Vanimar

Like all entries in Norliriel's diary, this is written in graceful yet accurate tengwar, not a tehta out of place.

“I don’t want to see a single stain” hissed Daegond. He was sitting on a bench like a hunchback, both of his boots were on a stool and he was nibbling some nuts. Both of his arms were open wide to grip the bench rest. It was a sign of confidence. Overconfidence even. Too much confidence for the nature of Hall of Fire.

To His Excellency Lord Elrond,

My lord,

It is regrettable to say that recently the gathering taking place under your roof in the Hall of Fire has been a dull affair. Same songs repeating over and over, same elves performing the same dances say a thousandth time, conversations barely touching to any sense or bearing any fruit, 

Laurelindo left Estarfin's rooms as another healer arrived. He went straightaway to replace the stock of rapidly diminishing draughts and salves. However, he was momentarily distracted while working, a mistake even healers in-training knew the danger of, and what was bound to happen, happened. He cut his finger on the jagged edge of one of the vials of sleeping draught. 

"When did I break it ?"

Tancamir wandered into the open door, absently holding a rolled-up letter in his hand. It had arrived from Lindon several days ago, delivered by a chattering young elleth named Aurineth. She had come to deliver a letter to Cúrandir from Ningloriel of Mithlond, who she claimed as one of her neighbours.

After leaving the first aid lecture given by Laurelindo, Veryacano chased after Sergeant Ancalasse with tall steps in the corridors of the Last Homely House. ''Sergeant!'' he yelled after him. Recognizing the Hammer Lord's furious voice, Sergeant immediately halted and stood at attention before turning about and saluting sharply. ''Did I not order the troops to attend the lecture today?'' Hammer Lord questioned him. Ancalasse was already sweating. ''You did, sir.'' he answered lowly.

A comforting sense of forgetfulness was draped over him like a shroud; drowning out all fears and all questions in a warm and dark embrace. Yet it was not a sense of peace that filled his limited perception, for peace is a state of being that is dependent upon the existence of another, alternative state. Without war or conflict what meaning does the word peace have? Perhaps then oblivion would be correct; an absence of all sensation except darkness. Although despite the emptiness around him, not all was still and silent.

Hir Parnard,

Dolthafaer found himself standing a lonely vigil on one of the balconies of Elrond’s house, watching the stars light up one by one as night crept across the Valley.  He was clad still in the garb he had worn upon the road, the thick fabric and leather stiff and caked in mud.  He had lost his cloak days ago in the effort to bind Danel and Estarfin’s wounds.  He was exhausted, hungry, and uncomfortable.  His task was over, and it was time for him to return home.