Glinthir

At the end of the evening, members of Lósengriol and the last few guests went outside to plant one of the esteloth flowers retrieved intact all the way from i Drann, the former part of Arthedain now called "the Shire." Manadhlaer and Lirisseya discussed their hopes to use the plant to heal the griefs of those who bore hurt in their hearts.

The last tale of the evening was given by Melumatyar, in which one of the Eagles of Manwë Súlimo guards the hröa of a slain warrior and explains to a naive inquirer wherefore such a mighty bird would perform such a duty.

Guests stream in to share tales, both happy and sad; to sing songs; to recite poems; and above all, to listen to one another's memories. Lady Manadhlaer did a discreet bit of baking so that there would be sweets as well as wine for the turn of firith into rhîw.

Lord Glinthir leads a company of Elves from Imladris -- Melumatyar carrying healing supplies, and Hamadmachor carrying wool cloth and furs, with Olriandis and Arradril to scout the northern pass -- to resupply Vindurhal. Ulvoin, the master of the small chambers beneath the outpost (oddly well stocked with reading material and a cat, to the Elves' delight), offers some assistance in return -- aid of a more linguistic nature.

On a cold night as firith readies its exit and rhîw its entrance, members of the House gather to discuss the repercussions of the mission to aid the Dwarves of the Hithaeglir, and especially to learn what Harnack would wish done. The ice of winter will make travel over the High Pass inadvisable for a short time to come. What will be done with the evildoer, who is now an involuntary guest of the Eldar? Harnack insists that merely recovering the heirloom of the slain Dwarf's family is insufficient.

After a long and arduous journey, representatives of Lósengriol prepare to attend an event thrown by the Hobbitry-in-Arms to celebrate what the Small Folk refer to as the Foreyule season. Left to right: Lirisseya, Melumatyar, Glinthir, Manadhlaer, Branalph, Glorfingwë. Back row: A rabbit of the Hobbitry.

It was a quiet night in Gondolin. Glinthir, perched upon his balcony on one of the city's high towers above the market district, was once again lost in his thoughts. He took a deep breath, blinked once more to enjoy his little game with the city lights, and retreated to his study. He was home. He was happy. And completely oblivious that his home would perish, along with all his friends, family and loved ones within that same year. 

Thank you for reading,

Namárië,

Glinthir

Relaxing afternoon - fishing with my kin.