Nolomir

"Master Nolomir? Here are your letters for today." Limthir walked into the office, carrying a stack of quite a few sealed letters, feet padding across the floor with earnest haste. His olive-green robes made agitated little swishing noises as he entered the room and set the letters on a grandly carved oak desk in the corner.

Elenya, the 13^th day of Coirë

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Elenya, the 1^st day of Coirë

The sunlight slanted cold and bright through the window, as Makanárë roused herself and threw off the covers. The day had come, at last. Stretching one arm over her head, she arched her back and yawned. It had been so long since she had actually faced one of the Eldar in combat. It was sure to be amusing, though it would be over quite soon, if Nolomir's skills with the sword were what she deemed them to be. She set her face in an impassive expression and threw on an under-tunic, then began to arm herself.

Makanárë had returned to Imladris after ten days on the road, ten days of slipping through woods and scouting under cover of darkness. Her eyebrow twitched in annoyance as she rode through the Gates of Imladris, on an evening when the stars were again veiled by shadow. She had a report for Lord Veryacáno - truly nothing more than a perfunctory record of where and when she had patrolled - there were some signs of brigands and patrolling Orcs upon the road west of the Last Bridge, but that was all. Nothing out of the ordinary.

The sound of a key turning in a lock, then the creak of hinges that had not been opened in more than an Age, and the whisper of fabric on fabric. Makanárë held the lid with trembling fingers as she lifted it hesitantly, gingerly, until it rested fully open.

"I am a disaster waiting to happen, Hendunáro. And I would rather not bring you down with me."

Dear Gwanûr,

With a thud, the smithing hammer clattered to the floor. Makanárë stared at it blankly, eyelids drooping. How long had she been in the forges? Hours? Days? She had lost count. Glancing at the polished steel blades which lay on the table before her, she nodded in satisfaction. All the commissions which she had received in the past month lay finished and ready to be delivered, as finely hammered and polished as she could manage.

The past few days had been a glorious blur as Uilossiel and her brother set out from Imladris, riding west at a steady but unhurried pace towards Lindon. All around them the budding leaves waved upon the branches, veiling the once - bare wood in a layer of translucent green. Uilossiel fancied she could even hear a laughing music in each fresh brook they passed, newly sprung from the melting snows of the Hithaeglir. As they passed west of the Bruinen, the trees grew more dense and the undergrowth more abundant.