Tingruviel

Rain slowly, gently falling onto the rooftop. Drip, drip, drip... the window was kept wide open in the hopes of at least a slight breeze, but there would be no wind in sight on this hot summers eve. It was dark already, as if someone had put a warm, wet blanket all over Imladris. From the window, one could see some lanterns still lit along the paths up to the Last Homely House. She would note guests coming and going long into the night. Some of the kin were most likely gathered in the Hall of Fire again, enjoying light music and good wine. Like most nights, those delights were denied her.

Dear Diary,

Well, the meeting turned into a great shambles of speculation, and then it turned into an expedition. Not back to Eregion, to try the restored keys provided by Earnio, but to the Blue Mountains, and indeed the doors of Thorin's Halls.

Tingruviel asked to make the diplomatic request for information in person. I could hardly deny her this -- she knows best about what approaches work, and we need this to work.

My dearest Eliriael,

Knock, knock, knock. The tough wooden door made a ringing sound in the otherwise bare stone tower. It smelled like dust, as if very few would visit this part of the Pillar hall. It would be a correct assumption, of course. Hardly anyone would be let in to see the swallows, owls or hawks kept within, but its very dedicated keeper. Which seemed to not be in at the moment.

Well, Diary, this is a bit of a turn-up.

I am falling to pattern again, and neglecting you on the calm, ordinary days when all I do is count bandages and listen to the singing birds outside my window. It is only on the days that are particularly strange that I seem to turn to you, and for this I apologize.

So many departures. They knew that this day would come, that they would have to be prepared. It still made her wonder, despite their training, were the Fountaineers ready for this? As she left the Pillar hall, her conversation with Tingruviel still rung in her ears.

A clean cloth. Or what used to be a clean cloth. It was now covered with dust. The whole room smelled like distant memories, as if someone had not occupied the space for a long time. And it was true. It had stood empty for a while now.

She had taken it upon herself to clean it, as it felt like desecration of a holy place to let someone else in. She knew it was folly, of course. The lady Danel had left for the Havens, and would not return. But the idea that she might one day reappear kept Tingruviel busy tidying the space.