Eryn Galen

((A long overdue prologue to A Close Shave and a Haircut | The Laurelin Archives by Legelion.))

Taur-e-Ndaedelos, T.A. 2983

Hearing the mortal woman speak about not having much experience in performing in front of others, rekindled one of Glaerorn's own memories. It had been a Midsummer in Eryn Galen, not many years ago for most Elves but more than half of his lifetime ago for the young minstrel. 

Mormerildes stayed tucked firmly between the crevices of the barrels, banking on the darker lighting of the cellars to keep her hidden. Her knees were pulled up to her chest in a sitting fetal position, and she had clearly been hiding away and indulging herself in the wine, although it likely had not been for long, as only two empty bottles were at her feet thus far.

Act II, Part VII: The Days of Eryn Galen

Act II, Part VI: Wanderings in Wilderland

Light fades, sounds of the evening slowly becomes perceptible… Slumped in a chair, holding tightly a delicate letter in her left hand, Ealendil stares out into the encrouching darkness as the evening approaches. She had been sitting like this for what seemed like hours.

"Hear my laughter, not my feet.

As they run before me

hear them bleat.

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"For my laughter cares not,

for their running cries sound

as their blood does clot.

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"Hear the draw string thwak!

Day turns black!

With feathered arrows in their back!

Don-a-don-derry! Ho!"

"I bear no ill thought,