Letters from Middle Earth

[Earniel]

It's a big trunk, isn't it? Maybe... I can dig something interesting up. I'll have a look, thank you.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Well, I found a bundle of letters by a young Bree-hobbit. It seems to be the very same Nob that worked for Barliman Butterbur about the time of the War of the Ring. Here is the first, which took me a while to translate. I will try to get on the next letters, but I have other things pressing on my time- bridesmaid duties for a friend, stacking firewood for winter and other seasonal jobs... like I said, I'll try to get to them.



Addressed to: Mrs. GERANIUM TUNNELLY, 31 Hobnail Lane, ARCHET


THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. 2 Lithe, 3018

Dearest Aunt Geranium,
Hullo, and warmest greetings from your favorite nephew, Auntie! I was so sorry to hear you were ill- I had to write and cheer you up. What a thing!- to get a cold just when summer is coming on! How bothersome. I do hope this letter will get you to feeling better, for that is its purpose. Although it is a long way (for an old hobbit-woman, at least) from Archet, I had a hope you might come down to Bree-hill for Midsummer. But that is past now, and The Pony is just so busy nowadays that Barliman can’t spare me. If it were not for that, Auntie (and something else more flummoxing, of which I’ll tell in a moment), I would certainly come to Archet and visit you.
In spite of being very busy, there was not much out of the ordinary going on before Midyear’s Day. I might mention that some sour fellows- mostly Men- have stayed at old Barliman’s in the past few weeks, in addition to more ordinary guests. They do not make for very kind masters, I’m afraid; I have been working the hair off of my toes, with not a word of thanks in return for my pains. Some of Bree’s own sour fellows have been frequenting the common-room, too, mostly to whisper and sidle in corners about their own nasty business with these grouchy travelers. Alas, it is not for a hobbit servant to inquire as to what they are up to- but I’ve a mind that it’s no good. At any rate (and as you are always so fond of pointing out, Auntie), I am rather good at finding things out without the bother and hassle of inquiring. I might have put my suspicions to the test before now, but as I said, the inn has just been too busy for my brand of mischief. I’ll get to it one of these days. Hopefully all of the mysterious characters will still be here for the investigating (and not have caused any serious mischief) when I do.
Yesterday brought some excitement, although I’m doubtful if it’s the kind we Bree-folk take to very well. It was well into evening, and had all the makings of a normal, busy night. I was racing round the inn and answering a half-dozen calls in each minute- most of them from old Barliman (who has the nerve to call me a slowcoach!). At this particular moment I was fetching some hot water from the kitchen while on my way to deliver a pitcher of ale to one guest and a plate of sweetmeats to another- and what should I hear but Barliman’s breathless voice again; ‘Nob! Hi, Nob! Where are you, you lump of cold molasses? Nob!’
Quick as naught I threw down the kettle, water sloshing everywhere, tossed the pitcher and the tray onto a nearby table, and ran for the common-room. There were many customers about, and I had to squeeze myself quite thin to get to the door, where Barliman was still shouting for me. When I had finally got out of that swarm of folk and emerged at Barliman’s side, I had to stop and stare a moment at the new guest. I knew who it was at once (for he has stayed at The Pony before): Gandalf! I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before, Auntie, but just in case- and to explain my wonder- here is a bit about him: Tall and sprightly, but rather old looking. He has got a prodigious beard that is all grey, and nearly as long as I am statured tall! And such immense black boots, poking out from under a great cloak of grey, under which is concealed who-knows-what, for they say he’s a wizard (imagine that!). All of this fantastic gear is topped off by the oddest hat I have ever laid eyes on, be it worn by Dwarf or Man (no hobbit would even think of wearing such an outlandish piece of headgear): a great, towering blue cap, peaked at the top and rimmed round the bottom so that the only thing you can see beneath it is his glittering eyes, and under those his great beard. And his eyes! I have forgotten to describe them. They are hooded over by big, bristling brows, and twinkle oddly from underneath so that you can never really tell if he is merry, wroth, fey, or just plain in a hurry.
Well, this time I was just as uncertain of the old chap’s mood, but it didn’t really matter. For in another instant I was running off again, Barliman having bid me find a room for Gandalf- ‘the best available, mind you, Nob! Now on your way and find it quick! Gandalf’s a good friend of mine and I don’t want him standing long in the door like some poor beggar!’ And off I went with a wink, the thought crossing my mind that the longer it took for Barliman to expound on the need for haste, the longer it would take to make such. Well, I managed to get the water, ale, and sweetmeats to my now rather disgruntled masters, and find satisfactory lodging for the old wizard all in a reasonable amount of time- though I’d say the soles of my feet were none the better for my haste. At Gandalf’s wish and Barliman’s bidding (while he babbled the poor old man’s ear off- dear Barliman!), I proceeded to haul in a few logs and get the fire going, bring in a bit of supper, and light the place up with some “spare” candles (I actually had to borrow them from the chambers of a guest who’d already gone to bed and therefore had no need for light). Gandalf thanked me kindly when I had done all this. Rather nice old chap, if a bit mysterious. Barliman had gone off to see to the common-room, for someone was hollering about a broken crock and some spilled beer.
‘Nob, my hobbit,’ said Gandalf rather urgently, just as I was going to the door, ‘Will you be so kind as to fetch me a bit of paper, some ink, and a pen? I’ve some things that need writing, and I’ll be off before dawn tomorrow.’
‘Yes, master; I’ll fetch them right away,’ I said with a grin. I trotted off briskly, as curious as ever I can be. Eavesdropping is easy, but getting a look at a letter that is not intended for my viewing- that is a different matter altogether. I was itching to know what was so urgent about Gandalf’s business. Urgent business makes me as inquisitive as a Took- as you know well, Auntie.
Well, I was true to my word and got what he requested right away (which was helped by the fact that it was now rather late, and the common-room was emptying, slow but sure). He thanked me, and that was as good a dismissal as any, so I bowed quick, and left him to his letter writing- which didn’t look like it was going to happen anytime soon; when I’d laid the paper, ink, and pen upon the little table in his chambers, he was already settled deep into the chair by the fire, puffing away on a long pipe and pondering something or other. It seemed to me that he was trying to choose between two difficult choices, or maybe between to equally important choices. In either case, I felt sorry for him, for he did look perplexed. I left him to his puffing, choosing, and- when he got around to it- writing.

