Okay so here is the first installement of Willow Brandybuck's journal. A Minstral of Eriador currently in the service of King Daerion of Gondor and Arnor.
This is a summary of our first session and I ask that you bear in mind that Tieu Thuy does not speeak English as her first language (or even French) but in fact Vietnamese.
That said I think her English is excellent and she is studying Creative Writing at an English University, despite going to all previous schooling in French.
That said read on and ejoy the first installment.
There will be more to come.
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Author’s note
This is the first rough draft of a work in progress. If you have found this journal, then I must have died before finishing my book (most probably during this very adventure). If that is the case, please forgive the sketchy prose. I assure you, and my previous book Belengol and the Magic Harp (found in most bookstores of the Shire except those with a children's section where it is banned as a tasteless and mischief-inspiring piece of fiction. fiction! pah!) can attest to this, that I am an accomplished storyteller.
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Author’s note, addendum
Readers or my last book may have noticed that sometimes I recount events in which I did not apparently participate or where I was not present. I am not a liar; neither did I make up fiction to fill in these moments of absence. Recording of these events is based on my fellow adventurers’ words, as I have had the great privilege of being their trusted confidante.
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Author’s note, addendum 2
If you find anything that could seem disrespectful to any member of any royal family, I do apologize profusely. Keep in mind that this is my journal, where I put down most of my thoughts, even those I may regret later, and if you claim that you have never had any thought about a King or Princess that may be not very nice to say out loud, than you are a liar and a very bad one.
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June 12th, 320 of the 4th Age
It is the beginning of summer in Minas Tirith. We came here at King Daerion’s summon, and we had been wandering through the white city, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the fragrant breeze. Belengol told me I was absolutely not to accompany him to this meeting, but I know he did not mean it, he never does. And even if he did, I know he is thankful that I came to keep an eye on him. I always end up being useful.
And so Belengol and other travelers like him gathered in the king’s war room this afternoon. Each brought disturbing news from their land. Orc and Troll sightings, they said, the first in a very long time. But before I go on I must cite the name of each who was present, for they form a council of a kind that has not been seen for centuries:
Belengol, my friend and travel companion, and also a great wizard (well, wizard in learning). A little too bony he is for his own health. He has trouble filling those long red robes of his, but he has got handsome eyes that look so eager and so serious at the same time;
Gror, Belengol’s old acquaintance and the extreme opposite: a stout one even for a dwarf, tough and thick as an old tree, a warrior’s stories, glories and sadnesses etched on his weathered skin (glories and sadnesses, I like that. I will put this in my next book);
Andunae Telonar, as fair as an elf can be, with hair the colour of fire (like mine, but not at all as frizzed and unruly), music in her voice and grace in her every gesture;
Brahir of Eriador, a quiet and mysterious one with a strange, wild kind of nobility in his graying temples and ranger’s stance. He is also called Seeker, and I like that name much better;
Arendan, captain of the twelfth company of Fornost in Arnor. A giant of a man, square shoulders bearing the burden of command, a solemn soul peering through a sky-blue gaze. I do wish he would smile more often;
Eyrnae, the shieldmaiden. A pretty young girl, but with very bad taste in clothing, all dressed in men’s garb too big for her. Well, she will be a beautiful woman; and even that ungraceful attire cannot hide that. Her long golden hair must be the envy of many a girl;
Illian, son of Illithar, a Knight from Dol Amroth, even more of a giant than Arendan (Taller anyway, but not broader). His black hair is the only dark thing about him; and how those light-coloured garments bring out his stormy gray eyes. Like Belengol he is too thin for my taste, but it looks like the shieldmaiden finds him rather handsome. Belengol told me later that the old blood of theNumenor runs through his veins.
It seemed that all these brave souls witnessed orcs and other such ugly creatures moving across the lands. The king is worried of this possible threat, and against his advisor’s words, decided to send us to Rivendell. That is, he decided to send them, until Belengol so unceremoniously reached behind the curtains and dragged me out rather roughly. How indelicate!
Nonetheless it was a fortunate event, for the king (who did not look angry at all), after acknowledging my obvious usefulness and my unique attributes, decided to make me part of this fellowship. I feel this will be a grand adventure. We must find out where all these orcs and trolls come from, for surely they must be answering to someone—or something’s call.
After offering to equip us with whatever we might need for the journey (while the men discuss the path to take I will be in charge of packing the food, for I know no one ever brings enough. They will be thanking me later), the king advised us to leave at dawn—an ungodly hour, but perhaps I can convince the company to stop for a nap at midday.
It seems that Illian and Eyrnae are old friends, Illian being so adorably protective of her. To no avail did he try to dissuade her from coming with us. She is very hardheaded. I think she and I will find we have much in common!
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June 15th, 320 of the 4th Age
I have not been keeping record of the first days of our journey, for they were quite uneventful, except perhaps for the rain on the fourth day that slowed us down.
Today I was woken rather early. A band of Rohirrim came to take Eyrnae home to Edoras where King Thendrin is waiting for her. They told us that he was not very pleased with her at the moment. They took her with us to answer for whatever Eyrnae has done. We would not have had it otherwise anyway; we would not have gone without her. How does the king get his men to get up and ride out so early anyway?
They must skip meals every day.
And they rode so fast! These big men, with their heads so high in the clouds, they never remember my poor little hobbit legs (It is true that I am a Brandybuck, but it does not mean I am oversized like them. I can still see my own feet). In any case, how can these rider people enjoy life if they go about flying like the wind on their great beasts all the time? If it had not been for Elendor (I was to know
his name later), I would have fallen and been trampled to death by my own poor horse. I dare not imagine the inelegant end.
