Letter

The following details the appearance and content of the package given to Finchley by Cesistya for her journey to Gondor. The package consists of three items: an Itinerary, a Linen Letter, and a Red Letter.

~~~~~

A letter written on fine Elven parchment, sent from Rivendell by carrier hawk. The penmanship is steady but not especially fine, and the spelling is mostly correct...

Dear

Dearest?

To Finchley,

Lord of Graevewillow,

An envelope is placed in Cedwyn's mailbox, the letter inside to be read once she returns from the trip to Ered Luin...

Lady Cedwyn,

I probably should have written back sooner, but much has happened and I hadn't quite gotten round to it.

(( A reply to this letter. ))

Greetings Lady Manadhlaer,

I am glad to read that your portrait pleases you. In my mind I should actually apologize for how long it took to bring it to fruition. I do not only wish to capture the likeness of hröa (body), but fëa (soul), as well.

The dark-haired Avari reclined on a small, red couch, inside Tham Send. He had a cool glass of wine in his left hand, his smallest finger sticking outwards whilst the rest of his fingers curl around the glass. In his right hand, resting on top of his fingers, is a book. The writing of it curls in the lettering of Quenya. He would take a sip from the glass of wine, placing it down on a small table in reach, using his free hand to turn the page of the book, then picking up the glass of wine again to take a sip, his eyes moving down the page as he reads the words.

Valanduir travelled from the Bay of Belfalas with Nethillon until Minas Tirith. This time was different than always as he was permitted in the city once again after Nethillon's request. Valanduir Alagaer was always seen as a hooded figure but no one ever paid attention (no one but Nethillon) how he really looked like. He was a tall man with skin tanned by sun. Valanduir's face was smooth and young, he had well-matched nose and lips that always had a smile drawn on them. His eyes were inky black and his hair was short and well-kept.

Dear Brynleigh,

A series of written thoughts stashed away in a box of parchment, written meticulously and precisely, as if the writer had taken great pains to make their handwriting as legible and clear as possible.

Taraborn was brought out of his day dream when she winked at him. The young woman had caught his stare and offered a cheeky wink in response before turning to giggle with her friends, occasionally looking back at him. He smirks and digs his heels into his steed to pick the pace up a little. He had been riding through the town, up the main road through Bree towards the Prancing Pony when he spotted her.