Thendryt

“Thank you for coming out here again so soon, Lilleduil,” Elrohir said. “I know that things are a bit…unsettled for you in the Valley at present.”

Lilleduil, who had just unsaddled and settled Braigsul, approached the campfire and bowed to her liege lord. “I am at your disposal always, my lord. What is it you wished to speak to me about?”

"Firstly, I wish to know how you are doing."

"I am fine, my lord."

"Fine? Elrohir's expression was gently dubious.

Thendryt was now in the infirmary, with the healers. It had been a fairly long few days as she recalled her first glimpse of his internal battles...

...

Rays of light began to climb over the mountain ridges, illuminating the Vale at dawn.  The air was cold, a gloom had set this morning that she could not place. Adanmiel made her way to depart, whistling for her steed, Llamreth. After a few moments, a horse trotted slowly down the stone pathway, greeting her friend. Adanmiel smiled softly and leapt upon Llamreth, bading her forth.

Beloved,

This must be a short letter, I fear, for were I to expound in full upon how much I miss you and love you, poor Lintroval would never be able to get off the ground!  (And besides, Manadhlaer wanted to include a letter for Norli as well.)  We were very mature and reasonable, weren't we, with our mutual acknowledgment of the fact that our duty would often keep us apart?  I wonder if you find the reality as onerous as I do!

The copper-haired elf took the silver arrowhead and held it up to the light of the forge, inspecting it with a keen eye. 

“How many?”

“Twenty.”

The smith’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“You lose twice as many in a single day, Dolthafaer.”

The Lord of the Arrow chuckled under his breath and dropped a small pouch of coins onto the table strewn with scattered notes, tools, and metal shavings. Sometimes he wondered how the foreman could find anything amidst this mess.

Thendryt stumbled into his quarters.
He had spent all night walking around. He couldn’t sleep anymore, every night brought a nightmare.
His head was spinning. He could hear shouts and shrieks echoing through his mind.

You’re losing it Morson.

Shut up.

You can’t deny it.

Thendryt kicked a wooden stool into the wall, his metal boots breaking the wood even before it hit the wall.

Get out of my head!

Thendryt punched a thin bookshelf.

Dolthafaer was not sure how long he had been sitting on the porch, carving sticks into arrow shafts.  There was a neat stack of them at his side, and he was surrounded by (and covered in) wood shavings.  It was an easy task – repetitive, calming.  He was so absorbed in the work that he did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps. 

“Safe travels to you both.”
Osilivren bowed to Faorie and then to Thendryt.
Thendryt bowed his head slightly in return.
“Wherever the path may lead you. And if not sooner, then I shall surely see you in the halls of Mandos.”
Osilivren mounted his steed and set off, leaving Faorie alone on the side of the road. She stood there a moment, before turning around and slowly walked over to the stair where Thendryt sat.
“He’s not dead yet.” Thendryt said, noticing a hint of sadness in her eyes.