see next post vv

[Rosie Gamgee]

The rest of the night sped on just as normal, with the exception that I did everything I was asked with more than my usual haste, so that I might be available should Gandalf call for someone to take that yet-to-be-written letter off of his hands. He hadn’t called for an envelope, so I might yet get a look at it; that was my reasoning, anyway.
At last I heard his bell ringing, just when I had got down to scrub the floor in the common-room after everyone had gone off for home or to bed. Barliman had bid me to get the floor cleaned up for tomorrow, and then retired to his own chambers. So now I was the only one in the house ready to answer his call anyway (Bob was yet in the stables)- but upon retrospect, I wonder if that wasn’t what old Gandalf was waiting for. ‘Get me two envelopes, Nob,’ was what the old fellow said through the cracked door when I arrived. His tone was rather business-like, and so I fetched what he wanted swiftly, even though I was disappointed at the request.
When I got back, I expected the wizard to snatch the two envelopes through the cracked door and disappear. However, when I produced them, he opened the door and told me to come in- which surprised me, to say the least.
‘Thank you, Nob my lad,’ said he, closing the door and walking to the table, where I saw two sheets of paper all marked and written upon- though I was too far away to see exactly what had been written. ‘Sit there,’ Gandalf said, pointing to a chair. I did as I was told, suddenly wondering what he wanted. I didn’t have to wait long for an explanation, Auntie, for as he folded one letter up, he began to speak. Now I’ve heard of the riddling of wizards, and indeed, half of what he said had absolutely no meaning to my simple hobbit-ears. Nevertheless, I do recall all of it.
‘I hear about Bree that you, Nob, lad, are a rather handy fellow,’ he began, rather mysteriously. I suppose I have gotten that reputation (mostly because of my knack for snooping), and so I nodded. He nodded back, looking pleased, though I’m sure I don’t know why. ‘Well, then, listen,’ he said, all the while stuffing the first letter into one of the envelopes I’d given him. ‘I’ve a little job I need done, and I’ve no time to do it myself.’ He sealed the envelope and promptly stuck it somewhere inside his vast cloak. Grabbing the other letter and the second envelope off of the table, he came and sat near to me. ‘I know if there is anyone in this village with some pluck, it’ll be a hobbit. And since you’re the closest thing to a Took from here to the Chetwood, Nob, lad, I’ve picked you out for this little job.’ He paused a moment, and I began to wonder just what I had gotten into- I mean, harmless snooping is one thing, but getting landed in the middle of an adventure (and it seems that is where I am headed) is quite another! ‘I need a letter delivered, Nob,’ he said. I thought about laughing- but only for a moment, his look was so grave. ‘I need it delivered within the week to a Man; you call him Strider.’
I gasped. You know the rumours, Auntie, of the Rangers, don’t you? Well, this Strider character is one of them, and he turns up in The Pony like a bad silver-piece every now and again. I wondered what Gandalf would have to do with such a rascally-looking fellow as he. Immediately I began to say, ‘Absolutely not, master!’, but he heeded me not, and with a swift look told me to be silent.
