Rivendell

Here lies a proprechy once sang by a minstrel in the Vally of Rivendell. 

Thus a maid shall flee

The starlit valley of song and dance

The last home of the Eldar will see

The day a maid holds a blade

Strong and free.

Druda had enjoyed many days in the Valley of Imladris, listening to the music, song and stories, riding her pony through the glades and relaxing in its beauty. Her thoughts had once again returned to the necklace in her room.  She removed the box from its place on the shelf and eased open the lid, the necklace shimmered in the light but there was also a new radiance to it that had not been present in Bree, a translucent blue sheen now played across its surface. It must have been a trick of the light.

"Everything I have, and everything I am, is yours."

       Soft strains of music float across the bridge. The stars dance through the ripples of the lake, bathing the sanctuary in silvered light. I take a deep breath, feeling the nerves and excitement that flutter in the pit of my stomach like tiny trapped birds. To my side, Galdorion fidgets anxiously. He is close enough to reach out and touch, but I do not move. We are both stood still, waiting.

Lord Elrond stood upon the bridge deep in thought. The water below was now a gentle stream greatly reduced from the torrent of melt water that had signalled the arrival of spring. Eventually it would become a trickle and then remain dry until next year’s winter snows melted once more. Pacing back and forth he contemplated the news that he had just received.  The news came from a patrol of his guards that had found one of the gardeners in a state of great distress. After some time he had regained some sense and managed to recount his story to the patrol leader.