[[Lamaenon]]

It has been a few weeks since my arrival in Imladris and  Badhor has rested well. I have internally debated seeking out the elves of Vanimar, in the hopes to learn more of the sort of life my father lived in Gondolin. Perhaps one of them knew him as a child? And yet...I cannot bring myself to ask. I have so many questions. The pain of loosing Gondolin was a great one to the elves. But one cannot simply ask of such things to people who may yet still grieve. I would grieve just as long were fair Lothlorien burned.

 

It has been a a while since i had found this old thing! Reading back it has been a long journey. Through Imladris and Mirkwood, through the trials of Isengard, Sylrond sailing. Spider hunting with Rivondir. I think it may be time to start an new adventure!

 

My life has been rather short compared to most elves alive, and yet so much has been seen. Somehow there's still more i want to see. I'll have to purchase another book from the scribes in Imladris on my next trip.

I have made a horrid mistake. This whole journey, what was I thinking? I took Huoriell's kindness for granted because I felt overwhelmed, and left. Left with Hilumrekja to the Lone Lands (Another mistake, this place is horrid. I had only ever seen it on a map. Spiders, Wargs and undead abound.) We were gone for almost a month. Everything was going well enough until he disappeared about a week ago. 

I have burned my old journal. Save for the fewest of entries I have torn out to keep. I shall not forget pouches of honey crisp or singing stones, spider bites and Luiniel. The plight of Gileryn and Galeryn. I still carry the golden Mallorn leaf once gifted to uplift my spirits. It is now used as a bookmark. I have no place to store more than one journal at a time. I do not wish to start a library of them either. So it was burned in the Hall of Fire before I left for Eriador this evening.

Lamaenon led Badhor into the stables nearby as the other elves of Arahen's garrison settled down to eat. Lamaenon had been a courier between Lothlorien and Imladris for years. Yet never had he met one of the Avari in the hills of Eregion, until today. Nor had he ever been on the other end of their ire. For all the patience he had with approaching the nomad, it almost saw him shot for the effort. Nay, that had been a warning shot. He was close enough that if the Avari wanted him dead as opposed to scared off, he would be.

-Black ink was used to write this humorus Sindarin entry.- I do not think I shall ever tire of the laughter that Gileryn and Galeryn's antics bring me. Rivondir lent them a red Hauberk to wear. Not only was it returned Rose colored by Gileryn, but when Rivondir saught to scold him, he played himself as Galeryn to make an escape. I would pity Rivondir if I were not helping him catch one hundred dragonflies to let loose in their room, then lock them in.

-The Sindarin script is a little more sloppy than usual. As though the writer was tired.- Rivondir's daughter Luiniel is dead. I had spent the past few days in Southern Mirkwood helping Rivondir search for her. He received word from those he left to care for her, that she had gone missing.

-Carefully written Sindarin handwriting cover the first part of the page in black ink.- I found the resting place of Durins Bane. Even in death, the creature causes one to feel overcome by a DEVASTATING feeling of naught but dread and despair if you stand any less than ten yards from it. Even from a distance, the feeling lingers in the air. Heavy and oppressing.