[Imladris]

Gorby

Just catching a bit of time to right, considering the rough tymes we have just gon thruu. It was aweful, those snarling beests of men. They tryed to kill us all, and Lyra almost dyed. And I culd have saved her…but I couldn’t it for som reeson …I couldn’t mooove…but the strang thing is that she forgave me…she didn’t hait me like I thought she wuld. I’m happy, in a strange way.

It’s amazing how companions can remind a hobbit of food -- or it could just be my typical oddness. For eckample: Lyra reminds me of red wyne…red wine because she is so warm, yet so high…I spose because she’s an elf and all. Anson’s like a mug of fine ale -- he’s always there when you nead him. Eswen is like a plant that heals you when you are wounded, but kills you when you eat too much of it. Scary, that is. Oh, I’m too tired to go threw the others, but maybe I’ll describe them another day…

I dropped my pen and blew into my chilled fingers. We had to go to Fornost….I didn’t want to go. It was clear what was to be found: nothing but past…and unpleasant things that crept into your dreams as nightmares.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lira

The stones, like the incessant dripping of water, whispered their secret tales of woe into Lira’s soul. They cried for life gone, at the shadow that haunted the forbidden ruins. When she closed her eyes, specters of the past flashed before them, images of death.

Lira looked around her, trying to ignore the stones. A frown creased her forehead, and she watched Uien try to heal the wounded prisoner. Her blue eyes widened and turned cold, like ice upon a frozen river. Her fingers twitched slightly, and she breathed heavily. She could imagine his pain, the pain of having your eyes ripped out by a mere bird -- yet the man had tried to kill her. It was only because of Corn that she was alive. With the drink that Uien gave him the pain would be depart and that was all that mattered. Turning away, she rushed after Esgallhugwen.

They soon finished speaking with the others, and they were walking together in silence each troubled with their own thoughts. Lira did not wish to venture into Fornost. Fear and pain throbbed within her as she listened to the stones’ lament. They were warning them not to venture within the ruined city, telling them the cost. With a swallow, Lira pushed the thoughts away and managed to summon a wan smile to her face.

Eswen was leaning against the stone, her face pale. Slowly, unbidden, her hand reached for the sword that hung at her side. Lira could feel the turmoil of grief and anger that raged within the other elf. “Eswen…Esgallguwen,” Lira called softly, as her hand tried to intercept Esgallhugwen‘s. With a soft snarl, Esgallhugwen pushed it away.

A smile curled about her lips as the sword rasped from it’s scabbard. Her eyes burned with fury as she gazed upon the drawn blade, but then they turned upon Lira, as a hunter looks upon his prey. She looked down upon the elf, her brows hooding her blazing eyes, her face contorted mask.

With a gasp, Lira looked into the other’s eyes, pleading with her. This was not Esgallhugwen that stood before her, but a dark lord who lusted after blood, who killed for sport. She backed away and thrust herself against the stone as she murmured in elvish, “It is I…Lira, your friend.”

The blade glittered eagerly in the moonlight as it drew nearer: a mocking grin twisted itself, carved itself upon her fine features. “Mellon…” Lira whispered.

With a convulsion and a backwards step, the sword returned to its scabbard. “Forgive me!” Esgallhugwen cried, as she turned away. Her brows relaxed, her eyes softened, dewy with tears.

Lira touched the limp hand that hung at her side, but Esgallhugwen backed away. Lira went after her and grasped the hand again. With the other, she turned Esgallhugwen towards her and said, “Mellon, it was a nightmare…nothing more.” Hugging her, stroking her soft, dark hair, she whispered in her ear, “You will always be my friend.”