My days and nights are so busy, that I have scarcely a moment to think and there is even less time for writing in my journal. Culufinnel keeps a close eye on me and none of the Golden Host can leave the fortress without permission. The guards watch the gate carefully and know me by sight now, for I am the ludicrous person wearing the thick leather armour who can barely move or lift his arms, and I stagger around the camp as if dragging a plough behind me. I thought the hauberk of the army was bad enough, but this is far worse, and it is so very hot and smells most peculiar. My brother told me that I am very weak and puny not to wear it easily. As it is the armour of the Golden Host, I have no choice but to wear it. Eventually I will carry a shield too. I told my brother it would be too much, but he said I would get accustomed to bearing heavy burdens.
Strength is not of the body only, he told me, but of brave minds and resolutions. A good soldier is of a valiant spirit, and whoever is strong and valiant is determined meet for the War. There is no trust in fainthearted cowards: Hares with helmets, he said they are called, whose best safety is in their feet. It is better not to give arms to such as these, but to send them home, lest they fling down their arms at the first sign of danger, and make their brethren’s hearts weak and fainthearted alike. A brave soldier, he told me, fears nothing but ignobility. But something more than physical strength and courage is required to make a soldier, and therefore he would see me made fit for battle, and would see that I was trained and disciplined in arms, and educated in martial affairs. For it is not multitudes of arms that carries honour and victory out of the field, but tactics and execution, and experience is the best teacher: a few well-trained soldiers shall do much more service than many soldiers of lesser skill.
Last night he took me up to the battlements, and there discoursed long about many topics, such as battles, and conduct, and how I should comport myself in the ranks of the Golden Host, and many other subjects. He spoke of valour and its different types. First, there is the day-to-day sort of valour, or passive type, and then there is the sudden, spur-of-the-moment bravery, or active type. I remarked that the passive type of valour seems like a kind of cold-blooded, calculated planning, but my brother told me I was mistaken, and that I did not understand what valour is, to say something so ignorant. He pointed above, and said that the display of valour is as brilliant as the stars, and it is a glorious beauty to behold banners and standards waving in the wind, horses barded, and soldiers richly armed. I said that I would much rather look upon the stars instead, and nothing on earth can compare. He did not seem to hear me, and continued talking about valour, and said that as those far-off stars continue to shine down upon us, so valour continues to illuminate our path and guide all our ways. Then he pointed at the seven sparkling stars of the Valacirca, and bade me recall why they were placed there.
I did not need such a reminder, for any child knows that they were set in the sky as a challenge to Morgoth Bauglir and all his servants, but he made me tell him their meaning all the same, as if I had forgotten! I indulged this whim, and couched my answer in terms that even Culufinnel could understand. Then he said I was quite right, and to recall the Sickle, and use it as my guide, and that I should remember that although the stars fade in the day, they are still there, only hidden, and this is like passive valour. And then he said to always remember the main precept of valour, which is, Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy. I said that perhaps it would have been better for us if King Oropher had recoiled, rather than charging in as he did ahead of Gil-Galad’s force. Then many elves would still be in the world, and it is likely that I would not be stuck here in this muddy fortress, built into the very foot of the Necromancer’s tower, listening to him drone on and on about valour, if their leaders had not been so valiant. This made Culufinnel angry, and he told me I had become rude and morose, and that the lesson was over for the evening. At first light we would continue even harder with my field training.
I fear my brother is in love with valour and glory, and this love burns like a bright flame, but it is cold, and gives no comfort.
