Even as I write these words, my woodland mind is aswirl and my thoughts are as leaves in the wind... indeed, I find that my small skill with words fails me, and I cannot fittingly describe what my eyes beheld just now in Thorin's Hall! My people say, 'a daunted heart makes for an unsteady hand', and I would add that it makes also for a faltering will, for my very spirit seems overwhelmed and my mood is fraught...
   But first, I deem, I must gather my scattered wits and tell my tale of coming hither.

*      *      *

   In bygone days Fethurin would oft chide me for being fanciful and heedless, and indeed, I gave little thought to the mountain road that leads to Thorin's Gate ere I set forth upon it. Needless to say, it proved to be longer and colder than I foresaw! Steadily the stone-paved road wends its slow way up the feet of Ered Lindon Luin, and upon its higher slopes snow falls even in springtime! And although my flesh can readily endure the elements, I am an elf-lad of warmer, greener climes and my bare toes have no great love for the frost!
   Indeed, before today I had only once before seen fresh-fallen snow. Fethurin and I were but fifteen years of age when, together with Gladlin and Dimaethor, we climbed the long highland vales to the icy skirts of Ered Lindon. It was our fathers' thought that we might better learn the tales of past cruel winters, if we both endured the frost ourselves. (The Long Winter and the Fell  Winter they are named in these afterdays: in the days of our adventure two centuries had passed since the former, and the latter befell but seventy years before!) For never has snow fallen upon our forest home, not even in those bitter winters, and to our young woodland minds snow was but the fair mantle that ever cloaked the far-off mountain peaks beyond the rolling foothills.
   Alas, we lingered in a white-clad glen only long enough for a merry snowball battle ere we elf-boys yielded and bolted back downhill whither the grass yet grew and the air was warmer. Swiftly our frozen feet thawed as we raced, and nevermore have my toes been benumbed by ice. Until today, that is, and thus is Cannasgam of Celondim thrice blessed for his gift of winter gear! (Yet a song of warming has oft been upon my lips since the road began to rise!)

   Three leagues I marched with my companions, from the gates of Gondamon to a warm welcome at the Dwarf waystation of Noglond, thence another six leagues up the snow-covered Vale of Thrain to the city of the Longbeards. Happily, neither orcs nor bandits waylaid us under the fitful sun, and the stout legs of Gwedal were swift and sure; indeed, the first stars of twilight had only just begun to blossom amidst the drifting clouds as we came up to Thorin's Gate, and evening faded into the new day.¹ (A day that will be ever fixed within my memory!)

   I have since learned that "Thorin's Gate" is not the great stone-wrought arch -- the gateway! -- that opens onto Frerin's Court, but is indeed the name of all the vale that encompasses Thorin's Hall, its deep mines, and the vast warren of Dwarven homesteads dolven into the roots of the mountains. The elven-ruins of ancient Edhelion sit aloof high on the dale-side east of the Hall.
   But when I first rode through the carven archway in the waning twilight, to my woodland eyes the white-mantled valley seemed bleak and barren; the new green of Spring had not kissed the leafless trees, and the cheerless evergreens were yet shrouded in snow. All about me was the deep and thoughtful quiet of winter, and I wondered if fair summer ever came here at all!

*      *      *

   The wide courtyard, I was told by Skógi the doorwarden, is named for Frerin, brother of Thorin Oakenshield, and from its flagstones a great stone stair leads up to Thorin's Gates. I jest not... "Thorin's Gates" lies at the heart of "Thorin's Gate", yet neither are truly gates! (Skógi the steadfast was not amused by my remark, and even less so by my wild laughter mirth!)
   In truth, Thorin's Gates is a wide stone terrace that stands at the summit of a long icy stairway; midway along its sheer northern wall stand two great hardened-iron doors, which lead into Thorin's Hall itself. Tall they are, four fathoms² at the least, I reckon, and cunningly graven upon their face is a range of star-crowned, snow-capped peaks rising above swirling clouds. (Ered Lindon Luin, I guess.)
   But despite this fair ornament the doors are formidable, and my heart almost faltered as their twin bulks ground slowly open before me of their own accord, rumbling heavily like thunder before a storm. I drew a deep breath of icy air and stepped inside...

   How long I stood agape inside the doors of that great Hall, I cannot guess. I may have cried out aloud, but the heavy silence pressing in my ears seemed to quell all sound. For it is vast. Too vast, I deem! My mind was filled with awe, for I cannot guess by what mighty craft or power the Longbeards delved such lofty halls; but my heart misgave me, for although the cavernous roof is held aloft by many mighty pillars hewn of stone, I could sense the great unseen mass of the mountain bearing down from above. (Never before on my journey has my heart yearned more to be back beneath the rustling roof of my forest home, the sunlight glimmering green and gold through the young leaves!)

   I did not tarry long upon that awful threshold, but stumbled back outside onto the cold stone terrace to catch both my breath and my wits, but then through my bewilderment I felt suddenly in my heart the gladness of growing things;³ a whisper soft as the scent of woodland niphredil⁴ that heralds the onset of Spring! Amazed, I followed the faint green feeling as it led me eastwards across the terrace, towards a small iron door hidden in its furthest corner. It was warm to the touch of my fingertips.
   Snowflakes began to softly fall. Mindful of my ordeal at the first dwarf-door, it was with bated breath and a trembling hand that I drew it open and stepped inside...

