Diary entry from the inn at Mossward
As a child I would reach up on tiptoe, and take down a large, image filled volume from my mother’s carefully ordered shelf. Stories of merchants travelling between the Northern and Southern kingdom, analysis of trade routes, and digressions on the political intrigues of cities along the borders of great kingdoms utterly fascinated me. Its main claim on my imagination, however, was the stunning maps and diagrams of the city of Tharbad, so different from the layout of the ruined cities of the North.
Tharbad, the great city of Cardolan in days past, its ruins rise majestic and tall over the river. The green etchings are magnificent, its plentiful bridges and arches, though now a maze, still criss-cross the river, speaking of an epicentre of trade and travel between proud kingdoms. Over the red stone of the hilly plains it dominates the landscape for miles but still almost takes my breath up close.
Sadly, I was prevented from a thorough investigation of the ruins. We were attacked by orcs on the journey through, though I am fortunate that both Thurintier and Li seem to know their way around weapons.
I found out too late that Li fears water. I had taken the river path, where some of the ruins that I was most curious to see could be found. The river path no longer exists as such, and we were obliged to wade through water up nearly to my shoulders, which as I write, I realise means that Li was likely forced to swim. She was less than thrilled with getting wet, though I did not notice the chill wind on my wet clothes until we were well past Tharbad, so engrossed I was in its ancient wonder. They all kindly assume I didn’t know where the dry main road through the city was, and I should probably disabuse them of that notion and own up to the fact that it was my fault we all ended up dripping and shivering.
I am heartened, however, for in two days I have gone from travelling alone, to with a small host of companions—especially if one counts the cats. Thurintier is a hunter travelling to Rohan, a friend of my kin, Glirwing is of Imladris, and Li I have previously mentioned.
Li is a mystery, she flees something, something that makes her start at the shadows. When asked about her own life, she avoids the question as deftly as she wields her knife. What she seeks in the south I do not know. She has acknowledged that she has run afoul of thieves of artefacts in the past, perhaps she seeks a fresh start in Gondor.
I have not spent much time in the company of Elves, and all the questions I thought I had for one of them seem to have fled my mind, now that I actually am around one. She addresses me as if I were a great lady in the days of Arnor, which is slightly uncomfortable. Though she treats Li the same way, so perhaps it is the way of Elves. Lothion, her cat, is perhaps the most incredible feline I have had the pleasure to know, though if Rune, Li’s cat could read this, I would assure him that he is a very good fellow, renowned among cats for his skill as a mouser.
It makes me miss, Redorion, who with proud nobility and courage, defends my garden from shrews and mice. Though of feline kind, he does his task with all the serious dignity of Huan of old. And yet, no matter how carefully I check the window, he always finds his way to the comfort of my study when I sit, attending to translation or copying. He gives me the most judgmental look whenever I try to read something aloud in Quenya. Though well he has cause, for my grasp of the language of lore is truly pathetic. He’d probably leave the room in disgust at my Dunlendish. Perhaps that will be more effective at keeping him out than closing the shutters?
Well it is late, and my candle is nearly spent, though Li shows no signs of stopping her own writing. I am glad to be once again on the road, hopefully getting closer to finding that husband of mine. Who has the nerve to go missing just four months after his wedding? Some people!