‘Stop speaking and pay attention!’ His mood now seemed wroth, I suppose from urgency, and his eyes, unhooded now that his hat was on the bedpost, glittered. ‘A friend of mine, a hobbit of the Shire, is in mortal danger. Enemies so fierce that you cannot even imagine what sort of fright might possess you, were you in their presence, seek his life. And besides that, if they were to succeed in finding him, a very great disaster would befall this land. Do you understand?’ I nodded, feeling I had no choice, even though I was not exactly sure. He sighed, and seemed to regret getting so angry. He started again, his tone softer, ‘Nob, I dare not trust to luck for his safety, but would rather take a gamble on you finding the man Strider, and delivering to him this message. Fear no harm from him, nor any of the Rangers, unless your intentions in approaching them are evil! Remember that! They are of a higher kind than you know, my dear hobbit, and do much more for you and you kinsmen than you are aware. Yet they would have it no other way- and that attests to their grace.’ He paused, and searched my face. I don’t know what he read there, but he offered the letter to me. ‘If answers are to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, then I am fortunate you are not a Took. This one answer I will provide: you may read the letter- but if you breathe a word of it to anyone (even Bob, or old Butterbur), I shall turn you into a block of wood, or worse. Mind that!’
Well, I knew that if I read that letter I would most certainly be hooked into delivering it, but my inquisitiveness got the better of me and I snatched it up. And, although he bade me not to tell a soul, I don’t see the harm in telling you a few abstract details. The parts I understood had to do with a hobbit named Baggins, from the Shire, and how he would probably come to Bree within a few weeks, and that he needed looking after- something about ‘Nine’ being after him. Nine what, I have no idea, but I supposed those were the awful ‘enemies’ that Gandalf was talking about. There was no mention exactly of where Gandalf was going, though. I wondered about that.
The wizard seemed to know when I was finished with the letter, and snatched it up before I could re-read it. ‘What you don’t remember cannot be pried out of you,’ he said. He sounded a little doubtful, though, muttering something under his breath that I did not catch. Perhaps along with my reputation for being ‘handy’ came my reputation for having a good memory.
Gandalf shoved the letter hastily into the second envelope and sealed it. He then stood. If I had any intention of backing out now, or even of asking what I was to receive as payment for this little task, I did not get the chance. ‘Tomorrow, while the light of day is still high, go out of the village,’ Gandalf instructed me, speaking distinctly- so I would remember what he said, I suspect. ‘Go out by the west gate, and walk along the Road until you can no longer see the village. Then leave the Road (don’t go too far, mind you! Many evil things lurk in the lonely places off of the Road now), and wait until you are met by someone.’
I frowned. ‘ “Someone”?’ How was I to know who I was supposed to be met by, if he didn’t tell me?
Still, he did not tell me, but merely asked if I understood what he had told me. I nodded, feeling very confused though. ‘Thank you, Nob,’ he said, and then was gone. I would learn just this morning, from Barliman, that the wizard had went to my employer’s chambers and requested that he see to it that his first letter was taken to the Shire. None of us are to spare, least of all me, and I suppose when I get back someone will already have taken it. Pity. Why couldn’t Gandalf have asked me to go to the Shire? I’d much rather do that than wander around in the woods, waiting for someone who may never show up.
Gandalf left only a quarter of an hour ago, just when dawn was breaking. He did not speak to me before going, so now I suppose I have no choice but to do what he asked of me and deliver the letter. It seems preferable to being turned into a block of wood, at any rate (old Barliman is so practical, he would probably put me to good use and toss me in the blazing hearth without a second thought). Oh, well; if I disappear, at least you will know where I have disappeared to. Dear me. What have I gotten myself into, Auntie?
Well, all the best to you! Do get well soon!

