Rainith

Talkale sat back in the leather chair, looking down at the letter with some pride. As usual the penmanship was perfect, the curved script that he used and the crisp, white paper pleasing to his practiced eye. Smiling with satisfaction, he read over the letter, sitting with his hands crossed in his lap.

Dear Lord Elrond,

The 15th day we left the Gravenwood, crossing through it not far from where I was caught in the accursed orc mangling trap. It was to the Gap of Rohan that we were bound, to recover Lord Anglachelm, at least, that was the idea.

To lady Rainith and the folk of Imladris,

In the morning I rose, and went to the Hall of Fire to dine with Sogadan.

The rain comes whispering, rising from the quiet of a still, cloudy day. I step off the porch, feeling the water gathering in the wet grass, running into my hair and over my face. The letter in my hand grows sodden, words running into trails of ink. The thirsty ground beneath my feet drinks deep in rain, welcoming the interlude. I move to my old, familiar, spot, standing above the waterfall, feeling the water slanting through the air, hearing it surround me. A childish gesture sends the piece of paper carelessly into the torrent beneath me, spinning out of sight in moments.

Talkale set down his thick stack of papers upon the teak writing desk, thumbing through them absently as he thought about the events of the evening. The names of various abodes of the Enemy flicked briefly before him as he thought of Parnard, that most dislikeable Elf that the Lady Rainith insists upon keeping at her side like an ill-tempered and poorly-trained hound. Yet she had asked him to treat Parnard with more kindness, and what choice did he have but to obey? Talkale scoffed to himself at the idea, for he was alone in the library at this late hour.

Now Rainith has told us of her wounding during her brave battle with the Orc on the very borders of the wood, and how she stood between them and her Malledhrim friend, and suffered grave injury, almost losing her life, from the look of her. I am worried that she is too weary to travel, but she said she was not.

Elloen's Journal, first page:

First of all, I do not write to my journal all the time. I only do that when I feel I have something important to remember. My mother Sírewen used to do so – but unfortunately I had no chance to take it with me, because it all happened so fast. But at least whatever happened to me in Middle-Earth, the Elves that are close to me will get to read about it later.

– Elloen Furinmír, Second Age 1708, Imladris

Return to Former Home

      The pen skitters off the table and rolls across the floor, coming to a rest barely an inch from where Maltariel sits on the sill, looking out of the window at the dawn. She looks up at the sound, uncurling lithely to pick it up and walk slowly across the room, eyes on me as she holds it out. I grimace apologetically, pushing the ruined piece of parchment towards her as she drops into a chair opposite me.

Lady Rainith,

I have heard news from members of our House that you intend to begin a new order. For this reason, I write to you, with hopes that I may be of service to you under this order. I know little of battle and arms, yet still I wish to be of use to my kindred in other ways - through love, care, and healing of all kinds. At a time of your choosing, I ask to request an audience with you, so that I may inquire how I may best to serve.

~Eliriael