Imladris
7 Quellë in the Reckoning of Imladris
(Being the Thirteenth day of October in the Shire-reckoning)
The Bridal Tour appears to be ending after a long and memorable journey with my husband. These memories I shall keep, as in imperishable crystal, for always.
Cutch and I continued on from Bree-land, retracing the journey we took only a twelvemonth past. Across the Lone-lands we rode, sometimes at leisure, sometimes at a full race to feel the joy, passing over Mitheithel and through the Trollshaws until we crossed over Bruinen, and once more beheld the beauty of the Hidden Valley and the Last Homely House. Upon our arrival we were hailed by the Elven-scouts who directed us to the stewards of the guest-houses, and we found ourselves installed in a bungalow overlooking the upper streams.
There I had a lovely reunion with Nimorn, an old friend and colleague from my days as a scribe and archivist here. It was he who taught me much of the harp and of music, and we have shared countless happy hours in song. Nimorn is usually possessed of a stoic and cool nature, but he couldn't hide his joy at reunion either. That evening we played at an impromptu concert, first just the two of us sharing song and harp, then joined by Cutch and his lute, as other Elves gathered to listen and applaud, playing and singing far into the night.
We spent delightful days and evenings together, strolling the paths I had trod and my retelling old tales while Cutch's eye wandered here and there at every turn. At one point, Cutch turned to me and asked of one path, well-marked and worn, winding high and ever higher into the heights above. I explained that was Cirith Imladris, the opening of the High Pass that took one over the Misty Mountains and into Wilderland beyond. In present days, it was part of the Great East Road that ran through the North; but in the most ancient of memories, it was the path trod by the Elves as they made their Great Journey to the West. I saw the look on Cutch's face, one of awestruck wonder, thinking he stood on such an ancient road.
After about a fortnight of our stay here, I was sitting in the morning light outside our bungalow, and Cutch had prepared another of his picnic breakfasts for us - when I heard a familiar cry in the airs above. Sûlpadron had found me, bearing tidings of our friends far off in Falathlorn. I read the long report, and shared it with Cutch - it seems that much has happened in our absence.
"Perhaps it's time you took up the mantle of leading your House once more, melon nin?" Cutch asked me.
I sighed heavily, "I know - but I do not wish to end our journey so soon, melethel."
"Neither do I - every hour, waking or sleeping, I want to spend with you. But others need your wisdom and your leadership. I would not begrudge them, or anyone, in your attentions." Cutch's mind and heart, though devoted utterly to me, also considered others as well, his compassion showing strongly once more. I decided then.
"You are right, herven nin. It is time we headed home." And we straightaway began readying ourselves for the journey back.
