Letters from Middle Earth

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

Well, for goodness sakes- say something! I love feed-back, just to know people are reading these things! Gets a little lonely out here posting and posting and not knowing if everyone just rolls their eyes when the Index shows Rosie posted in Letters- again. But, thanks for the note!

Heheh, sorry.

Well then, I really like Ioreth's letter, it has some of that lovely rambling quality that characterises her. Of course I'm very curious what's going to happen next with Tirithel (poor lass! You can't help feeling sorry for her) and Elendur.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Originally Posted by Eärniel

Well then, I really like Ioreth's letter, it has some of that lovely rambling quality that characterises her.

Oh, goody. I tried to write at least three sentences where one would do, trying to get her maundering right. I'm glad it's noticeable.

This letter was never sent anywhere. It was found among a collection of similar letters from the Houses of Healing.
Note: I found a register of patients admitted into the Houses around this time-frame. In the entries of the 13th of March- the day the Pelennor was overrun- I found Elendur’s name among the list of wounded men brought from the ruins of the Rammas Echor.


10 March, 3019

Dearest Tirithel,

Sister, I have hardly any time to write. We have been repairing the Rammas: strengthening the walls, rebuilding the parts that have fallen into decay. Although we finished but yesterevening, activity does not slow. But I wish to write a few words before whatever doom is approaching comes upon us.
There was no dawn today. A blackness fills the sky. The air is pensive, like the way of the wind before a storm. Today I watched from the Guard-towers upon the Causeway as Faramir, who returned lately from Ithilien, rode to Minas Tirith, pursued across the Pelennor by great, fell creatures mounted by black riders. They were not unlike that Horseman that came upon us in the days of June, save perhaps that their terror was lesser. Faramir was saved only by Mithrandir- Mithrandir! He came but yestermorn, passing through the Rammas with a strange little warrior: a Halfling- though not the one spoken of. No bigger than a child was he, yet Mithrandir proclaimed that he would vouch for him before the seat of Denethor, and that he had performed many great deeds. And this afternoon, toward what would have been evening on any normal day, Mithrandir rode out from the City to Faramir’s rescue. It was an awesome sight, sister- But I am digressing yet again, and cannot tell more of this if I am to write what I purposed to.
Dear sister, when Mithrandir came to the Rammas we knew already that some doom must be coming. For he comes only when the days turn evil- only when his help is needed, he said. But, Tirithel, he confirmed our fears, telling us to put away our trowels and sharpen our swords, and that courage was our best defense against the storm whose wings he had ridden in on. In our hearts we know his words are true. In this hour many other men here also write letters, knowing it may be the last word they are allowed to their loved ones. These letters we cannot send to the City, but each man has a hope that his message may be found upon his body should he fall in the coming battle. For battle is coming, Tirithel- not a mere skirmish, but a mighty stroke. I fear the aim of the Nameless Land’s hammer is not the Rammas Echor, but the City of Gondor itself. It will be a strong blow, meant to obliterate the anvil, while the Causeway lies between the two as a rod of soft iron. I do not think that many of us here will return from what is coming.
If I should not return, dear Tirithel... What shall I write? Each letter I have written you I have penned with the thought that it may be the last I should ever write, and yet now it is different. This letter I will not send home, and you shall not read it unless I am dead. I pray you have someone near to comfort you then.
What words can express my joy in you as my sister? You have been companion, confidant, sister and mother all to me. You are guardian and strong anchor to my spirit, ever, like the gentle stream whose waters eventually wore away a great mountain of stone, turning and pointing me to the right path. I almost envy that man who holds your heart, Tirithel. You are a maiden peerless-
But alas! for although the Sun is hidden, time passes just the same. I must end this letter with regret now. Fare you well, Tirithel. Pray, do not mourn me overmuch, but know that I love you.

Your brother,

Elendur

[Earniel]

Another nice letter, Rosie.

I particulary like these sentences!

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

It will be a strong blow, meant to obliterate the anvil, while the Causeway lies between the two as a rod of soft iron. I do not think that many of us here will return from what is coming.

A very suitable comparison.

