Hello, old friend! I haven't written to you for some time, have I? How have you been? Sitting in my saddlebags, gathering dust, I see.
I know it's been far too long, and perhaps you'd like to hear what I've been up to. No, not yet. I have more pressing concerns. But you know how I can be; how I tend to ramble, covering ideas from here, there, and everywhere in between. Maybe you'll catch snatches as I go.
So I've been back in Bree for a couple of weeks now. Just passing through, or so I'd hoped. Met a few new people, got a few new stories, but never quite learned everything I'd hoped to. People of Bree still seem to prefer knowing far too little of what's happening outside their borders. Perhaps in a thousand years, Bree-folk will have turned into Hobbit-folk. We'll see.
But tonight was a bit different. When I entered the front door of the Pony, I had a mind to grab a small bite to eat and then head to my room, but then I noticed Miss Cesistya sitting in her usual spot on the floor, and a young lass I met a few nights ago—Jade was her name—sat beside her. They seemed a promising pair for uplifting conversation, so I joined them and did my best to provoke a response from the serene elf. I succeeded in getting a few giggles from Jade, and Lady Ces gave the usual serious corrections for all my silliness. I must say, I do wonder whether on some level the elf is at all amused by me, or if I actually prick the tranquil waters of her emotions, or if she views me as no more than a mere fly that one shoos away. I'll just have to keep working on her till she finally turns me into a frog or something.
Then we were joined by a very interesting man. Ioachin was his name, if my spelling is at all correct. He had the surname “Lithfing,” if I recall. Now, he was a man of dark skin, darker than any Dunlending in fact. And an accent—very strong, in fact—that I'd never be able to identify, though he did explain he came from the land called “Harondor.” Admittedly, I know almost nothing of the land, beyond what I learned from him. He explained that it laid just beyond the land of Gondor, though some would say it was in fact part of Gondor. Apparently, he indicated, there's some dispute dividing the peoples down there.
Well, as interesting as the man and his background are, I knew as soon as he explained that he was at least from the region of Gondor that he would be a fount of information that I sorely need right now. According to his source—which he trusts—there is in fact now a king ruling in Gondor, in Minas Tirith to be precise. He mentioned something called the “Tower of the Guard,” whatever that is. What's more, apparently the war that's been raging down there for years is, in fact, over. And that...we won. The races of Men, that is. Gondor, Rohan, others. We won. Against Mordor. I'd heard various rumors, but if this is true, then that changes everything.
You see, I had always intended to travel down there to lend my sword to the fight, doing my best to make sure the forces of Shadow, or Evil, or Mordor, or whatever other dramatic name we might call them by... make sure they wouldn't overcome the powerful nations down there and wipe out all peoples beyond. I always felt that if Gondor fell, then we all would. Including all the way here, to Bree-land. And that, I just couldn't let happen.
Yet, we won. I could hardly believe it, sitting there on the floor in the Pony. The man could tell I was troubled, and misinterpreted my expression as if I thought it was bad news. When really, it just meant that I didn't know what to do any more. This, right here, is the real reason I'm writing to you this evening, Dear Diary. This is why I took a walk around town, and ended up sitting here on a wall scribbling away till my fingers freeze. The night is getting chilly, but I refuse to go inside till I finish this.
I always knew in my heart that I was just delaying. When I went up to Othrikar and spent the last several months smithing away, and of course my time here in Bree, idly talking to strangers and walking around. I knew I was just putting off actually leaving for the South. People can live life here, relatively safe. I want that for them—to be safe, happy, hopeful. But I knew that I had to keep them safe, because I could. And I knew that, if things turned badly, or even if things might change in other ways, I might never come back. This time.
But now what? The War is over. The lands are safe. Bree-land is safe. But...are they? Is she? As much as I'd love to believe what the man from the South said, I have to make sure. I can't risk settling down here only to find that War's been on its way home all this time. Also, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm simply not ready. Not ready to retire from my admittedly dangerous ways, retire and set up my own smithy, marry and raise a bunch of troublesome rascals. Not yet.
No, my plans haven't changed. I'm just better informed now. I still need to go and see for myself, lend what aid I can. In fact, even if the War is over, I'm certain those lands suffered far worse than we did up here. They may need me for even more than my sword-arm. I have to go. I have to help, as I'm able.
First, I'll need to say good bye to my family though. I can't tell Mom and Dad everything, or they will worry too much. Mom especially. They have to believe that I'm still coming home. Someday. And, if all goes well, I will.
I worry too about the Knights. I'll be passing by the little valley that they protect as I travel east. Part of me feels like I should tell them my plans, but I already feel guilty for “taking a holiday” from my training with them to pursue what feels almost like a selfish endeavor. No, it's best if they just forget about me. They'll be fine. Or maybe I'm just afraid to come face to face with them first.
Whatever the case, I know what I have to do. Just a few more days. Then it's time to leave.
