Eäryendë walked slowly through the city, her eyes falling upon the soft leaves falling from above. Her footseps fell on the soft ground as she traveled upwards towards the break in the trees. She raised her silver laced dress, sparkling as it caught the light of the moon shining through the small breaks the leaves would make when the soft wind blew. Her glowing aura twinkled as she came closer and closer to the top of the trees and the radience of the stars. It was through them that she drew her true power. The circlet that she wore on her head sparkled with intensity, a striking contrast to her long black hair. A form of tree was woven in sparkling silver in the back, it was Laurelin, the tree that she fell in love with when she was a child. True, she still was young in years, yet the waning of Telperion and the waxing of Laurelin was a sight that she would hold in her thoughts forever. It was then that she decided to become a priestess of Aulë, who favoured her race, the Noldori, the most.

Taking a late night stroll after some tedious paper-work he had ealier that evening, Ancalë Varnoi, sometimes called Ancal when speaking the common-tongue, Weapons Master and General of the Guards of the city, pilfered a bottle of his favorite cherry flavored Miruvor Cordial from the Guards supplies room. He could do that sort of thing, but still prefered not getting caught. He took a long pull from the bottle as he walked a slow, pensive pace through the place he knew so well. His home had been the forest haven for his entire life and he memorized nearly every single inch of it in the seven hundred and fifty seven years he lived there. He had just gone to check in on his Warhorse and found himself wandering the city aimlessly. He had no real intentions of going back until he really had to. The night was young and he never did much without the Sun to guide his steps. The General was contemplating going back to his quarters when a sudden flash of silver light caught his keen eyes. The night air was not still, yet it was calm. Peace swept the night like a blanket, the stars twinkling luminously as they blinked their eyes softly. Ancalë watched as a young female of his kind, adorned in silver, complementing her lustrous black hair, accented with a circlet. He watched her as she moved, for lack of anything better to watch, and for a need for some passing type of conversation. The only thing that spoke with a voice in the area aside from himself, was her.
"Wonderful night, isn't it?" he asked her in Quenya, while she stared up at one of the more noticeable trees.

Arya was still gazing up at the stars when she heard a ringing voice speak to her in the ancient tongue. She turned towards him, then slowly gazed up at the stars. "Elen síla lumenn' omentielvo", she said with a sweet voice, pointing to Eärendil. She turned back towards him and bowed her head. "Eem Eäryendë, Nin estar Arya". She said with a small smile. She brushed her hair back so it flowed downwards. As she spoke of the stars, he aura glowed. Some said that her aura looked like that of Laurelin right before it waned, but she just brushed them off as compliments as most knew her history of how she first came to love the stars. She studied the elf in front of her and noticed the bottle in his hand. "What is it that you are drinking?" She said to him in Quenya. She had been speaking to him in and out of Quenya and Sindarin.

Her eyes slowly moved up to meet his and she smiled softly, studying his features as she calmly placed her hands behind her back. She let out a soft sigh, just happy to speak with someone of her own race. She was usually quiet when she was with the stars, but tonight was different, it was as if they were telling her something.

Ancalë smiled as she spoke, her voice warm and lovely.
"Pleased to meet you, Arya." he acknowledged with a bow, despite the fact that she was much younger than he.
"I am Ancalë Varnoi, Guard General of the city. The stars are indeed beautiful tonight, it is a wonderful night to watch the sky."
She spoke in Quenya and Sindarin, but Ancalë simply spoke Quenya, it being is first language. He was fluent in the common-tongue, Sindarin, and Drow as well, but he did not use those as much, save for perhaps the common. Despite her age, Arya had a remarkably regal bearing, much more than she ought to have had, and Ancalë wondered what it was about.
"What is it that you are drinking?" she asked him in the high tongue.
Ancalë held up the bottle and took another swig. He started forwards towards her, the silver glow she seemed to give off made him wonder. It had to be the dress.
As he right next to her he held the bottle out.
"This is a staple in the Elven traveling lifestyle. It is called Miruvor Cordial, and renews strength. It is warm tasting and very fragrant, this is Cherry flavored if you would like a taste."
As he held the bottle out to her, the wind blew his cloak to the side, revealing his silver-hilted broadsword. He may have left his spear at his quarters, but he was not so foolish as to leave himself unarmed. Sure, he had his magic, but there were those who knew how to counter that. Yet again, he carried the unbreakable dagger that would never dull, Threnody's Spite at the back of his belt, hidden from view in case he needed it.
Under his cloak he wore a dark brown leather outfit, and tan pants. The boots he wore were sturdy and heavy. He wore a headband of a fine gold filigree and it had two rubies adorning each side, feathers next to each. His dark brown eyes met hers, they were on him, catching the moonlight in their silvery depths.

