Manadhlaer

Oh, Diary! You will never guess who finally came back to our weekly gatherings in the Hall of Fire! It is my dear friend Mirineth, she whose presence used to be indispensible at these gatherings, she who went around to every new-comer and called them brother or sister, and made them feel welcome. She also introduced me to some warriors, one of whom always pestered her to dance, saying that he could support her in such a way that none would notice her wound...

I have not kept track of my painting in the last days too often in the form of Tengwar – since the brush strokes of light, shadow and colours are also a language, I have let it speak instead.

My Caun,

Norliriel and I have done as you requested, and spoken with Helcequen. While she herself is resting well in the Houses as I write this - Norliriel was there when I left, and may have stayed all night - the matter is... unpleasant, at best, and may require all of our scholars to unriddle. As well as the Lady Ambassador, Sileril, Anglador, and Sorontar are out of the Vale, as you know. But there is some urgency to this.

Ancalasse did not blink an eye that night. 

There were many angles to the fight that was coming the next day. If Daegond to kill Meluilindele, which he thought Daegond would Losgael would be strayed from her order and grief would consume her. Reducing her into a pile of rubble.

If he did deny Daegond to fight, the hound would surely use it to his benefit. Spreading tales of favouritism. The previous time he did that in the mountains was nearly disastrous for Ancalasse's well established reputation as a good quartermaster.

Well, Diary. That was quite a day.

Losgael was proud -- proud of her man, who is my only known living kin; proud in every possible way. That is the way of the Hammer. And because Meluilindele loves her, though -- I did not know this until the day of the contest -- he had forsworn fighting at the request of his father and brother many yéni hence, he arrived at the appointed time, bearing a sword.