Purpose.
I find myself reflecting on purpose as I watch the laborers bring in the furnishings, painful in their pristine "newness". It has been many years since I owned more then I could carry, or leave in a bundle on the floor of some inn. I own a bed again...and a home of stone and slate. Even the thought seems surreal. Damn Xandilif. This was her idea, her insistence. "We need a refuge" she said, "a sanctuary...a place to sit and smoke and witness a new dawn". A hiding place she meant, here on the coastline near Dol Amroth, surrounded by the great and the good and the wealthy. A place to lick our wounds and wait for the tide to turn...or not to turn as the case may be.
How typical. She blew in like a rough wind, declared the house perfect for her needs, then left her belongings in a heap in the center of the room and went forth to reacquaint herself with the taverns of Dol Amroth along with her comrade, Raand the beastman. So here I sit, contemplating my pitiful satchels of scrolls and tomes as the Banshee's assorted cutlery soils the new carpets right where she left it all, as docksmen of Gondor still lug in all manner of pointless pieces of furniture. My elder sister grows more insufferable by the day...and Xanir will simply laugh when (if?) he answers his summons and say "'Our 'Lif is a force of nature...but what nature that is depends on her mood." He is so maddening that way, as most children are.
Good lord if they are going to bring in such absurdly over-priced trappings could they at least have a care not to mar the carving, such as it is??? Those were paid for in advance, do they understand that?
I will never survive this day.
Never.
I dearly wish Xanir would arrive, or Xandilif return, even if she brings her pet bear-man back with her. Did I hear correctly that he is to have a room as well? Has she finally run utterly mad?
What was I writing? Ah yes...purpose.
I used to have one so long ago. I had my magnificent studies and writings, then long hours refining my craft, fletching each new arrow to perfection, whispering the anxious chants over them as I was taught, seeking out the game we needed to survive. Nothing more, nothing less. Hour upon hour spent in luxurious solitude surrounded by the living breath of Imladris, never doubting my place in the world or where the next day would take me. Each day was its own purpose, blending one into another as tiny rain drops formed the mighty river running past my bower.
Then...when my peace was shattered by events beyond my valley I found new purpose. I took up the fight against shadow, aiding comrades (often against my better judgment) and following in the wake of the Banshee's column of merry destruction.
Then as I beheld the misery and despair caused by the endless strife around me, I sought to feed and protect the common people, battered by storms they did not understand and could not even fully perceive save as the blind rage of some mad god. However it all seemed to come to naught. Their lives are so fragile and there are ever more Orcs spewing forth from the pits of Isengard and Mordor...it soon became clearly hopeless.
At long last, I am weary and as I find myself bereft of comrades and charges both I wonder if all those "purposes" I clung to were but illusions, lies I told myself to while away the long days until I leave this cursed land behind me. Am I now eager for that passage? Am I now ready to leave these Children of Numenor to inherit the spent, wrung-out world that remains, secure that they will at least know the mercy of not living long enough to truly understand their futility, or to feel the beauty that was lost before they even had the misfortune to be born?
No..despite myself....No. I am not ready to surrender.
I seek a new purpose, or perhaps the old one born anew. I seek comrades, such as they may be. I miss the Grey Company and their easy fellowship, so solemn and yet so kind and decent as only the sons of the West can be. Are there others like that still afield in this dying world? Are there others who fight on, first and foremost not to abandon hope?
Perhaps I do need a new start...a new dawn. Could my idiot sister have seen that when she demanded I come to take up a room in her newest folly?
Impossible...she likely just wished me here to clean up after her mess. As for my own mess, as usual I needs must clean it up myself.
Perhaps we have neighbors who are not utterly abysmal.
Time will tell.