"Thank you, I think that I shall." She said as she slowly reached out her hand and took the bottle from him and gracefully brought it up to her lips. She let the Miruvor was over her lips and down her throat. She let out a deep sigh as the liquid touched her tongue and the effects took hold on her. "How wonderful. I do know what this is." She said with a nostalgic smile. "We used to drink this in the undying lands before we came here." She held out the bottle to him and nodded gently. "I thank you Ancalë, you have given me back some of my memories." She said sweetly.

True, she was young, but she had seen so much in her short years to last five thousand years. Her memories were dear to her and she held many of them, but sometimes she needed a little reminder to bring one into focus and the miruvor had done just that. Her gaze remained fixed on him as she said. "You are the general of the guard? Are we under that much threat here?" She said with a questioning look, a breeze catching her hair and pushing it over her shoulder. She closed her eyes as it did this and breathed out slowly listening to the wind. "I feel no danger, yet I know there is.." She said rather ominously.

A moment after she had spoken the words she caught a glimpse of his broadsword. "That blade is elvish." She said, stating the obvious. "It catches all the light around it." She paused. "May I see it?" She said in a gentle tone, throwing back her hair and looking at him intently. "Does it have any special engravings?" Arya loved crafts, everything made by the elves was a craft. She did not see swords as instruments of death, though she knew that they were, but rather as art, especially those forged by the Noldorin Smithies. She was one to find beauty in everything, no matter how ugly its job might be, that was part of the reason why she joined the war on the side of light.

"Thank you, I think that I shall." Arya said when she took the bottle from his hands. A look of sheer delight crossed her face when she took a long drink.
"How wonderful. I do know what this is." She smiled warmly as she drank, a look of peaceful memory recollection crossing her face. "We used to drink this in the undying lands before we came here." As she spoke she offered him the bottle back and gave him a nod. "I thank you Ancalë, you have given me back some of my memories." Arya said.
Ancalë smiled as she held out his bottle, he reached his hand out and closed his fingers on the smooth surface.
"It was my pleasure." he responded. His eyes swept the surroundings once more, scanning for any dangers. He found nothing to cause him any alarm.
"You are the general of the guard? Are we under that much threat here?" Her voice brought him back to face her. "I feel no danger, yet I know there is..." she said with a strange voice filled with apprehension. Ancalë shrugged.
"We ought to be just fine." he assured her, "And if not, I can take care of pretty much anything that would likely show up here." he said confidently.
As a response to the time Ancalë's cloak flew open, Arya noticed the weapon.
"That blade is elvish." She said, her eyes on the weapon. "It catches all the light around it." She observed, "May I see it?" She asked him in a soft tone, but when she threw her hair back and fixed her gaze upon him, she didn't seem all that soft. "Does it have any special engravings?"
Ancalë drew the weapon swiftly, letting the light catch the blade. He flipped it over and held the hilt out to her.
"No, there is nothing special about its looks, but it is the finest sword I have ever come by. My spear on the other hand is very impressive looking and functioning, as is the knife I have on me. The knife has a magic to it though." he said to her.

Arya was rather strong, even though she hardly looked it. She took the hilt of the sword and stepped back a few metres. She swung it around and then balanced the blade on her fingers, looking down towards it. "Very well crafted." She said, almost admiring it. "It is so light as well." She said as she handed it back to him, holding the hilt back to him. "It is a shame there are no elvish runes on it." She said with a small sigh. "Then we could know who made it. Unless you know." She said looking at him curiously.

