Was she strong enough already to go back to Imladris? Plinnlim was not sure. But she was very sure that Nogmeldir did not mind living on dwarven food at all, he had for years, and that his mentioning dishes and wine from Imladris was more with the intention of urging her to go back there than for his own desire of elven delicacies.
There he was, Arascol. They had become silent friends, the golden stag and her. On her walks around Vindurhal she had watched him many times, and he her, until one day he had trusted her enough to come close. This had been about three months ago, and his large friendly eyes and his silent understanding had made things so much easier for her. No questions, no need to tell anything, and still they understood each other. Especially when guests arrived at Vindurhal, she walked out to meet her new friend. This time though, she came to say goodbye for a while.
Riding back to Imladris awoke mixed feelings. Somehow she felt really glad to see it again, the place where she had been born and had spent the happy years of her childhood. How she loved the sound of the waterfalls, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the sound of a sweet melody sung somewhere in the valley and the faint noise of a hammer working on metal coming up from the forges. Home. That was her home. And yet, was it? With her parents gone and other elves living in the house of her childhood now, it felt somehow empty. But Nogmeldir had been right. She was strong enough by now. Months of training, of hunting in the snows of Hithaeglir - and last but not least months of dwarven food - had made her stronger. And so she could ride back with her head held high and a wistful smile on her lips.
Mallenhadh was not at home when she arrived there, so she just took a short bath, changed into the green dress her mother had given her and walked to the Last Homely House for another evening in the Hall of Fire.
This time, there was not really a crowd gathered but only a hiril she did not know and hîr Osilivren. She was so happy to see a familiar face! She knew hîr Osilivren to be friendly and good-humoured, and so was hiril Mirineth who was talking to him. Later they were joined by another hîr who did not introduce himself and spent half the night staring into the fire. Surely something did worry him? Plinnlim was not sure if it was wise to go and keep him a little company, but then she knew that there were times when one needed to be alone with their thoughts.
Soon she was distracted by the arrival of hîr Pendaen, another familiar face that made her feel even more at home. As he and hiril Mirineth had both spent many years in Mithlond, they were soon talking about this beautiful place. Later, hiril Mirineth took her harp and played some melodies that were beautiful and enchanting, and Plinnlim enjoyed her first dance after months more than she had anticipated.
And in the end, the hardest moment came when she was on her way home and after leaving the House of hîr Elrond turned right to walk over the bridge and up the path to her home. Then she remembered and froze at the spot. She would not walk up the path and her mother would not stand in front of the door, waiting for her return, making a light-hearted comment. And at that moment she could not hold back her tears. But then there was hiril Mallenhadh waiting for her outside with a warm smile and gave her a loving hug - and all was well. Plinnlim felt strong again. Strong enough.
