Imladris

I cannot do it. I cannot. I have tried. I cannot be the happy child these Noldo and Sindar want. I cannot smile and lie about how I feel when I hurt. They are gone forever, and forever is well within the lifespan of an elf.

I have spent my evening learning words with Thannor. No, Hilumrekja. That is his name. Not Thannor. He has told me my name in his language is Eltawina, and Galeryn's is Galtawina.

The day was full to say the least: wandering in an extremely hot hall, observing some of the people that were in there. I even saw a couple of ‘followers’. There are mortals even here? Strange…well, it did not surprise me too much. Not all of those strange people followed my kind around like wolves; some remained for a bit, and then vanished. They were their own people; they were not pets. I guess that seems to have changed, many ages later…

((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 Regarding grammar or words that are considered to be 'no longer applicable', oh well.))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.