When he mentioned the spear she smiled, but was rather curious about the magic knife. She didn't asked to see it, but simply asked. "Was it made for you or did you come by it?" The only weapon that she owned was a staff for casting her spells, the only non-elvish one that she knew was a light spell, she always wondered if she could imbue weapons with the power of light, but never tried. Her staff was passed down in her family and was a craft of the Noldor of Tirion in Aman, it was brought over during the great migration, which she was not a part of, she was yet young and was left safe with her Vanyar kin in Valmar. She always stood out around them as she was Noldor through and through as you could tell with her black hair and there was a stark contrast with her Vanyar cousins. "I have a staff that is older than I, older than you perhaps." She said not really knowing his age, although she could guess, even though elves usually look as if they are twenty-five for thousands of years when they are first fully mature.

"Very well crafted." Arya complimented on the sword "It is so light as well. It is a shame there are no elvish runes on it." She complained as she held the hilt back, "Then we could know who made it. Unless you know." She seemed to direct both a question and a statement there and Ancalë obliged her simply. When she mentioned his spear he decided to lay all questions she might have to rest. He reached out and took his blade back. She mentioned something about a staff that was allegedly very old.
"Yes, it was an elven smith my father knew before he died. They were very good friends, and I was presented the weapon when I became a guard. The smithy's name was Larcamacil and he is the best in his trade. He is closer to my age than he was my father's and he also forged my spear, which is renowned as his finest work." He said with some pride "I would love to show it to you some time. And one day you could show me this Ancient staff of yours, perhaps." he added almost as an afterthought. After re-scabbarding his sword, the General drew out his dagger, Threnody's Spite.
"This is Threnody's Spite. A weapon fused with the magic of the Goddess of Balance herself. It's edge will never dull and will always remain as keen as a razor, but more so because it will never chip, crack, rust or break either. No matter what." Ancalë whirled the blade around his fingers. Not a very practical skill, but it was pretty to watch and fun to do. He flipped the weapon in the air and caught it by the blade, holding the grip out to Arya.
"The balance of it, ironically, is nigh perfection." he announced as he held it to her. He did not ask how old she was when she mentioned the staff, such a thing was impolite, but if she wanted his, all she had to do was ask. Despite how the night usually effected his bleak attitude, Ancalë grew to find that he actually liked this girl, she was interested in weaponry and was fun to talk to, not to mention right pretty to see.

Arya placed her hands around the hilt of the dagger and immediately felt the power inside of it. "Amazing." She said softly, as she admired the balance and form of the weapon. She looked up at him when he mentioned his father dying. "Did he die in battle?" She asked, then stopped abruptly. "I'm sorry, that was too forward of me, it is none of my business." She said apologetically, then changed the subject back to the dagger. "Your dagger is a fine work of art, I can feel the power in it, it is quite beautiful" She said with a smile as she handed him back the dagger. "You must treasure it greatly." She said with a rather sad tone in her voice and lowering her head a little, feeling rather foolish for bringing up his father, but at the same time, knowing how she treasured her own staff that was given to her by her father. "I would be honored to show you my staff." She said as she rose her head up and looked him in the eyes again.

After a moments silence, she spoke, "Why is the dagger called Threnody's Spite?" She was sure there was a story behind it as there were with most swords with such names. Arya loved to hear stories of her kin and their crafts, sometihng she had a passion about since she was a youngling.

Ancalë studied her as she studied the dagger.
"Amazing." Arya said, handling the weapon. She looked at Ancalë. "Did he die in battle?" She asked, then caught herself.
"I'm sorry, that was too forward of me, it is none of my business. Your dagger is a fine work of art, I can feel the power in it, it is quite beautiful" She said with a sort haste to cover up what she believed to be a mistake, and she smiled as she the weapon back out to him. He reached out and closed his fingers around the hilt, taing it from hers. Ancalë resumed the twirling of the blade between his fingers. "You must treasure it greatly." she said. Her tone was melancholy as she spoke, but there was a pause before she spoke again
"I would be honored to show you my staff." She said finally, picking her head up and looking into his brown eyes once more.

