Letters from Middle Earth

[Valandil]

I caught a few errors and have corrected them, for those of you who were reading my 'Letters of Firiel' (or got them emailed from me). Please let me know if you'd like to find out what those changes are. I may also make some changes for style & clarity on #11 - it got rather long, and I probably didn't clean it up enough in that regard.

[Rosie Gamgee]

With a letter as long as that, I can't possibly see how you could miss anything, Val....


Here's the next of Elendur's letters. Sorry about Nob's Notes- I'm afraid I haven't translated anymore just now.
This letter appears to be written directly after Elendur’s leave in Minas Tirith. It was, however, never finished. It was found among some tattered and burned letters- orders and such from an army camp, which also appear as though never sent.


6, June 3018

Dearest Tirithel,

Hello, sister! I am settling easily back into life here. We moved from Osgiliath two days after I returned from Minas Tirith. Tirithel, I enjoyed my leave more than I can say! The sight of your face has refreshed my spirit immensely. Talking with you of my troubles has made my spirit lighter- although I must confess that some of my heart’s burdens have returned now that I am back. I am sure you would bear many of them better than I have. But I have adjusted more quickly than I thought I would after being home. The pattern of life here has not changed. It is a rhythm that, despite being fixed and exacting, is easy to slip back into. I am thankful for that, for I had thought that I would be terribly homesick. Although the tug of home is still pulling at my heart, I have no time to pay it mind. I am fortunate to get a silent moment to write.
I am under the Captain Faramir’s command now, sister, for Boromir remained in Osgiliath. This change is not grievous in the least, for Faramir is a noble man, and valiant. As when we were children, Tirithel, and played together in the King’s House (do you remember the games we used to play at in Merethrond, sister?), his disposition is more like to my own than that of the Captain-General. His command is an easy yoke. For though, like Boromir, he commands our service and our loyalty, Faramir has also the love and devotion of his men. He has mastery of man and beast- indeed every spirit yields freely to his command. If each man here was willing to lay his life down for Boromir, they would do it a hundred times over for Faramir!
The Captain is troubled of late, however. Dark dreams seem to be plaguing him, Tirithel. He told me of one of his dreams only this morning. It came to him last night, in the midst of a troubled sleep, and it seemed to spell some doom, although we know not what. Faramir spoke a bit of rhyme from the dream. I do not remember it, sister, but for There shall be shown a token, that Doom is near at hand, and the mention of something called Isildur’s Bane. Disquieting tidings, these, for none here can unravel the riddle of those staves. Faramir thinks that if this dream comes to him again, he will ride back to Osgiliath to take counsel with his brother.
Tirithel (I meant to ask you this before I left, but I had forgotten it until now), where is Mother’s ring? The one with the emerald stone in the shape of a bird, set in silver- that you used to wear on your right hand. I marked it missing from your finger while I was home, and this grieved me slightly. You have not lost it, I hope?
Something stirs outside. I hear shouts, and armour moving as men hasten by my tent. It is probably-

[Valandil]

Ooooh! I hope that wasn't the end of Elendur! Are there any more??? :anxious smiley:

Oh - my 'corrections' - in case anyone is interested (I've already made them in this thread), one is anachronistic, one labeling and one spelling:

Letter #4 - when they're at Tharbad, I had mentioned 'Gap of Rohan' but there was not yet a Rohan in 1940. I substituted 'Fords of Isen' as that worked as well for my purposes.

Letter #10 - right at the beginning, I say that Gandalf arrived in Narbeleth... but it should have been 'Hithui' - which is actually November. Narbeleth is October (silly me! ).

Letter #10 - toward the end, I write 'Elenaewen' for Arvedui's mother... to this point I had consistently spelled her name 'Elenawen' - with one less 'e'!

So... if you printed them off, or received my emailed copy, you may wish to make those modifications.

[Rosie Gamgee]

No, it's not his end. Far from it, I think. So I'll post the 'rewritten' letter- written afterward- seems to explain why he never finished that last one.


