Himwen

Oh, Diary! You will never guess who finally came back to our weekly gatherings in the Hall of Fire! It is my dear friend Mirineth, she whose presence used to be indispensible at these gatherings, she who went around to every new-comer and called them brother or sister, and made them feel welcome. She also introduced me to some warriors, one of whom always pestered her to dance, saying that he could support her in such a way that none would notice her wound...

Well, Diary. That was quite a day.

Losgael was proud -- proud of her man, who is my only known living kin; proud in every possible way. That is the way of the Hammer. And because Meluilindele loves her, though -- I did not know this until the day of the contest -- he had forsworn fighting at the request of his father and brother many yéni hence, he arrived at the appointed time, bearing a sword.

It appears I do not have to cook much today. There are still much food after the feast of unveiling Anglachelm's portrait, and I have to get yet rid of some of it, somehow.

Oh, Diary. Will the bleeding of my heart never cease.

I stood at the cairn today -- I go there daily, and speak to my darling of trivial events in the Valley, but today the remaining members of the campaign to the Hithaeglir returned. Each paid their respects in their own ways.

Last night, there was much talk in the Hall of a band of Men encamped outside the Gate of the Valley, and some thought they were refugees, fleeing the darkness, and others thought them a group of roving bandits, and some thought they might be supplicants, messengers sent to ask for aid from Lord Elrond: arms, or stores of food, though I thought this year’s harvest a bountiful one, as there was plenty of rain and sunshine, in proper amounts.