January 6, 2016
Not long before I was born, Isildur the King of Gondor met with the King of the Mountains, who swore an oath to fight alongside Gondor in the battle against Sauron — but he and his men did not come to Isildur’s aid. When the oath was broken, Isildur swore a curse on them; for thousands of years now they have lain in eternal unrest until Isildur’s heir holds their oath fulfilled.
Never have I been so glad to leave a cave as I was then, but I emerged unscathed as the sun broke over Gondor. It is beautiful, so far, but the wilds of this land are full of danger lurking in the shadows.
Though I am so far away, my heart is with you.
December 20, 2015
I stood atop the watchtower, gazing over a sea of orcs and men of Dunland, in the service of the White Hand. Torches, ballistae, trolls.
And suddenly, the wave broke and the battle became a blur of arrows, fire, orcs, and so much noise. When it became too thick to fight with bow or spear, I made to push back siege ladders. I am thankful for my relative deftness compared to the Rohirrim in their heavy armor.
Night deepened and the battle was pushed back, and back. We fell back into the main keep, and made a last stand — just before dawn, reinforcements appeared. It proved to be Erkenbrand of the Westfold with his army, accompanied by Gandalf, the White Rider.
The words of Húrin Thalion — a tragic figure to be sure, but that is a story for another time — came to mind: Aurë Entuluva! Day will come again!
I have survived, and the Men of Rohan have much to celebrate. I, however, must push south to Gondor. This is only the beginning.
December 20, 2015
I must be brief, there is not much time.
We had only just arrived in Edoras, the center of the Rohirric world, when word came: War has come to Rohan. The armies of the White Hand are massing, and the Horse-lords will make their stand at the fortress at Helm’s Deep.
At the behest of Théoden, King of Rohan, we ride with the Eorlingas.
Night falls, and the drums sound in the distance. May the Valar protect us all.
Meleth nîn, I will prevail.
November 18, 2015
As we ready ourselves to leave this artificially frozen wasteland, I found myself addressing an audience of the Ents. Such ancient creatures are not easy to find, nor is there any ease in communicating with them. A horrid giant, wrought at the hand of Saruman himself, stalks these lands, leaving frozen destruction in his wake — once a Huorn, he now is an abomination of stone and wood, sentient and angry. This evil being will fall before us. This I swear. The people of this land are simple, they are scared, they will freeze or starve.
I will be glad to leave this place. I have never been one for the cold — my home is, year round, a pleasant place.
I shall endeavor to write more once I have reached more temperate climes, my hands are cold and I am tired.
October 25, 2015
It is cold here. When I was in the far north, in Forochel, it was also cold… However, this cold is biting. It is a deep, fell cold, an unnatural cold. The Men of this land have no sense of properly dealing with this – and why should they? This land is far to the south even of my own homeland. They require aid, and while it is not something for which I am trained, I am likely more able to perform the tasks they need done.
The cold, however, has not stopped the land from filling with orcs, and the problems that they bring. Trolls. Wargs. These people are beset at all sides by danger – if the cold does not do them in, the orcs will. The Rohirrim are a sturdy breed, however, and it is my observation that they will do what they must to survive.
I am safe, for the time being, and I am as warm as I can manage. I must admit, being from a very comfortable climate (and having so many, many years to acclimate to it) myself, this is quite unpleasant – to say nothing of the company I am attempting to keep. Not counting Thalya, the population is… Not entirely sure what they think of me, and my kind. They are not hostile, just openly superstitious. Perhaps they will stop viewing me with such suspicion, as though I am an apparition or a witch.
All of my love to you, and if the Valar are kind to me I will return to you soon.
August 19, 2015
Have you ever awoken after a dream, and wondered whether you still were dreaming? A lingering feeling of surreality has clung to me, after leaving. It has been a long, and relatively uneventful journey (thus far) into the plains of Rohan. I hope you will forgive my leaving — but the time has come again for me to take up my bow and join an ever-growing number of my people in the south.
I am thrown abruptly into a sea of interaction with the race of Man. I will grudgingly admit, from time to time, that I find this confusing, awkward, and tiresome. The Horse-Lords are well-meaning but suspicious of my kind, to be frank. They stare. Their furthest outpost lies uneasily close to my homeland, due south. And I must hide my amusement when I hear them speak of it as “haunted”. Haunted! I have no recollection of being a ghost or malevolent spirit.
There is a calm here, but there is a storm coming. I can sense it. The shadow grows ever longer, so may the Valar protect us all. May it never reach you.
Namárië, nîn Meleth.
December 24, 2010
I apologize for leaving you with no explanation, but I was called away to do battle against the most dire of foes. Sauron himself called his Lieutenant to keep watch over former stronghold in the south of Mirkwood, Dol Guldur. With only twelve allies, I stood to face this evil, the Lieutenant of Dol Guldur. The grace of the Valar was with us and we were successful, for now, in driving this evil away from Mirkwood.
I do not know how long our success will hold, but for now, there will be a peace upon the southern reaches of Thrandil’s kingdom, and upon the world. I will return, successful, from my calling, as soon as I can.