Rivendell

"Meleth nin!" Eilanneth exclaimed when she saw his apparition locked into a battle with the letterbox in the centre of Rivendell. Often a meeting point for friends and kindred but today, a wrestlers match between the selfappointed bard of Vanimar and what could have been misinterpreted as a great monster fighting to get the treasures Lindaire was grappling for. Eilanneth blinked as she realised he would very likely spend an evening writing such an ode to his adventure nonetheless.

“So what will you do with him?”

I shrug, inadvertently jostling my hand so that Maltariel’s neat strapping falls loose. She gives me a reproachful look and reaches for the ends of the cloth, her deft hands tying it up again with quick, sure movements. Although it is only bruised, my wrist is stiff and sore still when I come to lift a sword, and she has decreed that it must be strapped, for now, until it is recovered. While she reties the cloth, I look up across the river, enjoying the peace for a moment.

The cold winds from the North ran through her raven black hair, leaving a chill in her heart. Her most beloved ones having sailed; now she was nearly all alone in her quest.

Rildheldiel took her fathers’ sword from the training ground. A cold tear touched and ran down her soft cheek. She would not have despair and fear take over her soul; now was the hardest test of all before her. To go on a journey all alone. Unless things would change until Spring blossoms in the Valley.

"Hmmmmmm..." Daerundros trailed off in thought as she examined the empty goblet in her hand, creasing her brows, "A good memory, no doubt." She laughed grimly and carelessly tossed the goblet into an overstuffed sack filled with objects collected over the years.

Aiya Laureälassë,