((neatly penned in Lumi-kieli))

There has been so much happening that I have been so tired or busy that I have not written about any of it, so I am going to get caught up and keep it brief.

The past comes back to haunt her…

Tacita had entered the Prancing Pony hoping for a nice evening, only for it to be muddied by intense, heated conversations between the people she had grown to be familiar with. Oh, for the frustrations Egfor and Ris seemed to have with each other. Ris was now sort of in a relationship with the man Godwinn, and Tacita felt a barrage of fondness and hope for the poor Lossoth girl.

Yet, the real peril came when a too familiar person entered the inn.. Danalath.

Born in the year 720 of the Second Age in a small settlement of her people near the western shores of Lake Nenuial. She is eldest of four children; having two sisters and her brother, the youngest. Their father is Curwe Limbetanwë ((S: Lintanor)) of the Noldor; a skilled craftsman of Nargothrond and Aerynbess Celebfindriel, a Telerin elleth of the elves of Doriath and Eglarest is their mother.

It started out like any other morning. The Lady made her bed just before Gleoith and Freawine woke up. The birds were chirping and there was the numb feeling in her head of wakefulness. Wakefulness that would motivate her to move.  She peered at her face in the mirror as part of her daily routine, observing every detail of her face.  From the curve of her jaw to the intensity of her own eyes.

The torches of the black room illuminated them, on the steps to his throne. The Black Numenorean Lord, powerful and mighty, held a scrawny woman in heavy robes. He was tender in his embrace, soft and kind. She was his willing captive, fallen into his arms. The torches flickered as they stood in solitude. No one was here to see him weak, and to see him be weak with a slave. A high ranking, well off slave, but still a slave.

He asked her the same question once again.