Vanimar

Long had Arradril been thinking -- or so it seemed to her -- over the question of what sort of gift she might find or make for Branalph, survivor of the ruin of Nargothrond and lately recruit of the Order of the Hammer. It was merely polite, after all. He had given her the pretty purple feather that reminded her of younger days. So etiquette, for surely that was all that it was, would seem to demand some sort of token in return.

At last Arradril and Filegris had a rest period at the same time, and accordingly flopped down by the side of a well-loved pond north-west of the Last Homely House. Filegris, who had meant merely to clear her head of the whirl of recent events, was startled and delighted when Arradril produced from her pack five apples -- red, but with a golden undertone that peeked out in little streaks, particularly at the top near the stem -- and some hard orange cheese. She divided the fifth apple into perfect halves and presented Filegris with half of her bounty.

Content of note slid under the door of Arrow Hall:

I am as intrigued by your wager and your offer of diversion as much as your bold attempt at stealth and the placement of your missive. I admit for a moment that I believed a serpent had nestled its way into my boot!

I doubt not your prowess with a bow; and am eager to see it firsthand. I am of a mind to let you bring down our quarry as to leave such matters to me and my hammer would result in overly-tenderized meat.

As you have correctly observed, it would be impossible for us to soon forget the cheese.

Branalph was startled to find this note in his boot, wrapped around a chunk of rock too big to overlook. 

Aiya, hammer-wielder!

There is a feast upcoming, and I fear your quartermaster has prepared strangely -- where there ought to be meat, there is only cheese. Bloody great heaps of it.

Arradril worked alone, as she normally preferred. Tonight's project was a sheath for her favorite boot dagger. The single-edged weapon was not her largest, nor her longest, nor yet was it her oldest -- so it was no painful reminder of fair Ondolindë. It was not even balanced for throwing; given the alarming upward curve of the blade, and the solid hiltward weighting, Arradril reckoned that any attempt to fling it would end in a loud thud.

Manadhlaer sighed, not for the first time that day, or that hour. She dipped her quill and made another attempt:

It has been widely known since the Elder Days that the sap of an unopened poppy...

Instantly she stopped and put a line through her words. "If it has been widely known," she said aloud, "why write it at all?" One of her delicate silken slippers, as light as an Elfling's first breath, had already gone. She kicked the other against the far wall of her office and began again.

"...Since then I have wandered much. Something in my blood, mayhap, from the days after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad?”

“I have never been one to wander. Not without cause. Yet it seems you travel far. For what purpose, and why alone?” Estarfin stated.