Figwit is, well, it's mostly used by the same kinds of people who talk about you, lord Elrond, and the battering ram. Although, i swore i heard a voice, as well, that sounded very much like lord Glorfindel.
Ah. Of course. The battering ram discourse.
I had thought—naïvely, I see now—that it had, at last, been laid to rest. That we as a people had moved past it. That time, in its boundless mercy, had granted us reprieve. But no. Like a cursed relic buried beneath centuries of dust, only to be unearthed by some unsuspecting scholar who should have left it alone, it returns.
And now, Figwit.
I do not know whether I should feel honored or deeply, deeply exhausted by the knowledge that my name is spoken in the same breath as such discourse. A name that—if my own scholarly deductions are correct—stands for "Fine, Great… Witty Fig?" That cannot be right, and yet it is the best theory I have.
And Glorfindel. Of course his voice was heard. I would not be surprised if he were deliberately feeding this nonsense, lounging somewhere with a goblet in hand, chuckling to himself as he sows further chaos. I know what you have done, Glorfindel.
Alas, I suppose I am powerless to stop such things from being said. Words, once loosed into the world, take on lives of their own. And if I must bear this, then so be it.
But I beg you—leave the battering ram in the past. Let it rest. I am weary.
