Talkale sat back in the leather chair, looking down at the letter with some pride. As usual the penmanship was perfect, the curved script that he used and the crisp, white paper pleasing to his practiced eye. Smiling with satisfaction, he read over the letter, sitting with his hands crossed in his lap.
Dear Lord Elrond,
Further to my previous correspondence regarding the conduct of Master Parnard of the House of Vanimar, I feel that I must once again trouble your heart with reports of the most grievous of behaviours. One of my own kin yet again has been causing trouble in the heart of your House, a rough-humoured warrior by the name of Culufinnel. This evening during a perfectly civilized and pleasant meeting inside of the Hall of Fire, this deranged warrior seemed to take offence at the lightest of jests that I casually tossed his way. Before I knew it, he was bearing down upon me, threatening me with the most terrible acts of violence. I am no stranger to conflict, you must understand, and stood my ground with courage and determination. But faced with such a raging madman, even one such as I had cause to blanch. I was convinced that He would assault me in the Hall itself; had not the Lady Rainith intervened. When she laid a hand upon my shoulder…..
Talkale frowned, and read the last sentence again, wondering what was troubling him. It was a truthful account as far as he could see, yet something was not right. As he reread the name of Lady Rainith, he felt a flush of shame as he realised what he was doing. Had she not already scolded him for reporting the misdeeds of Parnard to Lord Elrond? He remembered the look of sadness and anger on her face when she had confronted him about the letter that he had written. Yet had she not forgiven him, and let the matter pass without further sanction? Sighing, he took the beautiful letter from the desk and then slowly screwed it into a ball before placing it carefully into the small bin next to his chair.
He stood up, the leather chair creaking as his weight shifted off of it. Stretching, he looked around for his cloak. Seeing it folded carefully atop a pile of books and papers on the subject of Quenya that he had spent the last few weeks collecting for the Lady Rainith, he walked to it and pulled it on. It was a cold night outside after all, and had not Culufinnel told him that he dwelt in the Valley itself, rather than in the House? He walked out of the library, determined to seek the warrior and to put right the senseless disagreement that they had had. That is what the Lady Rainith would want after all.
