I have received a most surprising correspondence this evening, and have need to consider it deeply. Having travelled west and north on errantry, I am now returned and quartered in the home of the Lord Elrond as I write, bearing news of some import to him - but this be not what I write of, grave though it be.
Nay, rather, upon my return, I was soon met with a runner who bore a note for me from the Lady Manadhlaer, who had apparently penned an answer for me directly, only to be thwarted by my own quick departure into the Wilds.
I confess, I scarcely know what to make of this correspondence…it confuses me exceedingly, both in regard to what may have moved the Lady Manadhlaer to write in such manner, and how I should respond.
Firstly, how to read this riddle at all? It is a perplexing tale that she tells, yet what motive could she have if it be a falsehood?
Does she mean to kill me, perhaps? Her mention of this “Captain Sáranassë” may be a ploy to put me at ease, and she be nothing more than a hired thug, to dispense of me or worse….
No. No, this is ludicrous thinking - there is little love lost between myself and the Lady Manadhlaer, but also no slight so grave as to inspire violence, especially in the House of Elrond - I may not be the most esteemed guest to walk these corridors, but I believe I be not the most unwelcome! Nay, I have been listening overlong to the prattles and fancies of mediocre Bree minstrels, such cheap and tawdry schemes belong in their ill-made rhymes rather than in any reality…..
Be it the truth, then? Has she truly not read my last letter? If so, than perhaps it be for the best….or perhaps not? Further, if she has not, then what by the worm could have inspired her sudden change of manner?! Her previous note to me was neither cordial nor warm, and given my own rash words to her when last we met, I cannot believe that she expected me to answer her kindly. This is perplexing indeed…
[Here, Angrinc’s quick but clear hand changes, becoming considerably more disjunct, and writing fragments of sentences and words before breaking off and picking up with a seemingly unrelated thought - it seems that he thinks best with quill in hand, and these ramblings are not meant for posterity but rather to organise his own mind. Eventually, his more formal style picks up again a few sheets later]
I believe I have come to three…nay, four….distinct conclusions.
The first is also the least likely. The Lady Manadhlaer, respected and genteel healer of the Fair Folk, has read my letter, lied about it, and intends to have me slain. I do not believe this to be the case. Nonetheless, I feel it be irresponsible to entirely discard the possibility in absence of confirmatory evidence. If this be the truth, then needless to say it be better if I meet not with her.
The second possibility is far more likely, and yet does not sit fully well with me - that the Lady Manadhlaer has been forthright with me in her account of the affair, and she has not read my letter. Yet still, I come to little satisfactory conclusion as to why she should alter her manner with me so. If this be the truth, I am unsure how to proceed - I am loath to set down my rebukes of her anew, to do so once may be pardonable, but to do so again would be both folly and arrogance on my part. Yet equally, to assure her that all is well would be a falsehood, for I do still bear her some grievance for her conduct.
And so we come to the final plausibilities - that she has indeed read my note, and does not know in what manner to respond. In some way, I find this the likeliest - yet even then, must assume two, opposed likelihoods exist.
The first is that the Lady Manadhlaer is actually contrite for her conduct, as I am for mine - but that she is unsure how best to express that contrition without lessening herself. If this be so, than her letter be a surprisingly gracious way of expressing this, if other than what I might have done….perhaps that be no ill thing though, given my exceptionally poor judgement. If this be so, than I should accept her invitation, and agree to put all ill will behind us for the present, for though it be a strange manner of apology, it be an apology nonetheless and more than what I may have expected or wished for.
The other, equally likely plausibility, is that the Lady Manadhlaer has received and read my note, and that it has literally been beyond belief to her that I could be so arrogant, that I could dare even conceive of criticising her or her ways so plainly. As such, she has decided that I must have meant to apologise for my ill conduct without reserve or reproach, and whatever I may have written, must in truth be deeply ashamed to have thought even the slightest ill of her.
If this last possibility be the truth, than it may seem best that I decline her invitation. But I think not. For how could I refuse or resist the temptation to meet such a person as this?! To be so wilfully blinded by arrogance is a passingly rare talent, and would amuse me greatly to see to what fantasies it could extend to. Be my curiosity ill-advised? Most assuredly. And yet it will not be sated until I have seen it for myself.
So then, we are left with these options. If I be marked for death, than I should leave this place now and likely never return. But that seems unlikely indeed. If the Lady Manadhlaer writes truly and she never read my words, than I am conflicted as to what my action should be. And if she wishes to cloak the truth, whether because she herself is sorry for both her and my conduct; or because she be so convinced of her own worth, than I desire greatly to meet with her and speak further - whether for the sake of gaining true friendship, or merely for a passing hour of private mirth.
Perhaps then, on balance, I would be best to accept the invitation and to think no further upon it. Yes….perhaps that be best. It is the best course of action in many of the scenes I have conceived, and, even if she be telling the truth with me…what harm does it to me? We meet, her none the wiser as to my hard words, and can each better gain a measure of the other. If she prove foul, then I have lost nothing beyond a small measure of time. And if she prove better company than either she or I have been thus far, then I will have cheated a friendship out of a certain enmity, and that be no bad thing.
Aye, I will answer her readily so, and we will see what becomes of this strange business in due course…..
Ah, and I must remind myself, the next time I pass through Bree, to have a word with friend Barliman, about the dreadful minstrels he allows to congregate in the "Pony". Such tawdry nonsense they indulge in is poor enough, but their sordid warblings seem to have worked their way into my mind....
