This page looks like it got damp at some point and the ink is soft and smudgy. No dates or places have been recorded.
I've had enough for today. When I woke up this morning, I was told that one of my companions had left us before dawn on some urgent errand and I was to drive the wain in her stead. Mara (I know it's not her real name), who seems to be in charge, offered no explanations about this sudden change and I didn't feel it wise to ask her any questions. I did as I was told and off we went, two grumpy dwarves and I. We didn't even do three leagues today but the weather is against us. It started raining around midday and the roads changed into treacherous rivers of mud. Now, as the sun has set, cold mist is rising from the hills and our little fire is surrounded by a murky wall of nothingness.
This evening, under the cover of the wain's roof, I unsheathed the Spike for the first time in ages. It's not really a weapon. It's a tool, a design born out of sheer malice and with one purpose only: to deliver a slow, painful and inevitable death. I have never used it and I've never thought I would use it at all. In fact I meant to bury it with the hateful sword I inherited in Forochel, but the news from Ered Luin made me hesitate. And now here it is, a dark and oily glint on the uneven blade that will crumble into splinters and break off the blunt, short hilt designed to be pushed not held. The look of it sickens me. Maybe I should toss it into some river? Or maybe not. Will I ever be able to return to the place in the sun if I use this thing? Valar have mercy on me.
…
The fog and drizzling rain keep today. I trudge in the squelching mud right next to Greedy, the ox pulling my wain, and I try to keep him on the road. I can't even see the waggon going ahead of me. Giant oaks and dark elms loom in the mist like sombre and unfriendly sentinels along the road, their branches floating in mid-air as if detached from the trunks. Mara has stopped the caravan for a few moments and I've climbed onto the wain. It's cold and the vapour clings to everything. Little droplets hang from the rim of my fabric roof, my hair is limp and heavy, my covers are cold and unpleasant, my skin feels clammy. Even the parchment looks damp and I'm finding it difficult to hold the quill with numb fingers.
My thoughts go towards the dweller of the cottage in the sun. A terrible rascal in one part, an innocent dreamer in the other. He looked completely unaware of anything, not even when I asked him to promise to carry out his dream even if I never returned. For a day I was toying with the idea of sending him a letter but it's too dangerous. To commit my secrets to a piece of paper then to be carried by a random messenger? No. I would never forgive myself if I let shadows invade the little cottage and bring ruin to golden dreams.
I told him a little about my past but I never told him everything because I can't think of words that would make him understand. And why burden him? He offered me comfort, he showed me kindness and made the cold cage of ice around my heart crumble and melt. Suddenly, the freezing waters of the Ice Bay didn't seem that welcoming and the final peace they offer so enticing. For a time I believed I was born anew and I experienced something I never thought truly existed: happiness. But the tentacles of evil followed me and would have found him if I only let them. I cannot let them. If it comes to the worst, he will forget me. Good, maybe it's better that way. Still, my heart is bleeding.
…
We had a piece of real news today. Our missing maid strode into our camp this morning, grim expression on her face. She gave me a curt nod, bordering on offensive really, and went to chat with the other dwarves. Their exchange was short and hushed but I did manage to hear the word "goblins". I went to make inquires and begrudgingly the dwarves imparted information that the local Bounders are trying to hush down the rumour of a goblin camp on the very boarders of the Shire. Do the dwarves think this rumour to have any anchor in reality? Yes.
Now, this is interesting. The Shire has been a peaceful place for as long as I can remember. I travelled its winding roads many times before and the scariest things I encountered were stray dogs. I never thought I'd live to see the day when something threatens this quiet corner of the world. To make things even more curious, a few days before I left Bree I met an elven maid in the Prancing Pony. I recall her name was Xanderian and she was seeking her brother, or news of him, because she suspected he'd run into some trouble with goblins. Are these events somehow connected? I have no way of knowing that now but for the sake of Xanderian and her brother I hope she is wrong. I hope that the lad is busy with a pretty maid rather than with foul creatures.
On the other hand, is it even possible for her to be wrong? There is something about the elf that tells me she's rarely wrong, even though she takes on a half-cynical half-playful countenance at times. I was talking to a woman from Combe and my sudden desire to find out what had become of Rosa's mother after all the terrible and sad events of the past made me lower my guard. Xanderian's eyes were upon me immediately and kept returning to my face, her gaze strong and piercing, even though she kept a light-toned chat with the Combe woman (Leonnie, I think). I realised then I had exposed myself before her and I fled the Pony like a coward.
I happened upon her the next evening as she sat in front of the inn, right by the fountain, and I felt obliged to go and apologize about my rudeness of the previous day and ask if she had any news of her brother. I thought I had myself all composed and ready for anything but I was wrong. The elf's reason is sharp, her senses must be incredible, her intuition scared me outright. She started asking questions, gentle but probing questions, and surely my resolve would have crumbled before her but I was saved by the appearance of her friend, a Gondorian maid called Fille. I observed them with interest as they seemed to have a very warm and friendly disposition towards each other. And then, out of the blue, I heard her voice inside my head. I'm not sure if I only imagined it or if this really happened (one does hear many things about the so-called elf magic) but panic took me. Did she read me and understand more that she was letting on initially, were her words mere pieces of advice or was there a threat there somewhere? My heart doesn't feel she would want to or had a reason to threaten me, but my mind is poisoned and presented me with any doubt and suspicion it could find. I ran again and I kept looking over my shoulder all the way home. I am so tired of running. I am so tired…
