Daegond

Estarfin shook his head, scarcely able to believe the news. The Hound of Vanimar, fallen? It could not be. How had his stout armour failed him? How had his mighty hammer missed the mark? He smiled, trying to convince himself that the Hound was again trying to trick them all, yet knowing in his heart that the terrible news was true. Running his hand through his hair, he poured out a glass of wine, raising it to the air in memory of his friend.

"Of old he was an Elven-king,

A lord of tree and glen,

When golden were the boughs in spring

In fair Lothlórien.

From helm to sea they saw him leap,

Earcalie put the quill in the empty inkwell, taking the scroll to the light of the candle, re-reading to make sure she did no mistake. A blanket of silence loomed over the Valley of Imladris, as it remembered one of its staunchest protectors, now in Mandos' Halls. She too wished to leave her contribution.

Newly forged of shine and brilliance

The obsidian hammer strikes

In the First age of the world, in remembrance

Tempered by anvil and battles fought

Where now the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
Where is the spring and the harvest and the tall corn growing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the dead wood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

There is little to trouble my life these days. I have moved on to a quieter, more peaceful existence than I have long known. Lelyar and Arnone tend the Halls, while I am mostly in a smaller dwelling on the coast, so that I may look out each day over the sunken lands that were once my home. I remember!

It was once his home too.....

I can see you now, flowers in your hair, laughing and dancing in a far green country, under a swift sunrise. Your passing is leaving a trail of tears, but I will tell them to smile and remember you instead, because I know this is what you would want. Be happy and rest well my tall friend. I will keep you in my heart always and remember you every time I see a flower.

Dear Diary,

I apologize for writing in you when morning has not yet touched my window, but I have had the most shockingly bad dream while taking my rest.

It seemed to me that I was in a dark wood, where the very trees had leaves that scratched me, utterly lost and alone.

I heard from my friend Elvealin that there was a missing Noldor. His name was Sergeant Daegond, code named Alice. Yes, a peculiar name for a male elf, but that is not important. He was last seen in the desolate span of beyond Bree, in that old shabby inn. I know there are dangers in that land. I know there is trouble.

Oh, my dearest diary, my companion —

Hope has come at last, in the shape of a Dúnadan Woman from the north. Her name is Artewen and she gives me, for the first time since Lindon, hope that my husband’s brother yet lives. 

I must scrawl this in haste, but the bandit-camp in the Arnorian ruin is as deserted as sunken Beleriand. More, a tall ellon calling himself “Alice” (note to self, that is a female’s name) returned to that horrible inn with the hole in the roof.