Tianwen·Magweth Pengolodh

The valley we've found will allow us to rest while we wait for Gil-Galad's reinforcements, tend to many of the wounded, and probably provide us with food for months.It was a beautiful place, with oaks and chestnuts in deep clefts, and fragrant pines and firs on the top of the cliffs.A fast-flowing river runs through the valley floor, and there are even patches of grass for our horses to graze.Our four leaders—Elrond, Celebrian, Galadriel, and Celeborn—reckon it will provide us with food for months.They are all wise men, and their conclusions are correct.

Unfortunately, we were stuck there for more than two years.

Now we know that it was because the Orcs in the Misty Mountains blocked Thranduil's reinforcements from the west, and Sauron's main force turned to attack the outskirts of Lindon, leaving just enough men to watch over our valley and block us. inside.Realizing how bad our situation was, we managed to distribute what little food we had, eking out a living on acorns, river fish, and horsemeat.This is about my horse.She survived for a long time, not because of my modest status, but because she was a mare.I took care of her and it helped me with my grief.I don't ride her often, but during the siege it was a pastime for me.But she didn't have a foal after two winters, alas, so she was... let's just say, drafted.

That night, though my hands were so emaciated that I could count the bones, I didn't eat the meal my good steed had cooked.Someone found me.When I saw her approach, I stood up, both as a respect for a lady and ready to accept the task. "Lady Celebrian, what can I do for you?" I asked, looking up at her.

Celebrion was the daughter of two tall nobles, and she inherited her parents' height.She has a youthful face to you, with long, wavy silver hair (a color that sometimes occurs among elves), and silver-grey eyes.Celebrion's mother had been a warrior woman in her youth, and her daughter had inherited that side of her.Celebrion is sharp, bold, and very keen to ride horses.She said to me, with the sympathy of her comrades: "I asked the quartermaster, and they said today's horse is yours. I want to tell you, I was very sorry to hear. She is a good horse."

This is tantamount to adding sadness to sadness. I wanted to control my emotions, but instead I developed a weird sense of humor.I said, "Ah, so you've tried some loins? They say that's the best part."

"I can't force myself to eat horsemeat, so I don't know if she's good," said Celebrion. I looked her up again.She, too, was too emaciated from the siege.Then, pinning my shoulders, she cut back on my bad joke: "I noticed you didn't eat any of it either. I understand, because I too was terribly upset when my dear steed was put to that use. But We all know that our need is so urgent." She didn't have to say I knew that her own stallion was the first to be killed.

Words cannot describe the sympathy in her benevolent gaze and touch.At that moment, Elrond came forward.I'm not annoyed, because he's here to save me from crying in front of her.He said, "Greetings, Mrs. Pengolod, Ma'am. Celebrian, am I all right in speaking to our good staff?" She nodded, and he went on, "There is a matter to be settled. The Qazad fighters among us want to set aside another horse for rations."

She sighed, and whispered to him: "Sometimes I really understand my father, you know what I mean?" Seeing that Elrond nodded sympathetically, she said, "What they mean is, don't let him go for a week." Once, but now, or in the middle of a week?"

Elrond was only a few feet away from her, but he stood where he was.He said frankly: "They haven't thought about this specific issue carefully. They are only busy getting angry."

"Plus stubbornness?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Plus stubbornness," Elrond admitted.

"They didn't leave the anvil at home!" they said in unison, and then they laughed, and they moved closer together, like two big trees swaying in the same gust of wind.I don't understand why they find it funny, but I can see what the unspoken joke means.

Celebrian noticed the pain in my face, and took a moment to cast me another sympathetic look.But instead of mourning for my horse, I saw—no doubt before both of them—that Celebrion and Elrond were falling in love.I say little about my own private life; what I can say is that a man whom I so much wished to be alive died because of the war in Eregion.Witnessing this scene in front of me, I feel that the sorrow has added another layer.

"Pengolod, please forgive me. I know that such a last resort should not be ridiculed. Lord Elrond, let us go. I will exercise the authority you have so kindly emphasized for me." She gave me an old-fashioned curtsey and went away, Elrond following her.I soon heard that the dwarves gave in to her feminine authority.

Another week passed, and my companions tried to comfort me, but I was still moping.Alfwine, when you and I first met, you recognized me in the robe of Rambeingermo.well!The impact of the Great War on us masters of words can be brutal.Of the thirty scholars in our guild, I am the only one who survived.But there I found an unexpected friend—Aristor.Together we have slogged through the siege and our separate sorrows, and our old rivalries have largely faded away. (I must confess, there is still some left over, enough for us to play with words and argue bitterly with each other.) I said to him that day that since all that was left of my mare was memories and a piebald hide, I probably It's time to face horsemeat again.As soon as I finished speaking, there was an eagle flying overhead, calling clearly.We were all stunned.For months, he was the first messenger bird to escape an orc's arrows.It brings good news.

As it turned out, my poor piebald mare was the last horse to die as a ration.Around the valley, fighting broke out, and the line of defense that surrounded us began to crumble.The hosts of Númenor are aided by the Herald of the Dark Forest and the warriors of Lindon, and a coalition of three forces is striving to free us.We are ready to either fight the final battle or end this siege.

Two days later, the siege ended.

Those who came to rescue us descended into the valley, thinking we would be ecstatic.We were ecstatic too - after a full meal.Many reunited, and we exchanged news that contained as much sorrow as joy.Many of our kind were slain in Lindon; and fewer fled Eregion than expected.Still, it was then that I met someone who would have kept me in Middle-earth, if anything.

Aristor found me among the reunited crowd: "Pengolod, there is a man from the Black Forest who says he is your nephew."

I couldn't believe it: "Nephew? A long time ago, my nephews all died. Who could he be?"

Eristo responded calmly: "I don't know, but that young man looks a lot like you, almost like your son. You'd better go and see." He led me through the newcomers, "That's over there , that young man." I held my breath.He really resembled my young relatives who died in the fall of Gondolin.I said uneasily to Aristor, "His hair is lighter than mine, and his eyes are darker than mine. Besides, he's not tall enough."

"Still striking. Are you sure you don't have any living relatives?" Aristor asked.

Before I could answer, the elf whose identity was still in doubt found Aristor by accident.He ran up to us, full of youthful vigor, really bright: "Is that him? Are you Pengolod? — Uncle! It's great to see you!"

I raised a hand: "Boy, stop, don't put this hat on me yet. Who are you? You say you are related to me by blood. What is your basis?"

"Sir, my name is Merpermine. It is said in my family that one of our ancestors married a Noldorian woman. One of his sons was a knight in the court of the Noldor." The content of the score is my father and my name.Somehow, some distant relatives vaguely remembered my apprenticeship as Rumir.I corrected the misunderstanding, and we sorted out the ins and outs of this kinship.At last I said: "So you are the son of my father's brother's daughter. When my father went to Nevrast, his brother went to Doriath. So you are my nephew two generations apart. "

"Aren't you my uncle?" the Melpermane was discouraged when he heard that.

I can't help but feel a little sympathetic to him: "We can say that I'm your uncle. I am."

He suddenly got excited, and called again: "Uncle! I have heard so many stories from my family, and it is so good to meet you! Did you survive the battle with the magic of manipulating runes?"

Aristor on my left tried to hold back his laughter, but was defeated.And I protested, "No! I'm a scholar, not a mage. At least, I'm not a mage like the scholars of old."

"Is there a difference? What do you do?" asked the young elf, wringing his hands in confusion.