Lindon

Our horses are enjoying the grass in the shadow of trees and Cirdamir sleeps. I would imagine is the first good sleep he allows himself in days. I don’t think I saw him so happy, enthusiastic and restless before, not even in Lorien.  He enjoyed everything, with a smile bright as the sun, from ship maneuvers to countless hours of swimming, the wine that seemed to borrow the smell of the sea, and songs I never heard before, not even at the campfires in Celondim, from travelers seeking the Sea or bringing its tales.

She stepped out of the front door into the coolness of the morning air, placing a bare foot on the grassy flagstones before her, still damp with dew.  Breathing in deeply of the scents around her she cast her glance upwards towards the stars now waning in the light of the coming dawn.   I am here, I am home.  Her new home.   She walked out a few more paces and a shiver passed down her spine as she stood under the shadow of the stoney cliff walls that surrounded their peaceful valley.  No orcs here, she reminded herself, no dwarves that have delved too deep

Truly, there was no more collection of yore that was vaster than those found in Imladris! To this Indralas had submitted defeat, even as he had boisterously claimed his knowledge would remain unsurpassed by all his peers here, in the valley where no shadows lie.

Indeed, even as he had greeted the hauntingly quiet library – no words were exchanged in the greeting, of course, nothing but a nod of recognition – there were nothing that could deter him in the endeavour to categorize, arrange, submerge and feast upon every cover, every leaf, every parchment, every book.