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

In this hour many other men here also write letters, knowing it may be the last word they are allowed to their loved ones. These letters we cannot send to the City, but each man has a hope that his message may be found upon his body should he fall in the coming battle.

That's really touching...

[Rosie Gamgee]

Thanks. I'm pretty sure I got that first analogy from the books somewhere- might have been something Gandalf said, I'm not sure.

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

Thanks. I'm pretty sure I got that first analogy from the books somewhere- might have been something Gandalf said, I'm not sure.

Maybe that's why I -unconsciously - like it so much.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Originally Posted by Eärniel

Maybe that's why I -unconsciously - like it so much.

Heh heh. Yeah- if I can't beat Tolkien, I might as well borrow from him, eh?

[Rosie Gamgee]

Here are the next two letters of Elendur’s. After the Downfall of Barad-dûr, they were sent together from Minas Tirith to the house of Galadmir, and so I’ll post them together here.


20 March, 3019

Dear Tirithel,

Greetings, dear sister, from the Houses of Healing! So much has happened over these few days that I do not quite know where to begin. This letter cannot be sent to you immediately (or so Aunt Ioreth tells me), but it is night- a clear, cold evening of a weary day, and I’ve nothing else to do. I have passed most of this day staring at the ceiling, Tirithel- although Faramir has been to visit me today (in fact, he has just left me). I am afraid that the wives here will not let me out of bed just yet- but I will come to that.
I shall begin my tale seven days ago- could it be but a week? It does not seem possible. The day before, Faramir- who rode with as many men as could be spared from Minas Tirith to defend Osgiliath- retreated to the Rammas. The passage across the River had been won by the Enemy. Only the Causeway Forts stood in the way of the armies advancing from the Nameless Land. That night was blacker than black, for a dark shroud from Mordor hung over the sky. A glimmer of hope came to us then, for Mithrandir rode from the City to aid us.
Mithrandir! I had forgotten to tell of his coming. He passed through the Rammas on the 9th, and that is eleven days ago now. With him he brought ill tidings of the coming battle, news- though already guessed- of Boromir, and a little warrior no bigger than a child. It was a Halfling that Mithrandir brought with him to Minas Tirith- though not the one spoken of in that riddle of doom. One of his kinsman, Mithrandir said, and a doer of great deeds. We let him pass in, and they vanished into the shadows of the morning. The next day dawn did not come, for the dark shadow had spread from the Nameless Land and blotted out the Sun. Faramir returned from Ithilien that day, passing through the Rammas from the north with three others, on horse. He was in haste, though, and we watched from the wall as he sped across the Pelennor. He was attacked by fell creatures in the sky- great, black, winged creatures each bearing a Rider like to that Black Horseman that threw us into terror last summer. Faramir was saved by Mithrandir, who rode out from the City shining like a bright star upon the field. The very next day Faramir set out yet again, for Osgiliath. He quickly lost the city, and, as I have said, retreated to the Causeway Forts on the eve of the 13th.
Our enemies came upon us a little ere the time when the Sun would have risen. They came across the River like a host of insects. There were so many, Tirithel! But even then our hearts did not quail wholly. It was the Horseman who defeated us- that great Black Captain of the Nameless One’s armies. Many of our company could not even abide word of his drawing nigh. Some fled, but they did not fare any better than the rest of us. I fought on the walls very near the Causeway Forts, and when the Black Captain came, fear gripped my being. His fell screams peirced the air again and again, and no man could stand to fight, we falling all like stricken men to our knees, covering our ears and praying for death.
While we were thus weakened, our enemies blasted through the wall with fire, wrecking the Forts and razing the Rammas to the ground. I was under the Forts when they fell. The sound of the blast deafened me, and I could feel the heat of the fire- but more than that, I was yet a thrall to the fear of the Horseman. He came close to the wall many times. The vast pinions of his winged mount seemed to carry a black air that paralyzed me where I stood. I could not hear when men screamed and motioned for me and others to move, for the Forts were falling. We were buried under a mountain of stone and mortar. It was a horrible feeling, Tirithel, that lasted only a moment, and then a sharp pain went through me and I knew no more.
I would learn later that Faramir continued to hold the wrecked Forts for a time, while Mithrandir saw that the wounded, including myself, were gathered up and taken to Minas Tirith. He led a line of wains across the Pelennor while Faramir regrouped his companies and began to retreat, pursued by Haradrim. It turned into a rout, I am told, when the Black Riders of the air came again. A sortie was sent out from the City to their rescue, and Mithrandir again warded off the fell creatures in the sky. Many of the remaining company were saved, but Faramir was stricken, and was carried into the City by the Prince of Dol Amroth, who had rode out at the head of the sortie.
The next day, Minas Tirith was besieged. The fighting was fierce, I have heard (and know to be true, for the Houses of Healing cannot hold all the wounded that have come into the City). And, Tirithel, it seems that a madness fell upon Minas Tirith, or some at least in the City, for I have learned that the Steward burned himself upon a pyre on the Silent Street, in the House of Stewards, and would have burned the wounded Faramir also had it not been for Mithrandir. This saddens me, for I have always remembered Denethor much as an uncle- albeit a feared one- and so I shall always think of him.
At crow on the second morning of the siege, a great cavalry of the horsemen of Rohan came to our aid. A great battle was fought on the Pelennor: a battle that should have been lost, were it not for a help and hope unlooked for on the River. For then it was that a fleet of ships sailed from Pelargir, displaying a standard not flown since the days of the Kings: a White Tree, surmounted by a helm and seven silver stars upon a field of sable. So came Aragorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain of the north- the Heir of Isildur- to the aid of Gondor. The Heir of Isildur, Tirithel! Though he has not yet claimed kingship, the rumour of his right to the throne is ringing in the city’s streets. Aunt Ioreth has a tale to tell of his skill in healing- the old riddles say that the hands of a king are the hands of a healer, and he has brought Faramir and many others on the brink of death back to the land of the living.

