Lilleduil

~Anarya, Lairë 38~

Oh, there really is nothing quite like a home-coming. When I at last passed through the verdant pastures of the periannath and into the land of graceful blossoming trees, I knew I was home at last. I could hear the lull of the sea not too far off, the branches drooped lower to shake hands with me, and the shore wind rushed through the grass to hasten me further yet.

The problem with associating with elves on a regular basis, Eirallyn reflected as she arranged for Yaisaelwen's care with the Celondim stable master, was that no matter how cleanly one was, there were always times when one felt grungy and grubby around them. For instance the stable master, despite his profession, looked to her eyes to be cleaner and more put together than she herself did at the moment, despite regular baths in some damned cold streams and even a hot tub in an inn or two between here and Imladris.

As I write this, it is two days until my first wedding-anniversary, and two days until the anniversary of my only love's dying in my arms.

Elrohir regarded the young woman across the fire from him thoughtfully. He'd ridden with the Dunedain for centuries. Some of their women were exquisite, elegant almost as the elven kind. Eirallyn was not such a one. She had the high-carved bone structure of the Lords of Men, but her countenance was more attractive than beautiful, her hands broad and capable, her frame tall and strong. She looked exactly like what she was-a woman who had taken up the sword.

Norliriel was ready to once more engage in her craft, the way one would be ready to embrace an old friend, familiar even after long separation, with quiet joy. She had ancient silver, the finest she could find. She had her tools, and a well-tended forge. All she needed now, was to devise in her mind the shape of what she would then form in metal.

“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.

Elrohir looked up as the first flakes of snow started falling. “Are you sure that you want to go back tonight? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

Lilleduil considered the question seriously for an entire moment, but the restlessness that had consumed her of late would not be denied. Work was her best solace now.

“No, I will go on back, my lord.”

This is written on two sheets of neatly folded parchment, sealed with a drop of brown wax imprinted with the head of an arrow on it. The handwriting is neat and precise, not in the slightest ornamental, though in some places it loses its crisp shape as if the writer's hand was fatigued. On the outside of the parchment is written the name of Lord Dolthafaer, to whom it is addressed.

To Lord Dolthafaer of the Order of the Arrow, Bar-en-Vanimar