Alagnir in Imladris



January 28th, 3019 T.A.

'Alagnir in Imladris'

It’s a gloomy, foggy and somehow humid and warm winter evening, a rare thing for the valley of Rivendell for one who was familiar with it. But Flynagin Newleaf was not. Though he wished it under better circumstances, he enjoyed his first drink and in fact, his first evening in Imladris. Watching the sun set over Eriador from a remote balcony in the Last Homely House, he sipped on his wine. It was a dry, red vintage with a fruity aftertaste that he might have once appreciated, but today he was in no mood to enjoy it.
 

“Two weeks ago I was looking into buying land for a farm in Bree… Now I’m marching to a war.” He thought anxiously, making him want to dump his drink into the garden below and throw himself down with it. “There’s some dignity in dying for the Dunedain, maybe. But not like that.”

Sighing, he took a deep breath and admired the beauty of the valley for a few more moments before remembering his original purpose and snapping into motion. Scrambling around in the small pouch on his belt, he pulled out his dark wooden pipe and a stuffed leather envelope. Nervously, he peered over his shoulders one last time before lighting his pipe for a quick smoke. Though they made good wine, he didn’t expect the Elves would approve of smoking such things, and felt an outsider enough as it was.

Taking a few long draws of smoke, he was at last at ease if not only for a few moments. As he took his final puffs, his dread soon overcame him again. Despite the charm of Rivendell and it being his first time experiencing it, he could hardly control his anxiety.

“I have got to be the dumbest, most foolish, naive and impatient Dunadan among us. I’m hardly twenty and I’m being thrown into some sort of leadership position because I’ve been paired with this arrogant Atharann fellow for some bizarre reason. I don’t have the guts for this. I’ve abandoned Rinni and Guv’s plea for help in Pelargir like a coward, and now I’ve been scolded for bringing Sefa along.” If anyone was witness to his musings they’d notice him get visibly nauseous; he’d turned pale and grew cold despite the unusually warm late-January day. “And why the hell should we not just travel with her?” He thought but was soon overcome with the same anxiety he felt at the Lord Elrond’s Council.

“Born in Combe, but bred for the Wilds mum would always say… I’m not even sure if I’m meant to be here, much less dragging along some friend.” He shook his head with some annoyance, flared on by his dread. “Sure, she’s a drunk. But she’s been more than a competent companion. I’d dare say she’d at the least be a person o’ good luck to us to have along… can't help but feel that they all treat me like some sort of half-orc, much less half-Dunadan. If that’s even a thing.”
 

The emotional Alagnir turned to the door reluctantly after having spent the better part of a half an hour rambling to himself. He made his exit swift as soon as he heard light footsteps of someone in the hallway apparently coming to join him. They passed closely, and a less-tormented Flynagin Newleaf might have recognized the short-statured but large-of-mind fellow he nearly crossed paths with.