Imladris

Greetings to the dwellers of the Northern Outpost of the Hithaeglir,

Ada,

I write this first letter to assure you of my safe arrival in Imladris. I miss you all and the sea already, but I have resolved myself to be quite brave in this whole affair, as it was, after all, my choice. They valley's loud streams will be some measure of comfort, though.

Firith, mîn Imladris

  Many are the days that the Grey Watch keeps the roads of Ered Luin safe and sound. Long are the nights we watch the ravines of Rath Teraig, and keep a constant vigil to prevent the coarse goblins from wandering out into our domain. There is plenty of work to do, and we - the Wardens of the Grey Watch - we do it well. From the shores of Mithlond and its tall and proud watchtowers, to the great dwarven halls in the north, we make our way with spear and shield, with bow and arrow.

Eliriael ran her hand over the parchment on her desk. One of the healers had brought in the letter to her, bearing Lord Anglachelm's seal, earlier that morning. Her brows furrowed gently close together as she glanced over the shelves of multicolored jars in the healing house, taking a mental inventory just as the letter asked of her. The afternoon sunlight happened to be shining through the window and lit the small labels on the jars, allowing Eliriael to read them with ease.