Elvealin

I heard from my friend Elvealin that there was a missing Noldor. His name was Sergeant Daegond, code named Alice. Yes, a peculiar name for a male elf, but that is not important. He was last seen in the desolate span of beyond Bree, in that old shabby inn. I know there are dangers in that land. I know there is trouble.

14 June

My only love,

I have blinked, and five years have passed since I held your hröa in my arms, long after your fëa had sped to Mandos. 

It makes me happy to imagine that Lord Ulmo pulled the blue rose given me by hiril Gilinnen, mother of Elvealin, and which I set on top of the surf at Lindon, along the Straight Road until it came to the shores of the Blessed Lands, and to think that there it came to your hand. For you would know at once who sent it and what it meant.

I heard a knock on my door and when I opened it, my uncle Fëamíril was behind it since he had finally arrived from Lothlórien. We has down for a cup of tea and to talk about a thing or few. He asked me why I hadn’t painted for such a long time, but the reason it something that I’m not willing to openly admit yet. ”I need more pratise,” I answered. ”No artist is truly ever finished and perfect.” It was vague, but it was also true and something that I believed in, also for myself.

Ealendil stops in her tracks to greet two elves on a bench near Celúrlin, dawn is approaching and the sun bathes them in soft light, filtered through the golden canopy. Unfastening her harp, tied in a shoulder strap across her back, Ealendil plays something soft for them to greet the morning.

The wax seal on the outer letter bears the image of a pillar, like that once displayed in Gondolin. The Tengwar on the letter are precise, needing to communicate their message, yet artful and really quite attractive to read. This letter is bound to a thick packet of others, each one a business letter of some sort -- yet while their purpose is utilitarian, and these too are highly readable, the calligraphy is simultaneously so beautiful that one would think the writer had copied out poems for framing on one's wall as artwork.

My dear Lady Gilinnen,

Sunday June 11th, Echad Dúnann, Eregion

A brief account of what transpired during the first hour the author was present.

Morning hours at the base camp at Echad Dúnann. Ealendil sits by the fire alone for the moment, while Nienore, beneath a tree a little further away, occupies herself with reading. Ealendil roasts some of the bread, that had become a little stale, over the fire.

((Please forgive my crude attempt at Tenwar))

Sunday May 27th, Mirobel, Eregion

Sunset at ancient Mirobel, the company from Echad Dúnann finds themselves somewhat reduced in numbers as both Coruhuron and Eluineth have been called back to Rivendell by raven message earlier that day.

Sunday May 13th, Visiting Mirobel, Eregion

In the fey hours before dawn, Ealendil caresses her harp gently by the fire. She is alone, save from Nienorë sitting by herself a little behind her, writing or drawing, and Elvealin sleeping nearby.