Lilleduil

A single torch burned outside the cell.
Thendryt followed the figure walking up closely, with a dark glare. He was sitting on the floor, with his back resting on the wall across the door. A week he’d been in there, his patience and personal hygiene slowly deteriorating. His hair was a mess, but the swelling had gone down.
“Thendryt? Would you like to get out of here?” He recognized the voice. “Unless you’re having a really good time, of course.”

Lilleduil rode through the night and the all next day, stopping at intervals to rest Braigsul, who endured the journey well enough.  The next night they rested in a clearing beside a mountain stream and the following day found them entering the gate of Ost Ringdyr in the early afternoon.

“So-did you know?  Is that why you pulled me out of the Warband?”  Lilleduil was at Thorenhad, having been summoned there by Elrohir.  They were finishing dinner.

The son of Elrond didn’t smile exactly, though the corner of his mouth twitched upwards for a moment.

Dear Gwanûr,

The sun slowly came up and the Vale of Imladris started lighting up. After his meeting with Faorie, Thendryt had walked Bovad over the bridge and around the settlement.
They stopped on a height that overlooked the entire Vale. A gentle breeze lifted his cloak slightly from the ground.
There was a slight mist forming around the Elven architecture, and around the rivers around it. Thendryt realized that the scenery was something that his own kind would write poems and sing songs about.

Isilya, the 54^th day of Lairë

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