[Imladris]

A tall woman heavily cloaked in a black robe, mounted upon a pure white horse, dejectedly trotted up the winding lane leading to the Hobbit building. Lira, the lady upon the horse, glanced at the sign of the inn: The Green Dragon. "An odd name for such a gentle community," she whispered to Merkaliel, her steed. As she dismounted, she saw a pool of waer upon the ground, the surface gently rippling as the wind caressed it. Throwing back her hood, she saw fair hair splashing down upon her shoulders in wild disarray, her pale elven face looked gaunt in the slightly distorted reflection. Slight hollows made her clear blue eyes look bigger than they really were. Lira sighed and strode into the inn and sat at a table near the door so that she could smell the beautiful green grass, the faint perfume of the wild flowers, and feel the slight breeze upon her face. She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat; the air was so close here and her nose could readily pick out the heavy reek of beer.


As she waited, she thought of fair Ithilien and the son of Thranduil, Legolas, the elf hero who had brought an elf colony to that fair land. But at the thought of Legolas, she remembered Gimli. Gimli the Dwarf, friend of Legolas. A sneer of contempt curled about her lips. Yes, he was different from other dwarves, yet he was still a dwarf and thought like a dwarf, and dwarvish greed still stirred within his heart, of that Lira was sure. She turned her thoughts away from the distasteful subject of the dwarf and thought again of Ithilien and Gondor. She sighed as she wondered how often she had come to the Shire and then returned, not yet ready to leave that lovely land of Gondor, not yet ready to leave Middle-earth. Sad memories haunted this land, memories of beauty now faded...

[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]