Mortals: A Case Study (Planning for Time)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
16 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris (compiled from recollections of the day)
As I review the previous entries for this case study, I marvel at the progression of thought and the evolution of a perspective, one which I have never in all my studies allowed myself to entertain, much less consider as possible. This new perspective is manifesting itself in the most uncharacteristic ways, as this entry will illustrate.
(Log Note: I must make every attempt to maintain a clinical tone in these entries, lest this devolve into an adolescent diary…)
Now I was in a quandary regarding further study. As I sat musing by the fire at my lodgings in Bree, I debated with myself my next courses. To continue to observe and experience Mortal ways and customs, it was necessary to remain in close contact – however, I also had to factor in my developing affections for Cutch. Admittedly, he is a resident of Bree, and of course Mortal lands; I on the other hand, reside in the Elven community of Falathlorn by the banks of the Lhûn. Taking into account the four days’ journey between the two, things become problematic. I pondered the situation, seeking a solution. And in a flash of insight, I may have found one: controversial, even scandalous, but expedient and practical.
The next day, I wasted no time in putting my solution into action. I began making discrete inquiries at the Bree-land auction houses and in the markets, which brought raised eyebrows from some, and the eager prospect of coin from others. Once transactions were finalized and deliveries arranged, I was now moving against time. I returned to my lodgings and hurriedly packed my luggage. I then wrote a letter to Cutch, hastily and deliberately vague but assuring, or so I had hopes:
Seregrian of Torech Besruth to her dear new friend Cutch Crane, greeting:
I am departing Bree for Falathlorn at this writing. I am in haste to return there, but I assure you I shall be returning to Bree-land, and to you, in no more than a fortnight; less, if all my business is completed rapidly.
Keep watch for me at the West Gate of Bree during the morning hours; you shall find me there.
Until we meet again, dear one, Manwë keep you and send you fair skies!
Letter gone and bags packed, I set heel to horse and sped off west, bound for home.
Three days of hard riding saw me arrive at Torech Besruth once more, and without dismounting I sought out the groundskeepers and merchants of Falathlorn and began preparations for the arrival of the goods I had consigned. The shipments arrived on schedule, and within a day, all my plans had come together; I allowed myself to think this just might work.
I rode back at leisure to Bree, a four-day journey which saw me installed in the lodgings at Scholar’s Walk once more. At dawn the next morning, I packed my meager gear and dashed off a simple note to Cutch: Meet me at West Gate. I donned my traveler’s garb of black boots and leggings, a crimson tunic, and my black hat and gloves, and made my way to the West Gates stalls where Gairion was stabled. I busied myself with seeing to his needs, and casually observing the other mounts stabled there, when a glad voice turned my head: there stood Cutch, who made his now-accustomed greeting of rushing to me and embracing me.
As we spoke, I began teaching him words in my tongue: ‘horse,’ ‘great-horse’, ‘small-horse’, ‘hungry-horse’. We also touched on words such as ‘lord’ and ‘lady’, ‘house’ and ‘home’. Those last were followed by the admission that Cutch didn’t really have a home, just rented lodgings near his work, and it was then that I sprung my surprise.
“Cutch, dear one, it is not right that you should live here and labor with little reward and less regard. So I have decided to offer you a proposal: come live with me. In Falathlorn, you would have a place to live and ply your trade; new sights and vistas to behold, and the ways to dream your dreams into wakefulness. There would be no more travel and labor, no time to be wasted, just time spent learning, about each other. So come, dwell with me, and let us behold where these events shall take us.”
Dear Cutch needed only hear the proposal once. He dashed off in a flash, and I had barely enough time to saddle Gairion before he returned, all his meager possessions slung in a sack across the saddlebow of his mount. Seeing the eager light of adventure and joy on his face, I laughed out loud, happy as well. And out the gate of Bree we rode, a leisurely stroll to start a journey westward, and in four days we arrived at the entrance of Falathlorn, and Cutch beheld Torech Besruth once more – not a place to visit, but home.
And home to what follows, come what may.
Next Entry: Cutch of Torech Besruth