Belegos

He stood apart from the others, the faint glow of the fire still visible from the copse of stunted trees that he stood in. The rain had ceased its downpour hours ago but his cloak was still wet through, clinging to his light armour and inner layers of clothing. He stood still, leaning against the rough bark of one of the nameless trees, silent, uncomfortable and cold in his wet clothing. Drops of rain fell on him from time to time, a residue of the storms still left upon the dark leaves of the tree.

Dearest Belegos,

I write to you from Mirobel to tell you that I have left the search company for Lorien. By the time you receive this letter, I will be crossing the Redhorn Pass.

Forgive me for departing so suddenly. I fear for the safety of those who are dear to me and Lorien itself. I am unmistakably called to return and I cannot ignore it.

Below our camp lay the Gravenwood, and when we first arrived there, I was mightily heartened to see its pines and majestic oaks and many white birches, and from a distance, I thought its tall, straight, good-looking trees suited me. I do not know why it is called the Gravenwood by the Ranger-folk, but perhaps it is because the Wildmen abuse the bark of its trees for their barbarous carvings.

Veryacano refused to allow him a turn at watch, and when Parnard protested, he appeared surprised at his dissent, and told him that he should be glad of the rest. Uncertain if this was thoughtful regard, or a show of bad faith in his ability, Parnard said nothing in reply, but strongly suspected it was the latter – the Hammer Lord was not known for benevolence.

“She came in with the wind from the south…I do not know what brings her here in such haste.”

“She does not seem keen on staying long either.”

The guards taking the night watch continued to speculate in hushed voices. There was usually nothing to entertain their conversations aside from the blank sky and empty grey landscape. Thus, the swift approach of one elf maiden was enough to stir their curiosity for that night.

Eliriael sat upon the stone ledge with her legs folded in front of her. She had just returned from scouting the woods in the west with Belegos. They had little news for their kin who awaited them at their current encampment. All they had found was some information from Rangers about the surrounding areas. After some discussion, it seemed that their next course would lead them south. Perhaps there would be more promising signs to be found there.

I am lying on the ground somewhere in Dunland, trying to sleep next to some of the House of Vanimar, instead of my comfortable bed in Rivendell or Lórien. So how did this happen? When I first entered the house, the people I met after Lord Anglachelm were of the Order of Hammer. When the events started to go rough on them, I felt like I needed to make myself useful for them as a warrior that I am.

Tonight I sit sleepless, and look into the night about me, dark, terrible things lurk there, and often the dread comes over me, that I feel my reason is overpowered, and my senses are bewildered. Abandoned to evil spirits, we are, we who followed because duty demanded it, because we swore to serve. How can we believe that our well-doing has availed anything? All our labors have met with failure, all good for nothing. We only seem to fill up every place with our trouble and strife. Behold the works of the proud Noldor!

The words sounded strange issuing from my mouth, yet still I gave voice to them. I urged for restraint, for her to remember who and what we are. The honour that we have fought so hard to win, and to keep; that cannot be so easily discarded. Who remains upon this darkened shore that is mightier in deed or in battle than us? The count is few indeed. Yet this night we have fallen far from such lofty claims, from glory and honour
to something far darker, far less fitting for those of our illustrious history.

Night was falling over Echad Dagoras, muting the color of the land into shadows. A quiet began to descend on the encampment as the elves of Vanimar settled themselves for rest after the long day of traveling. They had set out from Imladris under the cover of night and had not stopped to rest since then. Eliriael remembered the veil of night lifting for the arrival of dawn just as her feet splashed across the Ford of Bruinen.