Sargiel

“I would very much like to tell my dear friend Sargiel why I must return to the Greenwood,”

With a loud creak of the front door, Faorie returns to her house, weary of the long day's festivities. She holds a hand woven satchel borrowed from the House of Iavasant storing all of her gifts from the party in one hand while the other drags a disposable bag of empty wine bottles.
Leaving the bag of bottles by the front door, she carries the satchel to her study where she carefully removes all of its contents.

Many things happened in very short time.

We are now in Angmar. The way to the doors of Angmar was... mostly peaceful surprisingly enough.

The day after we arrived, Ancalasse found us at the campsite. But then we separated. Lord Belethoriel went to the settlement of men, Aughaire. The rest of us went to find water.

The hillman had stood at the edge of a cliff, pointing to a distant mountain range, black against the blood-red sky.  The cold bite of the northern wind had been nothing compared to the chill in his next words. 

“A winged host of worms.”

The trail of the orc host – and the prisoners they caried – had gone cold, and they had had little choice but to barter with this crude man of Aughaire for information that might save them days of wandering aimless in Malenhad.  But the price for that information had been steep. 

I cannot believe how stupid I was when we left Imladris. Of all the things to forget, I left my sword on my desk. I mean… My sword ! I know I'm bad with a sword and that if I need to use it, chances are that I'll have better chance if I drop the sword and run for dear life but to forget it as I did… Stupid. Completely stupid !

Once again I find myself on the road with a search party to find an elf. He’s called Themodir, is of the Order of the Hammer and he betrothed to a lady living in Imladris and that is all I know of him.

I didn’t plan to leave this time.

First, I’ve asked lord Estarfin to train me at least a little so that I have something else than survival instinct and the knowledge that, no, taking a sword or a knife by the blade is NOT a good idea to rely on when I need it.

Second, I also have duties in Imladris and I didn’t want to leave it all behind.

Menelya, the 53rd day of Tuilë

It could not have been a more splendid day for a tournament. 

The sun was high in the clear blue sky by the time Dolthafaer arrived in Delossad – the ruins situated in a glade not far from Imladris, pillars and walls of crumbling grey stone encircling a courtyard overgrown with wildflowers of purple and white and gold.  

Dolthafaer wrinkled his nose in distaste at the sharp scent of the balm as he rubbed it into his shoulder, the large bruise there as bright a purple as the tunics he tended to wear to gatherings in the Hall of Fire.  The balm and the bruise both were gifts from Sargiel, a fellow recruit of the Hammer with whom he had taken up training.  The lady fought very well; she was young, but had apparently been born with a sword in one hand and a shield in the other.  It had been a long time since he had had such an excellent sparring partner.