Laurel moved quietly through the small rooms of the house of her grandfather, the group of Elves and Men that accompanyied her bowing to her grandmother at the door. Entering into the small bedchambers, her breathing caught at the sight of Havlor.
He barely dented the sheets he was lying in. His face was as pale as winter, his once ruddy brown hair not white and clinging to his pasty skull. But his sunken eyes did not lose their tender and wondrouns gaze of grey.
'Oh! My dearest Grandaughter! I am so glad to see thee!' he attempted to sit up, but coughing wracked his body. Laurel moved quickly to him, and soothed him back down into the pillow. Her heart breaking, she slowly coaxed water from a nearby jug over his cracked lips.
'Grandfather! I have missed you so much! I do wish I could have told thee I was going..' 'No need, dear child!' he grinned 'I am glad you went, and glad to see you got back safe' Laurel smiled at the old man as he said 'Tell me, did you see the view of the White Citadel?'
'Oh yes, grandfather. It was wonderful, just like you said it would be.' 'Good! It does me glad to know that even when an old warriors bones waste away, his City stands gleaming for all eyes to see' Laurel stopped him there 'Well, you may be able to see the White City again' and with that she motioned in two Elves.
Havlor chuckled 'I see Taralphiel is again good to her word' He again began to cough, and the taller Elf moved forward, and with a sharp gaze began to examine the old man.
The wound from the dart was by his left shoulder, and after all these weeks still lay part open. The skin around had turned black with teh poison, leaving evil stains on the bandages. Many nights Havlor would sink away into a dream, and only by a miracle would he wake. The Elf muttered to herself, and turned to the other, and they stirred over his body for a long time...
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