Anglachelm

The geese are departing from the north. From my single window I see the skeins in ragged formation arrow across the evening sky. Behind them the moon is newly risen - this season, this moon ... impossibly far away from this dark place, and what happens in this place, a great house is flooded with light and music.

Under the richly decorated ceilings,within the tree arbors festooned with lanterns, the brightest host is dancing. Maidens in gossamer dresses tip their faces up to radiant lords - shy, coy, merry, proud. The flower of elvendom gathered to celebrate autumn.

Reiven looked at her own reflection on the mirror. No scars, no age lines, nothing from the past years…  “Nothing”  she thought and her looks fell down to her palm where she can still see the thin line of the cut. It was healing fast and she knew it will disappear soon enough.

 The rain on my face feels like tears. Drops splash onto the surface of the lake, making the ripples dance, and patter through the leaves of the trees. I pull my legs up to my chest and sit huddled in my cloak, heedless of the wet ground, or of the mud staining my bare feet. Even now the words of Lord Anglachelm ring in my mind as though etched there permanently. The view is beautiful – shading in grey, the rain gives the lake a bleak, haunted look. It is a fitting setting for the ghosts I bring with me.

Weeks have passed. Months. Seasons. I feel time passing beyond the solid walls of my prison. But this room is as changeless as pondwater - I know the exact number of all the stones in each wall, have counted every stitch in the single tapestry.

I no longer look through the thin, slim-slit window. The sight of the stars and the sun amongst the free clouds pierces me like a cold knife - the wound of imprisonment deep and unhealing. I weep dry-eyed and soundless now, inside. I am weary of weeping, but it does not end.

I am not one for keeping a diary of accounts, but recent news has caused me at least to scribe my thoughts perhaps for clarity of mind or even to muse..

My Father Elorfin sent me a letter I was delighted to receive for it was an unusual event.. he is not one for letters, he prefers a conversation and a more direct approach.

Days are melting away in Rivendell,

The sacred haven for many but not for me… not this time…

              Then he rode towards the next town, under the guise of a Merchant. Wrappings of the dead Easterling saved him many times in the face of the danger but speaking in the local language was not easy for the elf. As some words of the easterling language was very hard to cope for him. Extensive use of throat in speaking was annoying and sometimes giving hints about his true identity. Nevertheless, Anglachelm tried to speak Rhûn as well as he could.

Father,

It has been too long since my last letter, I hope this letter finds you well. It is with much joy I can pen this to you, as although my recent trials have ended there is one that still remains.

As one of his last acts, Lord Veryacano lifted his punishment from my life so that I may finally be with the Lady whom I love so dearly.. Amorith. The moment passed quickly and I rode with haste to find my love, finding her on the western reaches of the
Trollshaws.. her surprise and delight were a joy to me..