Arathrandir, Friend and Captain,
It has been long since we last spoke yet the time is nearing when our words will meet once more. Yet I write now of concern and trouble in lands which you have passed through before, yet linger again beneath the creeping Shadow of Angmar.
Within the city of your forefathers, upon the lake of shimmering waters, the twisted and dark hearts of your long severed kindred trespass and defile the graves of lost kings, and all around them the unrest and corruption spreads. Even now, as I write within the safety of the Hobbit town of Oatbarton, I can feel the shadows reaching into the hearts of even these good folk and they are stronger of will than many of your kind.
To the east, amid the ruins of a once strong fortress, brigands and rogues gather as flies to a flame. They rob the passers by, murder those who inquire upon their illegitimate claim to the ruins, and soon, I fear, they will cross the river and strike at the goodly folk of Oatbarton. I shall head there this eve, and espy their ruinous and decayed encampment in hope that their preparations are not yet fulfilled.
I ask only one thing of you, and that is hope. These lands need it to survive lest they turn to darkness forever. I have seen the hope you once gave to your company, and I know the great love that they have for you remains, even though your command is but a memory within their hearts. There are those within your present company, that would follow, though they may not know it in their hearts. If you can but do a little to revive the embers of hope of this land, then I know that we shall prevail.
I shall await you on the setting of the 3rd sun at the monument of Kings that crosses the river and perhaps upon that eve, we two alone may do more good than a host of lesser Men.
~A
This letter was discarded by Arathrandir in Fanwater, Bree-Land, many months ago. Now lost to the wind
