Her red box of memories

23 Urimë: Letter from Leoba to Morwen

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Minas Tirith, 23 Urimë IV3

I have replied to Serinde to let her know to expect me in the first week of Narquelië, so you will be able to write to me at this address until the end of next month. I have decided to remain here in the White City until just after my birthday on the 28 Yavannië.

I am as it is wilting in the searing heat of high summer in the City.  As you must remember, the stones of the streets soak up the sun’s rays all day so that even at nightfall they continue to radiate its warmth. It’s hard to remember that I grew up in even warmer climes as, after several years mainly in the north, I am finding it hard to readjust.  The thought of the further extreme of Pelargir in Urimë is thus really not tempting me.  Yet a month hence, when the season mellows, when Manwë sends the westerly winds up the Anduin to blow away the stench of the summer drains and when the heat will be less fierce and when the olives are ripe and ready for harvest: that’s the time to go home.

Besides which, I have run into an old friend here and instinct is urging me to tarry in her company while the opportunity is with us.  I don’t think I have mentioned Bardhwyn to you before now.  She is a true friend of Dirk’s (and to me too) and has been such a rock since our paths crossed again.

We have been reminiscing about the old times and it has been balm for my soul. Our paths first crossed with hers when Dirk took me to visit his foster family in Esgaroth, soon after we had first met. We tarried in Laketown for several weeks. On still days the bones of Smaug are clearly visible in the waters covering the old town and one day we took a boat out to see them. Some of the braver boys were diving down in search of jewels in the carcass, though it is a long way down amidst the remains of wooden piers. Dirk told me he had been just as keen as a youngster but to no avail! The only downside of Esgaroth: the midges are horrendous. I am convinced Laketowners must have hides like oliphaunts!

To get back to my point, whilst we were there we heard tell of an archery competition up north in Dale and how could we resist!  Bowmanship is very close to the hearts of those northerners and they have a whole guild dedicated to the furtherance of that skill. I triumphed at the butts and beat the archers of Dale at their own game; most gratifying. We became well acquainted with our hosts and gamed and told stories and I triumphed against Bardhwyn in a riddle contest.  I found the men and women of the north less inclined than us to sing of romance and laughter for they are altogether a more serious breed yet their long sagas of dragon-slaying and vengeance, though different, are fiercely beautiful. I have learned to sing a few but they somehow don’t have the same resonance here in the warmth of the south as they do in the feasting halls of the north.



Written by leobavorima

January 11, 2013 at 11:15 pm

One Response

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  1. 28 Yavannië (September) is, not at all coincidentally, St Leoba’s feast day.


    January 12, 2013 at 12:43 am

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