Author's note: AT END OF CHAPTER.
Midden (n): A prehistoric refuse heap which marks an ancient settlement, chiefly containing bones, shells, and stone implements. -Oxford English Dictionary
MIDDEN: Day One
Fourth Age, Year 6
Dearest Gimli,
The sun came out today for the first time in several weeks. I had gone to seek her twice in that time, though Saida railed at me and one of our elves was sent to follow. She says when it is overcast I am farther away, that the wetness in the air is like a mist of sea spray upon me, that it is like I am understanding the world through a wall of water.
While I think Saida has always been inclined toward melodrama, I also know she is sound in her logic, and that she knows me well, and thus that she is probably right.
Living this far south is strange indeed–it has been years since I have seen proper snow. These winter dustings and squalls far up in the Ephel Dúath are naught but child's play–as if the weather here is really just a thing dreamt up by a youngling, challenging enough to complicate his imaginary heroes' quests, but not so much that those heroes fail in emerging triumphant, battered and weary, yet still deserving great praise.
It is finally spring here, I think, now that the sun is back, and we have much work yet to do in this forest. We must labor to strengthen our trade relationships, but there are some places I cannot go. (We will discuss the "why" of this later, my friend.) I am naming representatives.
The sun is back for now, truly, but thunderstorms are in the air. I must admit, I am excited for the first–pinned by a storm with an unforgiving mountain at your back. That is not terrifying to me. It is the most natural thing I can think of (which does not exclude it being terrifying of course, but in this case, its being natural... Nevermind). The point is, when we are pinioned, we are forced to endure, and it invigorates.
Saida's children ask after you. Elboron, too, is eager for your visit. (He is growing so quickly, Gimli. It is like he is fed and watered and then grows right before my eyes! I cannot keep up.)
Tell me of your winter? Surely it is somewhat more cold there than it has been here. Have you found any interesting rocks recently? Stone? (Or whatever it is you wish me to call them.)
I look forward to hearing, of course.
With love,
Legolas
Explanation/Author's Note: I am currently stuck in a very plotty place, which discourages prolific writing. I am sometimes also, however, doing a large amount of writing with no shareable results, because there is too much going on "up there" to come up with anything relevant or finished (and, of course, my work life is currently a little...unbalanced, *and* I have perfectionistic tendencies in all things).
Therefore, I will be using this "story" to dump a little into daily for the next 2 weeks or so–drabbles, vignettes, one-shots, or even missing scenes from ongoing stories/universes. In that way–the dumping–this story will be like a midden, and it will also be like a midden in that things are deposited into it largely without context. However, unlike a midden, order of layering has nothing to do with time and place (i.e., do not expect things chronologically. This is a midden that was unearthed by accident and then accidentally sowed into a field. Still full of rubbish, sure, but very out of order rubbish. Ha!).
So, basically, this is a form of writing therapy and writers' block treatment. I apologize for this self-indulgence, but hopefully you'll get something enjoyable out of it while I recalibrate and give myself, and my longer stories, a breather.
Please feel free to review, but no complaining that this has no plot–you have been warned! Until tomorrow.