Rhîw, enegchae 'waeron - innas nín
Dear myself, as I know, I have not before aspired or thought it necessary to record my memories on parchment. I believe it to be inelegant for by doing so, the message will forever remain subject to my criticizer's eye and might even vanish as the text ever pursues stylistic perfection. Yet, as I know, I will try nonetheless. Thus I vow, as truly as this is written; regardless of this texts' imperfections, it shall remain as if wrought to the bark of a tree. It will age and fade with its bearer. It has soon passed five swift years since it came to pass.
By the eaves of Lothlórien, by the mingling of the lights, ere the coming of day, upon the green swards of Niphredil. I think of it incessantly and it saturates my dreams and thoughts even as the sun traverses the skies. I remember every word that was spoken ere it separated us, and I remember the mountains, that once stood like torches of blazing white beauty, that now stands like a wall of jeering iniquity. Separating us. Alas! The chains that once were broken, rattled in release, now are refastened; is it my doom to ever remain in bondage?
The longing for the past now is great indeed. I do not deny the folly of such thoughts, as the temptation to change what had come to pass might indeed just alter it for the worse. I think. I don't know; I think I would've seized the opportunity, if indeed I had the chance. For in exile, even the faintest thought of her gentle voice, warm embraces, soft kisses, deep eyes brings me there - to the past. I remember how we would make shoes and dresses for the evening revels at Imlad Lalaith, where still my heart retires at twilight, and the dancing practice on slanting shore of Anduin! It is in the past now that I am glad, though every part of me yearn for its return.
But it is a secret. It has to be a secret. Yet the veil is falling, slowly revealing the spirit that dwells beneath it. Curiosity is an all-too-common force guiding the hearts of those among me, and it is in great impatience that they seek to unwind and comprehend. Hence there is much error in what is assumed about me, but is it truly my task to emend? It is seeds of fallacy that sprouts now into fickle rumors. But I am not without blame, but how may one who wears the such a burden blame oneself for failing to suppress it?
Most curious must be Darnur and Veryacano. They both have desired an audience recently, which I reluctantly assented to. They are so swift to assumption, that they seldom would hear me to the end. Or at least listen to the depths of my words for they are surely not accustomed to abstract metaphors which is my wont. Only yesterday, underneath the star, by the swift onset of Bruinen, did Veryacano speak to me and his words touched deep. It flamed such anger within, who struggled against my vowed secrecy. I cannot be plain, nor let them change me. But soon spring will come and will bring thawing even to the mountains! Perhaps then will the past once more return, and in Lothlórien, underneath its boughs, shall I pad barefoot once more. That is where my hope now lies.
