Lothilind

Captain Sáranassë of the Order of the Arrow was many things, as she stood in Lady Manadhlaer’s office. She was tall, and fair in her austere way, and armored. She was a daughter of the Noldor, a creature of stealth and odd habits. She was a hardened warrior and a keeper of secrets. The one thing Sáranassë was not, by any means, was amused.

My Tûr,

This letter more fully describes Istuileth of the Woodland Realm, and why I think you ought to take her with you on your journey.

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.

Well, Diary, I suppose now it is true what people say, that one does not really know a person until one has lived with them.

That is, "with" in a very elastic sense -- for Captain Sáranassë has given me her own clean but spare bunk in Arrow Hall, and has taken to sleeping out of doors in a tree instead. She assures me she actually prefers it so. Rámarillë is clearly baffled by this. She circles one tree or another -- whether it be the correct tree, or no -- and honks very loudly into the air.

The note is scrawled in an unusually shaky hand.

My lord,

I have paid this courier a great deal of money to find you, and I hope he does. Lord Tindir is away, and the matter before us is urgent to a degree I felt you must know.

Lothilind of the Pillar, who had become an apprentice at the Houses of Healing, has been murdered in the Vale. We discovered her poor hröa under a bush, downhill from the Markets of Imladris.

Besides the obvious security implications, these things should be known:

This diary page is splotched with tea along one edge, but is perfectly legible.

Well, Diary? Can you believe it? I shall finally be having some company who is not coming to my door with an arrow in them, or bone sticking out of them, or spitting blood. That is, if he actually forgives me. I do hope the boy forgives me. Not everybody of my own kindred has had the sort of life I have led, and I need to be mindful of that. 

This letter is as pretty as its predecessor, but appears to be in a different hand, likely Manadhlaer's own. It is more of a silken parasol than a formal linen napkin this time.

Angrinc
Guest Houses, Imladris

Esteemed Angrinc:

I am terribly embarrassed to admit this, but I have at least one terrified witness to this event.

I was in the garden, with my dog poking about shrew-burrows and my swan stalking about ominously in the background -- even after I had told her to go and play in the stream. Imagine.