Rivendell

Entering the hall, Fervain casts her gaze over those present.

The journey from Greenwood, or Taur-nu-Fuin as outsiders may call it,  had been long and arduous, her body aches and her mind hungers for interaction with those of Elven kind.

Tentatively, she continues to walk toward the elves gathered, they all stand close to several overly large fire places near to the back of the hall.

Truly, there was no more collection of yore that was vaster than those found in Imladris! To this Indralas had submitted defeat, even as he had boisterously claimed his knowledge would remain unsurpassed by all his peers here, in the valley where no shadows lie.

Indeed, even as he had greeted the hauntingly quiet library – no words were exchanged in the greeting, of course, nothing but a nod of recognition – there were nothing that could deter him in the endeavour to categorize, arrange, submerge and feast upon every cover, every leaf, every parchment, every book.

 Far above, the stars shine – tiny pinpricks of light in the silent night. I take a deep breath, savouring the freshness of the air. The silence is broken only by a soft breeze that stirs the leaves above me, whispering through the trees. It is a welcome moment of peace – I am overjoyed to be among my friends once more, but still I find myself seeking moments of solitude and quiet: moments in which to reflect on all that has happened.

Meetings held are always of serious concern - at least, that is which I find out during a discussion of the Shadow Hunters' attempts to trace down the Nine.

After a calm play of music, laughter, and talking, I retreated with Tanes and another of the Laiquendi Order into a corner of the Hall of Fire; There, we discussed the course of the Nine and the mysterious disturbances on Weathertop. We had ponderings, arguments, and chats, but everything came into one piece as we transcended further into our Topic - Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, had been involved in this hunt.