Danel

Elloen's Journal, first page:

First of all, I do not write to my journal all the time. I only do that when I feel I have something important to remember. My mother Sírewen used to do so – but unfortunately I had no chance to take it with me, because it all happened so fast. But at least whatever happened to me in Middle-Earth, the Elves that are close to me will get to read about it later.

– Elloen Furinmír, Second Age 1708, Imladris

Return to Former Home

Coming hither from the ruined wood of Taur Morvith, eluding the orcish outposts under cover of the pervading darkness, we crossed into the Vale of Ash, and passed round its western side, the tower being on the hilltop in the eastern end of the wood.

There are fell voices on the air, the shades of unhappy men, or something far worse? Fear emanates from the black stone of this place, and few are those that would dare to approach it. Night has fallen, yet the stars are veiled, the only light that we see is the corpse light of the tower, illuminating nothing but the darkness. We know that we must press on, and yet we hesitate. There are few remaining upon these shores that could challenge us, yet we delay. Is it fear? I look at my companions, and I see no fear etched upon their fair faces.

Making their way along the gloomy paths of Mirkwood, the company pressed onwards toward their goal for the day.

The Lady Danel thanked me for my help before she departed to speak with the Lords Bele

She was standing on the balcony of the Last Homely House, feeling the wind on her face and leaning on the railing. She was there when she wanted to think things through alone, since lately the Hall of Fire had been rather heated and full of crowd, sending the Elves of Vanimar the the fields of battle.

Parnard opened his eyes and stretched his limbs, feeling all weariness gone. He was glad to see the sun had gone down since he rested.

Whether it was night or not, the others did not know, but Belegos' instincts told him that the sun had set a while back. It was impossible to tell under the lichen-smothered boughs of Mirkwood. Day was only ever an almost imperceptible, lighter shade of darkness that passed quicker than what seemed normal. A storm had rolled overhead and it had been raining for hours. The company were sodden and miserable. The rain had soaked through their cloaks and hoods to run down their backs and collect in their boots.

Elloen had a bandage in his hand, and he was rolling it on the arm of yet another wounded malledhrim soldier. The air about him was foul, and there was little comfort in this place, at the camp of the shore at western Mirkwood. He heard the soldier thanking him and he smiled briefly as an answer. Danel had earlier negotiated that they could stay here if they helped the wounded soldiers and Elloen had agreed to do it, along with keeping an eye over Estarfin. Promise was a promise.