Amardal

“What is this?”

Blinking away the dust of sleep, Amardal found herself sprawled in a chair between the shelves of Elrond’s library, An open book and a lamp whose flame had long guttered out were resting on a nearby table.

Before she could further take stock of her circumstances, the voice that had stirred her from sleep sounded from the doorway once more. “You must be the one called Amardal.” There, illuminated by wan gray light, stood the figure of an Elf.

With a basket tucked under her arm, Amardal reached the top of the hill just as a pale mantle of fog rolled over Nenuial. The Hills of Evendim, rising blue as twilight on the far side of the lake, vanished into the mist; the water itself turned lusterless and gray. It was not the view she hoped for, but it would have to suffice.