Ithilwë

"I am waiting... Either speak or I will leave this instant. I will return to Bree by myself."

"No. No. Don't leave."

"...I'm sorry."

With Ithilwe's head against my shoulder, the rest of the evening is spent silently pondering what is to come next. 

When they arrived, they'd found the Company vanguard standing amdist piles of dead goblins. Well, most were standing. Altheric had apparently been wounded, along with one or two others. But there were no deaths, which she figured was a lucky thing with so many goblins. A few conversed over the events of the fight, giving Furley details of what went on.

Minas Eriol was a distraction. Yes, the Company was to retrieve the half of our caravan that had been stolen; but to me, it was a distraction. To draw my blade in aimless slaughter, to strike down any goblin stood in my path, that is what I needed. 

Another page from a small weathered book. The writing is unclear but was written precisely.

The date reads:

Year 490 F.A., Gondolin

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Loosely inspired by this song.

The story of a troll-hunting party gone awry during Amathlan's time in Evendim, as told to Ithilwe, Galtharian, and Dalbran in Iml

A small package wrapped in soft brown leather cloth, sent by warriors and messengers from Eregion, all the way to Lindon. The year? 1450 of the Second Age.

-----------------------------------------

To Ithilwe, Warrior of Lindon

From, an old friend.

------------------------------------

Ithilwe,

Year: 420 of the 1st Age; Gondolin, House of the Heavenly Arch

-------------------------------------------------------

I awake to the gentle chirping of birdsong, somehow loud enough to overcome the roaring of the waterfall which served as a soundtrack to my sleep. My eyes open to a briefly unfamiliar location, though as they adjust I am able to recognize it as the East Porch of the Last Homely House. The sun is making its path along the morning sky.