Tewpith Entry #129857
2699, Third Age
Halgruith has always said that the longer one stays in one place the more one is absorbed into the fabric of it. Here in Dol Amroth I begin to feel myself becoming like a thread, inextricable and bound. I think it is the first time I have ever felt comfortable with such an existence. The family I dwell with are fine men, of an old family of brave men, seafarers of Numenor who came here to settle sometime before its fall. They recall Halgruith, though not personally, through a story older than I am that they told me happily. It matches well, really. Their forebear had struggled across the field of battle and there found my tutor lying with what he thought a mortal wound. But rather than allow him to die he carried him through the mud and the filth and the fire to the edge of the battle, where a healer mended him and he eventually was saved. It is only in one part that they differ, for the men here seem to recall that Halgruith had protested, and he has never said anything of the sort. Memories, I suppose, are a strange thing.
But the men are proud of their achievement, and Halgruith for their help gave them a fine thing he created, wrought of mithril, that he held to along with his other treasures when Eregion fell and they fled. Those treasures sit now in a chest, sealed, used as a table for parchment and scraps and sometimes dinner. This is, I should hazard, the first of his creations I have ever seen. It is remarkable, I stole away to the little vault of a room they keep it in just to look at it last night, while the entire household was asleep. It is like the thing glows in the light; the gems, which I thought at first were rubies, are some other thing. They are beautiful. I thought of taking them, secreting the jewelry away for why should this thing sit here, to be worn to festivals and then hidden away? But where would I take them to? To Lothlorien to be locked away in a chest with the other things my family made and then found distasteful?
I would never wear something like that, it is better here, with Halgruith’s saviors. I returned it to its case. If there is anything more dangerous than the fabric, Halgruith says, it is heritage. He always talks like that. His favorite piece of wisdom to share when he has had too much wine to to tell me never to love. Love, Halgruith says, is more dangerous than anything in the world. Love is covetousness, greed, it pulls things in and then destroys them. All of the worst of things have always been done by people who loved. Feanor loved the Silmarils and he loved his father, Morgoth loved the Silmarils too for what, really, is the difference between covetousness and love? He says hating everything is safer, for hate is always very short lived, it gives in quickly and dies off. Hatred is like a lightning strike, but love is like a smoldering fire. It burns everything away.
I think he is absurd. Halgruith used to love, he loved the necklace that lies in the vault of these men, he loved the elf he made it for as well. I shall elect never to be so very bitter as he is. I can love my heritage if I wish and I will, no matter how horrible they all say it is.
One of the sons of the family has asked to come along to Minas Tirith when I leave here, I have never had a travelling companion before. It will be a grand adventure, Raenarcam and Eldufin along the road to Minas Tirith and then perhaps south. They say there are deserts there, great wastes like the grasslands in the north but covered in sand and so hot it burns the skin and the lungs. They say they are dotted over with cities as well, with bright banners fluttering in the breeze, set around what little water is to be found. I absolutely cannot wait to see the world beyond the bounds of the map, and if it is beside some young man.