The handwriting is scratchy and shaky, but fully readable, with no possible mistake in the words of the letter.
My dear oath-sister,
I have thought long about this, and I am sorry for leaving you and Lilleduil so abruptly today. The flood of memories wearied me. I truly want you to know there is nothing to forgive. You did your best with what remedies you had in your pack; second, you sang gently to my sweet husband as your party brought him back to me; and third, you fulfilled his dying wish that he should attend his own wedding. Though I was married and widowed within a single minute (if you count only the time from Tûr's pronouncement to the placing of the rings, to Tûr's closing Themodir's beautiful grey eyes for the last time), he did attend his wedding. I did hear him say that he had always loved me. I take comfort not only in his last words, but in the fact that your silver voice kept him living and breathing until he could be brought to me. As I was trying to tell you this eve, there is not a thing you did that was wrong or that requires forgiveness.
So that I may place this truth deeply into your gentle heart, tomorrow at the funeral I will hand you the reins of my husband's favorite steed, the stallion Morofel ("black hide") -- you know the one, the black with the deep chest, who was raised by the Eldar his whole life and is therefore uncut. I do not think I should care to ride a stallion; while Morofel is a beautiful beast, he can also be temperamental without a near-constant supply of nuts and apples between feeding-times. Of course Themodir delighted when he reared up, which is really a bad habit (your foster-daughter is an excellent horse-woman, is she not? She can verify this) but in a war-horse, not so bad. And being a gallant Elf-sire to his dying breath, he also taught the animal to bow on command, so that if you see Tûr, you may properly greet him without dismounting.
You have needed a reliable steed for some time. Morofel needs the care and attention of a gentle mistress. I need to ride my own horse, Songcatcher, with whom I have had a bond for longer than most horses ought to live; it is possible a drop of Méaras blood is in her. But she knows my ways, my little urgings and requests of her, and Morofel is too... too like his master in making flashy turns at corners in the path, in adopting a prancing gait, all of those silly habits which are common in young horses and which I believe you can gentle out of him.
This is my final word on the matter. You led the party that carried my darling back to me. You sang to him. This is of tremendous importance to me, more than you perhaps know, although you know that my people were also called the Lindar at times because we so valued song, be it joyous or sorrowing. But you cared for him tenderly enough that he told me he had always loved me. He fought the poison with your help. I said this before, but the scholars have descended on the library like ravens on the bodies of the goblins that Raolor and of course Sergeant Daegond will slay in his memory, and they have not found any definitive answers yet to what was in the poison, what vital organs it affected the most, or what remedies might have slowed or stopped its vile effects.
It is the only way, Norli. Dae is a better man than I once thought him, but you cannot deny he uses his beasts terribly. Our Tûr has his own steed, and likewise I cannot desert Songcatcher -- what a friend that gentle mare has been to me. Also, I fear if I gave him to Lilleduil, hir Parnard should explode, for that would not be codified diplomatic procedure! I have the best of friends now. This, as much as anything, comforts my wounded fëa.
Take Morofel's reins and do not fear to make him your own. He is lost, too, as we all are. With you, he will have a good home. And he will no doubt steal dried fruit straight out of your pack, so tie it tightly if you carry such fare.
Ever yours, I remain
~ Manadhlaer