Cheers! With love,

Nob Longholes

[Rosie Gamgee]

Here is another letter that caught my attention a few months ago. I am afraid the date was smudged a bit, as well as a few words and phrases, but here it is, as best as I could transcribe:

?, ? 3017


Dearest Tirithel,

Greetings from our camp, dear sister. I am afraid I am unable to reveal our location, by order of our Captain-General. Spies seem to abound everywhere, and any post-carriers may easily be waylaid by the enemy. I am thankful at least that I am allowed to write you. I am permitted to say that I am indeed now under the direct orders of the prince of Minas Tirith. Boromir is a good, but very disciplined, commander. Not that I would give him any other praise than the highest- to the contrary. He is a great soldier, and certainly more skilled in war and weapons than any of us could hope to be. He has not changed at all, Tirithel, since we were children. I laugh now, remembering what games we would play with our lords, hardly realizing the authority they possessed- that same authority that binds me now to them as an inferior, not as a companion. I am treated no different, I am sure, than any other man here, despite my personal ties to the sons of the Steward. I am grateful for that, as I know that many men would find such a thing cause for dispute- including myself.
But I am deviating (as you know is my wont). I write to tell you that I am well. I was ill for a few days, however, with a slight cold, which caused discomfort in the form of a headache and a red nose. I was almost afraid of being accused of breaking into the ale rations, sister! But I am quite well now- our move seems to have aided in the curing of my illness. I tell you of these things only because I know you would wish to know, and would probably find out the truth of the matter had I tried to lie to you. You seem to have Mother’s gift of ‘mind-reading’, as we liked to call it as children. In this harsh place of rations and portions, I am reminded of a time when you and I would conspire to steal extra sweet cakes from the larder without Mother knowing- and of course she always found us out. Ah, such sweet times, now overridden by the dark shadow that seems to lengthen from the Land we do not name. Chills creep back into my bones, sister, at the thought of it.
Yester night two more men died. They were on the evening watch and were ambushed by orcs. One of them I had eaten dinner with only two days ago. What a bright fellow, now lost to the world. I wonder if he had family left to miss him, as I know you will miss me when I am no more? I wonder if his mother has other sons to lessen her grief, or if he was her last remaining child, given to protect her own life, and even yours, dear Tirithel. And they are probably yet unaware of his death, while I feel it digging in my soul like a great needling thorn. But I do not mean to burden you with my troubles. There is no one here to understand such feelings within me. All are as Boromir was and is- seeing men as numbers; seeing death as loss, yes, but in the way of less bricks to hold up a wall- a wall that I fear is growing less and less impenetrable, if such a thing may be measured by degrees. Already the Shadow weighs upon my heart, and upon the hearts of those around me. Do you think me weak, sister, for having such thoughts?
Ah, how I miss your face, your presence! Your very voice could calm my fears in an instant, I know. How is it that you can be so strong, sister, as if the all the forces of the Dark Land could not prevail against you? I know it is I who should be offering words of hope to you, and not you to me, but-
Forgive my ramblings, sister. Things get bleaker and bleaker, and there are no friends here- only good men you know you may not see again tomorrow. Please, I know you will read this first, before any other- I ask you not to reveal my misgivings and fears to our father. Does his health still decline? I have no doubt such news of his only son’s slipping faith would only put him into an even steeper fall to the grave. Do give him my love, Tirithel.
Yesterday a fellow soldier felled a hart, sister, and some of us were allowed to taste of the spoils. Ah, so long it had been since I tasted fresh meat- it seemed to come straight from those fearful halls in the West, where the tables of the gods are piled high with tender meats and sweet ales. Such scrumptious crumbs from their banquet was most welcome, however roughly slain and prepared, and when the company arose and turned West before the meal, I took the time to offer a silent thanks to them, if indeed the gods would hear a mortal such as I. It seems they have pity on us here, to provide us with such gifts. And timely gifts they are, Tirithel, for the rations here can only keep a man so long before his mind turns constantly to sweeter foodstuffs. At least such is true for me, although men like our Captain-General have surely eaten nothing but these same rations for many a year. I, however, being new to this life, am missing your cooking immensely. It makes me laugh- to miss your food even more that I miss sleeping in my own chambers at night, even more than I miss the feel of light clothes on my back instead of the weight of mail bearing down on me even in my dreams.
How is life in the City? I am beginning to forget what the streets smell like in the early morning, how the stones feel beneath my feet- what it is like to not see a horse for days or months at a time. One thing is burnt still upon my memory- seeing Minas Tirith from outside its walls. What a glorious sight, beyond my meager words to describe. I hope you will see it someday as I did, bathed in morning light, the first pale rays of the dawn inflaming the White Tower, banners fluttering from the ramparts. So strange it is to think that up until a few months ago my whole world was contained within those seven white walls that now are so distant, not only in leagues but in heartbeats.
I have run out of parchment, it seems. We are only allowed so much at a time- I am sorry I have filled mine with only my own troubles. Do know that my heart follows you, Tirithel. My love and affection remain yours, dearest sister. As always, if we do not meet again on these shores, know that I will wait for your coming in whatever lies beyond.

