I had scarcely resolved to return more often to my journal when everything was overturned, and I've not come back to it in about a month now. Most of that time spent in unexpected travel. Having apparently nearly finished her mysterious business in Bree, Liffey very casually asked how I felt about a journey to Enedwaith, and scarcely a week later, we'd set out. In the interim, in addition to securing travel gear and a horse, I found time to visit the Scholar's Stair and read briefly about the history of the Royal Road to prepare myself; but little of what I read might tell me what to expect now, save vast, open, desolate steppes and plains. Once a flourishing forest to rival even Greenwood the Great in scale, and peopled by a folk also called Enedwaith (middle-land), later by the invaders from Númenor, this land had by all accounts no trace of any of these pasts, save ruins, which were the main reason Liffey wanted to visit.
We made swift progress along the Greenway through the South Downs and joined with the old Royal Road that leads to the Shire via Sarn Ford, and beyond that, the lands were indeed magnificent desolation. The woods that once filled this land were cut by rapacious lumbermen of Númenor to build their great fleets of ships that sailed from Lond Daer, and the people who dwelled in those lands were essentially destroyed; apparently the people we call Dunlendings now are either their cousins or their remnants or both. It is a fascinating thing to consider, when one remembers that the folk of Bree are largely descended from that very people.
While the Enedwaith left no trace that still stands, the Númenoreans built lasting monuments of stone and some stand even now, though the land is utterly unpeopled due to both the ruination of the forest and a great plague that came uncounted years later. The most notable of these great ruins of Númenor that remain is the great city of Tharbad, now mostly crumbled ruins spanning the river whose name now seems too appropriate: the Greyflood, now high above whatever banks it once had, forming a wide morass of nigh-impassable marshlands. Was it called that even before whatever made it rise and wash away half of Tharbad, or was the name an eerie harbinger of its fate? I wonder. Crossing it required finding a ruined bridge in Tharbad whose stones and shattered remnants were close enough that we could use them to span the deeper waters, carefully guiding the horses over with slow and patient calm.
Yes, I purchased a horse, because renting one for so long a journey is not practical, but when we return, I will likely sell her back. Or perhaps, now that I've gotten a bit more accustomed to the saddle, I won't, as she might be helpful for my journeys to the Shire. Though those are usually with a wagon full of furniture, so I suppose that doesn't make much sense after all. Besides, I would have to pay for her care. No, I will sell her back at some loss and count that as the cost of rental.
Where was I? Ah, yes, Tharbad. After that, the plains grew even more desolate. Tall grasses gone to seed, many birds, some small burrowing and nesting creatures, and rarely, a larger herbivore like an antelope. So very many birds. Liffey of course had no trouble finding enough hunt and forage to keep us adequately fed, if without much luxury, though the herb-butter Margot sent along with me helped somewhat with the bland flavor and repetition of bird, bird, bird, bird for supper. Ruins were few and far between in the land of Minhiriath, and most were little more than tumble-down stones that might suggest a wall now and then. At night, some of them seemed to be host to amorphous but menacing shapes, and the origin of uncomfortable sounds -- skittering, clacking, shuffling, snorting -- so we did not use them much for camps. Many a night passed in the damp, though at least, as we wend our way south, less cold, as winter has little force here.
Liffey seems cheerful, less reserved, even enthusiastic, though even at her most voluble, she remains largely an enigma to me. I have no idea what she is thinking or feeling, what her intentions are, what she considers me as, or even what moved her to this expedition. Is there something else to this journey, some purpose I may never know, or is it truly just to see what's beyond the horizon, and explore ancient ruins, like and unlike those in which her people dwell now? Was I invited along out of some hidden purpose, or some warming fondness? I find myself considering my own intentions which are almost as muddied to me. I described this to Belfry (ah yes, must note that Belfry is back in Bree, and hopefully she and Piper are rekindling what had barely begun to warm before her disappearance) as if Liffey was a storm which I was swept up by. I could certainly choose not to be carried by these winds, but then I would simply be sitting silently in the stillness, and that has no appeal. What does it say about me that the only options I feel are to be drawn along by a storm, or to sit unmoving? Am I some oar-less galley, caught between doldrums and gales, incapable of setting its own path?
