Memory

The sun had sunk beneath the far off mountains of Emyn Uial by now, bathing the sky in fantastic shades of orange, scarlet, and purple. Esteldin lay somewhere beneath him, hidden among the hills and trees. The world seemed at peace. It was hard to believe the fear that had truly taken hold. Unless, of course, you looked to the north. The northern sky seemed darker than it ought to have been. As if a storm, was constantly building, and would soon break.

Fraethwyn leaned heavily against the oaken doorway, peering into the deepening dusk. “Where could he be?” she murmured under her breath. A strong calloused hand rested itself on her shoulder.

“He will be back soon. He always is.”

“I know, but… why does he insist on staying out so late?” She laid her own hand on that of her husband’s, who stood behind her. “It’s not safe…” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Rohan. A land of rolling hills, proud kings, and fast horses. A land of tradition, and honor.

The man struggled to open his eyes. He hurt everywhere. Groaning, he lifted himself up on his elbow and began feeling for broken bones. It was dark, very dark. It appeared he was in a cave. The surface beneath him was gravely, and he could vaguely make out the nearby walls. As he turned to see if he could make out which way would lead him out, he stifled a groan. His body was badly bruised, but, thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken.

After aiding the proprietor of the Forsaken Inn tracking down a shipment that had been overrun by goblins, the last days have been quite uneventful - but still beautiful and somber in their own right. I made my way through the Lone-lands and into the Trollshaws without too much excitement. Walking along the Trollshaws road with it's eternal fall-trees on both sides, yellow leaves swirling past me, my mind begun to wander. The memory once more arose. 

...

"Oof!"

The sun is bright today. The same sun that was lighting the sky when I arrived in Imladris for the second time.

The first time was after the fall of Eregion. I arrived with so many other refugees to what was to become Imladris. I remember exactly how we came to the valley. As I remember where I saw my father for the last time, on top of one of the waterfall in Imladris.

With nobody around to comfort my grief and soothe the pain I feel in my heart and my body, I carry a faint hope this diary will help shoulder my discomforts. When time offers itself to me, I will write my story here, so that it too shall know the truth about me, and my experiences.