Dear Diary,
I know it's been a while since my last entry but I've been very very busy.
The journey into the mountains was probably the scariest thing I have ever done.
Meneldir gathered us all in the Hall of Fire so that introductions could be made and told us we would be leaving at dawn the following day.
I was introduced to the group as Minstrel and Cook! Can you believe it?
They soon learned that not all Hobbits are great cooks, sure I can make food taste good but I'm not a great cook.
By the third day Bornif took over the cooking, he is so much better at it than me. Even if it was Elvish stuff he made. Actually its not too bad when you get used to it. I'll have to get some Elven recipes for The Grand Order, it is a kind of Mathom after all.
Anyway, Im wandering again, so much to tell you I keep getting sidetracked.
We set off from the stables, each of us had a goat loaded with supplies for our journey. Thick winter cloathing clothing and tents made from a thick oiled cloth made up the bulk of each pack with food and personal items making up the rest. The poor goats looked tired before we set off. Their thick wooley coats must have been very hot in the sunshine. I nicknamed my goat Floppet because she had a tuft of hair that flopped over her eyes.
The road into the mountains is kept clear by the Elves of Imladris, they clear any rockslide as soon as they are able and the path is paved with small pebbles pounded into the ground.. This makes the first and steepest part of the road easy to walk on even if I was puffing and panting after a few minutes. The pebbles also make sure any pack animal wont slip, even in the wettest or snowiest of weathers.
Talking of snow, it wasn't long after lunch when we were past the snowline. We slowed a lot then, the goats and me.
We journeyed until an hour before sunset and set up camp, each of us had our own tent with it's doorway facing the communal fire.
I set to and started making the evening meal. A good hot soup, it's the only meal I really know how to make.
As we settled around the fire we shared stories and songs. This became the pattern for the rest of the journey.
At dawn we would rise, have a quick meal, tend to the goats and strike camp (this means pack everything away. A new term I learned during the journey.) We would then set off in a direction chosen by Meneldir.
I can't remember how long we had been travelling for but we came to the first of our destinations.
The source of the River Greylin.
I must say I wasn't that impressed, it was just a spring bubbling up from the ground between two boulders.
The Elves however were very solom solemn. They laid wreaths of flowers and small baskets of fruit on the boulders. They gave thanks for the life giving waters which flowed through Arda (what the Elves call the world).
I felt ashamed of myself. This journey had been nothing more than an adventure to me, but to the rest of my group it was so much more.
It started to snow so we made camp a little way from the springhead and the evening meal was prepared by Bornif. Lightly spiced savoury biscuits. They were deceptively small but quite filling.
I excused myself from the fire and took one of my biscuits to the springhead. I placed it with the other gifts and gave a nod to the bubbling water.
As I returned to the camp I noticed mine weren't the only footprints in the fresh snow. I had been followed as I went to the spring, but noone spoke of what I had done.
The snowfall turned into a storm with winds howling and shrieking, the little tents shaking and creaking with each gust.
I worried about Floppet outside in the storm and went to check on her. The goats had huddled together, their thick coats protecting them from the cold and snow. Floppet made a soft baa sound that I found reassuring and so went back to my tent.
The storm whistled around the mountains for the next couple of days, wherever it touched it left piles of snow. The route we had taken into the springhead was blocked so we couldn't go back the way we had come.
Melendir sent Alatariel to scout for a way through, she had the keenest eyes and a tracker's sense.
We set off two days later in a completely different direction to the previous one, Alatariel leading the way.
I was struggling so much in the deep snow that Melendir suggested I ride my goat. Floppet accepted my weight easily and we soon made good progress.
Riding atop my goat I had the chance to look around more than I had when I was walking. The mountains have a rugged beauty I'd not realised before.
Once or twice I saw some large creatures in the distance, I mentioned them to Alatariel who told me there are things that live in the sheltered valleys of the mountains. Ancient things that crawl and prowl, devouring any unwary traveller that they happen upon.
I'm not entirely sure she was joking.
We found the source of the Langwell. It broke the ground in a pool, it looked like a cauldron of boiling water, spitting and fizzing before running downhill in a cascade of small waterfalls.
Again the Elves left small gifts and thanks, this time at the edge of the pool. I had anticipated finding this second source and had kept a few honeycakes aside for this occasion. I placed them alongside the Elven gifts and gave a reverent nod to the fizzing, roiling pool.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, it was Meneldir. I will always remember the words he said to me "If only all the people of Arda could feel the same peace within" and smiled.
We headed a little away from the spring and set up camp for the night. The evening meal was wonderful. A spicy stew of vegetables with dumplings. I asked Bornif to make a little something for afterwards, drop-scones and jam from a pot I had managed to sneak into my personal items.
I remember it was a beautiful clear night with the stars shining so brightly you could almost reach out and touch them. The fire had burned down to fmall flickering flames and a red glowing bed of coals. I took my harp from its cover and started to strum the strings with no real though to the tune.
Celahir started to sing, a rich baratone voice that complemented the harp. It was a wordless, tuneless song that flowed and twirled like the smoke from our fire.
When the song ended Celahir told me he had been reluctant to have a Hobbit join the search for the sources. He had believed that it would detract from the reverence, but now he was of the opinion that every journey should have a Hobbit to remind them of why they show reverence.
Meneldir laughed and told the group he believes Hobbits must be magical creatures to get the silent Celahir to say so much.
The journey back to Imladris was relatively uneventful although I could write pages and pages about the food Bornif created with the dwindling supplies. If I didn't see how empty the bags were becoming I would never have known, each meal was a feast of flavours.
Melt in the mouth tarts, sugared pancakes, soups and stews made from dried vegetables and dumplings so light they could float away on a breeze.
We came back to Imladris in a cloud of laughter and merriment.
