Tianwen·Magweth Pengolodh

Get what you deserve.Compared to Linton's misty beauty, Romenna Fjord was wider and more magnificent, the trees on the cliffs were greener, and the water in the depths was a more vivid blue.Even the hundreds of sea-birds that fluttered and chattered in the air seemed large and smooth; even the sun shone brighter and warmer here than on Eriador's shores.Pengolod remembered that from the map, Númenor was farther south than the kingdom of the elves in Middle-earth, and that the Númenóreans always complained that Lindon was too cold.

There were more and more ships in the water, and Pengolod caught a glimpse of castles and huts that lined the cliffs; and then the Elven captain also came forward and stood beside him.Pengolod asked: "How long are we going to stay here?"

The captain replied: "It is morning, and the port is just around the corner. At sunset, we will sail again on the tide." The fjord gradually narrowed, and the cliffs on both sides gradually lowered, reducing to a gentler, cluttered with trees. the highlands.Pengolod paid no heed to these, for Toruni, the only island in the fjord, lay ahead.It sits in a wide chasm formed by the meeting of two cliffs, and a lighthouse marks the entrance to Port Romenna on the island.Soon, the white elven ship passed through the rift valley, slid steadily into the port like a swan, and docked in a berth specially reserved for elven ships, right next to a huge awning that was ventilated on all sides.Most of the elf passengers disembarked.Pengolod was amazed to see the officials and servants of Númenor coming to meet them, some of whom had greeted the captain and began to read the letters he had brought.There are several market vendors on the outer edge of the awning, selling fruits and flowers, and collecting elf silver coins.In all this fuss, only a small group of elves left the awning to visit the Ramenna Bazaar.Pengolod went with them, chiefly because he could no longer bear to hear the deadly accents of Sindarin that the officials and peddlers of Númenor were trying to speak.

The main body of the market is just behind the pier.It was a large square open-air space adjoining the pier, and a different language rang throughout it—a mortal language called Adunak, with crisp pronunciation and many consonants.At the back of the market, a huge building of beige sandstone and red marble with many columns and wide steps stands majestically, overlooking the colorful tents and stalls.Pengolod lifted the hood of his thin cloak and shook his head, letting his long black hair hang down his back.He told the other elves: "That is the palace of the royal family. Judging by the banner, the Crown Prince lives there now."

In this regard, the other elves showed only modest interest at best.The four elves went off to look at the stalls in the market for other fresh fruits and vegetables.Two more left and right looked at the bustling scene as if in a distant dream; they also broke away and wandered back to the berth of the elf ship.Standing beside Pengolod, the last member of the excursion team saw two old men sitting by a booth, stared at them and froze. "Alas, Pengolod, I cannot bear it," said he; "all this reminds me of the long parting, of the fate and curse of the elves compared with mortals who are free to leave the world The soul is freed by death. I'm going back too." Without further ado, he quietly walked away, pulling his hood tighter to cover his face as he walked.

Pengolod scrutinized the two old men who had caused the last of his companions to mourn.They looked like they were enjoying the bargaining process, and the other pleasures of noon—just look at the women and girls passing by in their eyes.Pengolod decided that, though he was the only one left, he would stay a little longer.He wandered the city, listening eagerly to the fresh syllables of Adunak.Of course he had learned the language from Númenoran sailors in the past, but to learn a spoken language it was always better to learn it where and among the people who spoke it.By the time he reached the center of the bazaar, he had decided to write a short essay during the second leg of the elf ship's voyage, describing everyday conversation in Adunak and how it used vivid metaphors.

