Eordion

Found:

Nightmares of the past.

I'm at a complete loss. I certainly didn't want to stay in Rohan, but where else could I possibly go? There was nowhere in this world for me. There never had been and there never would be. But staying where I was meant having to deal with these mutton-chopped fools and the very real possibility of running into the wastrels of my childhood. So, I saddled Steel, gathered up my things and left.

Found:

The will to go on.

Dear tome,

Some time ago I made a plan how to befriend people as I shall require some aid in the future. 

Here is the first draft of Guidelines for befriending strangers temporarily: 
(Will be updated based on collected field evidence)

Dear tome with pages,

Today I made a new friend. His name is Eordion. After few sentences being exchanged I told him I considered him annoyingly cheery. He told me he considered me hopelessly cynical.

He said we would make a horrible couple, but could make great friends. I said we'd make a horrible couple and horrible friends.  Yet maybe a horrible friend is better than no friends?

Besides when father finally decides to die, I will need someone to carry his coffin.

Freedom is now within my sights, I need only reach out. Claw my way up out of this chasm I have found myself in. Grasp the ledge and pull myself up. How sweet it will be. 

Perhaps I will finally be able to take that journey to the Shire I was denied in the summer.

It's a good thing that Jack awoke me before dawn this morning, though I was irritated at first with his incessant stomping and snorting outside the door. The fair weather has him restless and wanting to move about, and though I snapped at him to take his gargantuan black and white hide away from the house, I have to feel rather grateful now, as I have much to record here before I start my day's work. 

Oh, where to begin? I think I must've encountered half of Bree last night, in the space of just a few hours. 

It feels peculiar to have shorn hair once again. The fire is burning to keep out the winter chill. I do not know why I rode into town the nights past. Only so long you can pace the confines of your study. What to occupy myself with I wonder. There's only so long you can do the books and I would hardly proclaim crossing the i's and dotting the t's and toiling over pages brimming with numbers my idea of leisure. No, I needed to get out of there.

(( This would be written in untidy handwriting, as Damosel writes things right there and then. And if you're going to ask about the spelling mistakes, may I remind you that it's her notebook. ))