9 June, 3018

Dearest Tirithel,

Sister, the worst has befallen, I think! I know what you would say: Worst is an evil word- pray that we do not live to see it. But sister, you are not one of only four men saved from attack, rout, and flood! One of four, sister, of a great company of hundreds of men!
I am sure you in the City have received word of the fall of outpost in Osgiliath but three days ago. A rider was sent the very same night from the Rammas Echor, where I am now together with the Lords Boromir and Faramir. Faramir only of our company, along with myself, came out of the city alive. Boromir and one man from his company in Osgiliath were saved also. Tirithel, that night shall haunt my dreams for ever.
I was within my tent, writing, when the attack began. Dusk was just taking hold of the land. There were shouts. Scouts rode into the camp, and their was tale full of doom: Orcs, thousands strong, were swarming west, toward Anduin, toward us. Immediately the call to arms rang out. They were upon us within the hour. And not only orcs, sister, but cruel men from the south, those Haradrim that are fearsome in tales, and strong and heartless in life. Easterlings there were also; we were outnumbered by hundreds! But even this cannot blanch the heart of a soldier of Gondor, and we fought bravely. Many fell in those hours- too many. But worse was yet to come.
Evening fell, and we were fighting under a dark sky. The moon was shrouded by clouds, and its light offered no hope. We were being slowly forced to retreat. Then a Shadow came: a great black Horseman, sister. Fear came wherever he rode. Not the fear of death, or any such fear common to the heart of a soldier. It was a frozen fire that laid hold of our hearts: great darkness that swallowed whole what hope we had, consumed whatever strength was left to us, and caused man and beast to fall into madness. Ever and anon the Horseman would lift up a cry that could freeze the hearts of many on its own. But the malice and hopelessness behind the voice withered the spirit and crushed the will. No man could stand in the presence of that Shadow. Some lay like dead men, their hands over their ears, while others cowered and wept, crying of doom and despair. Many turned and fled. Horse reared upon rider, friend slew friend in madness, and not even the Captain Faramir could rally us.
The whole company fled in that hour, many running senseless to the enemy and their deaths, others aimlessly fleeing into the darkness- to the same fate, I fear. Those of us that, by some chance, fled west to the River, found ourselves together in Osgiliath. But a tattered remnant of the eastern force were we then. We hastened to the River. Our enemy was pursuing swiftly, and overtook us there. Boromir was in the company that held the last bridge that connected the two sides of Osgiliath. We joined them, and held the bridge valiantly, though many of them fell there. Somehow the Captains rallied the remnant of the eastern force. I do not know if it was a wise decision, or if perhaps the madness of the Horseman was still tainting our judgment, but Boromir ordered the bridge be cast down behind us, so that the enemy might not come past the River. We held the crossing until noon of the next day, and destroyed the bridge. Then the Lords called the retreat, and we had to swim to safety. Anduin is yet swollen by the warmth of spring, sister, and the torrent swept the last of the men away, save the sons of the Steward, one of the bridge-guard, and myself.
Four only were saved from the flood, sister. Four. Beside myself that is only three men. Of how many? Tirithel, why was I saved, when so many others were not? Surely many other men would be of more use now than I! The sons of Denethor are needed here; the man from the company that held the bridge is a doughty man, a leader among men. Who am I? Why, and to what end was I spared?
Forgive my senseless questions, sister. They arise from senseless calamity.
Dark dreams are plaguing us again. The night before the attack yielded a dream of doom to Captain Faramir. It came again to him yesternight, and the night before that. Boromir awoke this morning saying he also had the same dream. It reveals hard words, a troubling riddle that speaks of a Sword that was broken and something named Isildur’s Bane. Some distant land of Imladris is also named in these staves- but we here know nothing of these strange things. Boromir spoke this morning of riding to Minas Tirith to take counsel with his father over this.
Minas Tirith! I can see it from where I sit, sister, upon the Rammas Echor. A distant point, a gleam of white that glitters like disappearing hope. A Tower of Guard it is- but to me it is simply home. How I long to be there again, and forget the things that I have seen these past days. A distant time comes to mind, Tirithel: nights when fearful dreams would assail me and you would hold me gently and tell me stories of Mother. Tirithel, my guardian- aptly named were you, sister! How I wish you were here to comfort me now, when evil dreams spring out of the night and become real, and neither sleep nor wakefulness can block them from my memory!
I meant to ask you this before, Tirithel: Where is Mother’s ring? It was missing from its place on your finger when I saw you last, but I forgot to ask you about it until after I left you. That seems so long ago now. How do you fare, sister? Is all well in the City? How is Father? I hated to leave him in his uncertain state. My heart nearly broke to see what a frail, broken shell of himself he had become. That you are still as strong (in both body and spirit) as when I first left the City is a wonder, sister. And yet I did find you unchanged. You are still as comely, and as unwavering, as you have ever been, even under burden of waning hope- yea, even more so! You are like the evenstar, which shines out stalwartly, all the clearer in the darkness, even when the light of the sun is lost. Even the thought of you mends my tortured spirit, best and sweetest of all sisters!

