"Some things are best left forgotten... and some are better to remember." Tingruviel sighs, sitting by her desk, leaning on her elbow whilst writing in her journal. "The past month has been frightening for all who are involved. And to think that a letter I wrote would cause such havoc amongst two kins... is disturbing to say the least." Tingruviel raises her head, peering through the open window onto the yard where Uthaer is sitting on a bench alongside his dear sister Lennien, playing music. Tingruviel bends down, reaching into her paperbasket for the letter she threw there the day Galdorion disappeared. The crumpled paper still holds its truths as she carefully straightens the paper out. A single tear wets the already smudged text, mixing with poor Galdorion's dried up sorrow. Tingruviel gently places the letter next to her journal, picking up the quill again.
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Thoughts of a lady, entry 1
Submitted by Tingruviel on March 20th, 2011
"Perhaps I should have foreseen Galdorion's hasty departure and his disregard for his own and others' safety when confronted with the reality of his dear Rainith's predicament. Perhaps I could have chosen words showing less of my own desparation, and not asked for help." Tingruviel stops, looking down at the text, heart aching for the two. Thoughts trailing off to the day in question, the day Galdorion recieved the letter and showed it to the gathering in Lord Elrond's halls. Tingruviel had not been present herself, though the words of her kinsmen rung in her ears to this day. "Rainith had refused to take any help from her kin. Her devotion to stay in the tunnels to help the dwarves of Khazad Dum was unmatched, yet she was starting to demonstrate a deeply depressed mind. Her skin growing ever so pale in the following weeks had made all worried for her sake. Both Himwen and Tinw had tried their best to coax Rainith out of the depths, but their pleas had gone unheard. What should I have done? He had to know, it was his right."
Tingruviel dips the quill again, making sure the ink does not reach the paper. "Perhaps I should have foreseen that their passion for each other would lead him to make such hasty decisions. To risk the lives of so many after having been told not to leave Imladris was a fool's choice. Yet, what can be said other than that the love they share must be of a strong kind. Would a fool be capable of such emotions? I do not know. The second escape was to be more elaborate than the first. Would a fool devise such a cunning plan as to disguise himself in womens clothing, to set up a false trail? Perhaps lady Isoldis had more wits about her than I originally thought possible and the disguise was her idea? If so, I cannot condemn her for it. Her sacrifice for the love that Galdorion and Rainith share must be celebrated, not punished." A drop of ink reaches the paper as Tingruviel ponders. A frown appears on her face, what to others would only seem like a slight wrinkle is, to her, a deep emotional response to distress. "My own feelings are not easily restrained these days. I am at my wits' end, not sure what to do. Rainith's safety has always been my primary concern, as she is a devoted friend to both me and Aelaer. I do not care what will happen to me, as my life is expendable, should it come to that. Yet Galdorion and Rainith just found each other. They deserve the time to explore their feelings in peace." Tingruviel draws a shivering breath, desperate to hold the emotions within.
"Where are they now? Have they lost their way in the mines? Are they safely returning to Imladris? The questions are numerous and the actions of a few have spiralled to concern many, even those who may, from the outside, seem unaffected." Tingruviel stops her writing, again looking out the window. Lennien with her careful smile watching Uthaer dance to the tunes of Halfvdans drums, laughing and sprinting like a young buck. One would never have guessed that their burdens were harder to bear than many, looking at them now. She smiles faintly, putting away the quill and sanding the paper. Upon returning the book to its place, the crumpled letter rustles, taking flight by a swift breeze and falling into the wastebasket again.
