Ithilwë

I cannot breathe. My chest feels like it’s going to cave in on itself. In a nightmare, I am falling - but it’s right into Gondolin again. I can taste the heat of flames and I know what happens in this moment - this is the moment I dive in front of Mallossel and take the brunt of the dragon’s fire from her.

I must write this quietly. I dare not make too much noise, lest I wake Amathlan. He has finally fallen into slumber, which he so desperately needs. But I can not sleep, no matter how hard I try. Perhaps writing will give some peace of mind and I will be allowed to rest as well.

I thought I was too old to be in love. Most of my kin are married once, and by the age of their maturity - around one hundred years old. To not be married by then is considered queer, or as if fate had another plan. 

I assumed, that after nearly seven thousand years, fate simply had another plan. 

As good of an elf as he is, sometimes I wish to smack Amathlan upside his pretty head. Hardheaded and proud, he is. He is prideful to a fault and apparently does not like others to help him, even when he is seriously injured!

Here is what happened...

My time within this company grows with each day, and so do the relationships have forged with the members of the company. I am surprised by my own willingness to stay in the Bree lands and be in the company of such mixed races. The Ithilwe of ages past would have scoffed if asked to mingle with men, and most especially dwarves.

This grudge I have held for the mortal kind seems to be softening with age and experience. My readiness to keep their company is growing and I have found many good friends among the members.

Year: 415 of the 1st Age; Gondolin, House of the Heavenly Arch

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A small elfling sits in a wooden chair, a light blue tunic covering his small frame. His silver hair rests just above his shoulders. A thumb is stuck in his mouth and a fingernail is slowly being chewed to bits. His eyes are intent on looking at the tall, wooden front door of the residence. The large, grey eyes are sad and his back is slouched forward.

I sit in front of the hearth and take a sip of the bottle of dark, red wine I had purchased in Bree. This wine is not quite as deep and flavorful as the elven wine I am more used to, but has a simple and nice taste just the same.

It rained today, or should I say poured. Perhaps the storm in the morning set the tone for my mood today. I have done nothing of importance and just sat in front of this fire all day. I am annoyed, but I know not why.

The fire is still barely crackling and alight but the sound seems to be making me drift off....

Discarded in the corner of the upper room of the Company house is a note. The paper was balled up and tossed aside, though if one were to smooth it out...

No matter which way I lay on my bed, I cannot escape the dull ache of pain in my shoulder. I feel a quiet hiss of discomfort pass my lips - though I am still grateful, as it is not nearly as pained as it was before I allowed Ithilwe to treat it.  Perhaps recounting my day until this point will help lull me to sleep...

*There is a large package with a simple note tied to the top.

The letter reads:

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To Amathlan, formerly of Gondolin, From Ithilwe Lomelindion....