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Erebemlin
Erebemlin was weary…his heart, his mind. The return of the blacksmith was almost too much. The young man lay in the grass near his feet, and the elf watched him closely, watching and hoping for some sign of his king.
"Mellon! You are back! Where have you been!"
Erebemlin raised his eyebrow as the young Ædegard fell to his knees before the blacksmith. The young man had not fallen before the king in such respect. Why would he do so for this man that covered Amroth’s mind?
"Give him room, Ædegard," Erebemlin spoke firmly. "He is feverish and needs to rest."
Ædegard rose and stepped back, but instead of taking his leave as Erebemlin wished, the man took hold of the young Rohirric woman and began to introduce her. The elf pushed himself up quickly from the ground and stepped between the couple and the blacksmith. Erebemlin towered over the man as he narrow his eyes and flared his nostrils. The man, Mellon, began to speak, but the elf interrupted glaring at Ædegard. “He needs rest. There will be time for such things later.” Erebemlin growled, “Go now, both of you, and let him sleep.”
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