Your brother

Elendur


P.S. Tirithel, my heart is yet heavy, and my hope is gone. There is an evil whisper in my heart, a fell omen, and it tells me that we shall not meet again. I do not mean to trouble you, sister, but I want you to know: I love you. When I am no more, pray do not think of me as dead, or gone for ever. Pretend I have gone away, and that we shall meet again. Look for my coming on some fair spring day, when the fresh breezes whisper in the City’s streets and speak of hope and life.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Wow. How many more are there.

[Rosie Gamgee]

A few. Oh, don't you love being mysterious? I've almost finished with them, actually. I've spent far too much time at them I suppose. Nevertheless, they are engrossing- to me.

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

And to me. I love the way they tie in perfectly with what JRRT wrote.

[Rosie Gamgee]

Wow. Thanks. Certainly is praise- especially since I'm very protective of Tolkien. Thank you.

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Valandil

Letter #10 - toward the end, I write 'Elenaewen' for Arvedui's mother... to this point I had consistently spelled her name 'Elenawen' - with one less 'e'!

Heehee, I think a certain mooter with a similar name made you write Elenaewen.

Rosie, those translations are so good! Especially the last letter is haunting. I'm very curious about Elendur's next letters. You and Valandil have translated those letters so well that I don't no longer dare to rummage in the chest and find letters I could translate.

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Eärniel

... You and Valandil have translated those letters so well that I don't no longer dare to rummage in the chest and find letters I could translate.

Says WHO?

Oh... YES YOU DO!!

(maybe Fimbrethil's 'Dear John Letter' to Treebeard?? )

(OR... something from that mysterious Elf of Nin in Eilph...??)

[Nurvingiel]

I really enjoyed Nob's letters Rosie, they were brilliant! (And I stayed up way too late reading them too! )

[Earniel]

Originally Posted by Valandil

Says WHO?

Says me.

Or should that be 'Says I'?

Oh... YES YOU DO!!

Is this a royal command, oh High King?

[Valandil]

Originally Posted by Eärniel

Heehee, I think a certain mooter with a similar name made you write Elenaewen.

Oh yeah - it WAS getting hard to come up with names after a bit. I don't really KNOW Sindarin, by any means, so it was just a matter of mixing and matching prefixes and suffixes. Elenaewen was actually my initial spelling, but I soon dropped the 'e' to give it one less syllable.

And... the mooter you're refering to really doesn't seem all that matronly, does she? But certainly she's a queen!

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

Rosie Gamgee, are there anymore of Nob's notes?

[Earniel]

Translator’s note: The chest obviously contains more mysterious documents that I could have imagined. I have found two letters that seem to be at least a few aera’s younger than all the other documents. Only after translation did their connection to the other letters seem more clear.

The first letter is even more a special case as it appears to be written by Sinterklaas. For those uncommon with this part of European folklore; Sinterklaas -also called Sint-Niklaas or in short De Sint- is a saint that is said to deliver on December the 6th presents and sweets to children who had been good. He rides on a white horse across the roofs and has one or more black-skinned companions named Piet (translated here as Pete) who carries the presents but also takes the wicked children in a sack with him back to Spain.

