Vinyalonde

My Lord has heard Lord Veryacano say that I arrived to talk the company out of searching for him. I say that this is a wrong-headed assumption, and the reasons for my accompaniment were to gather news for the remainder of the House waiting impatiently in Imladris, and secondarily, to see what resulted from his leadership.

It ends like this. Apparently.

The pain is unbearable. It burns as if Nirhen has spent the days swallowing hot coals, and fills her head and throat as if now she is choking on the smoke they let off as they eat away at her insides. She had never really considered what the ending of this might be, and now, watching them flutter like frantic birds around their golden-haired Lord, it is worse than anything they have done so far.

Our Lord Anglachelm was a mighty lord of the Hidden City of Gondolin of the Seven Fountains, that known as the Stone House, the Secret Place, the beautiful Flower of Tumladen, that Lily-of-the-Valley of the Ancient Realm of Beleriand, and though it is no more, he led a remnant of his people away, before its utter destruction, and helped found the Ancient House of Vanimar.

We reached Lórien, and found great reason to praise the Gracious Lady, who had watched over and guided us through her land, unto the present hour, and had food, beds, and everything else, neat and clean. In the Wood, I found a lively and generous people, many of whom were hungering and thirsting for news outside their little land. I obliged them with tales of our ventures south, and wandered round the place, in all the high and low places, talking to whomever I could find.

Believing that Lord Anglachelm was taken north towards the Southern Greenwood, we made shift as well as we could to reach the Great River through the bluffs of the Horse-Men, and after a day of hard travel, we arrived at a hillside overlooking a camp. It was full of swarthy Easterlings, and by a gilt-fringed tent stood a tall and robust Man, with dark, expressive eyes, and a sneering countenance.

This evening, as we crept through the woods of the Horse-men, we found a cache of supplies, abandoned we think, or stolen from a village, more likely. We stole it back, and decided to keep the goods ourselves, for safe-keeping. Inside we discovered dried beef, and cheeses, all unspoiled, and in another crate, many bottles of wine, young and harsh red. We were mighty glad of this treat, and it was a stroke of good luck to get it; for we had near run out of supplies, and we had not had any wine for many days - none since I left the Valley.

I have made too many observations on Men in my wanderings throughout the lands, and I have found that many are imbued with an instinct of cruelty, if I may call it an instinct. Their hearts are strange to us; and while it is true that there are, in every people, exceptions to the rule, in my travels through the Eastern Wilds, I have found Men who do not possess a natural delight in distress and horror to be woefully few.

We have done the Dun-men abundance of mischief, and we went against Grimbold’s wishes, and crossed the Isen when he forbid it. But he is not our lord to command us, and we go whither we will – that is, until now.

Tonight, we were set upon by a herd of Horse-men, and they surrounded us, and aiming their bows and spears at our throats, commanded us to lay down our weapons, because their king does not abide strangers wandering the land without his leave.

(reposted as I accidentally posted this in the Poetry Category - P.)

It looks like this.

Close to the bank of the river, a cluster of trees spread their branches above a pool of shade. In the gathering darkness, the figure hidden there is motionless, almost invisible in the gloom. A lone bird sings its farewell to the sun as it soars overhead. The wind casts a series of ripples across the surface of the water, breaking and re-breaking the reflection of the trees. All is still. If you did not have the ears of an elf, you might almost think it was a peaceful scene.