Ancalasse

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.  

My Lord has heard Lord Veryacano say that I arrived to talk the company out of searching for him. I say that this is a wrong-headed assumption, and the reasons for my accompaniment were to gather news for the remainder of the House waiting impatiently in Imladris, and secondarily, to see what resulted from his leadership.

My kindred, not content with any common enemies that lessen and destroy us, were set on reducing the great multitude of despicable Men into far less numbers, and deliver a powerful blow to our Enemy by purging the land of their tribe, settled so close to the borders of the Horse-Men’s lands; and by this bloodshed, show that we stood on the same side, and meant them no ill will. It was decided that one of the Dun-Men would be spared, to become our bartering tool to the Horse-Men.

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 :

Estarfin turned the large brass key in the lock, hearing the mechanism click open. Pulling the heavy ash door open, he stepped inside the dark room, the torch that he carried flickering as a breeze caught it. He thrust the torch into an iron loop that hung upon the wall and looked around the Vanimar armoury. There were weapons of all varieties hanging upon the walls, or stacked on shelves. Large war hammers lay propped against the wall, next to a rack of delicate single-handed swords.

In response to http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12005

Here lies a proprechy once sang by a minstrel in the Vally of Rivendell. 

Thus a maid shall flee

The starlit valley of song and dance

The last home of the Eldar will see

The day a maid holds a blade

Strong and free.