Lothoniel

Maedhrathin is sulking somewhat, and not being especially talkative this morning. A crumbled letter lies on the floor next to him. He has been called back to Lindon by his cousin in Harlond, and is trying to get organized for the trip. Family duties requires him to leave the peaceful valley, though he would rather had stayed longer with Ealendil.

I stand upon a hill, overlooking the river Lhûn. Down below, within its swirling waters, a number of ships carrying the banners of Loth-i-Lonnath waving in the wind, lies anchored at the docks of Thamas Lorn; and like great white swans they ride the streams, only awaiting the moment to spread their wings and take flight towards the north. For that is where the herth is going, to meet dangers unknown, but this time, I'm not going with them.