Celephindir

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.

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.

What are thou fit for, O Culufinnel? Wherefore have I commanded you to watch, wherefore have I endeavored to make you fit. Patience does not wait forever and life does not look back. Now go, swiftly, to the Valley, and show these Noldor what speed looks like!

It was now nearly twelve hours since his brother had spat out these words and the snow had eased a little. Culufinnel was feeling miserable. He was soaked from head to foot and Themodir’s weight was heavy on his shoulders, yet nothing mattered; he did not slacken his steps.

Today I received word that shipment of the ore arrived, and I would myself see what my lordship’s money has bought, and all in order. Venturing to the forges I saw a crowd of people from the house gathered round a pile of crates.

Cúrandir flexed a wrist idly, staring out over the black void that yawned beneath him. Five or six other elves were gathered around on the ashen-grey bluff behind him, all talking in hushed voices. He glanced at the other archer standing guard for the company - Dolthafaer, he had said his name was. Cúrandir had to admit that the other ellon had a way with the bow that spoke of centuries more experience than even he possessed.

It could not have been a more splendid day for a tournament. 

The sun was high in the clear blue sky by the time Dolthafaer arrived in Delossad – the ruins situated in a glade not far from Imladris, pillars and walls of crumbling grey stone encircling a courtyard overgrown with wildflowers of purple and white and gold.  

Laurelindo was sitting in the middle of his own bags, a simple tent standing around him... So simple actually that it was ready to fall after not even 2 hours. He would have to do it properly in the morning... If he or anyone else really cared about it at the time that is.

His mind was replaying the day's events, beginning with the assembly of those who left Imladris that day :