Raolor

“What do you mean they’re not in the Vale?!” Thendryt’s voice was high, and most likely leaking out of Lord Elrond’s library.
“I think you understand me quite clearly, Thendryt son of Mors.” Elrond said with authority in his voice, yet he came across as calm and somehow caring.
“Well where have they gone?!” Thendryt roared. “And you, you must be able to explain something!”

Sparring in Rivendell. Ráolor wearing a blindfold

"Again!"

At last, there was no need to sit in front of that blasted bonfire anymore! However, the leave was not a...victorious one, in Undómion's view. How he felt, he felt humiliated yet again; worthless...pathetic. The simple pleasures that still could be found on this side of the sea were heightened greatly, Veryathoron's familiar presence was one of the greatest...hearing and smelling things other than burning and smoke.

In the Hall of Fire elves gathered, summoned by their Lord Anglachelm.

The stories are never enough.

No matter how famous people are, their skill can be only verified and experienced in a personal encounter.

Confused thinking, hardly has Undómion been like this! Perhaps save the years that followed being sightless. Hardly his ire is stirred, yet somehow the ellon he challenged managed to achieve it. Frustration, anger...it gave Undómion a head ache. Not even his wife could completely remove it. One more day...then he could leave.

Leaving Undomion in front of the bonfire, he went through the entrance hall and stepped outside. He felt his blood boiling in his veins, and making a fist, he forced the burning rage downwards, preventing it from rising up into his head.

It was not a game, Raolor told him.

Folly, that is what it is.

Parnard looked up from his papers and stared out the window, half-expecting to see the fierce Noldo tripping on a loose stone, a strip of cloth around his eyes, his hands groping as he sought his way through the Valley paths as he fulfilled his latest "challenge."