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Miste

Wreath of Compassion

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Story

Dear Manadhlaer,

To Mirkwood And Back

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Story

Elloen's Journal, first page:

First of all, I do not write to my journal all the time. I only do that when I feel I have something important to remember. My mother Sírewen used to do so – but unfortunately I had no chance to take it with me, because it all happened so fast. But at least whatever happened to me in Middle-Earth, the Elves that are close to me will get to read about it later.

– Elloen Furinmír, Second Age 1708, Imladris


Return to Former Home

Thoughts Like a Wind Chime

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She was standing on the balcony of the Last Homely House, feeling the wind on her face and leaning on the railing. She was there when she wanted to think things through alone, since lately the Hall of Fire had been rather heated and full of crowd, sending the Elves of Vanimar the the fields of battle.

Visions.

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We stood upon the city walls, looking eagerly to the east for the rising of the sun. Most folk were quietly awaiting the Gates of Summer, though there was a subdued chatter, and merry laughter amongst some of the children. I remember smiling at a nearby group, recalling when I had been that small, and that eager.

Berion nudged me and grinned. 'That was us barely fifty years ago?'

First Greetings

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Having changed from travel garb and refreshed myself, I set out to seek word of the whereabouts of the Lady Danel. In a matter of moments from stepping outside the Last Homely House, I chanced upon a group of musicians playing most enlivening music. Greeted warmly by one who named herself as 'Dolnareth' I stayed to listen further.

Elves leaving Imladris

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Khalis watches on as many elves gather to leave Imladris with a fanfare from their musicians.

Poetry in motion

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 A pleasant evening spent in the company of friends listening to poetry and fine music.

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