She paused once more, something she had taqken to very recently, before she spoke again.
"Why is the dagger called Threnody's Spite?" she asked curiously. Ancalë had many things running through his mind, so he decided to take them all out at once.
"No troubles Arya, with your bringing up my father. Yes, he did die in battle, and I feel no remorse in hearing nor answering that question. I am proud to say he died fighting the forces of Raku, as he would be had he heard it of me." The General spoke with pride in his voice. There was no sadness to be detected. "The dagger is infused with the blessings of Threnody, the Goddess of Balance herself, and it is used to enforce the Peace she stands for, hence the name, it is the bane of those that wish to try disturbing said peace. I serve loyally Lady Threnody of Balance, as well as Lady Kieraline of Light, but my first and foremost loyalty is with Lady Lothlómendil of Life & Death. I do treasure the Dagger greatly, it is a constant traveler with me and I rely on it heavily." he finished. He paused himself to think about something for a moment. "We can go and I can show you my finest weapon if you would like..." he told her seriously.

Arya looked up at the stars for a moment, then back at Ancalë. "It would be my pleasure to go with you." She said with sincerity, bowing her head slightly. "I must admit that I am quite curious to see your weapon." She said with a small laugh. "Where is it that you live in the city, or do you have it at one of the watch towers?" She asked inquiringly.

"It would be my pleasure to go with you." Arya told Ancalë with a slight bow of the head .
"I must admit that I am quite curious to see your weapon." Arya let out a quiet laugh after she spoke.
"Where is it that you live in the city, or do you have it at one of the watch towers?" Ancalë smiled when she told him she would like to see his Spear. He was really quite proud of the weapon and took an almost childlike delight in showing it off.
"Well, being General, they placed my quarters up near the sanctuary of the Lady of the Forest." he explained to her. It is generally my job to see to her safety from intruders. "Granted the Lady is very capable of handling herself, it is simply best to take no chances."
Ancalë started towards the spiraling stairway.
"Follow me then, milady, and I shall take you to my quarters." he said, not even thinking of how those with corrupt minds could view that remark.

Arya smiled and nodded as he said to follow. "Very well, my lord." She walked just a short distance behind him, following him with silent footsteps. She had never actually been near the home of the Lady of the Forest before, she heard it was rather a sight to see. She smiled and was rather looking forward to seeing the spear, having high expectations.

"Very well, milord." Arya said in a quick acquiessence.
She followed a short way behind him as they walked along the beautiful scenery. Ancalë had seen it all countless times before, so he might have even taken some of the scenery for granted. By the time they ascended the spiraling starway to his domain, Ancalë realized he zoned out during the trek. He unconsciously made the trip with no real basis but his instincts. He reached his door, ornate carvings and gold filigree inlayed into them lined the woodframe, the doorknob also of gold. He kept his eyes on Arya as he stood outside his quarters. The scenery might be considered beautiful to outsiders, but to Ancalë it was simply home.
"Well, here we are." he said, gripping the doorknob in his fingers and turning it to the left. He pushed hard and the door moved open with his touch. Having so large a door took a bit of strength to open. His domain was not overly oppulent, but it was far from run down. It was about fifty feet in width all around, square shaped, and had a large four-poster bed with an ornately carved headboard. The mattress was comfortably firm, not soft and squishy, but supportive and still comfortable. There was a desk with paperwork strewn about and a large, finely wrought rug a few feet into the room, it was big enough to fill most of the room. It seemed to be made of a thick but soft material that was pleasing to the bare footed touch. Ancalë never got that experience, not taking off his boots more than he had to. Next to his bed stood his Masterwork Spear. It was a wonderful silver and gold color, the exquisitely crafted grippings and masterfully forged steel was absolutely flawless. There were engravings along the whole thing and the head, razor sharp, branched off to either side, giving it an almost trident-like appearence. The wings would finish off what the tip missed, especially die to their sharp serration. Oil lamps hung on the walls, and if they were not enough, Ancalë would cast the Light spell. Not bothering to light the lamps yet, Ancalë muttered a single word and a bright ball of light formed in his palm. He tossed it up and it hung in the center of the room, just below the ceiling.
"Welcome to my home, Arya." he said, gesturing about the room, which was painted a tan color. There was a large painting of a beautiful forest scene, leaves of every color on many different trees. In the middle of the forest scene was a gray-eyed, raptor gazed man with a smooth face and baldric with longsword in it. He wore a gold cape, and black battle garb, silver armlets and a fine knife at his belt. The hilt of the sword was silver wire with gold wrought in it spelling something that looked like the word Truth. Next to him was a woman with long, flowing brown hair and shocking emerald green eyes. She wore a plain white dress, square cut at the breast, but still very modest. In her eyes could a fearsome power be seen, equal to the man next to her. She was shorter than he by a little, but they both wore bearings of peace, and power to be reckoned with to all who threatened that. There was a small window with a sill and everything and purple velvet drapes with green vine-like patterns on them, and a gold colored rope to draw them. Next to the window sill was a simple, forest green couch. Ancalë walked gracefully over to his Spear and hoisted it up, carrying it over to Arya so she might see it better.

