halls and flowed out into the Void. But as the theme progressed, it came into the heart of Melkor, mightiest of the Ainur, to interweave matters of his own imagining, and a fierce discord arose. Thrice Ilúvatar raised new themes, each more beautiful than the last, and thrice the clamorous pride of Melkor warred against it. At last, with a chord deeper than the Abyss and higher than the Firmament, the Music ceased. Then Ilúvatar showed the Ainur a vision of what their music had wrought: a World, globed amid the Void. “Behold your Music!” he said. “And thou, Melkor, shalt see that no theme may be played that hath not its uttermost source in me.”

Many of the mightiest Ainur, their hearts filled with love for the vision of the World, descended into it to give it Being. They are named the Valar, the Powers of the World, and their labour was to prepare Arda for the coming of the Children of Ilúvatar. But Melkor was there also, and he claimed the kingdom for himself, and what the Valar built, he destroyed; what they carved, he threw down; what they hollowed, he spilled. After long strife, the Valar withdrew from Middle-earth to the westernmost land of Aman, and there they established the realm of Valinor. Behind the mountain walls of the Pelóri, they gathered all light and fairness, and Yavanna the Giver of Fruits sang upon the green mound of Ezellohar. From her song sprang the Two Trees, Telperion of the silver light and Laurelin of the golden, and their blended radiance filled the land with a bliss and beauty that have no equal in any tale.

In the twilight of Middle-earth, under the stars Varda had kindled, the Firstborn of Ilúvatar awoke. By the starlit mere of Cuiviénen, the Elves first opened their eyes, and they were summoned by the Valar to dwell with them in the light of the Trees. Many heeded the call, journeying into the West and becoming the Calaquendi, the Elves of the Light. Of these, the Noldor were the most skilled, and their chief was Finwë. His eldest son, Fëanor, was the mightiest in craft and lore that has ever been, and his spirit burned as a flame. In the high days of Valinor, he conceived and wrought the Silmarils, three great jewels like living crystal, and within them he mingled the light of the Two Trees. All who dwelt in Aman were filled with wonder, and Varda hallowed the jewels, so that no mortal flesh nor anything of evil will might touch them, but it was scorched and withered.

But Melkor, his term of bondage ended, walked again in Valinor, feigning repentance while his heart was filled with a lust for the Silmarils. He sowed lies among the Noldor, whispering of wider realms and kindling pride and jealousy in the heart of Fëanor. At last, he fled south and found Ungoliant, a spirit of void and hunger in the form of a monstrous spider. In a cloak of Unlight she wove, they returned in secret to Valinor, and Melkor with his black spear pierced the Two Trees, and Ungoliant drank them dry of life and light. In the great darkness that followed, he stormed the fortress of Fëanor, slew Finwë the King, and seizing the Silmarils, fled back to Middle-earth.

Then Fëanor, in his rage and grief, named Melkor *Morgoth*, the Black Foe of the World. He and his seven sons swore a terrible oath, calling the Everlasting Dark upon them if they kept it not, to pursue with vengeance and hatred to the ends of the world any who should hold a Silmaril from their possession. Against the counsel of the Valar, he led the greater part of the Noldor in rebellion back to Middle-earth. Their flight was stained by the first slaying of Elf by Elf, when they took by force the white ships of the Teleri at Alqualondë. For this, the Doom of Mandos was spoken upon them: that their war against Morgoth would be without hope, and that their oath should betray them, and ever turn to evil all that they began well.

The Noldor returned to a land under shadow. For long ages, they made war upon Morgoth, who was entrenched in his northern fortress of Angband. They established great kingdoms in the land of Beleriand, and for a time held the Siege of Angband, fencing the Dark Lord in his domain. Yet the Doom worked upon them, and one by one their realms fell to ruin. The fortress of Minas Tirith upon the isle of Tol Sirion was taken by Sauron, Morgoth's chief lieutenant. The great highland of Dorthonion was turned to a land of horror, Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest under Nightshade. And at last, in the Battle of Sudden Flame, the siege was broken, and the Elven-kings were slain.

Amid the long defeat, there were deeds of valour that shone like stars in a gathering dark. A mortal Man, Beren son of Barahir, came into the hidden Elven-kingdom of Doriath and fell in love with Lúthien Tinúviel, the daughter of King Thingol and Melian the Maia. Thingol, scorning a mortal suitor, demanded for his daughter's hand a Silmaril from the Iron Crown of Morgoth himself. Against all hope, Beren and Lúthien achieved the quest, passing through shadow and death into the deepest hall of Angband, and with the power of Lúthien's song, they cast Morgoth into a slumber and cut a jewel from his crown. Though Beren lost his hand and his life to the great wolf Carcharoth, Lúthien followed him even to the Halls of Mandos, and by the sorrow of her song, she won for them a unique fate: to return to Middle-earth as mortals and there die a common death.

The curse of Morgoth lay heavy upon the children of Húrin. His son, Túrin Turambar, was a warrior of great prowess, but his life was a chain of sorrows. Hunted by a dark fate, he unknowingly slew his friend Beleg Strongbow, and was ensnared by the lies of the dragon Glaurung. He came at last to the Forest of Brethil, and there took to wife a maiden named Níniel, whom he had found lost and without memory. But she was his own sister, Nienor, who had also fallen under the dragon's spell. When Túrin slew Glaurung, the worm with his last words revealed the truth, and Nienor cast herself into a gorge and was lost. Then Túrin, master of doom by doom mastered, fell upon his own black sword and died.

At last, out of the ruin of the hidden city of Gondolin, came Eärendil the Mariner, son of the Man Tuor and the Elf-maiden Idril. Upon his brow he bore the Silmaril that Beren and Lúthien had won, and he sailed his ship Vingilot into the forbidden West. He came to Valinor and stood before the Valar, pleading on behalf of Elves and Men for pardon and for pity. His prayer was granted. The host of the Valar arose in might, and in the great War of Wrath they came upon Morgoth and broke his power utterly. The towers of Angband were thrown down, and Morgoth was thrust from the world into the Timeless Void. But in the ruin of that war, Beleriand itself was broken and sank beneath the waves of the Great Sea. The two remaining Silmarils were regained, but the last sons of Fëanor, bound by their oath, stole them, and were burned by their hallowed light. One was cast into a fiery chasm in the earth, and the other into the deep sea, and so the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, one in the fires of the world's heart, and one in its deep waters.