Rivendell

It is not often that I get to take a long breath. A deep breath. Usually my breathing is marked by the dire straits of adrenaline in war, or by the choking pressure on my throat of pride and anger. For once, I can breathe freely, and all is well. The air in Imladris is fresh and without fear, and it is welcome in my lungs. 

I stare down at the ring on my finger. Unlike the traditions of Men, we bear our rings on our right index finger. This is the one time I am grateful that I bear arms with my left hand; there is less of a chance of me losing the ring whilst swinging a sword. (Though it is not as if I plan to bear arms again anytime soon). 

January 28th, 3019 T.A.

'Alagnir in Imladris'

I awake to the gentle chirping of birdsong, somehow loud enough to overcome the roaring of the waterfall which served as a soundtrack to my sleep. My eyes open to a briefly unfamiliar location, though as they adjust I am able to recognize it as the East Porch of the Last Homely House. The sun is making its path along the morning sky. 

    The ring had been given and vows had been said. The two young fellows were now man and wife. He had known the two for so little time it had seemed, he could not recall when their affections had become apparent. He had seen them survive the dangers of a troll attack while on guard duty and their recent delving into a goblin colony. Amaken and Anastasiar were now together bonded now more than any member of the Company. The sight was much too much for Altheric to bear.

And so it is that I have made the journey to Imladris. It has been long and hard, and most importantly, dangerous. The roads hold more evil to them than I remember. Though the nearer I traveled to Imladris, the less danger I felt. It seems like the scouts and warriors of Imladris gaurd the valley well.

Daphne had rushed to dress herself and run a brush through her hair before knocking and stepping over to where Anastasiar was trying to get into the wedding dress, without letting it touch the floor.