She had travelled long to pay respects to her Elven friend. It had been months since she had last seen Nimlith and the rest of the friends of nature. Duties to scout the lands east of Eriador had kept her away, collecting information from the local residence with the disguise of a travelling Minstrel. Now, she was resting her feet along the shores of an icy lake in the land of the Lossoth.
Elendraen had heard tales of the Lossoth when she was little. Fierce warriors who had adapted their way of living to the harsh cold of the northern winds. Her people hadn’t come into a lot of contact with the Lossoth recently. Both of them mostly had kept to herself. The stories that did came through to ‘southerners’ like her were many centuries old when Arthedain was still a living kingdom and not one in ancient books. Scribes had written that the rituals the Lossoth performed were quite brutal, especially for the women. Yet, it were often the women the scribes told, that were the best warriors. Still, the Lossoth were regarded as good folk to her own people, having helped the last king of Arthedain.
As she watched around the icy bay that ran into the sea, Elendraen couldn’t help but feel anxious. She cursed at herself for not finding more appropriate clothes that fitted this landscape. Instead, she was still in her common olive colored clothes which stuck out like a sore thumb in the icy snow.
Suddenly, there was a rasping sound, as if a sword was being pulled from a scabbard. Elendraen quickly jumped up on her feet and glanced her immediate surroundings. Slightly above her stood a tall woman, clad in thick woolen clothes colored in light blue and orange. She was armed and didn’t look particularly happy with Elendraen’s presence. Hoping not to worsen the situation, Elendraen decided to stand absolutely still and await what the tall woman would do.
The woman stepped closer and pointed her weapon at Elendraen as if wanting to make clear she had stepped on grounds best left uncovered. She then started to talk to her in what seemed to be a unique language, unlike Elendraen’s trained Westron and Sindarin. When the woman had finished talking, Elendraen tried to converse with her in a basic Westron.
‘I wish you no harm, snow dweller!’
The woman wasn’t entirely convinced which could be judged by the way she kept her weapon. However, she started talking in a language slightly more familiar to Elendraen’s ears.
‘You, Angmar filth. Come to harm our land and people.’
Elendraen replied: ‘I do not come from there, I come from the south. Yet I also do not bare the symbol of those cursed folk.’
The woman kept a fierce expression on her face but eventually slowly lowered her weapon. Elendraen continued.
‘Your people are in danger I presume. Maybe some of my people’s allies could help you and your people against the foul hilltribes. You should come with me.’
‘You speak Noble, though you show no proof! Yet, I do not know. You show me, but if you betray you be food for the beasts!’, the native woman replied.
Elendraen nervously started walking towards the place where the others would be while the native woman followed while keeping her eyes peeled on Elendraen.
