Frimsi

Arradril of the Order of the Arrow hooked a finger into the collar of her immaculate tabard, as though it were too tight. It had in fact been made to measure, to drape perfectly over the reinforced gambeson that Arrows wore in order to creep about the forest in silence. But Captain Sáranassë was, of late, insisting on visibility -- at least part of the time. So Arradril wore the indigo, inspired by Gondolin's House of the Swallow, and bore herself gravely when within the Vale. Most of the time.

A letter passes across the Uzbad’s desk on it’s way to the library of the Longbeards. It is written in the hand of his estranged brother, the scholar Thorvralin. He does not bother to read it.

Sinti Snowbeard! The herald of Yule cheer! The spirit of the mountain! The gift-giver extraordinaire! You haven’t heard of him before? Well, that is hardly a surprise: us Dwarves have jealously kept his legend as a secret for far too long. But in the spirit of Yule, I think it is about time us Dwarves finally reveal to the surface world the wonderful legend of Sinti Snowbeard.

It was a dark night, so the stars seemed to shine more brightly than usual. The few torches about the area flickered quietly among the hushed voices and deep hoods. The ruined towers of Ost Forod stood by solemnly in the darkness, far from the prying eyes of the Rangers. It was the monthly black market of Ost Forod, in which the ancient legacy of Arnor was given a price. Stolen treasures from all over Evendim and even beyond were bought and sold here among all manner of suspicious characters.

Come, come, gather here 
Behold such a saddening tale 
Come, come, take your handkerchief 
It may keep you well.

It came upon the sunrise clear 
That sorrowful song of old 
From Elves bounded to the Earth 
To touch their harps of gold.

The Ranger find himself alone in the wood 
It's magic only forest spirits understood 
He lose himself hoping to find 
The peace of mind he left behind.

Then Linglorel spoke to her Dúnedain lord:
„No, don't draw your shining sword,
And, for our love, speak not a word
Until I charm the dragon, else may all be lost,
And of this quest our lives yet pay the cost.”

Now the Elf-maiden was his happiness
And Ranger rhymed about her grace
And told her stories of treasures
Deep beneath the dragon's lair.
 
Till in the stillness of one dawn
Still in its mystic crown
The Elf-maiden she went down to the lair
And in the ice she's gone...
 
The Ranger came down to the lair
To call out to his dear
When there was no answer
He was overcome with fear...
 

"How will I find this jewel of mine?

Taken from me for some time

Here I stand in my pool of tears

Azaghâlbad’s log: 26th of ‘Afkalm

Aldamir. Lifestone. The Gift of Yavanna. The Green Jewel from the legends. The beginnings of this gem is a mystery even today. Who knows how much truth there is in the old tale from the Elder Days?