(CONTINUED IN NEXT POST)

[Rosie Gamgee]

Even I have been touched and made nearly well by his skill. For though my bodily hurts are tended by the healers and the herbmasters here in the Houses, I am told by them that I would have died were it not for Aragorn, Tirithel. It is something they call the Black Breath, sister, and the herbmasters here knew no cure for it. It affects the spirit; it is what enslaved us to fear on that awful day the Forts fell. But slowly, though one may think its affects are gone, it preys upon the soul, weakening the body also, until at last its victim falls into an evil sleep from which he does not wake. I myself was not among those most affected by that Breath (Faramir suffered most cruelly from it, I think, and also one other, of whom I will tell presently), but I have felt its cold touch, and in the midst of a fitful delirium brought on by other wounds, I fancied oft that I saw a great black hand stretching out to consume me- but I will not write anymore of those visions. I remember waking a few times, always to the face of our aunt. But it was not her voice that awakened me on one occasion. I was in another clouded dream, and saw the hand again reaching for me (by then, Aunt Ioreth told me, I was beginning to succumb somewhat to the Black Breath), when all at once I heard a strong voice calling to me, and then hand faded like a summer raincloud before the Sun. Words of a strange language called in the same voice, just once, and I understood them to say: Elendur, come back to the light!. And then the dream and the voice faded at once, and I opened my eyes, and there was Aunt Ioreth. She smiled quickly and said, almost to herself, ‘The hands of a king...’ and pressed a hand to mine, and then was gone to attend others in need of healing.
Another that Aragorn has touched and healed, who is near to me in these Houses, is a Lady of Rohan, whose tale is strange and sad. I have seen her pass by on her way to the greensward outside. She is called Éowyn- fair and beautiful as a white water-lily is she, but very proud and strong as steel. Her manner reminds me a little of you, Tirithel- and I have no doubt that were you to meet, you would be friends. It was told to me by Aunt Ioreth- in a much drawn-out tale- that she rode with the Rohirrim from the north, and fought valiantly on the Pelennor. Sister, she slew the Horseman- whom they call the Witch King, and of whom it was said that no living man would slay! In this single deed she puts to shame the doughtiest of Gondor’s soldiers- yet she received grievous wounds for her valour, and would have died of them but for Aragorn’s craft. I have been discussing her long with Faramir. My heart laughs a little within me, sister, for Faramir’s heart is surely smitten- indeed, I think he has lost it wholly to the White Lady of Rohan! This puts me behind in our threesome, for now you and Faramir both have found love, and I am left with no one. And now my heart grieves for Boromir, for he has not lived to see these things, even if he would not be envious of them. For I recall Boromir had no interest in matters of the heart, and the love he knew was for lord, for country, for kindred- but never that love of man and woman when they love their best. Yet I think he would have laughed, as I do, at Faramir’s new demeanor- smitten as he is.
Two days ago the Captains of the West- Aragorn of the Dúnedain; Imrahil, Prince of Dol Amroth; Éomer King of Rohan (for Théoden, his uncle, was slain on the Pelennor)- rode out with a great army- folk are calling it the Host of the West- to challenge the Lord of the Black Land. It is but a diversion, I have learned, however. For many strange things have been brought to light of late. But I will not tell that tale, for I do not know all of it yet.
