Legolas Thranduilion of Dol Galenehtar, The Green Knight of Gondor, Prince of Mirkwood, of the Nine Walkers, Ithilien,

To Bandobras Took my Beloved and Compassionate Esquire, for Whom my Heart Longs, Who in Sundry Months Shall Begin His Journey to Renew His Apprenticeship, Crickhollow

My Dear Bandobras,

Well, it is over.  So much for my Lady Mother's grand schemes, and Galás and Kaimelas' conspiracies, and Círdan's desires, and my own half-hearted dreams.  I shall not marry, nor shall I father children; there shall be no lady at the helm of my fiefdom; Mithlond and Dol Galenehtar shall maintain their ruse of fair trade but the union of House to House is brought low.  I shall dwell alone in my chambers in my high tower; I shall preside over feasts and festivals with no consort at my side; I shall dandle other men's infants upon my knee, watch them grow and attain age and die; I shall wait me 'til the Sea-Longing has quite overwhelmed my soul and then take me to ship and sail to the West, solitary and unbound.  How tender and sorrowful your letter was, my Bandobras!  But be not so sad for me; it is not my heart but my pride that has been crushed; in either case one has but to hold one's head erect and feign to the watching world one has swiftly recovered, so that they believe it too; I to my relief am surrounded quite by friends and allies who give to me comfort and help in this hour, so that I am not so subdued as I might have been, had this unpleasant happenstance occurred last year.  So lift your little head as well, my Bandobras!  In Spring shall you be with me and I be rid of the pestilence that has so infected my halls; perhaps all shall not be well but it shall be a great improvement.

Now on to better topics!  Fastred and Hísimë are here with me, for Lady Éowyn has delivered herself of another child, a son, whom she and Lord Faramir have named Théodred.  It was the name of Lady Éowyn and King Éomer's cousin, who was to have assumed the throne at King Théoden's death, but was taken to Mandos untimely and the crown passed to Éomer instead.  Andunië was present at the birth (there is a dearth of midwives in Osgiliath and Faramir asked for aid; I should have gone myself if not for the unfortunate mistake I made, that currently hides away in her chambers) and told me little Théodred is a great strapping child, red of face and loud of voice, and his arrival was not easy; Lady Éowyn had many difficulties in bringing him forth due to his excessive size and the passage was painful for her (how I hope your dear mother objects not to my telling you this, but in truth you are of an age to understand and it is knowledge that may do some good in the future); Andunië also reported to me that midway through the procedure Lady Éowyn took hold of her husband's collar, and shaking him like a rag doll demanded he ride immediately to Dol Galenehtar to fetch me, as the other attendants were (here I am quoting Andunië) too stupid to deliver her properly.  I have had a note from Faramir, expressing his relief no permanent damage was done to his lady, and a desire that this third child shall be their last, for her threats (so he tells me) grow the direr with each subsequent child.  I am surprised, for when I delivered Éowyn of Hísimë she abused me not, though her pain and discomfort were great and she far gone in distress; however as I was not the architect of her agony perchance she had more mercy upon me and stilled her tongue.  But Fastred and Hísimë are happy to have a little brother; Fastred's first question to me was, "Lord Lassah, when shall you teach Théodred to shoot with bow and arrow?  I need someone my own age to have tourneys with!"  And Hísimë, after expressing discontent the child was not a girl, asked if I was willing to keep the new baby as well when they came to visit; when I told her I was, she brightened and said, "O I am glad, Lord Lassah!  I was so afraid three children would be too much for you.  My nurse always tells me two are a handful and three are a curse."  At that point both Fastred and Hísimë decided to grill me about my own childhood, both being appalled that I had neither brother nor sister with whom to play, yet perhaps a little envious too, for I needed not share my parents' love with any other child, but did monopolize their affections for myself.  This interrogation of theirs lasted well past sundown, until Hísimë fell asleep on my lap, and Fastred nodded beside me at the hearth; so as to not disturb them I allowed them to sleep in my chambers again, and as for a wonder I had little else of import to do, spent my night in contemplation of the stars, greatly to my relief and benefit.