Arya followed behind Ancalë quietly as they walked along the streets of the city. Her eyes darted around, she had been along some of these boulevards before, but some of the sights were new. Her footfalls on the ground were silent as the moon and starlight ignited her circlet and accented her black hair. Every once in a while she would reach out her hand and gently touch one of the massive trees on which the foundation of the city depended. She never forgot the fragility of the city, yet was not afraid as she felt strength and pride in the sturdy trunks of the mallorn trees. She stopped for a second and picked an elanor, putting it in her hair, then walking slightly faster to catch up with Ancaë. She let out a content sigh as they came upon his home, turning for a moment to gaze at the Lady of the Forest's house, a small memory dancing in her mind as she did so. She turned her gaze towards Ancalë and smiled, when he opened the door for her she bowed respectfully and entered, looking around curiously as was to be expected. She could see fine in the darkness, having spent so much time in the Temple of the Stars, she actually preferred a dull light to a bright shining one. Her eyes fell on the painting of the man and the woman. She smiled and tilted her head, examining each one, assuming they were his parents. The woman looked proud, like her own mother. Here eyes fell on his father and she smiled and bowed as if before him. "He reminds me of my own father..." She said assuming she was right about the portrait. As he cast the light spell, the picture seemed to glow and she turned to him with a smile. "Thank you. It's lovely." She said softly, looking around the rest of the flat. "Thank you for having me." She was saying as he brought over the spear to her. Her smile widened and the speer reflected in her eyes. She slowly reached out her arm to touch the spear, but brought her hand back quickly, turning towards him with an almost pleading expression. "May I?" She asked him respectfully, turning her gaze back at the sword.

Ancalë watched Arya's face and body language when she entered his domain. She found the portrait he had and checked it out. She added a flower to her hair and Ancalë thought she looked rather pretty with it.
"He reminds me of my own father..." Arya said looking at the portrait on his wall. "Thank you. It's lovely." She said softly when Ancalë cast some light, looking around the rest of the flat. "Thank you for having me." She was saying as he brought over the spear to her. He could see the light shining off her eyes as she gazed at his weapon.
"No troubles at all, Arya." Ancalë told her honestly, with a friendly smile.
She slowly reached out her arm to touch the spear, but brought her hand back quickly, turning towards him with an almost pleading expression.
"He was a great person."
"May I?" she asked formally. Ancalë, however, waved her question and shook his head.
"Let's drop the formalities friend, Arya. I like you, so I think you can pretty much make yourself comfortable and at home here. My house is yours." he smiled, holding the spear out even more, a gesture for her to take it. He smiled as he saw the delight in her eyes.
"And I do hope we will be seeing more of eachother in the future, tonight aside." he added thoughtfully.

Arya looked at him and gave him a wide smile. "I would like that." She said when he mentioned them seeing more of each other. "I can take this off then." She said gently taking the elanor flower from behind her ear and placing her hands on her circlet and lifting it off her head. The circlet's shining ribbons of silver were very flexible and folded up easily and they never got tangled. She looked around and placed it on a nearby table, then gracefully put the elanor back behind her ear. She shook out her hair so it fell down both of her shoulders.