The Sun has shone outside the windows these past days, her light pale. My heart does not trust wholly in her warmth; after the blackness of the Nameless One the Sun seems a mockery, and I half expect her to be overshadowed again at any moment. Those of us in the Houses have been restless under her eye, though our wounds would surely not permit us to fight. All that is left for us to dwell on is that our friends and kinsmen have gone away to battle at the Gates of Mordor while we lie idle here in the Houses.
I have seen a strange fellow about, sister. A Halfling he is- not the one that was spoken of, nor the one Mithrandir brought to the City (though the fellow seems to know both of them well)- but one who rode with the Rohirrim from Dunharrow. He was wounded aiding the fair Lady of Rohan, helping to slay the Black Horseman. He has become friends with Faramir- seeing as he knows aught of Éowyn- and I find him a fair-spoken fellow, full of talk and merriment. Yet even he bears marks of sorrow. His friend- the one Mithrandir brought, whom the people of the City have been calling Ernil i Pheriannath- has left for battle, perhaps not to return. He was with the former king of Rohan when he perished on the Pelennor, and this saddens him, too. The halfling also bears a grievous scar upon his brow. He told Faramir and I of this wound today, solving some riddles, for me at least. He told of Boromir, Tirithel- of his death. For he and his kinsman were with Boromir when he perished, they being all members of a Company that set out from Imladris many months ago. Faramir had heard the tale before, but still his eyes were wet with tears, as were my own, when the halfling retold it. What a hard thought it is, Tirithel, that our Boromir died so near his home- for he perished on the banks of Anduin nigh Rauros, slain by the arrows of Orcs. Yet his death was honourable, the halfling has said, and he slew many of his foes before falling himself. And yet, Tirithel, there is something the hobbit (that is what the halflings call themselves- is it not strange? But I have heard the Rohirrim have a word like it for them) holds back from his telling. I know not what it is, and neither does Faramir, although he senses it as well. I had thought to ask the fellow what he conceals, but Faramir holds that it will be revealed in time, and wishes that he should not be pressed in the matter.
Tirithel, Aunt Ioreth gave your note of the 2nd to me yesterday. I must confess that I do not know what to make of it- nevertheless, thank you for the lock of hair. And I am glad that you were able to behold our City as I did that morning- so long ago now it seems when I wrote that! As for your dreams: do not let them trouble you, sister! I am certain your captain will return with time if the hope of the Captains and the Host proves true. I have been tempted of late to inquire of the other officers here for any news regarding knowledge or glimpse of Mother’s ring, but I know you wished me not to mention it to anyone. Will you yet not tell me the name of the one you love? Lying here idle has given me time to think of many things, and that one question has been burning in my mind for days.
Aunt Ioreth has come to the door just now. She says the lights must be put out- here in the Houses they keep an early curfew. I will end this letter now, though, as I have said, I do not know when it may be sent. It has been commanded that no one shall leave the City until the Captains return.
Love to you, sister.
Your brother,

Elendur

[Rosie Gamgee]

And here's the other one:

