Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
25 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris
I must set quill to page once more, for something out of the ordinary has happened - even as extraordinary things have been swirling round me in recent days. .
It is the late watches once again, as is my wont to brood and to write; but this night is not as others have been. I feel an excitement, an anticipation that I have not felt for a long march of days. House Bar-en-Acharn met in council three days past - and there I revealed to the company that Cutch lives still, and shared my intention to find him and bring him home. The council ended with everyone taking their leave, stunned being the right word to describe their minds,
I simply told them I intend to depart and make my way to that place called Adso's Camp, then strike north into the Wildwood from there. They are, I confess, divided in their reply to my call: Iyenue immediately declared she would accompany me, and Gilberian stoically assented; the others said little or nothing at all, lost in their thoughts. The next day I received a letter from Applecider: she was departing Duillond for points east. I surmise she is making her way to the Shire, perhaps to find Lancogard and bring him the news of what has happened.
But the strangest thing of all happened just tonight - and I must set my thoughts in order to examine them later. After the labors of packing and seeing to my mounts was done, I was sitting in the Salon, gazing into the fire with a glass of wine. My thoughts were swirling around the memories of Cutch, he and I lazing before this same hearth, in each other's embrace, planning for a future, our future. I began humming a tune to myself, one I had improvised just for him...
...and I saw him, sitting in the fire!!
I froze at that moment, staring wide-eyed into the hearth, at the vision of my Cutch sitting there amidst the flames, staring back at me. I rose from my chair, creeping towards the flames, staring at him. He was sitting, his legs drawn up close, his arms encircling his knees; I got the impression he was shivering with cold. But it was his face that held my eyes: scarred, drawn, a crude bandage over his right eye. And I saw that, as I stared into the flames gazing at him, he was staring right back at me. I leaned as close to the fire as I could, and spoke.
"Cutch? Dear one, is that really you?"
And I heard his faint voice, for the first time in months: "I'm right here, melon nin..." But as I saw him smile, the vision began to fade.
If I could have crawled into the hearth to be at his side, I would have. "Cutch, oh my dear one, if you can hear me, hold on! Help is coming, I am coming! I will find you. Oh Cutch!!" But the vision was gone.
And now, I sit in the Sanctum, writing here after tearing through any records I possess regarding the phenomenon I just witnessed. I have heard accounts of persons using fire-scrying to see remote events or locations; I have also read accounts of persons using pyromancy to communicate as well. But I confess this is the first time I have personally beheld such an effect. Was I seeing a future in the flames, or perhaps the present? And did I really just speak to my beloved?
Or are my thoughts, so turned about by learning of Cutch's survival, so obsessed with the thought of being in my betrothed's arms once more, that I pretended the whole thing?
In truth, I want to believe it was he that I saw, and spoke to, and gave hope to. I want to believe. I want my bespoken Mortal back in my life, in my Lair, in my arms.
Elbereth grant me the wisdom to make it so.
