nelnardis

“Thank you for coming out here again so soon, Lilleduil,” Elrohir said. “I know that things are a bit…unsettled for you in the Valley at present.”

Lilleduil, who had just unsaddled and settled Braigsul, approached the campfire and bowed to her liege lord. “I am at your disposal always, my lord. What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

"Firstly, I wish to know how you are doing."

"I am fine, my lord."

"Fine? Elrohir's expression was gently dubious.

Thendryt was sitting on a stool in Rivendell’s stables, tool in hand. The evening air was chilly, but refreshing.
Bovad complained as Thendryt grabbed his hoof.
“Stop complaining.”
Bovad let out a final grumpy snort before giving in, and Thendryt started cleaning it.
“Thendryt.”
Lowering the tool, Thendryt looked up to find Nelnardis standing next to him, bottle in hand.
“Nel, long time.”
“Yes, it has been.”
Thendryt turned his attention back to the hoof.

They spoke of it as an unusual thing, this day of remembrance for Faorie.

With a loud creak of the front door, Faorie returns to her house, weary of the long day's festivities. She holds a hand woven satchel borrowed from the House of Iavasant storing all of her gifts from the party in one hand while the other drags a disposable bag of empty wine bottles.
Leaving the bag of bottles by the front door, she carries the satchel to her study where she carefully removes all of its contents.