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Extracts from Erestor's journal upon the most recent-and distressing- events.

These past few weeks have truly begun to take their toll on everyone here. There was once a time when would mention the good news first, but I no longer know what to consider good news anymore. The search parties found the orcs' lair, nestled deep in the misty mountains between here and Lorien, and the Lady Celebrían whom we had not heard from for altogether too long. That joy lasted all of a few short seconds as we realized the extent of her treatment at their hands. For six days now, Elrond has barely left her chamber, leaving only to request more supplies, and finally for sleep and nourishment with my utmost insistence.  

As a healer, he's done all he can, and it's not enough. Though not one myself, it is more than evident in his listless tone, the dull look in his eyes on the rare times he does make eye contact with anyone. As a husband, he refuses to admit it. He would not leave her side, not even to change out of he blood-soaked shift that literally clung to his body while she slept.  I think he knows it; but who can blame him?


Yesterday; I can hardly bear to think of it, let alone put pen to it, but I feel that I must nonetheless. Yesterday, he deemed her stable enough to leave the healing wings for a short time. I think he hoped that the sound of the river and scents of her favorite gardens would aid in her healing, but if anything, it made things far worse. Upon recognizing the music of the flowing water of the Bruinen, she froze. At first, we thought it a good thing. That is, until she started trembling. When he reached to comfort her, Celebrían screamed as if she were…. Elbereth. I do not know. I do not want to know what they did that would make her scream so at the sound she once loved.  Elrond was paler in that moment then even she was, and I felt even my own heart freeze.


She will sail, she has made that much clear since her rescue. I think that Elrond has now finally realized it for himself. He has withdrawn from our company, seeking solace in solitude. More often than not, I have seen him in that same garden, head clasped in his hands.  I asked him once, what he sought. His words echo in my mind even now.

I search for a way to show her the Music of the River that she once loved. It is tainted, and I cannot find a way to cleanse it.
As submitted to 2010's Back to Middle-earth Month contest.

Challenge: They say music soothes the savage beast. Or does it? Write a story surrounding the idea of music and music-making as something that does not calm and soothe but, rather, energizes or antagonizes.
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April 19, 2010
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