Your brother

Elendur

[Valandil]

Rosie... WUNDERBAR!!!

The first was quite an eye-opener. Perhaps we've all under-estimated Nob. I sure do hope we'll get to read more of how much he found out... as well as how he learned it!

The second was quite moving. I also hope there's enough more in that series for us to discovery a bit more about Elendur and his sister, Tirithel.

[Rosie Gamgee]

*beams* Thanks.

Like I said, I've got a bit to do lately, but I will try to keep up with Nob's notes, at the least.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Wow. They were great. Will there be more coming?

[Rosie Gamgee]

Yes. I've nearly got the second 'Nob Note' finished should be on here within a week or two.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Here it is!

Addressed to: Mrs. GERANIUM TUNNELLY, 31 Hobnail Lane, ARCHET


THE PRANCING PONY, BREE. 6 Afterlithe [July], 3018

Dearest Aunt Geranium,
Greetings, Auntie! I have returned in one piece, and was happy to find your letter waiting for me. I am very glad you are feeling better; I myself am in quite good spirits. My little adventure was quite exhilarating, I’ll tell you. I must share it with someone- I tried Bob as an audience, but he’s caught some idea that I tell tales (well, I do, sometimes, but he of all people should know when I’m telling the truth!). Anyway, he will not listen to me.
I am glad to have a quiet evening to write- The Pony has quieted down over the past few days.
Let’s see- it is Friday today, and I left Bree on Tuesday. (I know what you are thinking, Auntie:- Gandalf told me to leave on 2 Lithe, the day I wrote my last letter to you. True, but Barliman could not spare me, and if I tried to sneak out I know I would have been missed. Gandalf seemed to desire that the matter be kept a secret, and so I thought he would want my discretion rather than haste. Anyway, he said he wanted his letter delivered within the week, and I have met that request.)
Things slowed down enough on Monday evening, and so I planned to leave the next morning- once the sun was high. I have never been too far out of sight of Bree-hill, and certainly never in a westerly direction. I did not know how long it would take to get that far from the village.
I asked Barliman for the day off (on the pretense of going to visit you, Auntie!), and he gave it to me readily. I have learnt when is the best time to ask old Butterbur for anything- timing is the whole matter when it comes to obtaining what one wants. I packed a nice dinner for myself and set off. I went out by the west-gate, as Gandalf asked, but in a round-about way- for I had said I was going east to visit you in Archet. It was mid-morning when I slipped out of the village.
I began to walk along the Road, and quickly realized that I should have packed more food and water. Working indoors all day (even if it does involve working my feet to the bone) is one thing, but trudging down a road under the sun, with hardly any shade to speak of... that is quite an adventure by itself. By midday I was already weary, and my stomach was sore from lack of food. I was glad to turn around and find that Bree-hill had vanished into the distance. I did as Gandalf told me and got off of the Road. This was harder than it sounds, Auntie, for the hedgerow was thick, and did not seem to want me to pass. I lost a button or two to that hedge, and managed to receive a hole in my trousers for my trouble. At least my dinner was still intact- and that was what was chiefly concerning me at that moment. Because Gandalf told me that after I got off of the Road I would have to wait for someone to appear, I had decided already that I would save my dinner for the interim.
I made it off of the Road in relatively one piece (minus the aforementioned buttons, of course). What I found beyond was a lonely, tussocky wold, rather plain and level. Gloomy really, Auntie. There were no flowers to speak of, and even the grass was borne over by its own weight, as if weary of growing in such an empty place. Plainly the Sun was not hindered there, save by night, or clouds. The weeds and tussocks were brown, and sun-baked rocks rolled over here and there. The wind blowing amongst them was the only sign of movement. It was a sorry sight to look upon. Nevertheless, I wandered a little way, as Gandalf instructed, until the hedgerow was a line of green far behind me. Supposing it as good a spot as any, I found a comfortable boulder, spread a handkerchief out on it, and sat down to eat my dinner.
As I was munching on only my third sandwich, I thought remorsefully of the fact that I had not worn a cap out of the village. The Sun beat down upon my head relentlessly, and I wished there was a bit of shade. As the afternoon wore on (quiet uneventfully, and exceedingly dully, Auntie), I was granted my wish when a bit of cloud drifted under the Sun and stayed there a while.
Still, the heat had made me drowsy, and I figured as long as I was waiting for this fellow- whoever he was- to show, I might take a little nap. So I settled down in the bumpy tussock and put my hand over my eyes to shield them from the Sun. What an odd dream I had, too, Auntie! I remember a strange vision of some old Man, dressed all in a great brown cloak (which I found quiet unusual, given the heat of the day), with a wild bird sitting quite tamely upon his shoulder. He bent over me- for in the dream I was still lying by the boulder- and asked what my business was. I did not reply except to mutter that I was waiting for someone, and he shrugged, as if he had gathered that I was of no consequence to him. Then he was gone. I woke a little later, and wondered if it had been a dream indeed, for it seemed rather real. Dream or no, none of my effects were missing, and so I figured the whole event was harmless enough.

