Limiriel

We arrived at Hrimbarg, northernmost settlement of the Mountains, near the Northern High Pass. There were a few Naugrim there, very surprised at seeing such a large group of Elves, some rather bedraggled and not looking much like soldiers, as one said to me.

Limiriel rubbed her gloved hands together; eyes narrowed as she watched Thendryt slowly make his way through the deep snow from her perch high up in a snow-laden pine. The surly man’s heavy footsteps jarred the silver night. She wrinkled her nose in a disdainful sneer and leaned back against the trunk.

Men.

How many lives had been destroyed at the dishonour, disloyalty of Men? They had brought death to the Eldar and the Naugrim and to those of their kind that defied the curse of the Lesser Race.

She snarled silently and sat up again, spear in hand.

Parnard sat on a fallen tree, feet dangling, the pointed tips of his boots tracing strange figures in the snow.

"That accursed Man is already causing problems, and we are not even deep into the mountains," he said in Quenya softly to Limiriel .

"What kind of problems?"

The stars wheeled overhead, those everlasting watchers. Lamps and Trees and jewels beyond thought had passed them by, yet still they danced.

The Golden Wood slept. Haunting songs in praise of distant dreams had died long ago, and the lights far in the top boughs were but a glimmer. What twinkled down was caught in the silver claps, crafted by clever hands deep under the earth, that now and again braved a melodious chime in the mossed pathways of Caras Galadhon.

Parnard turned away from the letter and glared out the window at the fading daylight. I cannot recommend her too highly, he thought. Although Limiriel  had gained his confidence in this matter of Estarfin, what part she played in his rescue, he had no idea. Something about the spear-maiden unnerved him, and this letter she wrote him was bordering on rudeness.

My dearest journal,

I finally know what it is I have been searching for all these years! All those patrols on the moors, scouting for enemies and beasts, yes...but also more. Something tugging at my mind.

Up in the misty Mountains with my captain and fellow Arrows...I tasted it on the crisp air, heard it with the wargs' howls and felt it as the snow and wind nipped at my face. The thrill, the adventure of being somewhere I had never been. Danger waiting on the next hill. Every movement and sound, a sign that meant life or death.

Dolthafaer regarded his company with a critical eye, taking in their thick cloaks and heavy boots and somber colors, and nodded his proud approval.  He passed each of them a small flask of firewhiskey, warning them to use it sparingly in the bitter cold.  He reminded them of their mission, informed them of the dangers they might face, and a moment before he would have started them down the path, Veryacano approached them.  The Hammer lord briefly inspected the gathering before leaving them with a final order: