Estarfin

After grieving some time at the place where Aearlinn was buried, Parnard lifted his head, and taking Marawendi by the hand, walked down a path to a small house beside a crystal-clear lake. Beside the house was a small stone gazebo of the whitest marble, its top and sides hanging thick with a canopy of pink roses and white jasmine, their flowers just opening from the rising sun, that provided a sweet-smelling and delightful shade during the hottest hours of the afternoon.

Estarfin walked over to stand before me, even as Parnard ran from the hall, all but dragging the sobbing Marawendi behind him. There was a mixture of controlled rage and concern on his face. 

“Do not blame yourself,” he said, knowing my thoughts. 

“Well met, Sogadan. Remember us?” Danel said to the Vintner of Imladris. The hour was late; the great Hall of Fire was almost empty, without the usual hum of subdued voices, and the elves’ entrance was marked by few of the Valley denizens.

My heart was lightened when Estarfin pushed open the double doors to the outside world. The exit from Moria had been on my mind. I could remember the entry password, a simple utterance of the word ‘friend’, but I could not recall one for departing. 

(This is from a RP over a year ago. I am just catching up. It follows 'Of Belegos' )

The following morning Belegos was gone. 

And that is why I became a cook. It gave me the chance to never be far from Carnifinde, yet to be someone who could pass her by unnoticed. It was vastly different from the life of the Huntress I had been, but I came to find I enjoyed the preparations, the choice for meals, the learning of which herbs and spices brought out the best in any meal. I enjoyed seeing people happy. Mirima was the chief cook at that time. She was one who sailed over in the ships, one from Aman.