Daeruth

Ensuring all were taking no notice of Daeruth, she quietly slipped from her little tent and headed for her packhorse, selecting a small barrel of brandy and gathering her sketchbook Daeruth headed for the manling town of Bree. Hooded and unnoticed she slipped in the south gate while the guards were busy talking with a family of millars and their spilt cargo of grain.

Daeruth is sitting at her desk waiting with her usual infinite patience for the Hiril Tingruviel to arrive at the Hall of the Pillar, the apprentice that had taken her note and told Daeruth the meeting time had made themselves scarce knowing that eavesdropping on the conversations of Daeruth could end badly.

Rain slowly, gently falling onto the rooftop. Drip, drip, drip... the window was kept wide open in the hopes of at least a slight breeze, but there would be no wind in sight on this hot summers eve. It was dark already, as if someone had put a warm, wet blanket all over Imladris. From the window, one could see some lanterns still lit along the paths up to the Last Homely House. She would note guests coming and going long into the night. Some of the kin were most likely gathered in the Hall of Fire again, enjoying light music and good wine. Like most nights, those delights were denied her.