Parnard

“When?”

“Two days ago.” The Ambassador looked bitter, his usual pleasant disposition gone. “I would not have thought Estarfin to be so foolish as to disobey Lord Anglachelm.”

Limiriel hoisted her shield on her back, kicking up her spear and catching it.

“There is nothing for me to do in the Valley. And as you know, I... have amends to make." Pausing, she pulled out the small dagger in her glove then sheathed it again. "Gladly will I take on this errand.”

An involuntary cry of pain escaped his bruised and chapped lips as a thin dagger found a way through his broken armour and cut deeply into the pale flesh of his upper arm. With barely a conscious thought he swept the heavy shield that he carried into his assailant, knocking them careering backwards and clearing the immediate space in front of him. The anger that had fuelled the scything sweeps of his wicked spear was ebbing from him as the bone-chilling cold pierced the madness and began to rapidly sap what strength remained to him.

Brasseniel was still humming the last song of the night under her breath as she let herself into the room. It had been a lovely evening of music and dancing with others of Bar-en-Vanimar, practicing their steps for the Yule Ball.  She was sad that it ever had to end.  

She found Nelthiel curled up in a chair by the fire, cooing over a soft ball of fur in her lap.  A kitten?  When and where had her sister found herself a kitten?  Brasseniel had to wonder how long it would take for her to fill their rooms with every stray that Imladris had to offer.

Laurelindo was enjoying a slow morning at home. The weather outside was fair, however the elf was inside, an open book on his lap, writing supply on the nearby table. ​

"The day yesterday was... fantastic. 

Well, fantastically boring, with the exception of two meetings. 

There was a soft rap on the wooden frame of the doorway that stole Eliriael’s attention from the glass jars on the table in front of her. She had been eyeing the consistency of a particular red jar when she looked up.

“I was told by the healers that I would be able to find you here,” a small timid voice presented its owner wearing a sheepish smile.

After all these days, fighting and spending our time in the cold, sleeping on the snow, feeling our bodies hurt  and cold the time has come to go back home... I went ahead to scout the lands and hunt, while the others were resting, most of them were injured. What I found upon my return I did not expect. It saddened and angered me greatly, and made me think too much of the future.

The day… Well, it's a bad day I believe. Oh yes, it began well. Until the group heard about an elf possibly lost in the area where we saw the trolls when we arrived here. Then they left.

And they come back… With Failindo's body. He's dead. I have known him for so many years… Since the fall of Eregion, around 3000 years ago. He was my dearest friend and my family, as I was his.

What a grand night it was. She thought back of the warmth in the Halls, how old friends had come and enjoyed a glass of wine and reminisced about the past adventures had. A night of poetry, music and good food.

Menelya, the 53rd day of Tuilë