Well, Diary, this is a bit of a turn-up.
I am falling to pattern again, and neglecting you on the calm, ordinary days when all I do is count bandages and listen to the singing birds outside my window. It is only on the days that are particularly strange that I seem to turn to you, and for this I apologize.
We gathered at the House of the Pillar, an order that has been leaderless since December, when its former leader was tragically torn away from Vanimar, indeed likely from Imladris for ever. There was much to discuss: both Ealendil and Elvealin, dear friends and wondrous harpers both, are setting out on an expedition to Lórien. This means that for a very long time to come, the Harp Hall and indeed the Hall of Fire shall not ring with their music - but both have family there that they would visit, and indeed they can do us a great boon by bringing back as much mallorn honey as possible - it seems to have immense healing properties to the fëar of patients. A company of the Fountain will guard them, as will hir Glinthir. He is an old master at arms, so Lord Tindir elected to skip the usual trial by combat that is a prerequisite to joining the Hammer, instead granting him both a tremendous honour and a much heavier task: Glinthir will be Tindir's aide-de-camp on the journey. Bringing his charges back unharmed will be the measure of his ability in the Hammer, and will do even more to endear him to me - he really is an awfully good sort, and infinitely well-mannered. One could do with more of that these days.
I truly thought, Diary, I believed in my bones that the succession of the Pillar would follow the existing chain of command and rest on the beautiful head of Lady Ambassador Tingruviel. Evidently, however, Tûr had other plans (a full-time embassy apparently among them). To my mind, there were plenty of other viable candidates - notably Elvealin or Norlië. But that is our Lord Anglachelm. When his mind is made up, it is made up. And so it was that Tingruviel read Tûr's proclamation aloud, and with shaking hands, placed the silver circlet of office (designed with oak, lebethron, and beech leaves, of the sort that fill and surround the Vale... could this be Norlië's work from long ago?) on my head. I have not been so utterly astounded in a long time. I am glad Sorontar kept busy uncorking wine, I will say that much.
But what is there to do but place a firm hand on the tiller of a ship that has been rudderless these two months? I noticed the office that now will be mine (there is another for the head of the Houses - I will ask that Norlië occupy that one so we can work side-by-side when the paper scraps grow too high) is really quite large. I am also going to pull Sarmëcetil from the scribe pool - she is a fine copyist with a beautiful and steady hand, and needs only a glance at a document or map to make a perfect rendition, in less time than one would think necessary. The Houses need a dedicated secretary, now more than ever.
In fact, we need a designated quartermaster too. I still have this inquiry about how to prevent the distressing effects of cursed artifacts - there seem to be more than a few of those floating about, or planted about (although unknown hands seem to have removed the gem of Caranthir from the Vale, which is a shame, as Carniquesse and Norlië still remain somewhat affected by it), and if I am to concentrate properly, I cannot spend every waking moment counting gauze pads or weighing celebrant. But what scholar, or harper, or artisan can I pull from their duties?
Lady Tingruviel thinks of everything - she even had someone dust my new office. Before we left tonight (not without a good deal of expedition-related discussion that I really should not try to record - there was just so much of it and I do not want to leave you riddled with errors, Diary, especially not after my shameful neglect of you), she pulled me aside and said that another time, we would speak of a disturbing discovery she made in that office. I am sure it is probably just some paper that explains a thing we did not know - I am sure it is some diplomatic matter - in this case a trifle not to be spoken of, lest it rouse old ire, someone with a grudge against Tindir or some such foolishness.
Also, Diary, do not let me forget that when the swans begin to stir in the spring, indeed when they fill the tiny lake above Lord Elrond's house on their long pilgrimage from Forochel to Gondor, Elvealin and I shall introduce her Falas to my Rámarillë and, well, see what naturally develops. Poor Daelith, Daegond's black swan, should probably stay out of this for the time being.
Oh! Nienorë, who wants to join the Pillar, a fine sweet elleth whose preferred violet gowns show off her lovely red hair (like Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan), came to her very first Pillar gathering - and as I might have predicted, Athuviel, our newest official recruit, was absolutely kind and welcoming to her. Poor Athuviel - well I know the long waiting periods when one's husband is deployed, and if Fountain is to go in force, so must Faegaril unless I am terribly wrong. Anyhow, good old Anglador, the star-reader who was so utterly helpful in the discovery of the antidote's final ingredient, showed up also, with his charts and his angles and transits and houses and all that, and made some predictions - well, that is another story.
If there is any consolation in suddenly being given this job (which resulted in yet another round of my friends bowing to me, even Lord Tindir, as though they were less, and I could not properly express how much I hate that... Atyë was a simple shipwright, after all, and I only married nobility, so it is not as though... oh, never mind) - it is the folk of the Pillar, and of the Harp. (I really believe the Harp ought to become an independent Order, but I shall whisper that to Tûr at a later date. They have the people, they have the leadership. If Fountain can be independent and led by Lady Himwen, well then...) They are kind, learned, noble, generous, giving. (Generous with the wine, especially.) How many of our gatherings of late have made the stones of the Hall of Fire ring with the harp of Ealendil? How many times have I seen graceful Helcequen enter and been cheered by her wit - and I cannot say enough fine things about Tingruviel, Elvealin, and especially my twin star, my Norlië, my good right arm. There are so many that I cannot list them all, even shy Istuileth, with her encyclopedic knowledge of the changes that came on Eryn Galen when the Enemy invaded. It is the folk, Diary. The ones who bore me up when Themodir fell, the ones who cheer my off-duty evenings with chatter and song. These are the real treasures, not mithril, not gems. How I wish more folk would be cognizant of that!
