14 Víressë, 3018

To:

Boromir, Son of Denethor

Dear Brother,

Tonight we stay hidden; a perfect moon shines fully on the forest and I deem we should not venture into it and risk discovery.  The men are weary from much good work, and I am just as glad to find an opportunity for rest.

Our gadfly campaign continues to sting; the Enemy suffers increasing casualties as we exact a toll for his brazen trespass on our lands.  Now he finds his ways harried, his steps limited and uneasy while, eglerio galu*, we have sustained few losses, though dear.

But what we have gained in conflict we have lost in impunity.  They have begun to search for us.  Large, crashing parties of Orcs range about the forest, keeping largely to the North and East.  But they do more damage to her than to us; Ithilien will not be coerced and keeps her secrets for those who love her; so we remain as shadows.

Like you, I sleep little, and my thoughts often turn toward home.  So we must look to one another though the Pelennor lies between; I under the moon and you under the sun.  It puts me in mind of the rhyme old Istuidhir⁺ drummed into us as children:

  “First is Anórien, Land of the Sun,
Ever-enduring Guard of the West;
Mighty in strength, crownéd in Stone;
Anárion’s pride, Elendil’s rest.”

So you are, my brother.  And for me:

“Between Anduin and the mountains
Walks the Moon in Isildur’s realm;
Mother of Stewards, Land of Fountains –
Fair and forsaken Ithilien.”

And so she is.

As I imagine you pacing the stones of Minas Tirith here it is the river which gives me some measure of peace.  I know you will laugh but I will tell you many nights I almost believe she has words for me, could I understood her murmurings.  Though I and my men sleep in the day, I think we still dream at night. 

Even in the burgeoning spring there is a hush over Ithilien; ghosts walk here.  While the sun’s rays penetrate in broad shafts through the canopy thick with sycamore, oak and maple leaves the moon makes his presence known to us in a pervasive silver glow that is startlingly beautiful, though eerie.  Still, we are well sheltered from the constant fume of Orodruin though he is close, and I will be grateful to the proximity of the Ephel Duath for nothing but that it hides us from view of that flame-capped peak that ever must be in your sights.  Nothing can shade us from his voice, however, and we hear it rumbling in our dreams and waking.

I long to walk these paths someday in peace, Boromir.  Think you I will have the chance?  So I will hope.

~F~