Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
53 Coirë in the Reckoning of Imladris
I have taken to sitting in the late watches of the night by the hearth - not in the comfort of the salon, mind, but rather in the secure silence of my newly renovated Sanctum...
Now here I must record that my Household has expanded, and shrunk, with names and faces arriving and leaving; some amiable, some with bitter words of parting - still others without a word before. Much like He did. The march of months has not softened the sting of the news, nor has all the outpouring support from my Household, for which I am in no way ungrateful.
And now, I examine myself and my directions of late. And I find myself headed in one direction once more: retreat. Yes, I have entertained guests and newcomers in my halls. Yes, I have held close speech with select few of my House. But what else have I done?
I wrote of my renovated Sanctum. I suppose that was the most blatant expression of my current frame of mind. After a careful line of research, I commissioned a small, talented band of Dwarves to install a door leading to my tower dorm. Concealed behind an ornate bookcase, the panels slide away to reveal the stairs leading to the Tower - a doorway that will only open to the words I speak, and share with no one.
And so here I sit, brooding, behind enchanted doors and atop a forbidding tower. This has truly become my Lair; and I am perched within its uppermost turret, like a blood-bat awaiting the rising of the moon before taking flight. But I realize the dark wings of my mood may take flight, but my heart shall not.
Or, is that but another direction?
There are those who reach out to me, make the efforts to draw me forth from beneath my pensive cloak. Little Lancogard, with all the innocence and mirth of his folk would see me filled with a gay heart once more; and my apprentice, the Mortal girl Anurania: more woman-child, in truth. If I am to be a proper Lesson-Mistress to her, I must resolve to conduct myself so in her presence.
I pace back and forth between each paragraph now. My mind wanders, my feet follow, it seems. Am I now becoming more of a beast, pacing to and fro in my fretting, in a cage of my own creation? But that is a direction too, I see. Or rather, no direction at all, save the opposite wall of my chamber. And perhaps, that is the answer to my thoughts.
I must find a new direction. Or none at all.
Next Entry: Reflections on the New Year
