Post by Aikári Salmarinian on Mar 11, 2022 15:58:46 GMT
This was posted before on the Plaza, this is a second try. This told by Legolas himself as he is the I-character in this account.
Have fun reading!
Don't move this thread to any other place, it's work to view and read.
Don't move this thread to any other place, it's work to view and read.
1. Foreword.
Where should I begin this account? With no idea I just begin writing and will see where it shall come to an end. You see, my life isn’t special. I don’t descend from important kings, or got a long ancient line of renowned forefathers. I am just the son to my father and mother, blond-haired, blue-eyed and regular facial features. I have no other brothers or sisters, or nieces and nephews. What I like most about me are the fine eyebrows than the heavy ones my father got. Those give him a leading arrogance that didn’t rest on my shoulders. I had the natural merriness of my mother, but that hid under layers of judgements and truths, where for merriness was no place. So I seldom smiled or laughed. Times without darkness sound to me like a dream, but I don’t know it. From the moment I was born and became an important member in my family, the borders were always protected and no strangers were let in. While I was so young, my father never admitted anyone in my presence and said to my mother she had to keep me in their chambers. I was a secret in the outside world, so Orcs could not plans raids on the city I lived, or Dwarves abduct me to use me for a bargain. But when there were no guests or visitors I was free to go where I liked, but within limits. I liked to jump, run and climb, and ride horses. I wasn’t afraid of heights and depths. Back then I was a little more energetic than I was today, but if I wanted I could execute an action and not being tired afterwards. I was seldom tired, even after a long time running. What our mortal neighbours called acrobatics that was normal to me.
What’s an account really? That’s a writing by me, seen by my own eyes. Not through the eyes of my father or mother, or a loremaster. Just me. This is the world of Middle Earth seen through my eyes. And I take pride in it, that this account is unique in this sort, as my father says. There isn’t another like this in the world. Perhaps I sound complacent, but this is just the truth. Nobody sees the world as I see it. For example on darkness. The lords of the west are blind to what’s happening and the course is Amon Lanc, the naked hill in the southern spheres of Mirkwood, almost just across the river of Lothlorien. I have never been there and most unlikely I will ever come there. But it’s the cause of the disease over Mirkwood, the sick trees whose leaves are withering before they are full grown in spring and whose roots are blackening, because the grounds become poisoned. Radagast knows this is an evil not of this world, and that’s true. Neither any of the other realms I have seen, or ever walked through the lands of the mortals. But from the lookout posts on my home I have seen often enough the Dwarves of Erebor, before they were forced to leave that homeland. They came to live there around the year 2000 and left nearly seven hundred years later. That was now almost hundredfifty years ago. They were brave and fearless in fight and wielded their weapons with an astonishing fierce force. Gundabad was the ancestral place where Durin the First had awoken and where the seventh tribe came from. They lived now scattered in the Ered Mithrin and the Emyn Engrin. They were not Ilúvatar’s children, but Aulë’s.
Our mortal neighbours living in that wooden town on the grand lake were no fighters at all. Mostly fishermen these days, some were hunters, but the woods were too dangerous to catch game. And on the plains grew nothing, but grass mostly. Good for cattle, but humans didn’t eat grass. So nearly each winter famine struck then, and dead were to mourn because food wasn’t enough. When the Annen froze up, it was hard to fish also. But we would not come to their aid, because the town master was usually a greedy person and held most reserves behind lock and key. The inhabitants should rise up and protest against it, but they were too afraid. They wouldn’t rise against their cruel town master. The line of Lord Girion endured, but had dwindled to normal civilians, and who now the family led I didn’t know. The people of Dale, unlike other humans, had the curious ability to understand thrusts. So this is an impression of where I live. The thirtieth century of the third age hadn’t started well. That was the current situation on the northwest side of the grand lake, which we called Annen.
Where should I begin this account? With no idea I just begin writing and will see where it shall come to an end. You see, my life isn’t special. I don’t descend from important kings, or got a long ancient line of renowned forefathers. I am just the son to my father and mother, blond-haired, blue-eyed and regular facial features. I have no other brothers or sisters, or nieces and nephews. What I like most about me are the fine eyebrows than the heavy ones my father got. Those give him a leading arrogance that didn’t rest on my shoulders. I had the natural merriness of my mother, but that hid under layers of judgements and truths, where for merriness was no place. So I seldom smiled or laughed. Times without darkness sound to me like a dream, but I don’t know it. From the moment I was born and became an important member in my family, the borders were always protected and no strangers were let in. While I was so young, my father never admitted anyone in my presence and said to my mother she had to keep me in their chambers. I was a secret in the outside world, so Orcs could not plans raids on the city I lived, or Dwarves abduct me to use me for a bargain. But when there were no guests or visitors I was free to go where I liked, but within limits. I liked to jump, run and climb, and ride horses. I wasn’t afraid of heights and depths. Back then I was a little more energetic than I was today, but if I wanted I could execute an action and not being tired afterwards. I was seldom tired, even after a long time running. What our mortal neighbours called acrobatics that was normal to me.
What’s an account really? That’s a writing by me, seen by my own eyes. Not through the eyes of my father or mother, or a loremaster. Just me. This is the world of Middle Earth seen through my eyes. And I take pride in it, that this account is unique in this sort, as my father says. There isn’t another like this in the world. Perhaps I sound complacent, but this is just the truth. Nobody sees the world as I see it. For example on darkness. The lords of the west are blind to what’s happening and the course is Amon Lanc, the naked hill in the southern spheres of Mirkwood, almost just across the river of Lothlorien. I have never been there and most unlikely I will ever come there. But it’s the cause of the disease over Mirkwood, the sick trees whose leaves are withering before they are full grown in spring and whose roots are blackening, because the grounds become poisoned. Radagast knows this is an evil not of this world, and that’s true. Neither any of the other realms I have seen, or ever walked through the lands of the mortals. But from the lookout posts on my home I have seen often enough the Dwarves of Erebor, before they were forced to leave that homeland. They came to live there around the year 2000 and left nearly seven hundred years later. That was now almost hundredfifty years ago. They were brave and fearless in fight and wielded their weapons with an astonishing fierce force. Gundabad was the ancestral place where Durin the First had awoken and where the seventh tribe came from. They lived now scattered in the Ered Mithrin and the Emyn Engrin. They were not Ilúvatar’s children, but Aulë’s.
Our mortal neighbours living in that wooden town on the grand lake were no fighters at all. Mostly fishermen these days, some were hunters, but the woods were too dangerous to catch game. And on the plains grew nothing, but grass mostly. Good for cattle, but humans didn’t eat grass. So nearly each winter famine struck then, and dead were to mourn because food wasn’t enough. When the Annen froze up, it was hard to fish also. But we would not come to their aid, because the town master was usually a greedy person and held most reserves behind lock and key. The inhabitants should rise up and protest against it, but they were too afraid. They wouldn’t rise against their cruel town master. The line of Lord Girion endured, but had dwindled to normal civilians, and who now the family led I didn’t know. The people of Dale, unlike other humans, had the curious ability to understand thrusts. So this is an impression of where I live. The thirtieth century of the third age hadn’t started well. That was the current situation on the northwest side of the grand lake, which we called Annen.