Norliriel

"Had the scholars at Thargelion been tardy, they would have soon found themselves in one of the northern forts," Danel whispered to him.

Parnard nodded, unable to reply, because the small group of elves was staring at him. The coolness of the morning air was faded; there was no time to spare. 

So spoke the Kinslayer,

Mindful of hardships,

Of fierce slaughters,

And the downfall of Kinsmen.

With a loud creak of the front door, Faorie returns to her house, weary of the long day's festivities. She holds a hand woven satchel borrowed from the House of Iavasant storing all of her gifts from the party in one hand while the other drags a disposable bag of empty wine bottles.
Leaving the bag of bottles by the front door, she carries the satchel to her study where she carefully removes all of its contents.

​Laurelindo was sitting in their camp, watching the sky above, writing in his usual book at the light of the fading fire.

“The journey started with no incident. Which I suppose, I should count as lucky, knowing the both of us. When Tyulusse and I are together, there is no telling what can happen.

We were just a little delayed in our departure. I suppose it wasn’t avoidable. We either should have left earlier, or should have expected it.

”Dear Manadhlaer,

What are thou fit for, O Culufinnel? Wherefore have I commanded you to watch, wherefore have I endeavored to make you fit. Patience does not wait forever and life does not look back. Now go, swiftly, to the Valley, and show these Noldor what speed looks like!

It was now nearly twelve hours since his brother had spat out these words and the snow had eased a little. Culufinnel was feeling miserable. He was soaked from head to foot and Themodir’s weight was heavy on his shoulders, yet nothing mattered; he did not slacken his steps.

No prisoners! No mercy!