When we finally arrived, my head was still ringing with all these pounding hooves from the ride to Edoras, and as if it were not enough the King’s anger was almost louder than the pounding. He looks rather stiff, not at all like King Daerion who is younger and gentler, but his voice makes the hall tremble. He does not seem to like Belengol (I do not think he likes sorcerers), but most of his wrath was directed at Eyrnae. She took the Prince’s armor and horse and went as Rohan’s messenger to Gondor without the king’s leave.
He was so mad that he would not even heed her message from King Daerion. When he sent her away to change into proper garments (that must have been humiliating, in front of all these people), Illian went into a great touching speech about Eyrnae’s merits, and how she had done great honour to Rohan, and how Middle Earth needs the Rohirrim... And then the king said that Rohan has always fought on its own (maybe he should have just asked for help). But I did sense he was slowly changing his mind about his adopted child (for he has raised her as his own daughter, or should I say like his own son), when he mused that she would be more trouble here than elsewhere (and I know he means by her ideas and her going about swinging a sword and all that). Then he told Illian that the only way Eyrnae could go would be for her to no longer be under his royal care… And then he said that the only way to make that happen was for Illian to marry her!
On my part I would love to stay for a wedding, and I know that these two are rather fond of each other and maybe they would be happy together. Andunae thinks so too. But Eyrnae shouted that it was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard, and I do admit that it is rather silly, but it does not mean it would not be a good thing… Belengol was a little more understanding of Eyrnae’s feelings, and he sent
me to find Prince Alfien to try and save her from this pickle.
So I went to find the rider Elendor who saved my life, I thought that surely he would know where the prince had gone (well it was Belengol’s or Andunae’s idea to find Elendor, but I would have thought of it eventually). And so I wandered about, wondering how I could ever find him in this crowd, when I heard loud thumping noises, the kind that worries me.
I came upon the strangest scene. A young woman was standing against a wall, and her braids were pinned to the wood. The men were practicing throwing hand axes at her head. And she was encouraging them! She was calling them
nasty things, which I will not repeat here in case it is one of you children reading this. I think that these nasty things might have been some strange barbaric terms of endearment, but mother would have slapped me for saying them. I hope this woman does not have children yet. How embarrassing for her husband to tell them that their mother died when another man split her lovely head instead of her braid!
Elendor was there and recognized me. I was quite relieved because to be honest I had not had a very good look at his face during the ride. He had passed and arm around my shoulders to hold me, but an arm so thick that it smothered my face so that I could not turn it (and made me look quite silly).
But I digress.
Well, I do not quite remember exactly what went on but I found myself holding a hand axe and hearing the men speculate on or against me. “Twelve horses she succeeds,” thundered Elendor. It unnerved me a little (and flattered me too) to see him have so much faith in me, but I thought it was a good idea and wagered one horse on myself (Perhaps I should have asked for one for each of my companions but I would not have wanted to push my luck). And so I carefully measured the weight of the axe. And tested the wind (it was somewhat difficult because it smelled like horses). The men watched intensely as I demonstrated my great skill just by these simple gestures.
I gripped the axe in one hand, raised it slowly for effect, and then I whipped my arm mightily. I saw the blade fly and catch the fading light of the sun and for a moment I thought I might make orphans, but of course, as I am a great marksman… markswoman… regardless. Without any difficulty I neatly chopped off the pretty maiden’s left braid with a neat thump (what a waste, all that nice hair). I saw
on their great weathered faces that they could not believe it. If they did not know the name of Willow Brandybuck, they do now! I won Elendor the twelve horses and a very fine white mare for myself. Elendor is very courteous for a man. I am accustomed to being treated like a child, even by Belengol at times.
Oh and Elendor also told me where to find the Prince.
Meanwhile Gror and Arendan were trying to convince Illian with talk of how good he would be with Eyrnae. Something about Gror’s boots. I did not quite understand the metaphor. Gror was offering to forge rings of mithril for them. I hope Illian is aware of the honour.
Well, when I came back they were very impressed when they saw my new mare and heard my story, and ever more when I told them I knew that the prince had rode out toward the gap. We decided that Andunae should go find him, for she and her elf horse would be the least affected by the coming night.
Then, while I was cooking (These people have the crudest kitchens. It is a good thing I am a wonderful cook and can do with any oven, but really! If I could exchange cooking lessons for riding lessons…), Illian and Eyrnae pragmatically decided that the only way to have Eyrnae with us would be for them to marry (I hate it when I miss a proposal. I hope he went on his knee and everything. Anything less would have been unworthy of Eyrnae). I am happy to have her with us, as we will need all the help we can have.
Despite King Thendrin’s dismissal of the news, the orcs sightings have raised concern around us here. The Prince has gone after a band of about one hundred orcs. Well... He went without the king’s leave, and with the king’s horse, and that might have been what made the king mad. But it seems that the younger men and women do listen to Prince Alfien, and they respect his new ideas. I am rather reassured that they are not all backward and bitter, or else I would not have been treated with such esteem despite the fact that I am as able-bodied as any of these men.
Despite the troubles and worries, when the late evening came it was all laughter and revels. I found that I was quite popular with the locals. I have never worked with horse meat before (I find it quite strange, that they both ride and eat these noble beasts. I had thought that the tall peoples I met before were strange!), but I was quite successful in improvising. Were I not so queasy at the thought of having my mare carry meat of one of her kind, I might have packed some with us.
She is the prettiest mare I have ever seen, and so very intelligent. I think that she tries to answers me when I talk to her. I wanted to call her Fluffy but she turned her back to me and snorted at me until I changed it. I took a walk with her tonight and how she seemed to glow in the moonlight! I will call her Ithilnaur... Moon-Fire.
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