Faorie

When in a golden realm, under towering trees next to the clear source upon the silver swan they met,
having traveled over mountains upon separate paths, through rivers and glades, through forests and hills, bearing a waiting silence within the mind, bearing unspoken words and gestures unborn,

“Thank you for coming out here again so soon, Lilleduil,” Elrohir said. “I know that things are a bit…unsettled for you in the Valley at present.”

Lilleduil, who had just unsaddled and settled Braigsul, approached the campfire and bowed to her liege lord. “I am at your disposal always, my lord. What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

"Firstly, I wish to know how you are doing."

"I am fine, my lord."

"Fine? Elrohir's expression was gently dubious.

The copper-haired elf took the silver arrowhead and held it up to the light of the forge, inspecting it with a keen eye. 

“How many?”

“Twenty.”

The smith’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“You lose twice as many in a single day, Dolthafaer.”

The Lord of the Arrow chuckled under his breath and dropped a small pouch of coins onto the table strewn with scattered notes, tools, and metal shavings. Sometimes he wondered how the foreman could find anything amidst this mess.

Dolthafaer was not sure how long he had been sitting on the porch, carving sticks into arrow shafts.  There was a neat stack of them at his side, and he was surrounded by (and covered in) wood shavings.  It was an easy task – repetitive, calming.  He was so absorbed in the work that he did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“Safe travels to you both.”
Osilivren bowed to Faorie and then to Thendryt.
Thendryt bowed his head slightly in return.
“Wherever the path may lead you. And if not sooner, then I shall surely see you in the halls of Mandos.”
Osilivren mounted his steed and set off, leaving Faorie alone on the side of the road. She stood there a moment, before turning around and slowly walked over to the stair where Thendryt sat.
“He’s not dead yet.” Thendryt said, noticing a hint of sadness in her eyes.

The clasp was small.
A center wooden piece, and two crossing swords.
The clasp turned to ash in his hands.
Thendryt blinked, but thought nothing of it. He looked up, and gazed upon the wooden structures of Imladris. The Vale was quiet, solemn.
Something caught his eye. A cloak, gently flowing through the air. He caught it with both hands, and held it.
Flames suddenly covered the cloth. Thendryt released the cloak, his eyes opening wide. He took a step back, as the cloak became confused by the fire.
“Thendryt? Something wrong?”

The statue was not even half finished, but there was no real question of who it was. Short hair, and an all too familiar posture.
Thendryt had walked into Imlad Gelair on impulse. But he did not expect to see a half made statue of Faorie in the glade. Who the mason was wasn’t blatantly obvious.

Adanmiel rode leisurely back into the Vale as the sun began to set along the horizon.

"Llamreth, thank you for accompanying me, friend," she whispered as she dismounted.  Her steed trotted off to a grassy clearing nearby and began to graze.  Her strength had begun to improve after returning from the long journey they had taken together to Edhellond.  Adanmiel was glad, the journey had been hard on Llamreth.  She removed Llamreth's bridle and headed home.