Veryacano led the small group. He was in the front,mostly covered by a dark cloack, silent and invisible as they advanced in secrecy just as much as he was bright and noisy as a thunder when in the heat of battle. The twelve that followed him elves were spread in a half circle, three in front with other three following each of them, in a formation like the rounded tail of a peacock.

This is a continuation of Black Iron - The Smith begins his work (IV)
Also related to The decision (V) by Turuviel

A continuation of this story, meaning it is entirely unreliable and biased.

Furley winced as he cleaned his wound again with water. It had been a miserable few days, and he was cold, dirty, tired and fatigued. His leg hadn't healed properly, and when he pulled the bandage back he felt he could smell something slightly acrid. If only Ashwyneth were here, he thought aloud to himself. In fact, the very thought made him think once more about giving up this escapade and returning home to comfort and wine. 

There had been an agreement, and a time had been set. The woman who knocked on the door wore a hooded cloak and was dressed in rags. One hand was gloved in wool, and the other looked out of place for such a person. The right hand, the hand which was knocking, was slender, its nails well manicured. When the door opened, she lowered her hand and allowed it to slip beneath her cloak.

Freawine sat near his favorite creek after his Mother told him to go outside and play. The neighborhood is lively enough for the time of day.  He would wait for his Nan to meet him. He didn't understand why his Mother was so closeted about anything regarding family. But again, why should he? He was only seven. He quietly compared himself to other seven-year-old boys. Why were other children bored when he showed up? Why was he taught to read before he could pick up a sword?