I awoke in a tortured rage. If I could get my hands on anything, straining to get my hands on anything! ...a strong scent of athelas halted my blind efforts. Triggering perhaps emotion from before the rage. I had been bound, by hands and feet, into a comfortable bed. Was this a dream? It was elves about me. Staring in wonder and concern. Long were the days of care they gave me. Longer were the nights, full of red memories. Over many months, the elves pushed back the veil that covered my mind. After a time, I gained a civilian demeanor, and was allowed free movement throughout Caras Galadhon.
A routine scouting party had penetrated the walls of Dol Guldur. Finding me in a cell, they initially took me for a wight, emaciated and pale. A moment of eye contact saved my life. They dazed me by some work of lore and hurried me from my captor's den.
I do not know for how long I had been in Dol Guldur. Perhaps from childhood. The lady Galadriel, although abundantly giving with her healing skills, could not, or would not, share any knowledge of who I was. But why had so much been risked and so much care been given to just a man?
If I believed the elves held a secret, I took solace that I too was holding a secret from them. For while my demeanor had turned from madman to thoughtful, all memories remained red and filled me with a desire for vengeance as i teetered on the edge of insanity.
Satisfied that I could stand alone and discern friend from foe, I was allowed to go my own way. A simple man, taking his first steps into life, to the music of the heralds of the elves.
The elves named me Narn Faer, Story of the Ghost.