Vinyalonde

Today I asked Lord Tindir if he would stand down the guard at his observation post by Estarfin’s door. He leaned forward, and without his usual jovial manner, earnestly told me that the guard was thought to be necessary, and that is just the way it is.

Uilossiel leafed through the multitude of books upon the shelf. Three handsome bookshelves, deftly carved of lebethron wood, stood within her room. Two flanked the large bay window in front of which her writing-desk stood. If she stood facing the window, the third bookshelf was to her right, on the wall beside the fireplace. She had a meticulous system of arranging her books and papers on these shelves. If the placement of anything was disturbed, she felt as if the fabric of the universe had somehow been tampered with, and would not rest until all was in order again.

'The roots are good if they be broken and drunken for them that spit blodd and are bursten.'

Firelight played over worn parchment as Uilossiel sat within the Hall of Fire, engrossed in a book. She turned the page sideways, eyes roving over a diagram of various bone fractures, and how they were to be set and bandaged. She frowned in concentration, pencil tapping her chin thoughtfully. She had not known there were so many different kinds of bones in the body, nor had she ever given thought to how they might be broken, and later mended.

Uilossiel stared numbly out of the window, blinking like an owl caught in the bright sunlight. All of Imladris was blanketed in snow, which reflected the light in a million splinters of brightness. There had been a sharp frost the evening before, and silver patterns danced across the window-panes, curling in fanciful shapes. Oblivious to the grandeur of the winter morning, she rested her chin on one hand and continued to gaze blankly through the windows.

"What is the meaning of the guard posted by Lord Estarfin’s door?"

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.

Lord Khalis