Luthelian

Dearest Faerind,

Dearest Faerind,

Dearest Faerind,

Within the enclosure of Duillond’s small library stood a fair-haired ellon garbed in blue robes, looking over maps at the table in the chamber’s center. His demeanor and raiment were none too different from the elven scholars who frequented the location. However, at the top of the steps and at the threshold of the entranceway, stood a silver-haired ellon whose stance and outfit betrayed that he was more used to wielding weapon than quills and ink.

Dearest Faerind,

This has been the longest we have been apart and I have to admit that it is hard, even for me. But do not worry yourself over me. As you know, I am constantly finding something with which to amuse myself.

Dearest Faerind,

I hope you are well, though I have no idea if you have already left the Valley, by now. If that is the case, I have asked Ada and Naneth to keep this until you send word back to Imladris of where you are, and if letters can reach you. Anyways,  I will try to keep this short and to the point. We left Imladris two whole days ago, and stopped in Gwingris last night. The ruins - oh, I know we have come here earlier, with Ada and Nana, but it is not the same. Eregion is a very somber and mysterious land, full of mysteries and memories of the past Age.

Settled upon a boulder in the ruins of Gwingris, Lothelian  gazed quietly at the stars above. The night was still, as most were resting, and she could see the embers of the evening's fire glowing softly in the distance. She shuffled around on the rock as she heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was Annúngil, and she turned to him, face brightening.

"The others went to look for some shelter to spend the night?" he asked.