Vinyalonde

The dry, pungent smell of herbs wafted out of the open door. Uilossiel stepped inside, the flagstones cool and smooth against her slippered feet. Under one arm she carried a large tome, and in the other hand a small journal.

"Tinwen? Are you there?" She peered around the corner and saw her younger sister Tinwen seated at a table, crushing herbs with a mortar and pestle. Her silvery-fair hair, so like their mother's, was pulled into a coif atop her head. Although it was late in the afternoon, not a single fold of Tinwen's pale blue dress was out of place.

The Wood-elves generally conceive of their woods as their world, and the rare sight of stars shining through the branches of the trees is their great delight, for it is always dark in shadowy Mirkwood. Game animals are still plentiful in the northern part, and so the elves are comfortable and well provisioned with meat and skins. As they do not keep herds of animals, nor are they skilled at raising crops, having no cleared land fit for this purpose, the Wood-elves have abundant leisure time, which they spend in feasting, singing, dancing, and playing games.

A candle sputtered fretfully in the drafty air, casting a flickering circle of light on the desk. Outside, rain beat steadily upon the windowpanes, which were shut tight and curtained against the weather. Uilossiel  frowned, got up from her seat before the desk, and shut her door. Lighting another candle, she placed it opposite the first, so that more of the desk was illuminated, and returned to her studies.

The dangers one encounters on the leagues between the Lone-Lands and the Ered Luin, and the wretched aspect of the inhabitants cannot be understated. The principal way through the Bree-land is upon the old highway, built by one of their kings, and is long-neglected and crumbling away: it seems the people have retained nothing of the activity and energy of their ancestors, for good roads encourage trade into remote provinces, and this encourages industry and enforcement of order.

This day I came to the Bridge, hard by the Spire of Meeting, where my retinue gathered. There I saw three of the Fountain’s guards, with shields and spears in their hands, and beside them stood my clerk Sorontar, who carried a stack of papers, and was dressed all in somber black cloth, as if he were part of a mourning procession.

Whatever gold the Wood-elves collected was found by washing the sands of the beds of the forest-streams. The elves could not afford to spend their energies on painstakingly sifting for a few grains of gold; with the Shadow under wood, they were always watchful, and it was perilous to wander far. Their ornaments were simple, and they strung garlands of sweet-scented flowers or leaves to wear in their hair.

Anarya, the 38th day of Yávië

It is evening now, and I am writing this at my desk, as usual. You would not think anything has changed - everything is in place as it always is, my room is (hopefully) neat as usual, and the constellations shine in the sky in a most familiar fashion. Yet I feel as if my entire world has been turned upside down.

My Lord,

Last night, there was much talk in the Hall of a band of Men encamped outside the Gate of the Valley, and some thought they were refugees, fleeing the darkness, and others thought them a group of roving bandits, and some thought they might be supplicants, messengers sent to ask for aid from Lord Elrond: arms, or stores of food, though I thought this year’s harvest a bountiful one, as there was plenty of rain and sunshine, in proper amounts.

The door swung upon and Parnard strode into the room. He was dressed more formally this day, in flowing robes dyed a blue so deep that it was almost black, wearing a delicate silver diadem that glinted on his brow.

“What might be the date?” he asked, pushing aside a stack of papers.