In the center of the square is a huge statue as tall as two people, carved from dark green granite with exquisite workmanship.According to the inscription on the pedestal, this is a statue of Maiauni.She is the goddess revered by all sailors and fishermen, and also the goddess of Romenna, who unites the city and the port.Pengolod raised an eyebrow when he noticed how Uni had been portrayed here.Once or twice he had sketched her in the elven manuscripts—she was supposed to be beautiful, so her image was that of a lithe maiden, gliding gracefully through the waves, her hair flowing to her toes.This Uni also has hair that is several feet long, but she has no toes—the lower body is in the shape of a graceful fish from the waist down.Pengolod looked up.Obviously, the "goddess" beauty imagined by mortals is very creative below the waist, but extraordinarily "generous" above the waist...it's embarrassing, he thought.The statue opens its arms as if lovingly embracing the whole of the port, and though its hollow marble eyes are mysterious, it has a pleasant smile on its face.He bowed to the statue in respect and walked away.

Most mortals in the market are in a hurry, as are the working class who have no leisure.Pengolod wandered, listening, watching.He stopped to buy a small basket of berries from a saleswoman, and there was a commotion that spread to three stalls—he gave her a guinea, which she had to rush off to exchange for what was nearly enough change for him.He stopped for a while to overhear the slang words of a group of children who were arguing, and took note of the colorful swear words for later analysis.Those two old men saddened an elf, but these children and their naive swearing made Pengolod sigh as he remembered the loss.Mortals and elves, there is not much difference in childhood.He noticed a few people looking his way, and turned to see what was so interesting behind him.Finding nothing, he wandered on again.

The edge of the bazaar brought him another wave of poignant pain.He didn't go to the palace, but went to the south of the market, where there were many small streets and alleys leading out, luring curious people to find out.Pengolod found these streets lined with narrow houses, wall to wall, three stories high, with shops on the ground floor.He hadn't expected to see such a building.This reminded him very vividly of a lost elf city that he once lived in.The houses in that city are also crowded in the same way, so that a country can be compressed into the confines of a mountain.That city, posterity still remembers its name - Gondolin.

To an elf weary of Middle-earth and its long lifespan, even a memory holds great power.Pengolod fell into deep memory and stood there for a quarter of an hour.The eyes of passers-by became suspicious, but he did not see them accordingly.When he shook his head and came back to his senses, he again smelled the smell of burning charcoal and heard the tinkle of blacksmiths working, so he was stuck in place by various memories for another 5 minutes.Finally, with a sigh of attachment, he woke himself up and walked down a street.

He returned to reality, looking up at the way each store marked its business.On a hook hung a wine jug--the liquor seller.A coil of rope with a small anchor—probably signifies a ship's grocer.Three baskets hung high and delicately in a string... The fourth store on this motley street surprised him.Its signature logo is a book carved out of wood, the inside pages revealing lettering.He glanced at the shop windows and saw several volumes spread out on top of a large map.

Pengolod was immediately drawn to it, for no matter how many changes he experienced in Middle-earth, the profession of scribe, scholar, and linguist remained unchanged.He admired the clean lines that divided the columns of the journals, and the simple red capitals that adorned the inside pages of the text.There was a painted board propped against the wall in front of the shop, and he leaned over it so he could read the writing.The text is written in an elven alphabet—Tengwar—and the board assures:

----Logbook

----map

----copy

---- Write letters that meet the requirements of Armenelos

----Elvish translation

Add another sentence below with another color of paint:

----Yes, I also draw signboards

Curiously, there was a small set of ropes and anchors hanging on the wall above the sign, but Pengolod didn't take a second look at it. The words "interpreting Elvish" irritated him, especially after hearing that dreaded Sindarin at the awning on the pier.The man who painted the sign didn't even distinguish between Sindarin and Quenya, the two main elven languages.That's his mother tongue!Quaint, beautiful, he'd used them all his life, loved them, and yet they had to be poisoned by a half-assed mapmaker!Just thinking about it was enough to get him out of his sad daydreams.He carefully tucked his hair back behind his pointy ears, and shook out and smoothed the folds of his cloak—it was a pale green that might have been called "scholar green," the color of the most revered elves. The symbol of scholars, only they are eligible to join the "Guild of Language Masters" Ram Beiying Gemo [1].Then, he straightened his back and pushed open the door of the shop, preparing to meet the so-called Elvish translator.