A few quick words penned over supper, to ease and occupy my troubled mind. I enjoy a bit of cheese and tea as my Cyndwin eats what appears to be an entire henhouse, broiled. As she feasts and talks at one and the same time I am filled to overflowing with love for her. I watch the relish with which she approaches every moment and I feel young and wide-eyed again, as I did when first I was sent from the shelter of Imladris, a borrowed bow and half filled quiver upon my back as I marched with Elrond's forces towards the unknown. If I had known then what the unknown would have in store for me, would I have hidden myself away, or run from Imladris all the faster into its embrace?
Days continue to crawl by as we await Fille. Cyndwin grows more and more excited as I grow despondent and afraid. Not only doubting if Fillegedhiel of Gondor will every truly appear, but also filled with fears concerning our impending trip into Rohan. Ill omens concerning Cyndwin's return home, or more specifically my accompanying her, pile up like Rider's spears at muster. The longer we remain in Bree awaiting news, the more they seem to take on solid form and shape, becoming more real with every passing day. I know that I belabor these points in these pages, but I hope for clarity and confidence which seem to be slow in coming.
In these pages I have spoken previously of Ynna of the Missing String and her group of friends all hailing from the Riddermark. It seems they too are seeking to return to the fields of their birth, or at least Ynna's solemn, dark haired comrade called Feorhwen is. Towards that end she had formed common cause with a Bree Watchman who, though he has never walked that path, had offered to guide them free of charge in what could only be called boyish ardor and enthusiasm. From the first moment I heard of this plan it was clear this watchman was being moved by admiration for Feorhwen rather then wisdom and now it appears that admiration has been returned, much to Ynna's consternation. In fact the two seem quite inseperable, to the exclusion of Ynna. Such is the way of new infatuation.
It remains unclear if Ynna will depart with the lovebirds since not only is that rift growing between herself and Feorhwen but Ynna and the watchman share mutual enmity which grows stronger. If Ynna does indeed depart to Rohan I have already pledged to her I will seek out her sister Hildawyn in Angmar as I promised. What will come of that oath I do not know, but I have realized that I did not make that promise to Ynna, but to Hildawyn herself...and therefore I am honor bound to see that matter to an end, good or bad. All the more so for reasons I will explain later in this entry.
For now however, I must cease this digression into the dramatic and somewhat childish twist and turns concerning the beds of these exiled Riders and explain why I have mentioned Feorhwen and her watchman. As I have conferred with Ynna before the fire at the Pony, on numerous occasions I have overheard their conversations concerning myself, which they somewhat naively assumed I could not hear. I was given the name Lethril at birth for a reason. Needless to say their view of me is anything but wholesome, in fact it is filled with sly malice, with the word "witch" used liberally as they make mock of me in many different ways to their shared merriment, and Feorhwen clearly distrusts and dispises the fact that Ynna takes my counsel.
Their disdain and scorn, and yes, their fear, remind me vividly of what I will face standing beside Cyndwin. However I cannot say the fate of the Solemn one and her watchman matter overly much to me, nor would I weep over their remains. I cannot say their scorn moves me beyond a certain sadness for the manner in which they treat Ynna, and ultimately themselves. I felt the same when first I traversed Rohan alone. I had a job to do, it mattered not to me if I was liked while doing it. I no longer have that luxury.
When I return now I will be defending and guiding my Cyndwin, and fear mightily she will be tarred with the same brush I myself will be besmirched with. I have tried to raise my fears to Cyndwin, but of course my Shieldmaiden discounts them utterly and swears that if her kinfolk reject me, she will reject them...however I cannot accept that things will be so simple, especially when Cyndwin has her longed for reconciliation with her parents torn from her hands...by me. Even if she does as she says, how long before she bears resentment against me for causing a new rift between herself and all she holds dear?
But I must set that aside, for such thoughts make my heart cold and I struggle to remain positive, lest Cyndwin take my melancholy for reluctance.
I have more to impart concerning Hildawyn of Thornhope, Ynna's elder sister. Last night, I had another vision of her, just before dawn, which I have not shared with Ynna as of yet, especially in light of her conflict with her kin. It followed the same course as my last vision...Hildawyn making her way unmolested to Carn Dum, a set of scales and an empty scabbard in her hands (which by the way Ynna said was very odd as her sister was never without her sword...could this have meaning? It must.). Yet in this new vision, when she bangs upon the Gates of Shadows it is no longer the False King that intones the riddle "That which you seek cannot be sought, that which you fight cannot be fought. You are without within, and under over. Change these things and things shall change." Rather it is Ynna's voice that sings it most sweetly, as the soft tones of her harp are heard behind the words.
What this new wrinkle can mean I do not know...but I feel more and more that for Hildawyn's sake, I must find out. Especially if her sister returns to Rohan in her desire to win Feorhwen's favor, I may be her only remaining hope.
Or perhaps she is mine. Time, indeed, shall tell.