December the 6th

Dear Sarah,

Ahem, apparently there are things even a travelling saint won’t come across twice. These are strange times. I feel it in the water, my granny would have said. I have always found that a very strange expression. Mmm, what did I want to say again?

Ah, yes! A while ago I was at the 100-yearly gathering of the Famous Beards and I had a long conversation with one of my old acquaintances from a vague past; a misty chap with strange ideas, but with the finest pipe weed I have ever tasted. He could always blow the strangest figures in the smoke. So strange that I still wonder – have done for an eternity really – how he does it. But where was I? Oh, right! This time he had a very important mission. Yes, you couldn’t really call him ordinary. I do ask him once in while whether he’s from the East or whether he’s from the West and then he usually answers with a small mysterious smile that he’s more from the middle. Strange fellow. He kept going on for a long time about myths and legends, about fate and coincidence; and then when it all started to confuse me he asked me for a favour.

Now, I did happen to owe him one. I remember when he had helped me once out of a tight spot when my loyal steed had tripped with his stupid head – or rather with his right front leg – over a chimney, you know, one of those ugly modern things. I’ve heard from a certain Rolf (1) he had to rest for weeks, and that happened on Sinterklaas-eve – meaning my evening – bugger it. Oh well, the grey one he leant me was a pretty odd horse – one time you’d see him and the next time you didn’t – but I’ve never been able to do all the roofs that quickly before. But why am I telling all this again? Ah, yes, so I wanted to pay back the favour. Then he spoke of a very promising wizard-apprentice and of appropriate rewards; and he put a little thing in my hands. And whether I could drop that off here. It was the idea of an Elf-Lady or something and it was on my road there and back again anyway, so why not? He himself was detained by some trifling that had to do with a troublesome college and a bunch of trees. Trees?

But it wasn’t that simple. He spoke of dark forces, deep dwellings and terrible creatures. There had to be taken certain safety measures. It became weirder and weirder still. He had taken care of it all, he said. Yeah yeah. And afterwards I didn’t have to worry about anything, he said. Then he did something with his hands and I wondered again who for heaven’s sake he was again, or had been. I have a sneaking suspicion he did that often, but I couldn’t by God (yes, all the Famous Beards were present) remember where or when.

But it was some journey! During the whole trip the sky was filled with big birds, eagles I believe. And then I haven’t even mentioned the two strange fellows that had to accompany me, they were cheaper than the Gmic (2), he said. They were to keep an eye on me and this little thing at all times; two, if they could spare them. The little fat fellow with his terrible axe and long toes. And then the other one that seemed to walk on air. And how they quarrelled! Sometimes I thought we would never reach your roof in one piece. The fat one yelled something about Moria and wanted to chop down your chimney in one go with his axe. Luckily the other one stopped him, muttered something about a fat belly, said meloen (3) and disappeared as a ghost into the chimney.

In less than no time he was back and I never saw somebody climb that clean out of a chimney. He wasn’t so sure of it himself, because he kept ogling his reflection from all sides in the blade of one of those scary big knives he carried on his back. My loyal Pete – who looked on all this with some reserve, because wasn’t this his job after all? – muttered something about nancy boy, about bread robbery; and considered to put all this before the Pete Union, bunch of idiots, if you ask me, always fighting and never amounting to anything. But he was still muttering darkly (it had been a good idea after all to forbid him to take his cellular phone with him or he would have called his mates on the spot) when those two weird fellows disappeared as in smoke. And the air was suddenly free from that incessant feather rustling.

Well now, young favourite, I have to move on. I don’t remember anymore why I had to be here in the first place. So much trouble for such a little thing. And of whom I still had to say: Guard it with your life, my young friend. There are foul voices on the wind.

De Sint
(That – at least – I have not
forgotten yet. Did I tell you
of that one time… Oh, never
mind.)

Notes:
(1) Rolf seems to point to a certain Rolf Harris who presented a show called Animal Hospital on the BBC. This information helped me date the letter to fairly recent. He can’t have been older than a few years. Which leaves the question how it ended up in a coffin of ancient letters.

(2) Gmic is the name of a security firm.

(3) Meloen is the Dutch name for the fruit mellon, Sinterklaas apparently was unacquinted of the Sindarin language.

