Dismissed for the winter, I headed back home to see mother and sister and recover from my wounds. It was good to be home. I spent much time with my sister, teaching her to hunt stag, and helping around the farm. But still, I felt restless, and my dreams at night were often filled with battle, death, and darker things. Secretly I was glad to leave for Barad Naith when the time came.
We set out with Grithir in late March towards Rivendell. The journey east was uneventful, and I was overjoyed to finally feast in the halls of Elrond, delighting in the company of the Elves, who are filled with song and stories of bygone days.
While in Rivendell I met a very interesting Elf, a Noldo smith, who has been alive almost since the High Elves first returned to Middle Earth in the First Age. His name is Tologion, and he had worked his craft in Gondolin. I asked him of my father’s sword, and indeed, Tologion knew its maker. It was a friend of his from those ancient days by the name of Thanben, who fell beside Ecthelion to a Balrog’s mace.
We rode out from Rivendell with a sizable company of Eldar warriors, including the noble sons of Elrond. Many Elves sat along the trails as we left, filling the forest with joyful song. My spirits were high as we departed.