26 March, 3019

Dear Tirithel,

Glad, wonderful, joyous tidings, sister- Mordor is defeated and the Nameless One destroyed! The Host of the West is victorious, and Gondor is jubilant! Please come home, Tirithel! The Warden of the Houses says I am nearly healed, and I shall be released soon. There is much rejoicing in Ithilien- but I cannot go, for I am to aid Faramir- now the Steward of Gondor, Tirithel- in his duties. Come to the City and rejoice with me! Perhaps even the one you love is here and anxious to see you also, dear sister. I have much to tell you, but it can wait until you return. I wish so much to see you again, for though my heart is nearly bursting with joy, my gladness is lacking one thing- your presence!
Be swift and come, Tirithel. I will watch on the walls for you, and my heart shall not rest until you come.
Your brother,

Elendur

[Rosie Gamgee]

This is the second letter I found from Galadmir of Sirith. It was sent to the Houses of Healing. The envelope, which was found with the letter, bears the words, ‘For Elendur son of Ostoher, when he is well enough to bear ill news.’


29 March, 3019

My dear Elendur,

Greetings, sister-son. Alas! for the tidings this letter bears are drear. Forgive me the delay in getting word to you, I beg. Heralds from Minas Tirith came but yesterday, proclaiming the down-fall of Mordor and the victory of the Captains of the West, but they moved on further south, and would not bear any messages to the City. Your own post-rider came this very morning, and I will send this letter back with him.
Please, dear lad, prepare yourself as best you may before you read further. Your sister, Tirithel, is dead. I am more sorry than words can express.
She died on the 15th, but thirteen days ago. I do not know what she died of, exactly, but she arrived at my home on the first of the month already ill. She would eat but little, and did not sleep well. Yet it was but three days before she died that I grew very alarmed. It was on that day that we received letters from the City- one from you, Elendur, dated 30 February, and a note from your father’s sister, Ioreth. They came with a line of wains heading further south to Lebennin. That afternoon, one of your sister’s maidservants found her in the garden, where she had apparently swooned. A fear struck my heart when they brought her in, for she was alarmingly pale.
Those last three days passed slowly. Tirithel refused to eat, and I wished at the least that she would weep, for she seemed exceedingly sorrowful. But she remained stoic and pale. She became weaker even as I watched through the day and night, until at the last it seemed a madness came over her, and she knew no one and cried out if any but her own maidens entered her chambers. She suffered none to speak with her until the morning of that dole day that she died. Then she sent for me, and I came to her, and she seemed in her right mind. This set a little spark of hope to my heart, but again she refused to eat when I offered food. She bade me sit by her couch, which I did, and took my hand in her slender, cold one. Then she spoke very softly, and asked if, when she died, she could be buried on the little hill nigh my house, overlooking the Sirith, and requested also that a lock of her hair be let go upon the tide, ‘that by some chance it may find its way to the flowing Sea.’ So piteous were her words that I promised to do as she asked. She smiled wanly, and loosed my hand and lay back on the couch. She fell into a shallow sleep, and I left her to her rest, troubled deeply by her words. It was three hours past the rising of the sun that one of her maidservants came to me, to tell me that she had died. By the bed on which she died lay a little note, and it is with this letter.
We buried her on the next morn as she desired: on a grassy knoll by the Sirith, not far from my home. There grow amidst the grass little blossoms of white, planted there first by your mother, my sister, when she was but a g.i.r.l- though now they grow of their own accord. In your sister’s hand we laid a cluster of these flowers, and over her we raised a cairn of smooth river-stones. I took a lock of her tresses, but have not yet released it to the Sirith yet, thinking perhaps you would wish to do this for your sister. Have I done rightly, my sister-son?
Pray, do not take these tidings too harshly, Elendur, nor take your sister’s death upon your own shoulders. Come to my home, if you will, and bide with me for a time. Here where the winds of the west blow cool and gentle it will be perhaps easier to forget your sorrow.

Galadmir of Sirith


Note: Here follows the ‘note’ written by Tirithel just before she died:

Tell Elendur, ‘Thine heart told thee once that we would not meet again on these mortal shores, and I know now that thou spake true. But it is I, not thou, who is going before, to whatever the gods have decreed for mortal Men. Fare thee well, dearest brother. I love thee.’