   Again I stood amazed, although this pillared chamber was much smaller and far less lofty than the great Hall. A warm green haze met my sight, pierced by shafts of pale sunlight that dimly lit fields of living crops that seemed to grow forth from the very floor! But as my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw that indeed there were vast beds of fertile soil set between the flagstones, and great carven urns and vases held growing trees and lush shrubs; the fresh green smell of herbs filled the air and lightened my heart.
   From within my tunic came a flurry as Glavror left his cosy nest against my breast, and singing merrily he fluttered amongst the leafy branches. And it came then to my mind to fetch Gwedal hither from his stable in the frozen courtyard down below, but then in a flash of thought I saw my hungry friend set loose amid these treasured fields of toothsome foods, and the idea was swiftly driven from my mind!

   Yet I felt no shame, however, in treating myself to fresh spring vegetables! (Which, together with honeycakes and wine from Noglond, made for a fine feast!) For I decided forthwith to remain here overnight, to rest and recover (and to think and write), and face the daunting Hall again when the sun is smiling (even though her fair light cannot pass within its mighty walls!) And now I think upon it, I deem Thorin's "Hall" is misnamed, for I could descry many cavernous halls within, reaching deep into the heart of the mountain.
   But here in this glad House of Green the air is warm and strangely sunlit, even in the dark of night! To be sure, I looked without and the night is yet dark and moonless -- for he will only show his waning face shortly ere the dawn -- and the starlight is veiled by cloud. By what strange art or power the Dwarven-folk bring light inside from a lightless night, I cannot guess...
   But naught do I know of such dwellings, dolven deep into the earth, save for the old songs and tales of Menegroth in the woven woods of Doriath,⁵ or Nargothrond of Taur-en-Faroth⁶ in the Elder Days. Indeed, in Noglond it was a wonder to my mind to sit within a chamber delved into the living rock of the mountainside, and I marvelled then at Dwarven skill. But never in my wildest thought did I reckon that they could, or would, build to the measure of giants! It seems to me that whatever this doughty folk lack in stature, they surely make up with grandeur.

   Yet my heart tells me that the art and craft of my people would seem likewise to the mind of a Dwarf. For strange he⁷ would surely deem the enchanted waters of the greenwood that yet protect us;⁸ or our song-woven bridges fashioned from living roots; or our faithful friendship with birds and beasts; or even the simple charms I set upon my bracelets! Indeed, to the mind of Grímkell Stonebearer, the Dwarf-commander I befriended at Noglond, Elves of any kind are strange folk, and I deem all his kindred are of like mind. Yet he knew me for a Wood-elf, and it pleases my heart that Durin's Folk know of the sundering of the Elves and the many diverse branches that grew from our common stem at Nen Echui. But I, myself, cannot guess between a Longbeard and a Firebeard!
   Oft along my road I have heard the words "rude", "rustic" or "wild" on haughty elven-lips when they speak of my people, but I am glad of our simple life amidst the singing groves of Eryn Milbar.⁹ And I am proud of my roots in Ossiriand of old, and to be of the long line of Lindi who made their abode therein ere the rising of the Moon and Sun.

   And I am happy to sleep within the leafy branches of a potted tree!

1. aduial - S. evening twilight
"A ‘day’ of the sun [the Eldar] called ré and reckoned from sunset to sunset."
(The Lord of the Rings, Appendix D)

2. 1 fathom = ~1.8 metres/6 feet

3. Olvar (Quenya): "growing things with roots in the earth".

4. "I have not seen anything that immediately recalls niphredil or elanor or alfirin: but that I think is because those imagined flowers are lit by a light that would not be seen ever in a growing plant and cannot be recaptured by paint. Lit by that light, niphredil would be simply a delicate kin of a snowdrop..."
   - The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 312

5. "She dwelt in the enchanted land
      while elven-might yet held in hand
      the woven woods of Doriath:
      none ever thither found the path..."
         - The Lay Of Leithian Recommenced

6. (Sindarin) "Forest of the Hunters" in West Beleriand

7. Feveren has yet to meet a dwarf-woman (to his knowledge, at least!)
"It was said by Gimli that there are few dwarf-women, probably no more than a third of the whole people. They seldom walk abroad except at great need. They are in voice and appearance, and in garb if they must go on a journey, so like to the dwarf-men that the eyes and ears of other peoples cannot tell them apart."
   -  The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, "Durin's Folk"

8. "In Ossiriand dwelt the Green-elves, in the protection of their rivers; for after Sirion Ulmo loved Gelion above all the waters of the western world. "
   - The Silmarillion, "Of Beleriand and its Realms"

9. Eryn Milbar = "Forest Home" or "Beloved Forest Dwelling"
         eryn - S. forest, wood of trees.
         milbar - S. dear home, beloved dwelling [place] (Parma Eldalamberon #17: Sindarin Corpus)
 

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