Imladris

((Note: I have started using words found in the Parf Edhellen dictionary in the Laurelin Resources, particularly primitive elvish and Qenya words. They sound most Avari like. Regarding grammar or words that are considered to be 'no longer applicable', oh well.))

Since returning to the vale after spending some time with the sons of Elrond one of whom he had served alongside with for many centuries his spirit still seemed restless. Even practising the age old sword patterns long ago burned into his muscle memory did not settle him. The sword patterns are a few memories that have remained with him when many others were lost that fateful day.

The rich, warm soil parted as her hands worked through them. In the numerous holes she had made, there rested single seeds and saplings. Some of these she recognized from previous ages of gardening when passage into the Greenwood was easier. Others were products of change in time and land, unknown potentials waiting to bud. In Eliriael's eyes shined the full extent of the hope she had for these young plants.

((Continuation of this))

“Ai, that is sharp!”

Second Age; beginning of the year 1717, in Imladris…

The main gem for a cloak clasp was nearly done…the intricate detail and great effort put into the jewel was not hard to miss. Undómion did not want to stop; enjoying making it the best it could possibly be. There was nothing left to improve, and instead of leaving it be, the Noldo kept looking for ways to further improve it.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Go away.” Undómion grunted.

Second Age; 1716, a week after the encounter…

Undómion had a sense of paranoia about leaving his Talan, and remained on the platform within the Mallorn. He felt humiliated. How could he be bested by this one maid?

“You have the looks of a love-struck elf.”

‘No, I do not! So much happened too fast…the forest is enchanted!’ “Perhaps.”

The forest was special in its own way…even the inhabitants. Still, he should have at least kept composure when saying his name.

The clasp was small.
A center wooden piece, and two crossing swords.
The clasp turned to ash in his hands.
Thendryt blinked, but thought nothing of it. He looked up, and gazed upon the wooden structures of Imladris. The Vale was quiet, solemn.
Something caught his eye. A cloak, gently flowing through the air. He caught it with both hands, and held it.
Flames suddenly covered the cloth. Thendryt released the cloak, his eyes opening wide. He took a step back, as the cloak became confused by the fire.
“Thendryt? Something wrong?”