Mortals: A Case Study (Interrupted Research)
Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
4 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
My further research regarding this Mortal named Cutch had to be put off for several weeks following these last few encounters, as events involving me began to spin out of control. First among these was my abrupt leave-taking from the merchant company; the falsehoods and deception of Mortals reared its expected head once more, and I had neither the time nor the patience to explain myself to them. But what also hastened my departure from that company was the equally abrupt departure of Cutch himself. Inquiries regarding his leave-taking yielded no explanation, nor did aggressive questioning on my part.
Further lines of inquiry had to be relegated to unimportance; at this point, tidings reached me in Falathlorn that my presence was required in Imladris. My next sojourn took me far south through Eregion and Dunland, from which I detoured through the Mines of Moria, the restored Khazad-dum, and then onward to Lothlorien and points south, even as far as Rohan.
Here I must set down an epiphany. During my errantry in the lands of Calenardhon, now called Rohan, I began to see a different perspective and looked upon Mortals in a different light. The Men of this land are attuned with its ground and hills, its streams and woods; their love of animals and growing things ensure a harmony with the land. Though they have few loremasters in the sense of the Elves, they instead have minstrels who recall and remind of the past and their forebears in story and song. And it is in this way that they achieve a sort of immortality; that it is their hope that they live such lives, or see such ends, as to be worthy of memory in bardic glory and renown.
These Mortals have nobility, not savagery. I never would have guessed such a thing.
With my errantry concluded for the time being, I rode back the long miles to the lands of the North, pondering my new-found lore and setting them in contrast to my pre-conceived knowledge. All along my journey, both south and now north, I encountered all free folk, Elves, Dwarves, Men, and even the Halflings. And in each case, even among the Elves, there was that common desire for their names to live on, to be recalled in respected and honored memory.
Seeking to return to Torech Besruth, I rode through the lands of Eriador with only brief pauses, one of these being in the lands currently known as the Shire. There, on the heights above Woodhall where the Wandering Companies were wont to camp, I was hailed by an Elf of my acquaintance, one Teahesto by name. He had the odd duty, so he said, of delivering a letter to me – from a Mortal – and the name on the letter was Cutch.
I actually felt my heart leap for a moment when I saw the scroll.
In his letter to me, Cutch explained that his departure from the merchant company was for reasons of his own, and not any reason involving animosity towards me. Imagine my surprise, he thought he had offended me somehow! He assured me he was well, and reasonably safe, and was now living in Bree making a modest though threadbare living plying his culinary trade.
With that, I thanked Teahesto for his pains, and forsook my westward journey, turning back east to Bree that very night. All along the ride across the Baranduin and into Bree-land proper, my mind was ajar. How shall I find him, and where; what might be said; but more importantly, why was I even bothering?
But at dawn, as I entered the venerable public house called the Prancing Pony, as I looked around the sparsely peopled common hall, there at a table looking forlorn and alone…
…was Cutch.
And I was about to find out why I bothered.
Next Entry: A Full Retreat