She then focused on Ancalë's spear and took the handle of it gently. She looked at the blade with the runes on them. She whispered a small quenya incantation and the runes burned a bright red. She examined them closely. "These are very intricate." She observed. "Did you say it was made by your father?" She queried, still looking at the blade. She took her hand and ran it along the blade, her eyes lighting up. "It never dulls, does it?" She stated rather than asked, but she still looked at him for an answer.

"I would like that." Arya said in response to Ancalë's proposal of dropping all the formalities and beginning a friendship.
"I can take this off then." she added, removing the flower and the circlet from her hair. She shook her head, letting her hair tumble in cascade down over her shoulders. Setting the circlet on the table, Arya put the flower back behind her ear. She looked very nice with it, Ancalë found himself thinking again. Then he realized something himself when she reached out and took the spear. He reached up to his own hair and touched the silver, ruby and feather band he wore himself. He plucked it out of his hair and tossed it on the table next to his paperworl with a soft metallic thud.

"These are very intricate." Arya announced as she observed the weapon. "Did you say it was made by your father?" She asked.
He nodded
"Yes, it was in part made by my father. He and his closest friend made it for me as a gift of my prowess with that type of weapon. I am a Weapons Master of Swords and Polearms such as that, I train many of the guards here with them. I am gifted with the sword, but I excell in weapons like the spear. My father thought I ought to have a weapon to match my skill. So he and his friend, the elven metalsmith Larcamacil, put it to the forge flames."
While he spoke, Arya ran her fingers over the head of the weapon, as if trying to determine the metal that the blade was forged from. Her eyes lit.
"It never dulls, does it?" she inquired.
"Well, it can, but it's singularly difficult." Ancalë replied. Ancalë sighed after he responded to her and let his eyes sweep the perimeter once more, a habit he had gotten into. There was nothing out of the ordinary, excepting of course the addition of a friend in his dwelling. He let his eyes take hers in once more.
"Do you have a preference towards any weapon type in particular? I remember well of the staff you spoke of, but are you more partial to that, or of swords, daggers, or the bow?" he asked her.

Arya listened intently to the story of how the spear was fashioned. She smiled while listening. "You must hold this extremely dear if your father had a hand in its genesis." She softly spoke. She was rather surprised when he said that the blade can dull, however it did make sense that it was relatively hard to dull instead. She turned to him and watched him remove the band around his head.

"As is the tradition of my people, I am skilled in the bow, however I do so prefer the staff, it allows for more fluidity of motion and it is not always deadly." She said with a sad smile. "Wars are a necessairy evil, but not matter how necessary, they are evil." She sighed. "Starting one with a peaceful land or idealology is already a victory for the other side. It is in war that we can lose our paths, that's why I serve the light and the stars because they guide you and will always be there, you just have to...look up!" She said with a laugh.

"You must hold this extremely dear if your father had a hand in its genesis." Arya noted quietly. Ancalë nodded that it was so.
She listened quietly to his question about weapons
"As is the tradition of my people, I am skilled in the bow, however I do so prefer the staff, it allows for more fluidity of motion and it is not always deadly." Arya said sadly. "Wars are a necessary evil, but no matter how necessary, they are evil." She sighed. "Starting one with a peaceful land or ideology is already a victory for the other side. It is in war that we can lose our paths, that's why I serve the light and the stars because they guide you and will always be there, you just have to...look up!" she laughed good-heartedly as she said that last statement.
Ancalë nodded as she spoke those truths.
"I know exactly what you mean. Another reason I follow the Goddess Lothlómendil. She has Life's best interests at heart, and also why I follow Kieraline's Light. The Sun more so represents me than the stars, for I know that though the Night may bring the Darkness, the Sun will chase away those Shadows shortly. For there is no such thing as Darkness as there is the absence of Light. Threnody also has Peace in her heart. Hence why I follow those I do." he told her.
"But sometimes it is, in fact, necessary, and so people like us must be prepared. This is why I train my guards, and I train them thoroughly. Why, just a little while ago they brought down some the the Chaos Goddess Ita's infiltrators." he said with a smile.
He turned his eyes away from her and then laughed for a moment.
"It might interest you to know that I am actually not the best with a bow."