Glaerorn

Glaerorn had grown up between the caves of the Elven King and the twilight of the wood, where a constant feeling of a not-quite-peace had been lingering on the edges of everything in the last few years.

(Set right after Loss and Dying Music)

He could not remember much. Time had even less meaning than before. Everything seemed too quiet, as if he heard it through heavy curtains, too grey as if a heavy fog lay over the world, except in the dreams which were so loud and so brightly coloured that he avoided falling asleep as much as he could.

Looking up at the sky, the young elf hummed a quiet melody that came to his mind. It might have been an old melody he had picked up from someone else, perhaps in Lothlorien, where they were coming from, or it might have been a new melody that the light of the stars brought forth in this very moment. It had been a quiet journey. They had crossed the Redhorn Pass fortunately before the first severe snowfall up in the mountains, as his mother had hoped.