((Chronologically this was before Daerundros met Yendë))
The Moonlight streamed in through the window with a steady glow, illuminating the candle-lit Bedroom with a vigorous shine as it passed through the glass. The scribbling of a quill upon parchment could be heard from a table that faced this exact window, a beautiful, slender and tall Elven Woman seated upon a throne of Mallorn wood. She was dressed in white garments, reminiscent of the colours of the walls, though upon her face there was a frown visible.
Daerundros crumpled the parchment. With a frustrated glance she threw it to the floor, before grasping her face in her hands, looking utterly lost as her fingers absent-mindedly grabbed another parchment and set it before her eyes. With a blink, she looked up at the stars thoughtfully, looking anxious and nervous. Yet it was so that the worry grappled her too tightly, and soon her quill was trailing over the parchment, writing in elegant, flowing script.
"Faeranir,
I am sorry I could not contact you nor tell you of my unexpected departure, love. I have been urgently called to Lothlórien to investigate claims of Orcs and Horse-riders creeping upon the borders of Thinglad. I arrived here upon the Lady's request and now I am heavily tasked with watching and ensuring no men nor Orcs pass the bounds of Thinglad without the Lady's leave. I apologize for my foolish behaviour and hope that I have not hurt your feelings.
Things in Lórien are getting strange indeed. Our guests have taken leave now, though, as mentioned above, there is growing concern over orc-threats from the north and from the South, it has been told that a host of Horse-riders from Northern Rohan have been seen trespassing the woods and camping within Thinglad. Personally I have always had a distaste for the Horse-riders of the Wold... they call us the Dwimordene, terrible creatures who take children away at night, and refer to the Lady as the Witch of the Wood, something I scorn.
News from the South is also curious... I have heard that Trolls and Orcs have descended down from the Misty Mountains and are roaming about Parth Celebrant wreaking havoc and destruction. Rumour also holds that the Easterlings are on the move to invade the Wold.
I am sorry I could not have told you this sooner love, but the errand was urgent. I hope you are fine wherever you currently are.
Daerundros"
With a long and heavy sigh, Daerundros rolled up the parchment and sealed it with wax.
"Mercandur." She called across the room. Her voice was answered by the screeching of a magnificent black-speckled Falcon that descended down from it's perch and flew to Daerundros' shoulder, nibbling her ear affectionately.
"Mecandur, take this letter to Faeranir. You know who Faeranir is, do you not?" She said affectionately, caressing the bird's head. With an appraising eye the Falcon looked at her straight in the eye with it's stern gaze, before it gave what appeared to be a nod. Holding it's talon out impatiently, Daerundros smiled to herself as she attached the sealed letter to Mercandur's leg. With a screech of anticipation she watched the Falcon fly off, smiling timidly, before the candle was extinguished, and the window shut. The curtains were closed, and all remained dark.
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The Falcon tilted his head back and forth as he surveyed the cold snow below him. Fanuidhol, Caradhas, Silverlode... he could name all three mountains, for he had ascended above the heavens and felt the chill winds of the mighty three blow against his ruffled feathers. It was a moody, cloudy day above the Misty Mountains. Mercandur looked down as he saw small specks of the charred remains of what appeared to be Durin's tower dotted in the snow. Perked with curiosity, the Falcon swooped down to examine the debris.
A slight shock caught him off guard as he swished straight into a cloud. The cool crystal air immediately hit his already-ruffled feathers and he gave a redounding screech as he felt every inch of his body drenched in ice-cold water. Ascending higher, he found the cloud he had flown into was much bigger than what he expected. He went higher, and higher...
The moonlight streamed above the the clouds as he emerged a wet mess from the cloud and into the high night-sky. The stars gleamed above him merrily, but below him he could only see clouds; All of middle-earth was covered in moody grey, as far as his sharp eyes could see.
Yet this caused confusion for him, for in his haste to find a way out of the cloud he had ended up steering away from the course he desired, and had now found himself high above the air, with the letter still on his leg.
Making a head-first nose-dive down, Mercandur let out a high screech as he whistled down the clouds, feeling the icy air once more drenching his feathers. It would be over soon, he could get down again...
((Artwork by me :)))
Snow... terribly cold snow... it hit him in the face as he emerged once more below the clouds. The wind was whipping wildly and was violently throwing him in the air as he struggled to fly. Deciding the low-course would be best, he made a descent straight down.
Even in the unruly weather he could see the bright white of the Misty Mountains. Flames flickered somewhere unknown, though he suspected it came from the Settlement of Goblin-town - he had been thrown off course too hard that he was now flying north, very near to the goblins... he could hear their harsh voices carry over the wind.
A sudden screech made him hesitate, and a split second he was confused. Yet even as he looked down a terrible pain in his left wing made him scream out in pain. For a few moments he remained airborne, cushioned by the wind that was whipping him around.
The goblins jeered. They watched as the black speck fell out of the sky and disappeared over a mountain horizon. A hazy fog fell over the mountains as the snow slowly disippated and become a cold morning dawn.
