Source (with notes and explanation):
https://ryon.pageride.com/eng/my-creation/tolkien-fanfiction/song-for-elbereth/
(my original website)

Song for Elbereth

Middle-earth is full of beauty

Quendi folk sing tenderly

intertwining polyphonies

campfires, cosiness and glee.

They praise also stars of Valar:

Nénar, Carnil - flower of red

put a bit of herself inside,

chased away the darkness aside

Sitting near a fireplace in the tavern in Clivings, Lusseriel had her attention on the notebook in her laps.  

“I last wrote when we were in Mansig’s camp. We found a good vantage point to find the direction the uruks were taking. We saw it in the form of a cloud of dust in the distance.

”I would like to buy you breakfast”, Delioron said. He was standing at Radawen’s door in the guesthouse they both had rooms in. Radawen looked at Delioron through the cracked door, dressed only in her morning robe, eyes still drowsy with sleep.

Her hand was clenched, tightly gripping the small object within a sweaty grasp. Her eyes were closed. Water vapor sprayed her face as the waters from the falls thundered in her ears. She still held onto the object in her hand for dear life.

My days fly by while yours gracefully drift
Their disparate paces strain our held hands
My days are blurs of your presence, laughing, touching, loving
Am I full enough in yours?
The sun cannot stop, but might it slow, to give me more of you?

Spring flowers, their scent a quick whiff
Summer warmth, a moments blush    
Autumn colors, a flash of your beauty
Winter cold, too brief our slumbering embrace
The sun cannot stop, but might it slow, to give me more of you?

In the Guard room, Elsa collapsed, sinking into darkness as the prison break she had made happen raged around her. Holding in her intestines, her last thought was that this must surely be her end. 

And it was….however….

A curse and a pox to you, once a friend, now a foe. A curse to the one who slipped her wŕetched dagger between my ribs and twisted oh so cruelly. To the one turning their head towards split tongued serpents, believing every damnable lie that crosses your path. To you of twisted soul and blackened heart who sits astride the horse of one's ego, may your horse stumble and fall, unseating you from your saddle up on high and cast you into the dirt of humility and realization.