Gwenbur

I have not written upon these pages in what seems an age. Writing is an escape route. A way in which thoughts and events can be contemplated, solely by the reader. In my current state, I find this my most viable escape route.

Daigan Hanteer. A gondorian git who does not have my trust, nor my respect. He is a foul, insolent twerp and needs to learn how to throw a punch. As well as fighting fairly. Alas, he has what he wants and all is well.

I have not heard from Baedwulf or father in a long time. What little family I have here in Eriador, I never seem to see. If only I could receive a letter, or something... just any indication that they are alright.

Baedwulf's horse is now in my care. Abrianna, a rather kind lady I met in the tavern, informed me she knows my uncle and that she was looking after his horse. She asked if I could take it off her hands, which I have. Where has my uncle gone? Why has he left his steed?

I cannot help but think something has happened.

I cannot help but worry.

This day marks the nineteenth year of my existence. I was woken by the aroma of bacon and toasted bread. It turned out Cirdu had cooked us a lovely breakfast to mark the occasion. I have received no gift from him yet, but I suspect he is waiting for the right moment. Even if he did not gift me anything, I would be content. I am so happy with him, and hopefully he with me. I love him so.

It has been a while since I last written. Cirdu now seems to be alright after the incident my last entry was about. I spoke to him and he ensured me that anything like that would not happen again. I will trust his word.

I do not know what to think right now. Cirdu was missing all day yesterday. I had searched for him afar, through Bree-land. I wearily stepped into the tavern and headed for my usual spot - the back room. There he was, staring into the fire.