Naergon

“I was hoping to drag Naergon out of his musings, but I haven’t seen him all day,” Earcalie said. “He has moved here as well. Waiting to make his mind up about sailing. You do remember him?”

(written from Histealdo's pov)

Histealdo glimpsed the new "resident" of the havens standing near a low stone wall, staring at something that seemingly only he could see. He had a couple brief conversations since the young ellon (Naergon he recalled) came to be a semi-permanent resident of his home. He had no objection when his niece asked to host her friend until he made the decision to sail West. He understood, being torn himself for a time after his brother took the ship. 

Earcalie was rummaging in a big, heavy house chest made of oak and lined with iron studs. She seized the small room in the mansion that had once been her father's workshop, still filled with stacked construction materials, half finished projects and other memorabilia. Against one of the walls, a number of shelves hosted a collection of fancy ships inside bottles of various shapes and looks; mostly elven but also a few of old numenorian make and even a Dalish knarr. What Earcalie was searching for however, was none of those.

Earcalie yawned, leaning against the low stone wall in front of Celondim's docks. She had no patience for waiting on people and the fisherman going to and fro along the wooden planks stopped being interesting after maybe a couple minutes. There were no ships on the horizon anyway so what was he even fussing about, she had no idea. Even her dog stopped chasing the fisherman's cat, joining her in a synchronized yawn. Well... it was partially her fault for not sending a note to Naergon asking to meet at the docks, instead thinking it would be nice to surprise him.

Tolmen was as usual sitting his accustomed place in the hall of fire plying his accustomed trade of insulting anyone who approached him without due deference and drinking the finest vintages of master Sogadan who alternately glowered and cowered before his gaze.

One hour before dawn. She still had not slept a wink. The fire had gone out long before, and the sky had started to turn dark grey, then blueish grey and ever lighter. The birds were almost about to wake. And she had finally left her office to pack her belongings. Always at the last minute. But there were other important things to do before.

Rain slowly, gently falling onto the rooftop. Drip, drip, drip... the window was kept wide open in the hopes of at least a slight breeze, but there would be no wind in sight on this hot summers eve. It was dark already, as if someone had put a warm, wet blanket all over Imladris. From the window, one could see some lanterns still lit along the paths up to the Last Homely House. She would note guests coming and going long into the night. Some of the kin were most likely gathered in the Hall of Fire again, enjoying light music and good wine. Like most nights, those delights were denied her.

It could not have been a more splendid day for a tournament. 

The sun was high in the clear blue sky by the time Dolthafaer arrived in Delossad – the ruins situated in a glade not far from Imladris, pillars and walls of crumbling grey stone encircling a courtyard overgrown with wildflowers of purple and white and gold.  

Laurelindo was at home, sitting near the little pool, harp in a side, writing supply on his laps, writing :

'Yesterday was the trial, finally. It has been long in coming…

The trial was long and, despite the seriousness of the crimes and of the situation, it was quite… Entertaining. Between the famous argument of : 'Feanor did that, why can't we also… ?' and other liberties taken by the defendants, much to their attorney's despair I believe… Really it was entertaining.

The trial being concluded, I approached Lord Estarfin to congratulate him on his victory, but he only shook his head at me and gave me quite a cold answer. I perceive that he takes very ill with me, and thinks me a faithless friend, when I insist that I did all I could to help him.