Her red box of memories

16 Urimë: Letter from Leoba to Morwen

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Minas Tirith, 16 Urimë IV3

You are right, my dear sister, that I should bear up and that it has always been the fate of soldiers’ wives (and girlfriends) to be sundered from their loved ones. I know you know how it is and thank you for being a willing listening ear. I really will try to put a brave face on things. Whilst there is a still any small hope that he will come home to me and that we may yet be married then I can live.

I have indeed received a letter from Serindë, inviting me to stay with her and Carandil in Pelargir. It sounds as though she has a full house these days since her seventh child has been added to her and my brother’s brood but she assures me there is space for a bard, as it would seem there always is.  It’s at times like this that I am especially grateful for my music; if I didn’t have my instruments I would truly be lost.

Although every time I play my harp I am reminded of Dirk.  He liberated it, you know, from the treasury of Carn Dûm. It is of more exquisite workmanship than someone of my skills could ever deserve to play upon and we always thought from the engraving on it that it must have been of ancient Elvish make. It was in acquiring it that things changed for us and his soul grew darker. A shadow was cast over our lives; not something I want to dwell upon at this particular moment.

Yet when we first met two years ago at the bardic festival in Eriador, Dirk was such a boy; all wide-eyed innocence and exuberance.  I can picture it now. The garden of the inn was decorated for a huge party.  Bunting was strung between the trees and bushes and fireflies danced amidst the boughs. On all the tables there were painted jam jars filled with early spring flowers and flickering candles.  There was plentiful country fare and no shortage of ale and wine to quench our thirst, and we were thirsty with all the dancing – we danced the springlering – and on we went until dawn.  Dirk arrived late, long after we bards had finished our recitals and once the party was in full swing, and he made quite an entrance. He strode into the midst of the throng, full of confidence, dust still clinging to his travelling clothes and to his tall riding boots.  His grey eyes sparkled as they found mine and the rest, as they say, is history. We danced together and we laughed and talked long into the deep of the night under the stars.  It was love at first sight and nothing that has happened between that day and this has altered that.



Written by leobavorima

January 10, 2013 at 9:29 pm

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