Imladris

Aldúya, the 46th day of Tuilë, year 3008 of the Third Age.

She sat by the fire, in silence, the hall behind her quiet.  Alkawen often sat on the bench by the fire in Elrond's House East of the Sea.  It had become a ritual of sorts for her, a return to the familiar one might say.  Gazing into the flames was warmth and a comfort.  This evening, however, there were more in the fire than dances of flames. 

The following is a small scroll newly placed upon the Shelves of the Scholar's Stair. The Author you may not have heard of as anyone staying in Bree-town at this time, though the name is clearly Elvish. The hand-writing is neat with a quill-pen on parchment.

On the Calendar of the Elves
~ And ~
What Might be Considered to Improve It

Two years would pass since our time trapped within the Cave at Nan Tornaeth... Two years our relationship blossomed into something no one expected... and little approved...

The path North of Rivendell.

It has been several months since my untimely arrival to Imladris. The culture of the Elves is something you would not see in any of the cities or villages of Men.  Lord Elrond and children, Elladan, Elrohir and his youngest, Arwen would show me the same respect they would show their own kin. Arwen would seem to ask questions often, wanting to learn more on the Dúnedain than she knew already.

Long where the days passed where I could call one location home. The smell of Troll still lingers at the back of my mind. Dol Amroth, a distant memory in my mind. My parents’ unmarked graves outside the old family home... I am truly alone in this world.

Saelleth had undergone many months of training in the valley of Imladris and observed a number of patrols in the surrounding lands. She had progressed well and although her skill with the sword was still lacking in comparison to the fully trained warriors she had learned enough to defend herself competently. Where Saelleth excelled was in the use of the spoken word.