Veryacano sat by the lake in the quiet of the afternoon. With a crude pencil in his hand, he started pouring his thoughts to his small notebook.
It has been five days now since we have learned of Lord Anglachelm's capture. What a grand failure it has been. Thinking ourselves returning triumphant from enemy lands, we had no idea we had suffered the greatest defeat. I can imagine what our enemies say behind our backs. They say that we ran back to the valley like whipped dogs once our leader was taken. And what do our friends say here? They will say we left him behind. That we did not even attempt to rescue him.
But they know nothing. It had already been a week when we found out. They could be leagues away then. The troops were tired of battle, undersupplied and on foot. And it would not have availed to send a few scouts ahead either, for unprepared and outnumbered in enemy territory they would be lost and we would never hear from them. So I took the counsel of those around me and returned to the Valley of Imladris, to deliver what Lord Anglachelm had left behind, his swan locket. But not before I took a vow to return and go after him, to the deepest darkness until death if need be, to find him and return him to his house. Now here we are. Some of those loyal who would do right by their Lord have pledged to this cause. We set out before sunrise.
Many here in the Valley think this a fool’s errand. They think Lord Anglachelm is gone forever from these shores and now dwells in Halls of Mandos. But they know not how much an elf lord of Gondolin is worth to the enemy. They will keep him alive and deliver him to their masters and their masters will deliver him to their masters. To hold him hostage against us or worse, they will hold on to him for their own pleasure and my lord’s torment.
The trail is cold indeed but there is yet hope. There is no telling what may come to pass. Was it not Fingon the valiant who rescued Maedhros from the unreachable peaks of Thangorodrim? Was it not Luthien who saved Beren Erchamion from the dread tower of Tol-in-Gaurhoth? It may yet be in our fate that we shall see Lord Anglachelm again and rescue him from the enemy.
The news say that there is chaos and war in the south. The White Hand has closed the gap for all travelers and lands of the horse lords are under attack. If Anglachelm is being taken to the dark lord’s dread tower, there is a chance he has not passed into those lands yet and even if he did, travel there would be difficult if possible. Or it may be that he is being taken to Isengard, for we now know that Dun men serve the white hand. Perhaps the enemy would not risk taking him south at all and would seek to slip him away north to the old fortress of the witch king in Angmar, whose depths remain undiscovered. Perhaps he is still being kept by the Dunland tribes, to hold him hostage against us to prevent further attacks by the Hammer. That is the best I can hope for. It is said that foresight is the gift of the Tur of Bar-en Vanimar. Indeed I had foreseen my lord's return when I served as Tur in his stead. But I cannot see how this journey will end for me. Perhaps this gift is lost to me now.
Perhaps I cannot see because it is a fool’s hope as they say and I shall perish in vain, searching for him in the wilds to no avail. Either way there is nothing for me here anymore. I will not suffer insults behind my back, saying I have abandoned him. I would sooner risk death in his search, and most likely find my end, trying.
I’d like to think that Anglachelm would do the same for me, and go after me against all odds. When I look back into my days with him, I find it difficult to believe that. Lord has his house to tend to and his people look up to him. I do not think he would set aside all his responsibility to search for me in a glimmer of hope and small chance of success. I would still go even if not for my oath of allegiance to him, for that is what friends are for.
As his bodyguard, it was my responsibility to ensure the Lord’s safety but that was upon the Fountain while I was busy fighting the Lord’s battles for him. Those responsible have failed. Justice should be sought for that neglect and failure, but since no one else has heart to even speak of such things, I fear this wrong shall never be righted. Alas, it is of little importance now. I cannot tarry; I must go into the unknown. I do not expect to return.
Veryacano then took a moment to look around him. As the last rays of the setting sun faded, he felt this uneasy feeling as if this would be his last venture out of the Valley of Imladris. Perhaps it was just a feeling. He would not let despair take hold of him. Then he looked at his scribblings and he focused on his last sentence. It struck him that his lines were utterly useless for anyone else. If he would succeed, these would not be the words to be remembered. And if he failed, no one would ever be able to read these lines. He tore those two pages out of his journal and crumpled them between his hands and left them lying there. These thoughts were better off hidden away in his mind. Having cleared his head and feeling much better about it all, he got up and left for a parting drink.