And speaking of not being able to choose my own path, I've lost the thread again of my account. Yes, Minhiriath, and its magnificent desolation. The tiny remnant of that ancient primeval forest that once stood here is apparently a small stand of trees called Eryn Vorn, near the coast and perhaps another fortnight out of our way, and thus not worth visiting. Instead, we stayed to the Great South Road, and in the last few days, the land before and beside it has started to turn rumpled and occasionally wooded, and we've come to the first of the great ruins that I suspect are of Gondor's (or perhaps Arnor's) make. This edifice seemed like it might be a frontier outpost, and if I count the leagues rightly, we might well be at the northern edge of ancient Gondor's claims, before its gradual decline caused it to retreat its frontier to Calenardhon (now Rohan), and then past that to Anórien (where it sits today). It's a curious construction, as large as a small city, yet clearly shaped by the hand of a single designer, and with the few buildings in it (arrayed along multiple levels of a high hill overlooking the road) all joined in a large rectangular courtyard whose perimeter is set off by huge pillars. These pillars the most puzzling of all, as I doubt they ever held up any roof or even archways. What purpose did they serve? The only way they could have been a defensive fortification is if wooden walls once filled their large gaps, but I see no mortise or groove into which such walls would be fitted, and if you can make pillars so vast and so regular, why not build walls of stone, too? Perhaps they were merely decorative, a means of denoting the edge of the courtyard. Whatever buildings were contained within likely served as a hostelry and stable for travelers along the Royal Road, and perhaps a garrison.
After leaving this ruin we passed many other ancient structures, and saw still more in the distance. There was a curious under-ground aqueduct, or so I infer; at one point, a river flowed into a great pool with construction set into the pool (we didn't get close enough to examine it, as we were very high above), then some leagues away, a construction of similar architecture out of which a river was flowing with no other obvious source. There is no other explanation but that the water flows from the one to the other. Perhaps ancient Gondor simply built onto both ends of an extant underground flow, but why? But the alternative, that it is an underground aqueduct built over many leagues -- no, under many leagues -- is even more puzzling. To what end? There were no croplands where the river flowed out, just an unsettling and eerie woodland. And could Gondor make such tunnels? Perhaps they hired Dwarves for the underground part of the work.
And speaking of Dwarves, beside the road I saw a viridescent stone marker of a distinctly Dwarfish style, not only not matching the ruins, road, and bridges, but also clearly made much more recently. What brought Dwarves into Enedwaith and caused them to leave a marker of their travels, perhaps so recently as to suggest those who built these markers live still? I've seen no other sign of Dwarf settlements or even travelers. Surely some Dwarven merchants use this road to bring wagons of goods to and from Rohan and Gondor (though how they get wagons over the Greyflood I cannot imagine), but that is not enough cause to build such markers (no similar markers set out their trade routes through Eriador, to my knowledge).
If that seemed a mystery, I had no idea how much more unfathomable things would get. When we saw a low lamp-post, so low as to give very little light (were it lit, which it wasn't, as it seemed disused and battered), I wondered at first if the ground itself might have risen around the post as a result of the land-shaping that led to, or resulted from, the aqueduct. But the post is wood, surely not as old as this feat of engineering. We followed a path with another such lantern along it, and at its end, Liffey found, of all things, a hobbit. (No doubt the posts are hobbit-height.) The lad (and the others we would soon meet) was not entirely like those of the Shire, but more like them than like anyone else I have ever known. Not just in appearance and mode of dress, but also in their welcoming charm. We have just had the first good meal of our journey (I mustn't let Liffey see me characterizing all her hard-won hunt and forage as anything but satisfactory, but I cannot deny to myself I dream more of Eugenie's cooking than I do of soft beds, pretty girls, or even fine wine). Now we make camp beside a most calm and picturesque lake which my sketching abilities cannot hope to do justice, just outside their charming if small settlement (perhaps the same size as Woodhall, and similarly tucked into hills, with diminutive but efficient garden plots). Compared to their northern cousins (if cousins they are, but how could they not be?) they keep less livestock, eat more fish and game, and their small vegetable gardens are wholly inadequate to great crops of grain so they eat little that one might call bread or cake.
What little I have learned of them from our very few interactions suggests they are no more knowledgeable of the Shire than the Shire is of them. The little folk of Bree-land have few stories of where they dwelled before, and so, too, these folk live as if they have never lived elsewhere. Did some party of dissatisfied (how could any Shire-hobbit be dissatisfied?) hobbitfolk set out south for new homes, or perhaps the other way around? Or did both come ultimately from some other land entirely? Liffey will likely want to be off to see more ruins before I can make many inquiries into such matters (which would likely be fruitless even if I could make them), so I suppose, like the Gondorian ruins, like the dwarf-marker, and like Liffey herself, these hobbits shall remain a mystery to me.
