Maethelyn

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.

The ruins of Delossad were usually never completely quiet. Birds nesting in the forgotten halls, or the wind howling through narrow passages usually gave the darkness character. Not tonight. Tonight, Thendryt heard nothing, save from his own boots and breathing. Even though he was wearing chainmail, he was usually able to sneak in the darkness. At least to an extent. But the silence that surrounded him was treacherous, and each little chain in his mail seemed to make some kind of crackle.

Thendryt walked up the damp steps, lightened up only by the torch in his hand. He had left Bovad near the entrance, the horse could fend for himself.
Thendryt’s boots echoed through the empty halls. He could see nothing beyond his torch as he made his way further into Delossad.
Weakness.
The word echoed through his head. It seemed real, as if the darkness surrounding him was whispering it into his ear.
Through tunnels and halls he walked, ever deeper. Each hall darker than the previous, the whispering darkness all around him.

The sun slowly came up and the Vale of Imladris started lighting up. After his meeting with Faorie, Thendryt had walked Bovad over the bridge and around the settlement.
They stopped on a height that overlooked the entire Vale. A gentle breeze lifted his cloak slightly from the ground.
There was a slight mist forming around the Elven architecture, and around the rivers around it. Thendryt realized that the scenery was something that his own kind would write poems and sing songs about.

”Here!” Faorie shouted.
Thendryt brought Bovad to a halt. His hood and cloak were gently blowing in the wind, the Vale was quiet.
“Come down.” Faorie smiled as she looked up.
Thendryt looked at her for a moment and dismounted. 
“Something you need?” He stroked Bovad’s mane and turned to face her.
“Come with me.” Faorie turned and started walking beside the river. “Hurry up now!”
Bovad pushed Thendryt.