Fingolrin

The problem with associating with elves on a regular basis, Eirallyn reflected as she arranged for Yaisaelwen's care with the Celondim stable master, was that no matter how cleanly one was, there were always times when one felt grungy and grubby around them. For instance the stable master, despite his profession, looked to her eyes to be cleaner and more put together than she herself did at the moment, despite regular baths in some damned cold streams and even a hot tub in an inn or two between here and Imladris.

Elrohir regarded the young woman across the fire from him thoughtfully. He'd ridden with the Dunedain for centuries. Some of their women were exquisite, elegant almost as the elven kind. Eirallyn was not such a one. She had the high-carved bone structure of the Lords of Men, but her countenance was more attractive than beautiful, her hands broad and capable, her frame tall and strong. She looked exactly like what she was-a woman who had taken up the sword.

Norliriel was ready to once more engage in her craft, the way one would be ready to embrace an old friend, familiar even after long separation, with quiet joy. She had ancient silver, the finest she could find. She had her tools, and a well-tended forge. All she needed now, was to devise in her mind the shape of what she would then form in metal.

Beloved,

The envelope and the letter within are both of fine paper, and the calligraphy is thick, yet delicate, but not overly fancy.

_________________________________________________________________________

To Fingolrin of Lindon, greetings.

Like the previous diary entry, Manadhlaer has written this one in a somewhat agitated hand; one might be excused for thinking a spot on this page was a tear.

He was still young when it happened. Once united and mighty, they were divided and weakened. Factions were established, swords were forged in secret and dark whispers spread; words of treason and rebellion. Lies. It had been Morgoth who sowed the seeds, but the Noldor took care of the harvest.

They had bitterly paid for each their wrongs.

Elrohir looked up as the first flakes of snow started falling. “Are you sure that you want to go back tonight? You’re more than welcome to stay.”

Lilleduil considered the question seriously for an entire moment, but the restlessness that had consumed her of late would not be denied. Work was her best solace now.

“No, I will go on back, my lord.”