[Earniel]

Aw, poor Tirithel. You can't help but really feel for her. I wonder whether her illness was related to perhaps some bad news she received of her captain.

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

‘For Elendur son of Ostoher, when he is well enough to bear ill news.’

A touching, considerate request.

There grow amidst the grass little blossoms of white, planted there first by your mother, my sister, when she was but a - though now they grow of their own accord. [/I]

(Bolding is mine) Is there a word missing here?

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Was the captain Boromir?







Am I asking an obvious question?!

[Rosie Gamgee]

Teddy, you're insufferable!

Originally Posted by Eärniel

Is there a word missing here?

Yes, g.i.r.l- for some reason it won't come up as a whole word when I post it without the periods. Sorry about that. I should have thought to see if it came out. I'll go in and fix it.

[Rosie Gamgee]

This is the last letter of Elendur I will post here, though not the last of the series. It was written about a year after the previous letter, and sent from Ithilien to, surprisingly, the Shire. It was found among the personal correspondence of Meriadoc Brandybuck.


3 April, 3020

Dear Sir,

Greetings. My name is Elendur, son of Ostoher, formerly of Minas Tirith, though now I dwell in Emyn Arnen. I am friend and servant to the Lord Faramir of these lands. Perhaps you may remember me from your stay at the Houses of Healing in Minas Tirith, a little over a year ago. You, and Faramir and I, spoke long together of Boromir, and also of the Lady Éowyn who is now wife to the Steward. I am afraid that I was not able to make better your acquaintance outside the company of Faramir. For, while yet in the Houses, I received word from my mother’s brother, Galadmir of Tumladen, that my sister Tirithel had died. As soon as the Warden released me from the Houses of Healing, I traveled thence to honour her, and did not return to Minas Tirith until the crowning of our King. Alas, for those joyous days were marred with great sorrow for me, for my sister was dear to my heart. When Faramir left to dwell in Ithilien, I came hence with him as first lieutenant of his White Company. Only lately did I return to the City of Gondor, to visit with my father’s sister.
I have told you of these things because the purpose of this letter concerns my sister. Not quite a twelvemonth ere she died, my sister disclosed to me that she had found love with a soldier of Gondor. She would not tell me his name, nor where he served, nor with whom he served, saying that to do so might endanger their love, for she thought his family would disapprove of it. Only this would she say: that she had given to him a ring which once belonged to our mother, who herself died many years ago. The ring was fashioned of true-silver in the shape of a gull’s wings, and midst them was set an emerald stone, smooth and unfaceted. Upon the inner band were engraved the words As the Gull to the Sea, so my Love is Faithful to Thee. It was precious to our mother, and to Tirithel my sister.
I looked ever for glimpse of that ring, that I might learn to whom she had given her heart. But I did not inquire after it, for she begged me not to, and never did I find the man. Even to this day I do not know to whom it was that she gave the ring. But whilst lately in Minas Tirith, I was speaking with the Warden of the Houses of Healing, and without my prompting he told me that he had seen a ring like to what I have just described. I asked immediately who possessed the thing, and he said that he had found it one day, almost a year ago, among the effects of an invalid in the Houses. You, sir, are that invalid he named; you who dwelt for a time so near to me in the Houses!
Good sir, I beg of you: have you indeed this ring in your keeping? If ‘tis so, please tell me how you came by it! Do you know who received it from the hand of my sister? Please send word to me speedily, and tell me all you know of this tale, for I would know who it was that my sister held dearest.

Elendur of Minas Tirith

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Teddy, you're insufferable!

I take it my question will be answered soon!

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Telcontar_Dunedain

Am I asking an obvious question?!

And here I thought: I'm not going to guess and spoil it for everybody.

A letter from Elendur to Merry! The plot thickens...

[Rosie Gamgee]

I just love all of you people- so kind in letting me labor under the delusion that I was keeping a secret. Here's the obvious answer to your questions: the very last letter in this series- although it’s not written by Elendur. This is Merry’s reply to the previous letter.


