Dolthafaer

Dolthafaer stood still and straight at his post, keen eyes moving restlessly over the view before him – snow, for the most part, broken only by the pathetic silhouettes of tall spindly trees and ancient hunks of rock.  The camp was silent below him, save for a few moving carefully amongst the sleeping company. 

It was a quiet watch. 

Peaceful. 

In the silence amongst the trees, a lone archer waits, still, and patient. All is quiet. The birds sing high in the trees, calling to the summer sun with their merry greetings. Finally, in one smooth, graceful motion, she raises her bow and draws back the string. A breeze from the lake lifts the leaves of the trees, sending some spinning slowly to the ground. With a movement as natural as breathing, the archer releases the string, standing motionless for what seems like a long moment, while her arrow speeds to its target.

From her post high on the cliff, Luthelian watched the fire in the camp crackle against the wood, throwing its heat across the sleeping figures. Some paces away, she saw Tancamir standing watch over the frozen lake and beyond. Her eyes followed his back more often than she would have liked since his return.

Honoured Lady,

Throughout all time, the light of our people shines in the darkness. But the design of the Enemy is to keep us apart, because he could not keep light out of the world entirely; and when he could not do that, he spared no pains to sunder ties of kinship and set Men against us.

It is said in the Valley that the Enemy is preparing to strengthen his dominion by the continuation of destruction of the lives and lands of the Free Peoples everywhere, and moves forth to open War.

The bowstring snapped and the arrow whistled through the air until it hit the target with a satisfying thunk.  Dolthafaer barely noted its position near the center before he knocked another to the string. 

It had been a day since the hearing of Estarfin by the Cauns of Vanimar for his disastrous foray into the Hithaeglir. 

This day a Council meeting was held to hear an account of the actions of Estarfin, formerly Sergeant-at-Arms of the Order of the Hammer, so that we could hear what was done, and why it was done, and give our recommendations to Lord Anglachelm.

The first breath of spring had arrived some days ago, blown upon the gentle west wind rolling into the Valley of Imladris. The eaves dripped with melting snow, hung with rapidly dwindling icicles that glittered in the mellow sunlight. Patches of green appeared in the fields which once had been blanketed in snowy white. And in every garden, sharp green spears thrust upwards through the soil, bearing the promise of bloom and growth. Already a few brave blossoms of nínim hung drooping from their slender stems, suspended above the ground like white tears falling upon the snow.

The snow white petals of her royal roses cuddled the tip of her nose as she inhaled their lofty scent. These had always stood apart from their more colorful brethren - not as heady in scent, but still retaining the elegant integrity of the rose. Danel's instructions on the scents of Thargelion came in good time, just as the edges of her lavenders and herbs began to crisp and dry.