[Rosie Gamgee]

When the Sun began to set as late afternoon passed, the thought occurred to me that perhaps the brown-cloaked old fellow was the one I was supposed to meet. Indeed, he reminded me a bit of Gandalf, and maybe he knew where to find Strider. I worried over it for a bit, but my fears proved unfounded, for just as I was about to doze off a second time- this from sheer boredom, Auntie- I was startled by a hand upon my shoulder. ‘Get up, little master, and turn slowly,’ said a voice from behind me, and it was more rough than kind. I did as the voice asked, and when I had turned I gasped.
Here stood a tall Man, all clad in a dark cloak. His face I could see, for his hood was cast back, and he was almost a double of the man we call Strider. I say almost, Auntie, for he was a bit plainer, and I thought his face looked a shade less noble than Strider’s. (Yes, noble, strange as that may sound for such a pack of rascal look-alikes. I did not realize before then that Strider actually does have a regal bearing; I marked the difference only when I saw one who looked like him.)
‘What have I caught here? Not a rock-badger curled up for a nap. A hobbit on a holiday, perhaps?’ the man asked, and his face turned up into a little smile that I did not really like. He looked about. ‘But all alone?’ His look became a trifle harder again. ‘Why?’
A bit of my indignance at this condescension made me forget my fear of the stranger. I twitched my shoulder to make him unhand me. ‘What right has a stranger to lay hold of a hobbit on a holiday?’ I asked hotly. ‘And what right has the stranger to mock one who hasn’t even had the chance to prove his intentions are innocent- as if a hobbit taking a nap in a field isn’t innocent enough?’
The man’s expression did not change. ‘Your pardon, little master, if I frightened you,’ he said, ‘but this is no picnic field, and hobbits seldom travel alone, and hardly ever do they travel off of the road. Many evil things would assume the look of an innocent napper for their own purposes, and many a napper who appears innocent has evil intentions.’
I was reminded instantly of the words which Gandalf said to me about the Rangers: Fear no harm from him, nor any of the Rangers, unless your intentions in approaching them are evil! Remember that! ‘Well,’ I said, ‘If you want to know the truth, I am not on a holiday, and the only reason I was holding a little picnic in this lonely place was that I was sent to meet someone, and he has not shown himself yet.’
‘Intriguing tidings indeed, little master,’ said he, and before he could go any further, I broke out:
‘Sir, please do not call me ‘master’. That title I am forced to use a hundred times a day, usually in reference to ungentle men with whom I would rather have no association. My name is Nob Longholes of Bree, and I would rather you called me that.’ I paused a beat, and then out of curiosity added, ‘And as it would be common courtesy, and I would like to know to whom I am speaking: who, sir, are you?’
His face turned up again in a smile, and his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Well, Nob or Bree; that was quite a speech- but I have heard your kind has perfected that art. And, since I gather your intentions, though hidden for the moment, are not ill, I will make an answer to your question; my name is Halbarad. A Ranger am I, Nob Longholes, and many other names have been put upon me, most of which are uncouth, by which you might know me better. But I still wish to know what your business is so far from your home.’
I decided that maybe he was the fellow Gandalf said I was to meet- but if he was, why was he not expecting me, I wondered. Still, he said he was a Ranger, and I didn’t doubt it for he looked the part- as I mentioned before, he was almost an exact copy of Strider- and so I told him why I was there. I produced the letter as proof that I bore a message from Gandalf to Strider.
‘These are very intriguing tidings, Nob Longholes,’ said Halbarad. He took the letter from me and inspected the envelope, but did not open it. At last he gave it back. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I know of Gandalf, and your tale seems to fit with his nature. If you wish it, I can aid you in this task he gave you. I know where Strider is, and can deliver this letter to him, if you will trust me with your quest.’
I looked him over skeptically, although I had no reason to doubt his claims. I told him Gandalf wished the letter be delivered promptly. ‘Can you get it to Strider before supper-time?’ I asked. Technically, I was already behind in the delivery, and I wanted it to get where it was going as fast as possible.
He laughed. ‘The message shall be in his hand ere the Sun sets, Nob.’
‘Very well then, sir,’ I said, and handed the letter back to him, ‘But Gandalf promised to turn me into a block of wood if it doesn’t get to him, and I’ve no wish to be proven unfaithful in my task.’
‘The word of the Rangers is not given lightly, little hobbit,’ said Halbarad, proudly, ‘And I would no more be proved unfaithful in my part of this task than you in yours. It shall be as I said.’ He turned his grey eyes to the sky. ‘I advise you to be on your way, Nob of Bree, for rain is coming swifter than evening. Fare you well, my friend. May the stars shine upon your woolly toes,’ he added, with a little smile. Then he turned and was gone, blending into the scenery like a tall shadow. I stared after him a moment, and then looked up at the sky. The clouds were congregating, and a cool breeze was blowing the grass over. I took the Ranger’s advice and gathered up my things quickly, and then set out in the direction of the Road.
My return journey was uneventful but for the fact that I was only about a hundred yards from Bree’s gate when it started to pour furiously. I was drenched by the time I got back to The Pony, and Barliman was rather upset that I spent most of the evening drying off and trying to get warm.
So, that’s the end of my tale; how is life in Archet? I’m dying to see you, Auntie! After telling Barliman I went to see you once, I doubt he’ll let me off for a real visit. You must come up sometime!
Love to you, Auntie!

