Vanimar

Maedhrathin is sulking somewhat, and not being especially talkative this morning. A crumbled letter lies on the floor next to him. He has been called back to Lindon by his cousin in Harlond, and is trying to get organized for the trip. Family duties requires him to leave the peaceful valley, though he would rather had stayed longer with Ealendil.

Unexpected news arrived this morning.

Dire news!

Our Lady has suffered grievous harm, and even now is being brought back to us by Varyamo.

Unexpected? Every time she rides away, I look to my wife and she says ‘Never has Istarnie suffered more than scrapes and bruises. She will return.’

Such has been the truth of things over the Ages. But none of us here in Endore are indestructible. Even she.

One evening last Ethuil, a few of elves present in Imladris, gather in the Pillar Hall of Bar-en-Vanimar, for a night of Narn-i-Eldhrim, where those who are present may share memories or stories from the past.

Apart from Tuilerie, others were present as well, such as Camalagos, recently arrived from Lindon, Curulinn, and Aralirion.

Each one share in turn their story or memories, and then suddenly Tuilerie gathers her courage.

Ealendil lets her gaze wander the rolling plains before the Redhorn Pass, no movement, no breeze stirring the grasslands, not even a bird of prey hovering in the air… It was the morning the day after she had left Earcalie north of the dry riverbed of Nan Sirannon. Earcalie had continued on her own back to Imladris, and Ealendil had since been following days old tracks from a large party going north.

It is late afternoon when Maedhrathin arrives at the small meadow leading down to the lake of Hidhuinen. The air of the vale is still warm, despite it being the season of Rhîw. Finding a comfortable spot he sits down to wait for the arrival of Ealendil, savoring the last of the warmth of the afternoon sun.