If someone (let’s say… Elrond, for reasons) gave you an entire week off and insisted you go camping to 'relax your delicate nerves', what would you pack? Who would you bring (if anyone)? What activities would you do? And most importantly, how long before something deeply strange or mildly cursed happens in the woods?

Ah, what a divine question—finally, someone acknowledges that I too crave the woods and moss and mist and a break from the ever-mounting piles of parchment.

Contrary to what certain people (Glorfindel) may believe, I do in fact love camping. I adore the sound of wind in the leaves, the smell of pine and wet earth, and waking up at dawn with the sun turning everything gold. What I do not adore is someone stealing my boots in the night or replacing my herbal tea with “something stronger, it builds character,” Glorfindel.

Now—what would I pack?

A map (hand-annotated, colour-coded, waterproofed, thank you very much)

My journal

My sketchbook and watercolours (also a set for Eredin, because he likes to pretend he’s not an artist, but the last time we camped, he painted a moth that made me cry)

A tent, because I am not sleeping under a tree like a feral forest sprite unless the stars are particularly charming that night

Herbs, bandages, snacks, a travel kettle, and cocoa powder, because what’s the point of communing with nature if you can’t be cozy?

As for companions…

Eredin, of course. My dearest companion in life, mushroom-identification debates, and emotionally fraught fireside conversations.

Glorfindel, because if I don’t invite him, he’ll invite himself anyway and then say things like “you didn’t say I couldn’t follow you.” Plus, he is useful when a tree needs to be dramatically chopped for kindling or wrestled.

Elihal, because we require a ranger, someone to tell us which berries will kill us, and quite frankly, that man deserves to unclench his jaw and touch moss without pretending he’s not enjoying it.

Activities, you ask?

Gentle morning walks to collect mushrooms, herbs, and possible cursed stones

Sketching by the river, where Glorfindel will inevitably fall in “accidentally”

Campfire cooking, which devolves into a chaotic symphony of spice debates and Eredin pretending not to be a culinary genius while somehow plating a stew like a forest prince

Trail hiking, complete with stories, light complaining, and possibly a brief and completely unprovoked race to the top of the hill

How long before something deeply strange or mildly cursed happens?

Ten minutes. Max. The woods hum differently when we enter. Last time, a frog stared directly into Eredin’s soul, we found a ring of mushrooms that Elihal refused to acknowledge, and something kept rearranging our boots. Glorfindel claimed it was a squirrel. I claim Glorfindel was the squirrel.