Nimuviel’s Diary: Page 1

Iavas day 1, I Randír Îdh It feels like an eternity has past since my flee from Lin Giliath and yet Hiril Aldalin’s calendar tells me it has not yet been two seasons. I cannot remember the last occasion I spent in civilised company, or even sat upright on a chair, and care not to delve too deeply into my memories for fear they will break down my mind. It is the first day of autumn and I am sat in the hall of the Wandering Company. I can scarcely believe the events that have befallen me in the last few days, for which reason I shall not dwell upon them at this moment but instead enjoy the fire in the hearth behind me, the food and wine that Hiril Aldalin has kindly bestowed upon me, my own clean hair and skin from the bath I have just had, and the prospect of sleeping in a bed with clean sheets. I have been given one of the guest rooms in the hall of the Wandering Company, and present here are only myself and Hiril Aldalin. I understand that the Company consists of a small host of Elves and that the majority of them are currently making their way back to their hall, here to gather for the exchange of tales, and… I know not what else. The halls themselves are spacious and count many hearth-fires, a large dining area, a library, several guest rooms, and a study that appears to mainly store Hiril Aldalin’s extensive administration. I assume there is also a large pantry, for otherwise I would not know where the lady stores the wide variety of food she has offered me. The garden outside smells of thyme and of lavender, and is hot with the sun this evening. The halls lie on the banks of the river Lhûn, yet the presence of the water does nothing tonight to cool the air. Oak trees surround the garden on the west side in half a circle, and on the east side are cherry trees still heavy with fruit. Hiril Aldalin is sat underneath them, I can see her from my window; she appears to be writing letters though I cannot imagine how she can concentrate on administration, in the thrilling hotness of this evening, and sat amid her flowers, their scent so sweet one can nearly taste them. The contrast of the beauty and tranquillity of this place is almost too great to comprehend when set next to the past few months that have passed in my mind as grey and clouded, for though I remember the hotness of the summer it seems to me as though today is the first day of sunlight I have seen in years, and this evening the first in which I can smell flowers again, enjoy the taste of wine and food, and see the beauty of the insects busy amid their city of scent and sweetness that is Hiril Aldalin’s garden. I must lay down my quill and sleep now. Hiril Aldalin has promised me there are many days to come in which I can tell of my journey, or write it, or even just think about it. I hope the golden, radiant hotness of this evening will last me a few days still.