 | Never 'afore, in these times of peace in Elrond's Halls, did I think that the source of dislike would come from our own kind. The night had went well...I had returned, as the festivities commenced. My time in Lórien, was at an end for now. Many long hours, those gathered spent in the Hall of Fire. As they went abroad, to wherever they might wander; an old friend came. Wolar, of the Dwarfs. Naturally, he would meet some disdain. Those that dare call themselves the Archers of Lórien, a title which I myself once bore...until The Malledhrim called for aid; entered the halls. Three of them. I noticed, at once, the swagger and the arrogance; yet I kept my temper low. Dealings in the past with the troubled youngsters, has given me knowledge of their ways. That is how it started...they walked into the halls, bearing weapons. As I write now, my temper is hot. I bear not hatred, for those that are of my own people; yet high dislike. They entered the Halls, bearing weapons and insulted the Dwarfen guests; two of them. Myself, and Naruvir; along with her friend Amadreruil (who seemed rather prone to rashness) and my beloved, Malliel, confronted the trio; who feigned ignorance. It pains me to see that, after long years of distrust; and now in these dark days that we might yet again hold friendship with the Free Peoples; my kind are still rude, ignorant and arrogant. I hold Wolar, and his kinsman Thorowan (I believe he was called) as friends; such as I might. They are unlike any Dwarfs I know of; and have truly earned my friendship. Now, I sit in Imladris; atop the rocks looking forth over the valley. I must remember to have words with The Lady, next I am home. However are we to see these dark days through...if we bicker amongst ourselves, like the Enemy? |
