Vanimar

Continued from High on the Mountain

Veryacano studied the eager elf before him for a long while before speaking. ‘‘Spirits you indeed have, young Parnard!” he said, chuckling, and gestured for him to stand.

Dear Lords and Ladies of Swan,

It saddens and ashames me greatly to write this letter, but circumstaces of the latest events have given me no other choice. 

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap
A breathless footfall on the cool marble. In the eerie silence, it resonated within the hall.
Creak.
The door opened wide and the Elf-maiden stared into the sunny sky.
Rustle.

Daegond ran up the stairs in the Elrond's home and rushed outside towards the eastern balcony. That was the only spot he did not check in the valley this morning and he hated to be late. He passed the second floor alley and slam-opened the balcony doors as it was his way then looked outside with tightened eyes.

Estarfin paced back and forth within the small suite of rooms that he kept. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight and noises of the valley. Empty bottles, stacks of papers and various weaponry and armour pieces littered every surface, and Estarfin strode between them, a thick crystal glass in his hand. Anger and frustration radiated from him; every few strides he would run a hand through his coarse hair and take a swig of the cheap wine that he was drinking.