3 May, 3020

My dear Elendur,

Greetings, my friend! I do indeed remember you, and the thought now pains me that I should have been so near in those days to one I sought, and yet not know him.
In answer to your first question- yes. I have a ring of true-silver and emerald in my keeping, and its shape is as you described. I have carried it for many months, burdened with the task of returning it to its owner, with neither name, description, nor whereabouts of such. Nor, like yourself, was I at liberty to inquire about the matter openly, for I had made a promise not to do so. This promise I made to Boromir son of Denethor of your city. He, along with myself and seven others, was one of the Company that has become renowned as the Nine Walkers. I made the vow a little ere he was slain by Orcs upon the Amon Hen.
That day lives in my memory yet, and I have told the tale of the last battle of Boromir the Brave many times, even as I told it to you and Lord Faramir that day in the Houses of Healing. Yet, there are a few moments of time, just before that bout, that I have omitted from my tellings all these long months, never yet recalling them to living ears. Here now, though, I will tell the full tale, and so discharge the promise I made to Boromir- as well as I may, at least, after discovering that your sister is dead these many months. (I was very sorry to read of her death. Please accept my sympathy.)
We, the Walkers, were camped on the lawn of Parth Galen on the banks of Anduin nigh Rauros Falls from the evening before Boromir perished. In the morning we took counsel among ourselves, for we were undecided in the road we should take from there- whether to keep on the eastern road to Mordor, or to travel south to Minas Tirith. Boromir voted for the latter, intending to return to his city with or without the rest of the Company. The final decision, however, rested with my kinsman, Frodo son of Drogo- the Ring-bearer. He requested that he should have an hour in solitude to ponder his choice, and this was granted him. However, when the hour had passed, he was not to be found, having decided to go in secret to Mordor with only his friend Samwise to carry out the Quest our Fellowship had set out to complete. When the rest of the Fellowship realized he had not returned and might be in danger, a panic fell on us and we ran into the woods on Amon Hen, shouting and calling for him. As for me, my friend Peregrin Took and I ran off apart from the rest, searching in vain for our companion. It was then that we found ourselves in the midst of a party of Orcs- perhaps a dozen or more. When they saw us, they called and about as many more of them came crashing through the trees. We were saved then by Boromir, who came behind us and did battle with our would-be captors. Some of the party of our attackers he slew. The rest fled, probably seeking the rest of their company. We began to retreat to our camp, knowing they would return in larger numbers.
Yet as we fled, Boromir stopped me for a moment- that one moment that I have hitherto left out of my tale. ‘Stay, Master Meriadoc!’ said he, and hastily lowered himself near to me. ‘Hearken to my words,’ he said, and caught my hand and pressed something into it. I looked, and there in my hand lay a pretty thing- a ring of silver and emerald. Boromir spoke low so that only I could hear him. ‘When we came to Lorien, and the Lady tested us,’ he began, ‘I did not speak of what she offered to me-’ He paused, and shook his head quickly, as if to say that he had not the time to tell that tale. Already I could hear crashing in the woods, and knew our attackers were drawing nigh. He put his hand on my shoulder and spoke hastily. ‘It is told in my city that I put myself forward in place of another to seek for Rivendell, Master Meriadoc. I told it that way myself at the Council [of Elrond], for I wished no dishonour to be brought upon my father, the Steward of Gondor. Let my people believe what he has told them. My brother knows some of the truth- though not all. He knows that it was the Steward who gave me the errand, not I that claimed it. But he does not know why.’ He glanced at the ring in my hand. ‘The maiden whose ring this is must know also that it was the Steward’s counsel that prevailed over mine, and he who gave the errand to me. And she must know also that I meant to return to her when my task was done. That is partly why I voted to press on to Minas Tirith...’ His voice trailed off and his eyes became troubled. His other reasons for wishing the Ring-bearer to go with him to his city he left unsaid. He glanced at my hand again, as if loath to part with the thing he had put in my keeping. Then he turned his eyes to mine once more and spoke these words: ‘She must know that though I left her with no word of my departing, it was not my wish to do so. Do this for me, Meriadoc of the Shire: tell her- but no other- the truth of my going. My heart, however rough it may be, being the heart of a warrior, belongs to her.’
His eyes were on me, and grievous it was to me to see him, Boromir, stout Captain of Gondor, so troubled. I nodded quickly, and slid the little ring into my pocket. ‘I will, if I may,’ I promised. And then I meant to ask the name of the lady whose ring it was, but at that moment a rain of arrows came from out of the thick trees, and a mighty force of Orcs appeared, at least one hundred strong. And Boromir turned and held aloft again his sword, and fought valiantly in our defense: my kinsman’s and mine. You know the rest of the tale: he blew his great horn many times, till the ground seemed to tremble and the tree-boles shook- but no help came to his call, and at the last he fell with many dark arrows in him. Through a series of adventures that I need not take the time to relate, my own road took me at last to the Houses of Healing in Gondor’s great City, as you know. I had a time of it trying to think of a way to inquire after the maiden whose ring I bore, but could find no way to do so without telling how I had got it. I thought about telling Faramir, but I had given my word to tell none but Boromir’s lady. And then when Mordor was overthrown and the King Elessar arrived, the entire matter was driven from my mind.
When at long last I came home to my own land, it was in turmoil and ruled by evil Men. Many months have we hobbits spent restoring our lands, even after we wrested them from the forces that held them. Only a few months have passed since I settled back into my old home, and found Boromir’s ring still among my things. I had thought to find its owner by some means, even if it meant inquiring openly of it, for I felt I had been unfaithful to the promise I made to Boromir. I meant to begin searching for the ring’s rightful owner after the marriage of my friend Samwise- which was a very large affair. Your letter reached me only a few days before that magnificent event.
So now I am pleased to send you the ring, and to tell at least the kinsman of the maiden to whom it belonged the truth of the matter. My spirit is lighter now that I have gotten it off my chest, but I am very sorry that the telling of this tale has been so delayed. I beg your forgiveness of this.

