backstory

Silwë loved the stars, and that is how he was named; for that name means Star-light in the language of the Noldor, Quenya. In the days before the Sun and the Moon, the Noldor had been second to follow the path of the Vala Oromë upon the Great Journey from the East, through the darkened Greenwood and over the mountains, and across the great sea to Aman, the Undying Lands. This is where Silwë dwelt, near Tirion-upon-Túna, with the Noldor, his people, under the light of the Two Trees.

The Departure

Our company stood prepared and awaiting the ambassadors while the early rays of the sun breached the golden forest of Lorien. A company of 25 would depart the realm of the Lady Galadriel and make the arduous journey to Imladris where the Hall of Lord Elrond awaited them. Amongst the Marhwardens protecting the ambassadors I stood, prepared but weak legged because it would be the first steps outside the borders of Lothlorien. 

"Son, have you seen the world? What would you say if I said that you could? Just carry this bow, you'll even get paid." The familiar voice came as Thallolad sat, looking out over the great river that marked the edge of the Greenwood. "What do you mean, father?" the young Elf responded. "A warrior, Iond. You could become a warrior..."

In the forest near Esteldín, TA 2989

A baby brother. He was going to hav a baby brother. He scampered along his familiar paths through the wilds to the nearby grove. He waved to the blue birds in their nests, scared a pair of rabbits with his joyous proclamations, and in general, spread his childish humor to all his usual friends. Finally he lay breathless, staring up at a picturesque blue sky, speckled with white fluffy clouds, framed by the green boughs above his head. If he didn't know better, he would have thought he had woken up in Valinor.

Over the years, Doddy had done many things for payment, food, or lodging.  Nothing of a dark or questionable nature to be sure - but when it came to working the farmlands of the Shire, Doddy Stump had done it all.  Or, so he thought.

Aemrandir stood on a branch, one of many forming the shadowy canopy that blotted out the sky, the thick, gnarled beam of wood not relenting to his weight in the slightest. He was a few metres above the ground, high enough to examine his surroundings and to avoid the reach of the night-time predators that prowled throughout the undergrowth. But his gaze was not searching around himself, nor was he worried of the dark, twisted creatures patrolling their gloomy territories. At least not for himself.