Imladris

I had not dreamed in many days. Between the wound in my shoulder - which had been infected, but is now healing - and the turmoil in my own emotions concerning one close to me, I thought I would dream more often than the silence that faced me when I closed my eyes. 

The paper is stuffed haphazardly into the journal, as if it was torn out and reluctantly threaded into the new book. The Sindarin in which it is written is shaky as if the hands writing were trembling. 

This story is a part of a series. Read the first one here. 

The first thing I heard was the crashing of waves along the shoreline. The sound was hypnotizing but arrhythmic, no true pattern to be discerned as the ocean crests and falls. It soothes a longing in my soul. I heard the cries of seagulls as they flew overhead, sharp and piercing, but familiar. 

An address is written in exquisite Sindarin, then again in Westron. It is likely in case the letter drops from the sky, as the parchment is rolled and tied with string to be sent by falcon.

Back in Imladris, things are much more peaceful. We found, but then lost the nazgul in the wilds. It seems this task is doomed for naught but failure. But I will not dwell on that for now. I will rest here in the peace of the valley until duty calls once more, though I wish for a longer rest. 

After I arrived back in the valley, I made myself look presentable before reporting to Hir Elrond. I am sure there will be more to do soon, but I will make well of the time I have to spend in the valley. I visited the libraries and mindlessly picked out a book to read.

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.

The date and ink are so old that the writing is hard to make out. It is written in an older dialect of Sindarin. The pages of the journal that have been written on are yellowed and weathered and warping on the edges. The fact that it is preserved so well could only be attributed to elvish conservation methods.

If I had not decided before, then surely fate has now. I have been wrapping up business in the land of men here on the west side of the mountains. I will stay a week or so more. But I have been preparing to leave for Imladris. 

Mellon, 

I hope this letter finds you well in your travels. The sons of Hir Elrond have come back to Imladris recently and given word that you had not sailed. We hope that this decision does not bear on your mind to heavily, as we know you had wished leave these shores. Even so, the lord is grateful that you have chosen to remain.