Daily musings next to the fire by Boromir, son of Denethor Steward of Gondor on his way to Imladris, occurring in the time immediately preceding the events of the War of the Ring.

Week 3

Day 15

Spent most of today enduring a forced waxing of my arm hair as I ripped myself off the tree- with my sap-stained clothing, unwashed and uncombed hair, and skin that varies between angry red, hairless or covered in bark, I must make quite a sight. Demon horse has faithfully returned, though I maintain it is to further torment me for as I was easing myself from the lowest branch onto his saddle, he intentionally shifted to the left so that I fell down. Bastard.

Maybe I'll go be a hermit somewhere. V. underrated, hermits- they must live the kind of peaceful, non-bear/demon horse-affected lives that I envy right now.

Day 16

Today… nothing actually happened. There were no bears, floods, sudden rainstorms, forced tree climbing events or, Valar forbid, unfortunate lightning strikes. I do have quite a number of bruises, cuts, scrapes and teeth marks, as well as a multitude of injuries inflicted by beings other than my horse. They ache almost unbearably but, as the demon horse has restrained itself recently, are manageable because I am finally on my way to Imladris where I can happily kill the equine bastard.

Day 17

Once again, my luck was too good to last; the demon horse was just waiting for an opportunity. We had just ridden to the top of a hill when, while I paused to take stock of the situation, he launched himself at a low-lying branch. This sent me tumbling down the hill, head over heels, with me managing to slam my knee into my nose as I stopped at the bottom. I looked up the slope, blood streaming from my nose, leaves in my hair and dirt through my clothes, and I cursed that damned horse with every insult I knew, as well as a few I invented on the spot. And then the bastard laughed at me! I glared and, ignoring my nose which was gushing like the falls of Rauros, I stomped back up. Pulling myself onto the saddle with somewhat more force than necessary, demon horse still whinnying in amusement, I nudged the animal into movement once more. Of course, my nose was still broken, but at that point it was the least of my worries.

Day 18

I have reset my nose, but it still hurts like a bitch and I'm fairly certain that I won't be rubbing it anytime soon. This may, however, be a plus, as we have entered marshlands and their typically awful rotting scent is one I have always despised. The horse has been frustrated by this path, for I found a road- a good, solid road- that is wide enough for me to resist any attempt to dump me in the rancid marshes. I must confess a perverse enjoyment in the horse's unhappiness, for the demon had taunted me for far too long and now I was finally safe from his evil.

Day 19

Upon examination of the road, I believe it may lead much of the way back to Minas Tirith. Hmm… Yes, it heads in that general direction and appears to keep away from the constant hills and rivers that have plagued my path so far.

I really don't know what to do with this information.

I could have avoided all the pain, cold and effort. I could have walked most of the way.

If I ever meet that bloody farmer again… I… I… I will do something really, really awful to him once I actually manage to process that this entire painful journey could have been avoided without his mischievousness.

Day 20

I spent so much time sitting in shock yesterday that the demon horse took the opportunity to dump me into the swamp. After informing him that he was the result of his ill-bred mother's incestuous relationship with a goat, I got back on the horse and we set off again. That night, we camped beside the road, near to what appeared to be a ruined city. This, of course, would not be so relevant were it not that the bridge near the city offered an excellent opportunity to cross that bastard of a river that had soaked me so many times before. It was early in the morning that we set off, starting across the still-swollen river.

Naturally, life could not be so simple as that, for the bridge was crumbling and my demon horse fell into the deep, raging river- as well as my foodstuffs, tinderbox, axe, bedroll, blankets, spare clothes and basically all my supplies apart from my sword, knife, shield, waterskin and the clothes I wore on my back.

While I would have been quite happy to kill my horse on some occasions, I never actually wished to do so and certainly not before reaching my destination. And to think, I never actually named the bastardly steed…

Day 21

I have come to the conclusion that either the Valar or Eru Himself hates me. My horse and supplies are gone; I have only a vague idea of where to go; I have no training in the woodcraft of Eriador, which is so much unlike that of Gondor that I have no idea of the herbs even this far north; I am only, by dead reckoning, halfway to my destination; I am still soaked in swamp water and covered in minor injuries.

Basically, things could be worse, but only through direct intervention on the part of a divine being that dislikes me. What have I done to deserve such treatment?

Oh look, Orcs.