September 28th, 2986 T. A.

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Today, while Vingilot dwelled in its haven, I followed the eastern horizon. The dawn was glorious above the Sea, the reflection of sun dancing like a flame upon the waves, but my thoughts were in the mountains, following the dance of sunlight that brings colors to the pure whiteness of snow on the high peaks. It has been a long time since I have seen the dawn in the mountains, but now I imagined it, and I saw it in my mind like for the first time. Like for the last time… Did you watch the dawn, Aragorn? Did you watch it… like for the last time?

I saw the gathering storm clouds on the east, finally shielding the merciless rays. As I think about a storm in the mountains, I fear for you… They are cruel, and as merciless as Arien. They are unforgiving, as hard as their stones… The Misty Mountains, Hithaeglir.

For the whole evening, the storm clouds have gathered above them, to unleash their power at the dusk. Fear for you gave my ship speed, and it flew like a gull upon the heavenly streams. But speed does not part the clouds that veil my sight. Desperately I look for some gap between the grey mass. Only the highest peaks tower above them, coroneted by lightning in their sinister majesty. Almost as if the mountains were alive, and all living creatures have hided in the face of their wraith. But you cannot hide…

For a short moment the whirling clouds parted, and I see you. The rain is lashing your face that seems deathly pale in the short light of lightning. But your mouth is open, and you drink the rain greedily. At least one mercy in the long torment… Yes, your look is almost thankful… Oh Aragorn! You are thankful… You watch the storm that soaks your clothes and irritates your wounds, shivering with cold, and yet you are thankful for the bit of water... How terrible your thirst must have been! Your eyes are clearer now; the cold has beaten down the worst of the fever.

Yet I am not sure if I can be thankful, too. What seems like a reprieve now, can become just a delay, changing one torment for another… The storm peaks, the lightning crashes into the grim hills, bathing the scene in flashes of sharp light, and the thunders sound like a chorus from the dreams of the dead. Streams of water are running down the valleys, stones are falling from the heights; the elements dance a wild dance tonight! The wind howls! The stones crush! The thunder rumbles! A low, dangerous sound… And among it all, you lie motionless and watch the storm, like one entranced…

I realize now: it is more than thankfulness… You love them! You love the mountains, just like I love the sea… When I watched the sea today, I imagined the mountains, but I didn’t understand. I think I do now… Yes, there is a beauty in them – a dangerous beauty. Like this storm – as if it would reveal their true nature. It is… majestic. They are cruel and unforgiving – but just. Pure… There is no lie, no falsehood in the mountains. They are what they are, tall and unchanging in the stream of time. But they have their own life. I have seen the rise and fall of mountains, yet I needed to see them through your eyes to understand. They are wild and untamed, and there is such a place in the soul of every Man. Just like the sea, they resonate with that part of the soul, wild and free.

Now I understand the look in your eyes, Aragorn. You lose yourself to the mountains and the storm, becoming a part of their passionate dance, forgetting your own pain for a while… You… you watch them as though for the last time. As if you would think this is a good place to die… No! No! Do you hear me!? Do not give up to their seducing voice! Love them, or hate them, their cruel and dangerous beauty, but do not call death yet! You will not die here!

You shake your head, and sigh. And I give a sigh of relief too, because I know that you have resisted the temptation in the voice of the storm, calling for freedom. And again you struggle forwards, drawing strength from the strength of the storm and the mountains. The quick stream of rainwater running down the valley helps you; you let yourself being carried by it for a few steps, before it grows wild, and tosses you at a boulder, and you struggle for breath in the waves washing over you. It is like the mountains – beauty and danger, help and harm. Yet you give hold of the boulder after a while, and let yourself being carried again. You must accept both sides…

The clouds close the gap again, and I lose you from my sight. It was just a short moment when I saw you, but it showed me more about the mountains then centuries of watching them from above. And it showed me much about you, too… I wish you luck, Aragorn. It is the only thing I can wish you against their dangerous beauty.