Vanimar

Sparks flew from the white-hot metal as the dark hammer struck it, the sound echoing through the forge. Ruineth leaned against the wall of the smithy, sweat pouring from her as she tried to catch her breath. Estarfin beat the hard metal with the heavy hammer, trying to flatten it into a blade. The metal cooled quickly though, turning from white to red to orange. He shook his head, thrusting the unfinished blade back into the forge.

It all started with rain.

Anglachelm was awaiting a word from Eregion for a week. The whole Hammer company was fighting there and the most recent reports about their whereabouts were not so accurate. Hammer quartermastery was sending more letters to the valley about their supply needs than the command itself. All these stalemate and blurry news were discomforting Tur of Vanimar beyond measure.

Elloen's Journal, first page:

First of all, I do not write to my journal all the time. I only do that when I feel I have something important to remember. My mother Sírewen used to do so – but unfortunately I had no chance to take it with me, because it all happened so fast. But at least whatever happened to me in Middle-Earth, the Elves that are close to me will get to read about it later.

– Elloen Furinmír, Second Age 1708, Imladris

Return to Former Home

I returned to the Valley to find the Last Homely House almost the same as it was when I left it, with the trees around waving mournfully in the rising east wind, a promise of the end of my Lord Anglachelm.

There are fell voices on the air, the shades of unhappy men, or something far worse? Fear emanates from the black stone of this place, and few are those that would dare to approach it. Night has fallen, yet the stars are veiled, the only light that we see is the corpse light of the tower, illuminating nothing but the darkness. We know that we must press on, and yet we hesitate. There are few remaining upon these shores that could challenge us, yet we delay. Is it fear? I look at my companions, and I see no fear etched upon their fair faces.

I was a fresh recruit in the ranks of Bar-en-Vanimar when disaster struck the House, and two of its soldiers were slain in lands south.

The boat left Celondim in the cool, dark night. The moon struggled hard to bring its silvery light through the thick and obese clouds, but there was no victory to be had tonight. The gray veil in the sky equally obscured the stars and the wind was practically non-existent. A heavy sigh escaped from my lips as the ship slowly, gradually moved over the Lhûn towards Mithlond. Along the riverbank, amongst the reed and vegetation, I noticed aggregations of fish being hunted by larger predators.