Galadhrim

 Naneth nîn,

I hope all is well at home. It’s been too many seasons since I have seen you, and I hope I can come back soon to visit. 

Lothuialwen crossed her arms as she stood in front of Haldir, her entire posture radiating stubborn determination. “Forgive me, Lord Haldir, but I do not regret my actions.”

The Galadhrim sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hiril, you are a good warrior and have a keen mind. Why must you be so stubborn?”

The date and ink are so old that the writing is hard to make out. It is written in an older dialect of Sindarin. The pages of the journal that have been written on are yellowed and weathered and warping on the edges. The fact that it is preserved so well could only be attributed to elvish conservation methods.

The elven bread worked, and I recovered soon. I was of course not strong enough to travel large distances, but gained in a couple of days at least the strength to get out of my bed to see my sister and my master. And, the audience wouldn't be far away anymore either. As ladders would be madness, I descended my tree with a winding staircase, turning around the trees in circles. I headed to the gardens of Galadriel, where the pavilion of my friends was located.

So basically, did we have to do? Three men, two elves and a big Olog-hai. We were with 5, should we fight it? Anyway, the troll from his side already started to fight us instead. So we, from our side, started to string our bows and fired arrows. "Back, don't approach him!" One of the elves shouted. "We can't go back! Orcs are coming! If we don't hurry we'll be flanked!" Clamored Andraghil. The second elf drawed his sword and marched forward towards the troll. "Min..." "Hurry!" Andraghil interupted the words of the elf.

For a moment, memories arose…

More than six thousand years ago, in the age of the Noldor, they had dwelled in Beleriand, the mighty realm between the Ered Luin and the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë.