I am willing to concede that of all my sister's harebrained schemes through the years (and there have been many...such as the time she sought to enlist chickens as siege weapons) purchasing this house was one of the better. Though it is all of cold, dead stone, slowly it begins to feel more like home as it is stocked with keepsakes and momentos, fragments of time both sweet and horrible.
With absurd pomp and typical self-satisfaction Xandilif christened it the "House of Three Graces" last night...and the name has its merits though Raand mocked her mercilessly for it in gruff tones. It should appeal to Xanir as well knowing his poetic nature, if he ever arrives. He lives, I know that much, but all else concerning his situation is shrouded in mist. It is strange to think that I miss him, but there it is. I can only hope he will be less annoying now that he has some miles behind him.
After much quiey thought but little sleep I concluded near dawn that I can no longer sit here waiting for him or inspiration and spent the morning preparing my gear and packing my rucksack and saddlebags. A full quiver, Heartbreaker humming across my back and a last look behind and I was off again, riding into Dol Amroth. From there I will steer northwest towards the lands of Ered Luin. It has been too long since I have checked in at Bree or Hobbiton and seen how the people of those lands fare in the shadow of such horror....and perhaps I will encounter Xanir coming in the opposite direction. I may even stop at Imladris for a few nights, despite my own misgivings. It could be good to sleep beneath the arbors of my childhood again, even it is for but a moment's hesitant dream. Rivendell holds nothing for me now, which pains me to even whisper but it is true. It is as if the Valley is closed to me somehow. Once it's green pathways encompassed my entire life...now I see my life only began when I left its graceful shelter.
My life became the road and I have sorely missed it it seems and as I approached the white stone spires of the mighty seaport town again I felt altogether alive once more. Who knows what or who I shall meet this time as I wander and do what I can. As I sit beside the open gates I pen this brief note, perhaps to remind my future self of my mood at the start of this trek.
The Banshee is right...it does feels good to know a home waits behind me once again. What waits ahead? I know not, which also feels strangely satisfying. That anticipation may be purpose enough for now.
