Fingolrin

Remember.

She might already be dead.

Remember.

It’s your fault.

A tree, another one, the swamp, the lights... Seven days and no findings. My hands, my bag, my phials, all empty.

The sound of Elvealin’s crystal bell pendant. Norliriel knows I do not want to go back yet, I am sure. The crystal bell, once again. Norliriel’s hand is on my hands. I feel woozy.

I have to ask. “How much more do you think we can keep looking?”

(( This part of story has been written together with Norliriel. ~*~ is a divider to mark the point of view.))

 The watchful eyes of the lone sentry found her as soon as she stepped out from the shadows of the trees, but he only nodded, eyes flicking to the stitched mark of her company on her arm, and gestured for her to pass.

As she moved closer, one corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile, and he remarked: “You're getting sloppy, Cae. Saw you coming from miles away.”

Sparring in Rivendell. Ráolor wearing a blindfold

"Again!"

Delossad.

The eagle batted its golden eye and looked accusingly at him, as if it was Parnard's fault that it was so cold, and he was so far from the Valley, and so tired from roaming all night searching for him.

His left hand wavered in the air in front of the sharp beak as his right hand crept forward to remove the small scroll tied to its leg.

"Confounded bird!" he cried out, as the eagle nipped at him again and again, and struck him full in the face with its wing.