Alfknutr

A blizzard thrust snow through the air upon the Misty Mountains, the whistling was harsh and the gust of the wind was like a blast upon any who sought to oppose it’s natural power. “Therwen! Where are you?

There came a day when Redwick left the Riddermark and Snowbourn that he was so fond of to return Bree-land where he wished to see his friends and companions once more. Though, what he found was more than what he expected and with Therwen tending to his daughter Erline with all her Redwick often lacked the close companionship he once had with her, though he continued to love her and Erline all the same. For he knew that there were a difference between a lover who is a stout shield-maiden and a mother.

*written neatly in Westron*

Greetings Knot and our friends in the Mead Hall,

We miss you folk, for it has been long since we have last seen you and much has happened since. We are parents now to a beautiful girl who we named Erline. We wish to be wed as we return to Bree and wish Knot to bind us. We will return as soon as winter has passed.

We hope you all are well.

With much love,

Red and Therwen

She walks with purpose from the Mead Hall, her worn boots guiding her up the lonely cobbled path as different folk bustle about and tuck in for the night. Each step taken brightens his face in her mind's eye and she is reminded of the first time they parted ways...

Vallen stares up at the night sky, the snow dusted trees blocking most of her view of the stars.

Jarnsalr. The Mead Hall of Tyrgrim, Hofding of the Companions and... also a great brute in her opinion. He had opened the door to each of them much like his welcoming arms, each hand holding a horn of mead to share. She had felt at ease in that Hall and so it was no surprise that she found herself there quite often. 

The Mead Company had been formed, each companion with unique qualities that would prove useful along the way towards the Misty Mountains. With her worth now proven, she drew the attention of the Northmen...

Tyrgrim slowly reaches out a hand to stroke a lock from the side of her face.

He was the first to make her feel welcome in a town impregnated by filth and desperation. Bree hadn't given her anything to admire, at least not at first, and she often found herself wondering when she would be taking off again. With a voice as calloused as his hands, he sought her conversation when no one else dared.