Parnard

The sun was sinking below the horizon, bathing the ruins in a soft red glow. Its rays gave some final warmth before the darkness of the night took over. Gwingris was more occupied today than usual with a group of travelers who had just come from Imladris. They sat beside the fire now, sharing its warmth and a kettle of herbal tea. Some of them had stepped aside to stand watch or speak with the inhabitants of Gwingris. At this time, Eliriael broke away from the group quietly and inquired into borrowing writing instruments and the use of a messenger bird.

It appears I do not have to cook much today. There are still much food after the feast of unveiling Anglachelm's portrait, and I have to get yet rid of some of it, somehow.

Dolthafaer had – foolishly, he now realized – believed that his troubles with Thendryt had come to an end.  Months ago, the Man had departed from the Valley and taken up his post in the Coldfells, where his madness had been allowed to run unchecked so long as it was against the servants of the enemy.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.  The thought that he might even find his end in those cold pines had been a comforting one.

At the Hithaeglir, Annúngil paid Thendryt little heed, too absorbed in his duties to mind his presence. However, it was more of a presence of absence. The man came and gone as he saw fit and his superiors commanded. When he was at the encampment, Thendryt kept to himself, as far as he could from the Eldar.

The stories are never enough.

No matter how famous people are, their skill can be only verified and experienced in a personal encounter.

Dear Gwanûr,

The warm humid air was heavy with the cloying perfume of sweet jasmine and tuberose. Slowly the light shifted, brightening from the soft grey light to the whiteness of a new day. He became aware of voices lifted in greeting and opened his eyes.

A tall, thin elf in a long burgundy robe was smiling at everybody. He seemed to be very well known, and spoke softly using a language Laelas could not decipher.

Yesterday evening he was disinclined for conversation. Oh yes, he has appetite, but no relish, and after eating he is downhearted and anxious.

This letter is written on fine parchment, in an elegant and flowing script. It bears an ornate seal  depicting an embossed mallorn flower surrounded by two golden leaves.

Fuirgam, Commander of the Malledhrim forces in the Greenwood, by leave of Lord Celeborn of Lórien,

To Lord Ambassador Parnard of Bar-en-Vanimar, Greetings.