FROM RIVER ISEN TO GONDOR
My dear Arwing,
So I write again sooner than I expected.
We have been on the road but one day now, and are staying the night at the river Isen. We have not caught up with the King and my father, however we did pass Lord Greenleaf. He had gone with them a ways and turned back again for Edoras, for he says he has business in Minas Tirith and must not be late. I can only guess he means to get a horse for young Eldarion, sweet boy. (Perhaps he has not heard you have already selected one for the young prince?) He will get the best of the best for there is none now alive like Legolas of Ithilien who can tell a perfect horse from a herd. Except, perhaps, his son. While on that thought, I did worry Huinlas would return with his father. However he did not, and is even now helping Boromir to start a campfire.
It is rough traveling. I have the added burden of heavy, hot skirts; a trouble and handicap neither Boromir nor Huinlas understand or sympathize with. I'm sure you understand this.
Oh, my dear, we get to carry weapons! Such luck! I feel so dangerous now. There is something terribly handsome about the two gentlemen I travel with being all girded up as if for war. Huinlas has, after his family's custom, but a light bow and arrows, and a family heirloom, a long silver-white knife. Boromir is girt with a long sword of Gondor and Gondorian mail, though no armor for we are optimistic enough to hope we will not really have need to fight. Boromir also has a shield. And what of myself? I have sword of the Rohirrim with a shorter blade, more fitting for a woman. It has horses on the hilt and the grip is of firm, soft leather. I love the way it sounds when being pulled from the sheath. Huinlas and Boromir have been instructing me in the art of sword play, and I enjoy it very much. It seems the gentlemen do not care to catch up with the adults, and so will do anything as an excuss to lag behind. I fear we will be in trouble for this in the end.
Huinlas is singing again; the sun is setting, and a round moon is rising over the edge of Fangorn forest. As I have said before, I cannot bear to do anything productive while he sings, especially at the twilight.
So farewell for now, my friend. I eagerly await your letters in Eregion, which Huinlas says we shall come to in a matter of four or five days. Considering the sluggishness of our travel so far, I do not expect to reach it for nearly a week.
Until then, mellon-nin! ~Silwen
PS Another poem from Huinlas. (He said this one isn't as good as the last, but wanted to send it anyway. I wouldn't know the difference. He also said it needs no reply, but would like to know if you enjoyed it.)
Have you seen the moon rise over distant hills Or heard the forlorn wind wail with hidden ills? Do you know the calling of the Twilight grey Or feel the gentle peace of sunlit Day? What is your fate, oh Lady of the Tree? Tell, where lies your future? Free?
PPS I'm sending this with a wandering dwarf. I hope it makes it to you.
[REVIEWS GREATLY DESIRED]
So I write again sooner than I expected.
We have been on the road but one day now, and are staying the night at the river Isen. We have not caught up with the King and my father, however we did pass Lord Greenleaf. He had gone with them a ways and turned back again for Edoras, for he says he has business in Minas Tirith and must not be late. I can only guess he means to get a horse for young Eldarion, sweet boy. (Perhaps he has not heard you have already selected one for the young prince?) He will get the best of the best for there is none now alive like Legolas of Ithilien who can tell a perfect horse from a herd. Except, perhaps, his son. While on that thought, I did worry Huinlas would return with his father. However he did not, and is even now helping Boromir to start a campfire.
It is rough traveling. I have the added burden of heavy, hot skirts; a trouble and handicap neither Boromir nor Huinlas understand or sympathize with. I'm sure you understand this.
Oh, my dear, we get to carry weapons! Such luck! I feel so dangerous now. There is something terribly handsome about the two gentlemen I travel with being all girded up as if for war. Huinlas has, after his family's custom, but a light bow and arrows, and a family heirloom, a long silver-white knife. Boromir is girt with a long sword of Gondor and Gondorian mail, though no armor for we are optimistic enough to hope we will not really have need to fight. Boromir also has a shield. And what of myself? I have sword of the Rohirrim with a shorter blade, more fitting for a woman. It has horses on the hilt and the grip is of firm, soft leather. I love the way it sounds when being pulled from the sheath. Huinlas and Boromir have been instructing me in the art of sword play, and I enjoy it very much. It seems the gentlemen do not care to catch up with the adults, and so will do anything as an excuss to lag behind. I fear we will be in trouble for this in the end.
Huinlas is singing again; the sun is setting, and a round moon is rising over the edge of Fangorn forest. As I have said before, I cannot bear to do anything productive while he sings, especially at the twilight.
So farewell for now, my friend. I eagerly await your letters in Eregion, which Huinlas says we shall come to in a matter of four or five days. Considering the sluggishness of our travel so far, I do not expect to reach it for nearly a week.
Until then, mellon-nin! ~Silwen
PS Another poem from Huinlas. (He said this one isn't as good as the last, but wanted to send it anyway. I wouldn't know the difference. He also said it needs no reply, but would like to know if you enjoyed it.)
Have you seen the moon rise over distant hills Or heard the forlorn wind wail with hidden ills? Do you know the calling of the Twilight grey Or feel the gentle peace of sunlit Day? What is your fate, oh Lady of the Tree? Tell, where lies your future? Free?
PPS I'm sending this with a wandering dwarf. I hope it makes it to you.
[REVIEWS GREATLY DESIRED]