Cheers,

Nob Longholes


P.S. As I suspected, the other one of Gandalf’s letters seems to be gone. Barliman’s not mentioned it, and I suppose he’s found someone to go to the Shire. Pity.
Love,

N.L.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

That was great. I never thought that Nob was the type.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Thanks. There are more Nob Notes, I think, but I've gotten hooked on Elendur's Letters. So here's the second one of those:


4, March, 3018

Dear Tirithel,

Greetings, cherished sister. All is well here (for the moment at least), but my spirit is in torment and grief. I cannot write any details, of course, but we were victorious in a recent bout with the enemy. It was an unclear thing, however, until the very end. Orcs waylaid a small company of which I was in command. The attack caught us quite by surprise. Many of our number were slain before the rest could fit an arrow to the bowstring. I did not allow my men to retreat, although we were outnumbered five to a man. We slew all but a handful of orcs, who fled. Boromir commended my actions when, after hastening back to our camp, I reported to him. His praise does little to comfort me. A third of my small company was slain, some being killed immediately, and others dying from mortal wounds a few days later. The memories of those men whose lives were taken on the byway haunt me, but they are easier to bear than the recollections of those who died later. I cannot tell you how my heart bled to watch them die, Tirithel, under the very hands of the healers in our camp. Their eyes live before me in my dreams: cold, without hope, knowing they face the end, and that they face it alone. For though I had their hands grasped firmly in mine, the mortal hand can neither hold the spirit, nor keep it from flitting away. Nearly all of them died with pleas on their lips- requests that their love and last regards might be taken to their wives, their mothers... Tirithel, their words keep ringing in my ears like some dole death-knell that will not stop chiming! If such is the burden of command, I wish it not, and I pity our lords, whose faces become more careworn each day. Now I understand the troubled looks I see often in their eyes- but I cannot write anymore of this. It is too painful for me.
The lives of those of my men who survived the attack were dear-bought by many: in the most grievous cases, three of my men lost limbs and one (a personal friend of mine) had an eye slashed horribly, and it had to be removed by the surgeon. These things, too, trouble me, sister. For though some of them will be sent home now, their usefulness here spent, they will not return to be of any use to their families either. We are told that such is the cost for the protection of our homes and families, but this merely echoes back to me in doubt and anger.
And yet other things press upon my mind. The manner in which we were attacked made me think we were being tested. Our strengths and weaknesses seem to be being weighed, Tirithel, with each attack made upon our company. It is troubling to me, for I know not what this portends- although my heart guesses many things. My thought turns constantly to the smoke of Mount Doom- but I will not write of that! I fear that we are failing this testing, and that some evil thing is coming. This weighs heavily on me, and also on our Captain-General.
In all of this, I have good tidings, Tirithel. Our company is to move again, soon. We will come to Osgiliath, and I will be given leave to return home, for a week. Home, Tirithel! I cannot express on parchment my joy at this announcement. My spirit leaps at the thought of seeing your dear face again! My heart beats a little faster, willing the time until our move to pass swiftly. I have so much to tell you, sister! I long so much to hear your sweet voice. My happiness over the thought of my return is not measurable. A week at home shall be to me better than a month spent in a palace of kings!
But my mood turns somber, now, sister, as I think of what you wrote to me concerning our father. I think of you, all alone in our house with nothing to do but care for him day and night, and my heart goes out to you. My hope is that he will awake from this evil sleep which you speak of. Take comfort, sister! For I shall be returning to you soon, and I will do what I can to help. Have you not seen the herb-masters at the Houses of Healing? Is there nothing they can do for him? Alas, for their lore can heal anything but old age!
In answer to your strange question (I have been puzzling over it for days- why did you ask it?): yes; once, not many years ago, I did love a maiden who could not love me in return. She was a servant girl, and I knew I could not declare my affection for her, for Father would surely have disapproved of it. Fortunately for me it was not true love, but merely love’s first flash in youth: that which fades and will someday (if the powers that govern our lives decree) give way to a stiller flame. Strange it is, Tirithel, for though you have ever been my confidant, I have not told you of this matter until now. I am sure we will glance at it when I return home (I smile as I write this).
Preceding me in returning to Minas Tirith is Lord Boromir, Tirithel. He rides to the City within the month, to take counsel with his father the Steward over some matter. Yestermorning I asked our Captain-General if he might pay you a visit while he is in the White City. To my surprise and delight, he answered that he would do so gladly. (I must confess that I had asked without hope that he would call on you and Father- Boromir’s errands are always urgent, and usually he has no time for anything else.) Please thank him again for me, Tirithel, for this kindness when he comes to you.
The post-carrier is here for my letter. I am afraid my writing of it has been delayed until the last possible moment. I am sorry, sister, for there is more room on this parchment I could have filled. Now, in spite of the lack of ink, consider it laden and overflowing with all of my love. My thoughts are ever with you. I trust the time until I come will pass swiftly, Tirithel.