Hallas' eldest son Baldor and Fastred are become close friends; as I write they ride their Bandy-sleds down the hill (I am amazed for it neither snows nor sleets today, and all the children are running about out of doors, to the relief of Andunië and Hirilcúllas, as they complain the most about children being underfoot) in company with the other little ones; their laughs and shouts ring across the courtyard, though they are muffled somewhat by the cloudy canopy, which is – of course – heavy and dark with promised snow.  Indeed it has done naught but snow for months, Little One, and the only people in Gondor who complain not are the children, who spend their time building men of snow, or digging tunnels, or having little wars throwing snow-missiles, or sledding upon their Bandy-sleds down the slope into the valley.  Only Hísimë and one of Hallas' daughters, Lirien, are indoors; they are playing with Gimli's doll-house in the library, and have asked me to help them when I am finished writing to "Lord Lassah's Bandy."  Now all the children here call me by that title; Aldamir reproved Galen for calling me thus, saying it were discourteous, but I begged him to relent; rather would I be known as "our Lord Lassah" by these precious little ones than any other name, for in childish lispings I delight, and their simple and innocent accolades are more pleasing to me than all the titles and honors I possess.

Gimli, to my sorrow and his relief, has returned at last to Aglarond; he had a message from Rohan saying a new vein of gold had been found, and the clan war he suppressed was arising once more; you ought to have seen him, my Bandobras, as he rode off with Meivel, bundled so upon his pony I could scarce see him through the furs; he put me in mind of a great fat muskrat as he jogged along.  But he arrived in good order (though it took twice as long for them to fight through the drifts) and King Éomer's last dispatch to me was promising, as well it might be, for Gimli pays Éomer a tithe of gold against any precious stones or minerals he might find in his caves, and Dwarves being Dwarves and able to descry the tiniest clue leading to a lode, Éomer has through his generosity to this little colony greatly enriched himself.

Now all are debating whether we ought to go to Minas Tirith for the Mid-Winter's Feast, or have our own separate celebration here; should we decide to go poor Hwindiö shall be constrained to build more great sleds for our horses to pull (the roads are impassable; one can only travel by sleigh or on horseback, and even then it is arduous), yet if we stay King Elessar's halls shall be empty of revelers.  For myself I am inclined to go; Lady Éowyn and little Théodred would come here and between her and her ladies' maids the little ones would be well cared for, leaving my own folk free to enjoy festivities not made by their own efforts; after these past months well do they deserve that treat!  And it is quite jolly to travel by sleigh across the Pelennor, my dear Little One; do you remember the moonlight ride we took, you and Gimli and Faramir and I, from the gates of Minas Tirith to Osgiliath so long ago?  The swish of the runners over the glimmering snow, the clear high ringing of the bells on the harness, the sprays of snow flying back from Piukka's hooves, the white and blue of the landscape, the glittering canopy of stars! O that you were here to ride with me to Minas Tirith, snuggled down beside me in thick fur rugs, bricks hot from the oven to warm our feet; we should fly across the snowy expanse to the White City, the tower of Ecthelion gleaming like an wizard's staff in the dimness, beckoning to us with its twinkling lights and faint faery-music!  How I wish you were here, my Little One, to cradle my bruised heart in your tender hands; my countenance would brighten were you but by my side, and I could begin to forget my disappointments.

Well, it is a good thing Aragorn has employed my people to see to the couriers; otherwise the post would freeze along with the rest of Middle-Earth.  My Lord Father in his last letter did tell me the icicles hang so thick over the front archway of his palace they chime and drop not when the doors swing shut; also when one of the icy spears happens to fall all must beware, for they are big around as an Elf's waist, and should they strike someone great damage might be incurred.  The Long Lake is nearly frozen solid, and the children of Dale and Esgaroth take great pleasure in sliding across it from end to end; the Dwarves of Erebor are of course snug and safe within the Lonely Mountain, and Glóin has unbent enough to send to my Lady Mother a lantern of fabulous make – perhaps we shall see it, when we pass through Eryn Lasgalen again – soon, I hope, within the next few years; it has been long indeed since you sojourned in my Lord Father's halls, and I know he and my Lady Mother miss you as well.

And now O Bandobras I shall bid you farewell for now; Hísimë and Lirien have cunningly trapped Dúrfinwen and Seimiel to play dolls with them, and Fastred and Baldor want me to teach them to make snow-houses.  Do you remember making that snow-house, the winter you were here?  You and Gimli and I could barely all fit within, but at least it did not collapse until after we egressed.  Gimli was as I recall very chagrined by that.  But I shall don my warm clothing and get me to the courtyard; perhaps amidst the laughter of the children I shall numb my aching spirit, and forget for a time the occurrences of the past year.

Write to me and quickly, my Bandobras!  I miss you and am counting the days 'til Spring.

Your Master,

Legolas