I recently bought a replica of Aragon's sword off amazon. and i've started to take it with me everywhere. it gives me a sense of security to know that the might of anduril, the flame of the west, is with me when i'm facing the orcs and goblins of present day middle-earth. sometimes i look at the southron hordes and the easterlings and i wonder what was the point of th elfish sacrifices to save middle-earth, since the light of the west and the glory of the Kings of Men has set all too conclusively.
I consider myself the last of the blood of numenor because i have grey, far-seeing eyes and i read and speak in elvish and have lng-lived ancestors. sometimes I wish i could meet a numenorean lady to band and fuck and repopulate the world with the ancient lineage. or if not, at least a tall blonde chick, and not one of these descendents of those who bowed to the might of sauron. but it turns out that the race of men is spent, and even if i am the last of isildur's heirs, I am destined to end the line with me.
i took up sailing a few years back in the hopes of finding the way back to Valinor, and trying to find the silmaril that was tossed into the sea and never recovered. it's said that the light of the silmaril can lead one to back to Valinor. But i've been unable to find it, even though I can hold my breath long enough to read 10 pages of LOTR. It is a cursed life to be the last of the numereans.