Your brother

Elendur

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

That was great Rosie. Are there many of these?

[Rosie Gamgee]

I think I've got two more so far. I'm searching around for more, but they aren't really together in one bundle like the Nob Notes. It's a big chest, you know. Do you think I should post another now, or should I wait a bit and keep y'all waiting?

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Wait a bit. Let everyone read that one first. I'd love to hear more of Nob's Notes.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Yeah. Only I haven't written it yet.... got to get on that. Been a little busy, actually.

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Rosie Gamgee

... Only I haven't written it yet...

I'm sure you meant "translated"... right??

[Rosie Gamgee]

Originally Posted by Valandil

I'm sure you meant "translated"... right??

Oh *ahem* well, yes, of course. Don't know what got into me.

[Michael Martinez]

20 Ethuil 1201 (Second Age)

To Whom It May Concern:

Sir. We have received your application for entry in to the kingdom of Lindon dated 70 Echuir 1200. Regrettably, we are unable to grant you a visitor's pass to our realm at this time.

Specifically, your petition for entry stipulates the name of Annatar. While we do not question your generosity, our records do not indicate any individual of Maiaric or Valarin status ever used that name either in the Undying Lands or the Hither Lands.

Accordingly, after consulting with our highest authorities in lore and law, and after consulting the Aman Repatriation Act of SA 1, we must respectfully decline your request to visit our fair kingdom and tour its cities.

Furthermore, as it appears that King Gil-galad has a very full feasting schedule for the rest of this loa, we are unable to determine any available dates when he might journey into Eriador to meet with your most excellent person and discuss the matters you have apprised us of.

While we do not wish to hinder your endeavors among the Elven peoples of Middle-earth, we must decline with prejudice your petition to enter into Lindon and advance your theories of healing and restoration among our community of scholars and loremasters.

Galador
Councilor to King Gil-galad
Office of Entrance Petitioners and Emissaries

[Valandil]

Yay Michael! Good to see YOU trying your hand at some fanfic. (or have you done some before?)

Don't suppose you'd be interested in checking out a little series I placed in this thread? It's hard to miss... as it dominates the thread from about the middle of page 1 to nearly the end of page 3...

I call it 'Letters of Firiel'... it includes an account of the fall of Fornost (Letter #11)...