Most sincerely Yours,

Meriadoc Brandybuck

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

So I was right!

[Rosie Gamgee]

I slaved over a warm computer for DAYS writing this stuff and all he can say is "I was right!" Yeah, yeah, so it was more obvious than I intended. Hopefully it doesn't make Elendur look stupid.

[Beor]

Found this sucker when I was seven years old building a sand castle on the slimy shores of Eagle Lake near my house in Minnesota. There I was sitting on the sand, minding my own business, when suddenly, a boat sent its wake shooting right at me. When the water washed away, a small parchment laid at my feet. I blew my nose in it and stuffed it in my pocket. Only after going on leave after returning from Iraq did I think to find the shorts and dig out the letter. Apparently, I had taken them off that day and hidden them in the attic, where they have been since, since our attic sucks.

It is written in Sindarin Tengwar, but as someone of the Noldor would write it, with the dialect seeming to be a mix of Noldorin and Sindarin. There was a seal on it, but over time, it, as well as many other parts of the writing, has become indicernable. Here it is, in its entire recoverable form:

Celeborn, I need you to clean the tree today, it is getting cluttered, and the Fellowship is going to be here in two days. I need it picked up and ...(vacuumed?)..., and clean up your Feanor and Friends action figures. I am tired of stepping on them. Oh, and when you go to the market today, please pick up the following items:

1. Milk (1% please, I am starting the Atkins today)
2. Cheese (pre-shredded)
3. Pop-tarts
4. Some of those orc-shaped animal crackers.
5. Coke
6. starlight
7. some rope (I'm fresh out of rope, and I need to give some to one of these so-called "Hobbits".
8. some cheap gem or pendant or something. Aragorn is coming, and I need to give him something.
9. Elmers glue (for the kids)
10. frozen lembas
11. frozen peas
12. Ho-Ho's (screw Dr. Atkins)
Oh, and dont forget, the culligan guy is going to be by at one-thirty in the afternoon to re-fill my mirror. Make sure youre here for him, Elrond drank the mirror last weekend at the bachelor party for Glorfindel (II).

Thanks, honey, I love you

Galadriel