Parnard

Elloen rode out of the Valley a day ago, and he had arrived to Eregion. He looked at the ruins, and thoughts of home came into his mind: "Home. What home? I have lived in Imladris since..." and suddenly he felt smaller - he had returned to his childhood. Suddenly he felt himself as the same adolescent child that he had once been when Eregion was assaulted.

The silver-toothed comb passed smoothly through his thick dark hair, with only the faintest of rasping sounds; the usually coarse mane that he bore smoothed almost to silk. He had been combing it slowly for the past hour, the repetitive motion calming his mind and allowing the anger and frustration to flow out of him. As his thoughts became clearer, he began to think of the progress that they had made so far. They had left the valley of Imladris far behind and had journeyed south, across the High Moor and through passes that he did not know.

I do not know how to begin this, as I do not know who will read it. At times I have seen others writing their own thoughts in such a way, and perhaps it is only now that I see the value of such a record. For even though I have no great wisdom to pass to those who come after me, I would still have them know of me. Maybe writing this down will grant me a little peace before the darkness overtakes us all, and the world ends in ruin. But how to start, that still eludes me. What would any wish to know of me?

“So what will you do with him?”

I shrug, inadvertently jostling my hand so that Maltariel’s neat strapping falls loose. She gives me a reproachful look and reaches for the ends of the cloth, her deft hands tying it up again with quick, sure movements. Although it is only bruised, my wrist is stiff and sore still when I come to lift a sword, and she has decreed that it must be strapped, for now, until it is recovered. While she reties the cloth, I look up across the river, enjoying the peace for a moment.

Continued from: The Speech

Veryacano raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he was amused with Parnard's speech but he kept an indifferent expression and did not refrain from replying with a speech of his own. He adjusted his sitting posture and began with a serious voice:

Continued from following stories:

Manhandled, Folly and Fury, Sword and Stone, Black Ice