I dream of the warm Eregion, with its yellow-green grass burned by the sun, with the dry ground that seems to have drunk the river, with little water hiding under ruins of old, water from a rain that seems hard to believe it showered that earth so hot and thirsty. I dream of the sunny Eregion, home of dreams and legends, and my own impressions of the place blend with Veryacano’s words on its past and with other stories I heard longer ago from Cirdamir. A past I wish I had lived, the time of glory of our kin. I dream the smell of the earth there, most sur-real place I have ever seen, only to wake up in the shadows of Moria, Dwarow-delf, Khazad-dum, with the smell of water pouring from the ceiling in places, with the cold of the rock still there under the blanket, unpleasant even if not unbearable.
I cannot feel love for this place. Veryacano seemed almost to have returned home and in time. He proved to be an amazing travel companion, a book on history and the life of this dark place but speaking with passion. I felt again small and regretted my judging him so fast as rushed and unwise. He is rushed and fiery and anger is a bad adviser he too eagerly listens to. But the experience of so many ages I underestimated greatly.
While I was still adjusting to the shadow when he gritted the dwarf guards and looked around as he found joy in entering the cave. He told me with pride of the time of old and the trade and peace between the Noldor and the Dwarfs. I can guess this road was familiar to him and reminded him happy times. I wonder how he was then. I start to believe we are not so different and acknowledge in my heart that my mother was right to laugh of my consternation when I first found out we are kin. How will I be after such time? And where?
But my thoughts search dreams that do not belong to this place or time. We had different plans as to how to find our friend. While I hoped more to make him find me Veryacano intends to ask the dwarfs, search for traces and dig the very cave if necessary. I will not do the mistake to underestimate him again. But I am of no use in his plan. I probably do not know the customs of the dwarfs and how to approach them and the stones would be happier to answer my questions. I blush when I see the difference to Veryacano’s talking to them, in anger and frustration. He seems to know the name of every beast, stone or mineral, the history and the setup of the place.
We camped for a while in a place called Dolven View. It is a impressive hall, tens times the height of an elf and as large as to host a small army. Banners adorned to the ceiling give it the grandeur of a throne room for giants. And Veryacano seemed somewhat to match that scene I must admit.
He seems to know what to do in this place.I am tempted to follow my own plan when I can be of little use to him. Where would you hide, friend? I doubt is near the settlements of the garrison that fights to retake Moria as I doubt you are known to them as more then a shadow fighting by chance the same enemy. Is it even one place in this barrow looking maze that you claimed as home or is it at the mercy of fate for our paths to cross, each wandering the darkness?
