The fire crackled loudly in the peaceful night. From what Arrvelas could tell, everyone else had gone off to rest for the night. There was no more chatter, no more sounds of footsteps. Only the fire.

Lonfrik recently - and hurriedly - vacated his room at the Hammer & Harp Inn. Among the clutter of various forgotten odds and ends lies a sheet of paper, clearly a letter from someone. Perhaps in an attempt at secrecy, the message is written in Khuzdul but crudely converted to the Elvish script.

Cousin Lonfrik,

“I am a soldier of Gondor, and I will act as such. And so I will be judged.” Confident as she had been on the long road south, the heavy wooden doors of the Captain’s office still felt like the gates of judgment. The salt-tinged air of Dol Amroth filled her lungs, a sharp contrast to the pine and damp earth of the Trollshaws she had grown accustomed to. She was finally home.

"You have returned."

The hunter remained on his knees for lords know how long. There was naught a sound except his breath, which clouded the air in front of him this cold winter's night. The cold bothered him not. He didn't feel it through the heavy wolf furs wrapped around his body and the psychedelic induced trance he was under.

She was in darkness now.

She could not feel herself.

Herself?

Who?

It is rather unfortunate really, but perhaps  also a blessing to have lost all my old diaries, save a few pages and a couple of letters. Not that anyone will ever read such silly things as the life of a hobbit of course...I mean no one wants to read about that surely, 'twas more a record for meself, you know….just remembering all the silly things and adventures me, myself and I had along the years.