Hithaeglir

He lay there in the bloodstained snow, barely able to move his broken body, even to writhe in his agony; barely able to draw breath. And that warg had dare have hold of him, crushing his leg as if he were a deer it had brought down for lunch, while its rider cackled and prodded at his neck and chest, through the rend in his armour, with its spear. I could have screamed out my rage to the stars above, but no! I held both our lives in my hands. I would not fail him. 

Having delivered the second package to the guards at Hrimbarg, with a second copy of the instructions for use of the poison-antidote, the friends realize it is wiser to wait out the night before striking out on the long journey back to Imladris. Filegris has a skin of wine; Menelamdir has a fable about a helpful woodpecker; and Glorfingwë, rather unusually, has a fully strung musical instrument wrapped in his pack. He plays a bit but shortly turns it over to Filegris, who has spent many a long night before in company who required morale.

The Elves of Imladris pause for a moment in the courtyard of Hrimbarg, feeling safer within the confines of its courtyard. Even the stabled beasts are a welcome sight. 

Members of Laurië Lassi celebrate Turuhalmë on the eastern slopes of Hithaeglir.

Krimruk never suspected that the very fine Roper's Twist he was offered by the "merchants" was adulterated with a few other things. The strength to babble nonsense quickly leaves him, and he willingly walks out with his captors, only to pass out in the snow. As Arradril binds the captive, Branalph slips back into the fortress to retrieve the adulterated pipeweed, lest their deception be discovered, and finds the heirloom axe. 

Glorfingwë's handpicked team accompanies him to the fortress where Krimruk. the Dwarf who held a deadly grudge, lords over his gang of petty criminals. The group waits tensely as Glorfingwë exerts his considerable powers of persuasion. Will the slightly altered pipeweed have the euphoric and addling effects the Lady promised it would? Thanks to that -- and a bit of improvised acting by Arradril, who praises Krimruk's red hair and pretends to be Glorfingwë's spoiled daughter -- things take an interesting turn.

Rare is the day when the doughty Dwarves of the Northern High Pass must seek help from Imladris. But Master Harnack has braved the journey and finds himself pleading his case to friends in the halls of Lósengriol. The theft -- indeed, the violation -- of an artifact priceless only to a single Dwarven family, but nothing else of value, not even the poor fellow's armor, is enraging and confusing.