Yesta
Her Duty was to her people, Finduilas reminded herself for the ninth time that day. Time and time again, various things had distracted her, and time and time again, Eru had shown her the importance of her sole attentions to Sondran.
Last narie*, she had fallen in love with Alientes, young king of Dahol. And look where she was now. Riding, again, to battle, with Alientes laying fatally ill in her castle.
Her captain, Beriadan rode up to her. “General Tari, the enemy is approaching towards the hill”
Good, she thought, we, once again, have the advantage.
The last battle in this ongoing war between the elves and the dwarves had resulted in two hundred and seventy three elves dying, many of which had been Finduilas’s close friends.
Of the dwarves, four thousand five hundred and six had died, three of which were important props in dwarven countries.
She swung onto Safron’s back and pulled on her helm.
Beriadan handed her her mother’s sword, Faelwen, passed down for several generations of the rulers of Sondan
Finduilas tilted her chin and twisted her arm over her chest, in a farewell of the elves. These signs were always made to dear friends before battles, in case someone should be killed, their affairs would be settled.
Beriadan returned the gesture, saddled his horse, and they rode out in separate directions, several quadrants of elves following each of the elves.
*Narie – June (quenyan)
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