Maethelyn

At the Hithaeglir, Annúngil paid Thendryt little heed, too absorbed in his duties to mind his presence. However, it was more of a presence of absence. The man came and gone as he saw fit and his superiors commanded. When he was at the encampment, Thendryt kept to himself, as far as he could from the Eldar.

“What do you mean they’re not in the Vale?!” Thendryt’s voice was high, and most likely leaking out of Lord Elrond’s library.
“I think you understand me quite clearly, Thendryt son of Mors.” Elrond said with authority in his voice, yet he came across as calm and somehow caring.
“Well where have they gone?!” Thendryt roared. “And you, you must be able to explain something!”

The soothing sound of the Bruinen filled the evening air as Thendryt and Lilleduil continued to make their way back to Imladris. They slowed down as they reached the river.
Bovad eagerly reached down to drink, as did Braigsul. Thendryt’s face was facing the opposite way though, he kept his eyes on the looming mountains in front of them. He was uneasy, not knowing what awaited him when they’d return to the Vale.
“Shall we camp for the night, Thendryt?” Lilleduil asked.
Thendryt looked up towards the sky, it was getting dark.

Ost Ringdyr was over a full days travel by horse away from Glân Vraig.
Thendryt was riding slowly along the edge of a ravine. As the terrain became more treacherous, he dismounted and started leading Bovad.
The sounds of a voice brought him to a sudden halt. He drew his sword by instinct as he spotted the figure above him.
“A message, Man of the Warband, from Lord Dolthafaer!”
Female, had to be an Elf. An Elf with a bow, he noticed.
The arrow didn’t hit him, but was aimed at a tree a couple of meters in front of him.

A single torch burned outside the cell.
Thendryt followed the figure walking up closely, with a dark glare. He was sitting on the floor, with his back resting on the wall across the door. A week he’d been in there, his patience and personal hygiene slowly deteriorating. His hair was a mess, but the swelling had gone down.
“Thendryt? Would you like to get out of here?” He recognized the voice. “Unless you’re having a really good time, of course.”

Two Elven guards threw Thendryt headfirst into the wall of a small cell.
Thendryt grunted, reaching for the back of his head as the guards locked the door and walked away.
“A new face in this place? I thought I was going to rot down here alone.” A dark haired Elf was sitting by a small table next to him.

Lilleduil rode through the night and the all next day, stopping at intervals to rest Braigsul, who endured the journey well enough.  The next night they rested in a clearing beside a mountain stream and the following day found them entering the gate of Ost Ringdyr in the early afternoon.

This time was different.
Thendryt had been back to Ost Ringdyr several times during the past three months, but the stationed soldiers usually avoided him. This time was different.
Thendryt dismounted Bovad in the middle of the courtyard, only to be surrounded.
He looked around. He didn’t like the look on their faces. Excitement, fear and spite could be felt in the very air.
Something had changed.

“Who goes there?”
Thendryt threw a glance upwards. A guard stood atop the southern portcullis of Glân Vraig, holding a torch.
The ride from Delossad had taken over a day, and Bovad looked eager to be done with it.
A second guard came into view. With wide eyes he seemed to recognize Thendryt, and hurried out of sight.
“Open the gate, it’s the Watcher!” Thendryt barely heard it.
Slowly Bovad walked into the fortress. The guard who’d seen him first was down so quick you’d think his life depended on it.