[Earniel]

Translator note: The second letter seems to be written the following year, nearly to the day, as a reply to the first. There seem to be no letters following it and so I surmise something happened that made the communication cease. Whatever that event may have been and what became of the writer of the second letter we may never know.

December the 5th

Dear Sinterklaas,

You may remember that you have left me last year a small, insignificant-seeming present, or rather that you have delivered it out of name of a friend of yours, one of those Famous beards, do you remember? I’ve very glad with the little present, it’s so perfect and unique. It always feel cool, even when I’ve just dropped it in a hot bowl of potato mash. It has become very precious to me, and between the two of us, I’ve given it a name: Precious. Sounds pretty, doesn’t it? There were no problems the first months I bore it but of late I’ve started to suspect my pretty ring may have been second hand! It may be hard to believe but let me explain why.

One misty autumn morning, I was waiting by the bus stop when I suddenly noticed a black-clad figure approaching. He had an ill-favoured look over him, like one of those gothic fans. You know, a long tattered black cloak and I heard clinking, probably from heavy chains. I had the feeling I had to get off the road and I hid behind the shelter of the bus stop. The black-dressed man stopped in front of the shelter and started sniffling with his nose right up in the air. I thought that was rather rude. I do use deodorant every day, you must know! But before I could give him a piece of mind, a white bus stopped in front of us. Since I didn’t want to be late, I got on. When the rude sniffler wanted to get on as well, the driver stopped him and said she wouldn’t have black riders(4) on her bus. He answered he would file a damage claim; after which she threw him off the bus and laughed he could come and claim what ever he’d like. Then she closed the door right in front of his nose and accelerated in the highest gear. Frankly I doubt whether such behaviour would look good on her record but seemingly her illustrious father is lord over a valley estate, so no doubt she won't get into trouble over this. I also wondered when she had had that ear correction done. Personally I think those pointy ears are a bit ridiculous but I suppose it’s fashionable, wouldn’t it?

Now if this had been the only incident, I would have forgotten it long ago. But a few days later there popped up another unwashed individual before my door. It took 5 minutes to get him properly introduced. So many names! I’ve forgotten them all already. Argon or something? Argon? Isn’t that a noble gas? Anyway, he asked me whether I was ready to go a-questing. Excuse me? Do I look like I’d disappear with every guy that turns up on my doorstep into the wilderness? (He looked kind of handsome, I think. If only he’d shower.) But I wasn’t tired by far of the little homely house so I said no. He hadn’t expected that apparently, and he started going on about my ring so I began to suspect he may have been of the IRS. So I dumped a bottle of shampoo in his hands and closed the door.

All in all I’m starting to believe the whole world is hunting my Precious. But Precious is mine! Mine! Mine! All Mine! Ahem. You see, the whole situation makes me somewhat paranoid. I think I’m losing my wits. Yesterday I was thinking all of a suddenly how the moon looked like a giant flaming lidless eye. Ridiculous, isn’t it?

But that’s why you would understand I really want to talk to that bearded college of you about the previous owner of my jewellery. I’ve tried to locate this chap in the Palantir Pages but each time I call his STAFF-number I get an old crazed fellow on the line that starts ranting about white and many colours. I gather he works for Dash (5), but that’s besides the matter. So could you please notify your college as soon as possible? Even the crows of the nearby wood are starting to look funny at me!

Sarah

Notes:
(4) A black rider, is a litteral translation of the Dutch word that refers to a person who does not pay for his ride on the bus.

(5) A brand name for products that are used to wash clothes.

[BeardofPants]

LOL, I love them!

[Nurvingiel]

These letters are completely brilliant Eärniel, looking forward to the next one!

[Telcontar_Dunedain]

That was great Eärniel!

[Earniel]

Nehheh, I'm glad you all like them. I giggled often when translating.

Originally Posted by Nurvingiel

These letters are completely brilliant Eärniel, looking forward to the next one!

Another Sinterklaas letter might be a little trickssy, maybe when I get an answer next 6th december. But I did promise Valandil to translate another, different letter, though that may take a while to translate.