Wintering in Rhosgobel
Menelya, this 18th Day of Narvinyë
2946th Year of the Third Age
My Old Compatriot,
Five years ago the Great Fire Drake of the North, Smaug, came down from the sky in blood and flame. Esgaroth burned. Five Armies met at the foot of Erebor the Lonely Mountain and the ground was churned into red mud. Rumors of a darkness within the Mirkwood began to stir – of a shadow that haunts the stones of Dol Guldur. Five years ago only fools hoped for a pathway through the darkness that we saw all around us.
However, we couldn't imagine what was to come.
Erebor is alive! Toys, trinkets, and fire-forged goods flow through the Great Gates. Men toil alongside Dwarves to relearn old and forgotten crafts. Consider that once again a King reigns in Dale for Bard the Bowman has taken up the crown. We are rebuilding here in The Wilderland. Five years ago who would have ever dreamed?
However, I shall write truly to you my old friend, I worry. Is there still strength remaining within the veins of the Men of the North? Fell creatures of dark power, foul Orcs, Goblins, and worse still roam the nights here. Stout hearts will be needed ere long.
But you were never one to jump at shadows, were you? Come old friend, come and see. Make the far journey and visit us here beneath the eaves of The Mirkwood.
Na lû e-govaned 'wîn,