Her red box of memories

20 Sulimë: Letter from Bardhwyn to Leoba

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Minas Tirith, 20 Sulimë

My dearest friend,

I know not where to begin; I am so, so sorry. I read your letter several times before I could even begin to think, let alone feel. You paraphrased Dirk’s letter to you succinctly, no easy task, I’m sure – and how clear his voice rang in my mind with those few, exact quotes you included. I cannot imagine what it was like for you, receiving those sentiments, no matter how beautifully written. What is he thinking? Why does he see this as the only way to proceed? I fear he’s throwing his life away; is this what the Mithril Knights demands of its members? Somehow, this doesn’t seem right to me.

I am angry on your behalf, mostly, but saddened, too. Were Dirk here right now, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. I hate to think what Lys would give him; a right cross, most likely. But would my words, or Lys’ fist, get through to him? I do not know. Dirk was always a man of his own mind; a fact made evident while with the Bowmen in the East. I lose track of the times Dirk would disobey an order, follow his own mind – and yes, oft times his plans and ideas worked but sometimes not, much to the Mistress and Master Archer’s consternation. Fearless, reckless, sometimes heedless was he; yet loyal, heroic, daring. I never thought of him as idealistic, but I see that now. It was this quote you included, when he wrote:

“I have come to realize, that in order to find what it is that I am to do for Middle-earth, I cannot live in fear of losing home, family, or love.”

Can he not see there are many who devote their lives to the preserving of Middle Earth; that he is just one of many? Why must he regard himself as being so alone? I simply do not understand.

I blame the stories he’s been fed of his parentage and ‘inheritance’. I know I’ve confided this to you in the past but I needs must say it again; I’ve never held much creedance to it all, despite his actions and behaviours. I have long feared he’s been used, like a pawn, mislead and exploited. Perhaps I am the one who is mislead; mislead by my own firm disbelief but I find it all so black. Perhaps too black. When I reflect on your kind heart and your deep, abiding love for him – isn’t that proof of his worth and goodness? How else could someone with as pure heart as yours be drawn to someone unless, they too, have a like heart.

I hope he soon realizes his mistake and writes you another letter, one that refutes all that he has written, one that begs you for forgiveness and pleads for you to return to his life and love. I sincerely do, because my friend, you deserve no less. Know that you have friends in us who care deeply for you; I hope you find solace and comfort with your family and your music.

Lys sends his best regards and tells me your brother is in good health, often deep in his cups, but in good health. The weather here is dreadful; cold, damp. Our rooms are never warm. And I yearn for trees; tall, deep rooted, pine or leaf, I do not care which. I’ve been promised a trip north to the edge of the Fangorn come spring and I most assuredly shall go alone, if need be. Despite your assurances, Leoba, I do not know if the White City can ever become my home.

Write me soon; your letters with stories of your family cheer me; especially the children!


PS – No word regards the pardon, yet. More documentation has been requested from the Dale court. My hope is stronger on some days than others. The High King is just, Lys reminds me. I will let you know anything and everything as soon as I know.

[Written by Helene Jones and posted with the kind permission of the author.]


Written by leobavorima

January 22, 2013 at 9:04 pm

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