Tianwen·Magweth Pengolodh

The birth and growth of his daughter Venkilot; there are a few letters written by Elrinian when he temporarily stayed in Romenna during his expedition to sea; then, Elrinian and Venkylot wrote Letters came, telling of their own lives, and how Eyadwine's pretty face had won him a marvelous marriage.When it came to the son of the two of them (also named Alfwine), the correspondence gradually slackened and stopped.To him Pengolod was but a name, and Númenor had passed.By the end of Cirjatan's reign, mortals were no longer in the mood to be friends of the elves.

Pengolod was not displeased.In fact, it seemed incredible to him to hear that Romenna had been a safe haven for the Faithful to Iluvatar and the Elves in the Dark Ages of Númenor.Perhaps it was an echo of the remnants of his long-ago friendship, or perhaps it meant that it was now the turn of the Elves to be unwelcome at court, and they had been exiled from Anduini's native land, in and around Kingstown. Take refuge among vagabonds, unlovable people, and vulgar liars.Pengolod had hoped almost desperately that those descendants of his friends had not been corrupted by the evil of Númenor's later days, but had escaped as the Faithful from the terrible end of the Isle.

He wrote that ending in his own hand. "Númenor sank into the sea with all its children, women, maidens, and proud noblewomen, all its gardens, its halls, its towers, its tombs and riches, its paintings and sculptures, its jewels and silks, its music and laughter, and wisdom and learning, all gone forever."

Pengolod opened a window and called.A magpie with bright eyes landed lightly.He pointed to the bird with an ink-stained finger, and said, "Go home, and say this: Pengolod will be late to-day, and has some unusual business to attend to." The bird jumped, Repeated, lilting mockingly, then it tilted its head expectantly. "You will be thanked for it when you get there," Pengolod replied.The bird smacked its beak and fluttered away, when Pengolod heard approaching footsteps.The footsteps were heavy, a sound he had heard before, but rarely in elven cities.He was ready when the door opened.

At least, he thought so.The mortals who enter bear no resemblance to the friends he has in mind.This man was harder, more alert, obviously tested by the arduous journey, and he glanced around as if thinking that the stone walls of Tavrobel would melt like a dream.In his tanned sailor face were gray eyes, deep-set but shining, and gray flecked with brown hair.He glanced cautiously back at the elf who had brought him here, and did not enter the study until his guide gestured to urge him.The stranger bowed to Pengolod, then looked around, pausing for a moment on a wall.There hung a tattered cloak of red and yellow canvas like a banner.This jester's cloak is all that remains of the fleet of Númenor.

"Hello. What's your name?" Pengolod asked clearly.The mortal took a few steps back, looked at the guide again, for a hint.Seeing that he really didn't understand any Elven language, Pengolod started from scratch.He pressed his ink-stained hand to his chest, said his name, and made a gesture of invitation to the mortal.

The mortal still looked serious, pressed his tanned hands to his chest, and said his name.Pengolod smiled.It had been a long time since he had heard a new language.The mortal smiled back, and at last Pengolod noticed something familiar in him.He made a "please" gesture to the large soft chair facing the window in the room.The mortal sat down cautiously.

Pengolod turned to his guide and nodded. "You can go. I think we'll talk for a while." Even between two intelligent races, the initial basic communication took some work; name, followed by syntax and actions.And, perhaps, Pengolod would learn if the mortal's name had a meaning he could discern.He had a feeling it was possible.

(End of the article)