Maethelyn

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.

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.

Beloved,

“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.”

Thendryt was now in the infirmary, with the healers. It had been a fairly long few days as she recalled her first glimpse of his internal battles...

...

Rays of light began to climb over the mountain ridges, illuminating the Vale at dawn.  The air was cold, a gloom had set this morning that she could not place. Adanmiel made her way to depart, whistling for her steed, Llamreth. After a few moments, a horse trotted slowly down the stone pathway, greeting her friend. Adanmiel smiled softly and leapt upon Llamreth, bading her forth.