Vinyalonde

He polished the edges of the sword to a mirror-like finish and laid it across his knees. It is a terror, thought Parnard, an awful glittering thing against those whom it is drawn. My hand will grasp it, and with this, I will run mine enemies through, and take vengeance and repay those who hate us. Many will die by this sword, and their bodies lie in mountainous heaps in a great disgrace, unburied and unmourned - at least I do not think anyone will mourn them.

I write to my Lordship so that he will know my promise to serve him in all ways is upheld, and my performance sure and certain in everything that I do, though it is a sore misery to be apart. Yet it is my most fervent hope that we may meet together again.

Sir,

You do not know me, but I met your wife Rainith in Duillond, and I could not be anything but troubled to hear the lady speak of your present difficulty, which the whole House is full of talk of, and the poor lady is near rattled out of her wits from worry. She desired that I write you, and give my opinion, and I promised I would, for I have concerned myself thoroughly in this matter.

I was out of bed yesterday without too much pain, and ate with a very good appetite, as I used to do, and being so long indoors, I was allowed to walk on the grass a little and look upon the stars, when the lady Rainith came to me, and among other things tells me that her husband Galdorion has gotten himself mixed into a grea

Dark red blood oozed around the hilt sticking out of his side. Too late, Parnard saw the sun glinting off the steel-bladed dagger hidden inside the tomb-robber’s boot. The point punctured through his chainmail and was driven deep between his ribs, so deep that he thought it better to leave it be, as more blood would flow out, or the vital organs suffer more injury from its removal. His breath came in short gasps, and he could scarcely ride a mile without the most intense pain, but he had many more miles ahead.

      He comes to me with shadows in his eyes. We sit with our backs to a stone statue, facing out over the river, but Galdorion's eyes are distant, looking at something I cannot see. His conversation is hesitant, his smile as brittle as glass. It is as though a cloud has passed across the sun, although the dawn still seems as bright as ever. We have walked these paths before – I know what is coming almost before Galdorion opens his mouth to tell me. I sit silently, listening, hoping he cannot see the dismay in my face.

Last night Parnard rode along the West Road, and at daybreak came to some broken ruins beside a bend in the road, all covered with furze and brambles. This spot would be a good place for bandits to gather and fall upon travelers unawares, he thought, and dismounting from Swan-Hoof, crouched within a nook of the ruins for hours, his quarter-staff on his shoulder, waiting for bandits to materialize.

I sing a tale of loss and woe,

A maiden gone, a lord laid low,

Of love destroyed and hope that fell,

Of Amroth and his Nimrodel.

 

They say she wandered lands of old,

Beneath the blessed trees of gold,

Before the times of strife and fear,

When others came and settled near.

 

My Lord Anglachelm,

I hold it my duty to write this letter to acknowledge my absence from Imladris. If it has been noticed with displeasure by my Lord, I must humbly beg forgiveness.  There are so many advantages, both of honour and protection, which have arisen from my Lordship’s noble connection and consideration of me, that I am quite unused to them, and I fear that I have made a gross misstep by setting out without leave.

All healings of the heart and mind are slower, unhurried and gradual than those of the body, for these wounds are the deepest and bitterest. Parnard watched the townsfolk cheer as the body was cut down and laid into a pine box; the noise drowned out the lamentations of a sobbing woman. The mob surged forward, grabbed the box and threw it into the river.