Grief

(Includes a death. The following story takes place mostly in the year TA3012)

Orcs... There were orcs swarming all over the camp. They had come seemingly out of nowhere, the detachment had gone from calmly setting up their camp to fighting for their very lives, with Neth barking out orders in the thick of battle

"Form up! Form up and close ranks! They're just Orcs! We've fought them off before!"

Battle raged about Seronaer, the screeches of orcs and the roars of trolls mixed with the battle cries of men and elves and the clatter of steel and wood. It was messy, the ashen ground was turned muddy with blood as the mountain before them spewed yet more foul ash into the air.

Manadhlaer remembered well the time Lord Elrond himself had had to be summoned to the Houses of Healing for a Perian with a wound even she and Norliriel together could not touch. When the great Peredhil emerged from the poor little thing's chamber, he had looked drained but briefly reported that the patient would survive, and athelas steam would not go amiss until the small body regained consciousness.

Unusually for Manadhlaer, this page contains only a few sentences struck out, and then finally a poem.

All around me swans, black, burgundy, and gold,

but a silver-headed swan has flown away,

The pages are spotted here and there with tears, and the handwriting shakes in places.

Dear Ma, Pa, and dearest brother (who I hope knows I love 'im even as much as I teases 'im),

I am so sorry, Ma. I barely don't even know how to start. Oh Pa, you and him had been pals for so long. I am so sorry to have to write this.

Your friend, and my master, Nadvald of the Lonely Mountain, who escaped the dragon, is dead.

“For many a year, I have mourned.

For many a year, I felt like I was scorned.

But I’ve now come out of my shell,

and broke Death’s menacing spell.

“I know it is my fault, which is plain and clear.

It was such a poor choice to live here, and thus it robbed my cheer.

Maybe it would be best, if that happened to be me.

“Who was it that turned them away? I will find he!

Who was it that turned them away? I will not let you be free!

I will hunt the cause of this departure with my greatest strength,

“How can it be? For my love to die?

How can it be? And all I can do is mournfully sigh. 

I would have climbed a great hill or fend off many a shrew,