EDORAS TO MINAS TIRITH
Dear Arwing,
Oh my dear, such news! Your father been here. He left just this morning with Lord Greenleaf and my father. They have gone north to visit the Halflings and make certain the realm of Arnor is secure.
But here is the best part: Huinlas, Boromir and I are to follow and try to catch up with them before they reach the Isen. Already the elf and my brother have been packing their things and preparing their horses for the journey.
Later
Dearest! I have just received a letter from you! How good it is to hear from you again. Time seems to linger here, on and on and on... Not as it does in Ithilien where day blurs into night and wakes into day again, each better than the last, each made perfectly for peace and comfort. I have been in the Golden Hall three weeks now. Ah...you asked for a description and you know how I adore description so I shall begin:
The Golden Hall is just that, golden. It is lovely, far lovelier than I had imagined it to be. I am sharing a room with Théodwyn, and our window looks out over the breezy plains. The wind is always blowing here. Forever and again we hear it moaning, moaning through the grasses.
Mother looks better than I have seen her for a long time. Not that she was ill before, but she is "at home" now and feels refreshed. She spends much time with her brother, my uncle Éomer King. I have seen her happy before, but never so joyful as with her brother. They are so close, in friendship and in character. It is amusing just to sit and watch them talk and laugh together.
The wind and direct sunlight have been bothering my eyes. They are sore and ache much of the day time. At night there is relief from the light, but always blows the wind.
At night Huinlas stands outside under the stars and I hear his voice carried on the wind all around the Hall. Not loudly, not obtrusively, but not naturally either. This land does not seem right for elven music, somehow. His voice is mellow and sweet and the melody he sings is enchanting. It seems as though sometimes he is talking to the very stars above his head. And you know dear, it may be that he is.
Dear Arwing, I told you I did not know for sure Huinlas admires you, I merely guess. I am one for guessing and inquisitiveness, you know. He does not admire me the way he admires you. I am merely his friend, though I would not say there is anything "mere" about it (if you take my meaning). There is something special about befriending an elf.
I have spent much time these last few weeks with my aunt, Lothiriel. She is so beautiful. Her hair is a whiter gold than I am used to, and it glimmers almost red in the sunlight. She has but one child, Elfwine, and he is a friend to Barahir. Aunt Lothiriel and Lord Greenleaf had a real time of it talking about the Sea before he left. She was born and raised by the seashore and longs still to see the waves again.
I have been having the time of my life dressing myself in Mother's old clothes. It seems Uncle Éomer has saved a chest of them just because. They are richly embroidered and all trail on the ground behind me. There is something special about dressing as a princess of Rohan. Though I do not consider myself to be of the Rohirrim, but of Gondor, I do delight in many of the pastimes here... seeing how it is in my blood.
Ah well, I must close much sooner than I should like. I have much to tell you, but it will have to wait until later.
Mellonlín,
Silwen
PS Huinlas sends his greeting ("Mae govannen, Lady of the Tree!") and this short poem:
Calling, calling ever sing the gulls,
Across a distant shore
Where white sand shines like gems
Where breezes fall like raindrops
Where mist encloses all who dare to step
On the long awaited shore.
PPS Write next time to Bree, where we hear they will pick up the mail. It may be some time before I am able to write again.
PPPS Scratch writing to Bree. Huinlas says that is too far away. He says he has some distant cousin living in Eregion who will be able to pick up the mail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[REVIEWS GREATLY DESIRED]
Dear Arwing,
Oh my dear, such news! Your father been here. He left just this morning with Lord Greenleaf and my father. They have gone north to visit the Halflings and make certain the realm of Arnor is secure.
But here is the best part: Huinlas, Boromir and I are to follow and try to catch up with them before they reach the Isen. Already the elf and my brother have been packing their things and preparing their horses for the journey.
Later
Dearest! I have just received a letter from you! How good it is to hear from you again. Time seems to linger here, on and on and on... Not as it does in Ithilien where day blurs into night and wakes into day again, each better than the last, each made perfectly for peace and comfort. I have been in the Golden Hall three weeks now. Ah...you asked for a description and you know how I adore description so I shall begin:
The Golden Hall is just that, golden. It is lovely, far lovelier than I had imagined it to be. I am sharing a room with Théodwyn, and our window looks out over the breezy plains. The wind is always blowing here. Forever and again we hear it moaning, moaning through the grasses.
Mother looks better than I have seen her for a long time. Not that she was ill before, but she is "at home" now and feels refreshed. She spends much time with her brother, my uncle Éomer King. I have seen her happy before, but never so joyful as with her brother. They are so close, in friendship and in character. It is amusing just to sit and watch them talk and laugh together.
The wind and direct sunlight have been bothering my eyes. They are sore and ache much of the day time. At night there is relief from the light, but always blows the wind.
At night Huinlas stands outside under the stars and I hear his voice carried on the wind all around the Hall. Not loudly, not obtrusively, but not naturally either. This land does not seem right for elven music, somehow. His voice is mellow and sweet and the melody he sings is enchanting. It seems as though sometimes he is talking to the very stars above his head. And you know dear, it may be that he is.
Dear Arwing, I told you I did not know for sure Huinlas admires you, I merely guess. I am one for guessing and inquisitiveness, you know. He does not admire me the way he admires you. I am merely his friend, though I would not say there is anything "mere" about it (if you take my meaning). There is something special about befriending an elf.
I have spent much time these last few weeks with my aunt, Lothiriel. She is so beautiful. Her hair is a whiter gold than I am used to, and it glimmers almost red in the sunlight. She has but one child, Elfwine, and he is a friend to Barahir. Aunt Lothiriel and Lord Greenleaf had a real time of it talking about the Sea before he left. She was born and raised by the seashore and longs still to see the waves again.
I have been having the time of my life dressing myself in Mother's old clothes. It seems Uncle Éomer has saved a chest of them just because. They are richly embroidered and all trail on the ground behind me. There is something special about dressing as a princess of Rohan. Though I do not consider myself to be of the Rohirrim, but of Gondor, I do delight in many of the pastimes here... seeing how it is in my blood.
Ah well, I must close much sooner than I should like. I have much to tell you, but it will have to wait until later.
Mellonlín,
Silwen
PS Huinlas sends his greeting ("Mae govannen, Lady of the Tree!") and this short poem:
Calling, calling ever sing the gulls,
Across a distant shore
Where white sand shines like gems
Where breezes fall like raindrops
Where mist encloses all who dare to step
On the long awaited shore.
PPS Write next time to Bree, where we hear they will pick up the mail. It may be some time before I am able to write again.
PPPS Scratch writing to Bree. Huinlas says that is too far away. He says he has some distant cousin living in Eregion who will be able to pick up the mail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[REVIEWS GREATLY DESIRED]