Ealendil

Maedhrathin is sulking somewhat, and not being especially talkative this morning. A crumbled letter lies on the floor next to him. He has been called back to Lindon by his cousin in Harlond, and is trying to get organized for the trip. Family duties requires him to leave the peaceful valley, though he would rather had stayed longer with Ealendil.

Ealendil lets her gaze wander the rolling plains before the Redhorn Pass, no movement, no breeze stirring the grasslands, not even a bird of prey hovering in the air… It was the morning the day after she had left Earcalie north of the dry riverbed of Nan Sirannon. Earcalie had continued on her own back to Imladris, and Ealendil had since been following days old tracks from a large party going north.

It is late afternoon when Maedhrathin arrives at the small meadow leading down to the lake of Hidhuinen. The air of the vale is still warm, despite it being the season of Rhîw. Finding a comfortable spot he sits down to wait for the arrival of Ealendil, savoring the last of the warmth of the afternoon sun.

A week had gone by since Ealendil, in company with Earcalie, had left Duillond for Imladris, a journey that would take a couple of weeks. Maedhrathin hadn’t accompanied Ealendil to say farewell and wish them good luck, he loathed these farewells, and besides… what needed to be said had been said already.