Aearrien

Daurrie, the youngest of the sons of Gurni, had once more forgotten to pick up the order of fresh cheese that was awaiting them at the markets of Bree. Lunch was served and the young Silvan handed over the rest of the tavern business to Dal, hoping to be able to rush to Bree and pick up the forgotten crate before the inn would close for the day.

A continuation of this story, meaning it is entirely unreliable and biased.

This story is an account of certain events that transpired in recent weeks, written from the perspective of Theothar. Since all is written from his (completely insane) point of view, there is a high chance none of the following is at all accurate.

(A continuaution of In Your Room, part 1)

Some few days after the company’s return from Angmar.

A flutter of fabric, over the stairs. Cloaked. Hooded.

“I am a soldier of Gondor, and I will act as such. And so I will be judged.” Confident as she had been on the long road south, the heavy wooden doors of the Captain’s office still felt like the gates of judgment. The salt-tinged air of Dol Amroth filled her lungs, a sharp contrast to the pine and damp earth of the Trollshaws she had grown accustomed to. She was finally home.

"You have returned."

Have you seen them?

The summer flowers wilt and break as the warm weather turns to biting coastal winds. The sun does not shine as freely as it used to. The days are shorter, and the lands of Belfalas turn from gold to grey.

And the sea? You used to love our sea. Now, you only look upon the water with dread, searching every shadow for the black sails of Umbar. It is wrought with storms, yes, but it is still our home.

This is not the grand alliance I envisioned when I rode from the gates of Dol Amroth. I came seeking the strength of our northern kin, hoping to find an army to bring back to the coast. Instead, I find a scattered people fighting ghosts in the ruins.

A cry of a gull. The crashing of waves against weathered stone. The pit-pattering of rain. The sounds of her homeland accompanied her as she departed the shining city of Dol Amroth.

"Come on, strong friend. Carry me swiftly and do not falter," she whispers to the black stallion that would take her far across the lands of the world.

The Captain and the young Ranger stood behind the heavy oak doors of his office. Though the rhythmic clanging of swords and the shouting of trainees echoed from the courtyard below, the air inside the room was thick with a suffocating, quiet dread.

The Captain paced behind his long wooden desk, a deep frown carved into his weathered face. Every few moments, he would pause, cast a heavy glance at his daughter, and resume his pacing.