Maedhrathin

For the hundredth time, Tuilérie goes through her light pack, the bedroll, and spare supplies. "Lembas", she thinks to herself, and nods. And there is the map of Eregion, safely rolled and carefully stowed away in a water-proof case, as well as her fishing rod. She pats Nolandur gently on his head, who follows her around, tail wagging without cease, sniffing at everything.

Maedhrathin is sulking somewhat, and not being especially talkative this morning. A crumbled letter lies on the floor next to him. He has been called back to Lindon by his cousin in Harlond, and is trying to get organized for the trip. Family duties requires him to leave the peaceful valley, though he would rather had stayed longer with Ealendil.

It is late afternoon when Maedhrathin arrives at the small meadow leading down to the lake of Hidhuinen. The air of the vale is still warm, despite it being the season of Rhîw. Finding a comfortable spot he sits down to wait for the arrival of Ealendil, savoring the last of the warmth of the afternoon sun.

A week had gone by since Ealendil, in company with Earcalie, had left Duillond for Imladris, a journey that would take a couple of weeks. Maedhrathin hadn’t accompanied Ealendil to say farewell and wish them good luck, he loathed these farewells, and besides… what needed to be said had been said already.