The pages of the journal are weathered and worn. The yellowing of the parchment speaks to its age. The pages are brittle and delicate but have been treated with care to still be in a legible condition. The text is faint from the aging of the ink.
It has been some time since I have added anything to this journal. I admit that I forgot about it, letting it sit at the bottom of my bag as I traveled. Our party is now camping as we cross the High Pass of the Misty Mountains. It is freezing, as it always is, and we bundled up as well as we could. A party is to go out early in the morning and hunt for pelts, be it bear or warg. I sit apart from the others who shiver by the fire so I may write in peace. Though I cannot feel my hands…
I ponder how my sister fares. She has likely already returned to the eaves of Caras Galadhon. I hope she is content there, as it seems that my company is of no comfort to her any longer. I know not what became of Cardanith – our mutual companion. Some say he was felled in battle, and others say he was to return to Imladris before long, having narrowly escaped the clutches of Mandos. I know not the truth of either of these claims, but I know that my two closest companions are no longer by my side.
The ink here is blotchy and spotted, and too difficult to make out when added to the weathering of the pages. Some words are crossed out, but the writing soon becomes legible again.
-regardless, Hir Elrond has promised myself a place in the guard of Imladris, which I fear the Vale will have a dire need for. The Shadow may be defeated, but his minions must still be pressed back. I only hope that Isildur made the right choice – the consensus amongst the other elf lords is that it was not. There is a tension in the air, even here in these quiet, yet frigid, mountains. Not all of us yet believe peace has been so easily won.
There are several ink splotches here, where one pressed the quill to the parchment to write and found themselves hesitating and changing their mind.
I cannot help but fear that another age of anarchy will be upon us soon. Surely, I hope that I am wrong, and perhaps it is a thought I should quell. Fear has no place in the heart of a warrior, although caution does have its place. For now, for fear of being a rumormonger, I shall keep these thoughts to myself, under lock and key.
