[Envinyatar]

Epilog - a little more than a year after the return to Minas Tirith . . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Written this 8th day of Ringarë
Year 21 of this Age of the Kings


A light snow is falling. I can see the small flakes cling desperately, one by one, to the window’s glass. They are brave in their desperateness, but none survive the heat of the brazier that warms the pane even as it passes through it. It is an even battle, I suppose. The snow is undone and the heat in its momentary triumph must be lost itself to the greater cold of winter.

I keep my room warm now; my old scars and broken bones, though healed, protest the cold. Even now, wrapped in a robe of thick northern sheep’s wool, I am forced to hobble slowly like some old man. And with a cane, though the healers say the muscle and bone nicked by the Orc arrow will come round in time. I must say, have grown fond of my cane in a way. Andas sent it from Breeland, with the errand riders who brought back reports from the garrison at Annuminas. Made it himself, he said. The length of it is covered with small carvings of our ‘adventure’ as he terms it – from Weathertop to Minas Tirith. He is a welcome correspondent; seeing his letters makes me chuckle, even before I’ve opened them. His is a unique way of looking at things. His last two letters have made no mention of Helga, and I wonder what is happening in that regard. Best let him get round to it without my prying.

He has seen a few of the other of our companions as they passed through Bree, he’s told me. Osric and Thoronmir, now thankfully healed of all his wounds, ride with the troops the King sent shortly after he’d received our report. The two, with Silruth and Aidwain, had departed from Rivendell in the company of Rangers and Elves, seeking the remnants of those Orcs and Trolls. Now they keep the King’s Peace and a watchful eye on our northern allies. I wish I could write, here, that their only employ was the patrol of untroubled lands. But the shadow, I fear, though diminished in strength still clings to its old ways when and where it can and ever the minds of some men will be bent by the promises it makes.

Often I thank the One that Elessar was brought to the throne, even as I grieve those whose lives were spent to make it so. I only wish that more men were as he; their hearts proof against the darkness.

This will be a short entry, today. I’m finishing up a map of the companion’s journey – from here to Rohan and on to Breeland. The flight to Rivendell and the parting of the company, some back to the western lands, some to Minas Tirith. I’ve made an extra copy for Andas. The first Battle at Amon Sul is marked clearly on it, as is the Battle of Teryggond at the bridge, and the last one at the Ford. I’ve made notes of the man’s bravery in those fights, and signed and marked it with the imprint of my family’s ring. I hope he will be pleased. Errand riders are leaving soon for the northwest; I hope to have it in their hands.

Short, too, is this journal note because I am expecting a much looked for visit from my dear friends this afternoon, Tarondo and Luinien. They have come to celebrate my special day on the morrow.

I am to be wedded . . . 'wedded' . . . a word that for long years would not have entered into my considerations . . .

I know I have written of this earlier, but now I have surrendered my long fought series of skirmishes with my sisters! Almiel and Núneth, having appointed themselves the guardians of my well being since early childhood, have made a match for me. And I must admit they have done well. A gentle lady, with a quiet sense of humor. She has her own interests she announced to me not long after we met; the study of herbs and their histories of use. She wished to make it clear that she would need her own time to pursue this and would I mind. I was delighted, of course. A portion of my time is taken up with my mapmaking, I told her in return. We have spoken of a joint endeavor at some point. A tour of various native haunts of her herbs. She has enjoined me to try my hand at a map for others of her similar interests. I to draw the locations where they might be found with indications of the types of areas; she to illustrate it with the herbs in various stages. It is an interesting consideration. Perhaps we might think of it when winter has passed. It would put a different face on my perspective of the land – a place where things flower and grow in their natural courses; a shift from places of battles and strategic landmarks.

The sun has fallen just below the midday mark. Its pale light now falling at a gentler angle through my window. I’ll finish this now; those other, previous matters are now more urgent. A short note, then, to Andas, and the map will fly north to him. Then I have only to visit the kitchen for somethings tasty to accompany the old bottle of wine set aside for my friends' arrival.

- V –

------------------

Hastily scrawled at the top of a new page . . .

Tomorrow will be another day, but I fear ( no, 'hope' is nearer to the mark) there will be no further entries then or in the following few days if my lady is of like mind as I . . .