Dear Diary,
It is not possible to feel settled, content in my routines. I have planted some herbs and harvested some early ones, as always at this time of year. I have dreamed of having the idleness to begin writing my monograph about the uses of glistershade, if I am ever released from this corn-fed nightmare Lord Anglachelm's obsession has foisted upon me. All this maize, all of the distilling equipment chugging away at full volume night and day... I can refuse him nothing, but this honestly approaches madness. The alcohol produced in this way is terrible, without the complexity of a mature wine. It is more like being slapped across the face with an old boot.
And yet even with my usual workload, plus the books from the old chest, plus the constant announcements that more corn has arrived, my thoughts stray to the expedition. Tindir seemed so certain that this Dwarf-poem, translated by Sorontar, would amount to something -- the great discovery that would make all of the others fall into place. He was confident that, with Tingruviel's diplomatic skills to smooth the way, they would make it through the wilds of Enedwaith and absolutely everything would make sense.
And yet. We have heard nothing. Apart from a request to Sorontar to translate more of the poem -- they have Daeruth with them, but her expertise lies more in matters of strange gadgetry and glowing fungus, not Dwarrow-verse -- no word comes from the expedition. And that profoundly unsettles me.
A new face turned up a few weeks ago, another refugee from the former Greenwood, not unlike the expedition's scout, Filegris. This newcomer wanted to be of assistance, so we quickly dispatched her to find the small group and pass on what we wanted them to know. But the message has left here, and none has come back since we sent her out. Olriandis, I think? May the Valar smooth her passage through the wild lands. I hope she found them, Diary. I hope she found them and told them -- well, she could not tell what I did not say, but everything seems wrong.
Without Tingruviel or Norliriel around the place, it is painfully quiet and I find myself setting off to annoy Elvealin, the endlessly patient. Both of them know that a simple message would do a great deal to ease my worries... but there is no such message, leaving me to fret away my nights.
Tindir has always been silent, except when he deems it necessary to inform others of happenings or plans, which frequently drives me mad. I worry because what I guess his intended route to be takes him perilously close to the site of... well, that unpleasantness with Veryacano and Estarfin. Themodir was outraged, saying that it would not have happened had he been there. It is not for my own sake alone that I wish he were here to be the sensible one, to keep a check on the wilder impulses of the Hammer. Earcalie is relatively logical, when she is not in a surly mood -- why were so many of our warriors Noldor? Never mind. I think I know.
Of course I wish many things. But Brother is gone too.
His was a kind of madness that was at least predictable. I wish he would come back into the Hall of Fire to announce dramatically that it was a hall of lies, and then eat something repulsive while all the fine ladies shrank away. At least a spark of humor would be better than endless worrying.
I cannot shake the sensation that something has gone wrong for the expedition. They have Norliriel with them, so any wounds will soon be patched by an expert. But why is it all taking so long? When has Tindir ever done things because a Dwarf wrote a poem? I would give him an earful about it if he stood before me now.
Speaking of ears, Anglachelm's grief-madness is the more immediate, and I must go tend to the stills. Sorontar greatly dislikes them and says they bother the birds. I cannot blame him for this attitude. A particularly persistent squirrel keeps trying to get in to my office window, as if certain that it has found the ultimate food source and cozy home.
Where are they, Diary? What nonsense are they up to? It has to be more interesting than corn, but... weeks and weeks! Even Himwen's colour is off, and she is usually perfectly calm when Tindir is out of the Vale.
Yes, I will certainly bend his ear when he gets home.
