Notes: I'm using the Quenya calendar for seasons.

3) The Guild of Elements – Year of the Sun, 50 Coirë (Stirring)

Chrys Menelrana – Southern Middle Earth

Clouds of dust wafted from the dirty pit where a score of elves were straining to raise a massive marble obelisk. Strong elven ropes anchored on key points of the obelisk strained as the elves pulled with all of their might. Foot by foot, the obelisk rose and then settled into the pit with a deep thud. In unison, the elves cheered. One, a brawny, bare-chested man with golden hair, pulled back into a pony tail, slapped the backs of his nearby companions. Men up on scaffolds waved down at him. The golden-haired elf waved back, his face and chest glistening.

Sweat poured down Chrys' face, soaking his rough tunic. He wiped his brow with a dirty forearm, blinking his blue eyes from the drops. He looked up to see the tall obelisk, inlaid with gold, which spelled out their union in the script of the Tengwar. "The Guild of Elements. That's our name," he said with satisfaction as the ropes and pulleys were removed. He pulled his golden hair free from the tie and dabbed his cheeks with a rag.

"Hard work," Fëatur said with a grunt from a scaffold above as he hauled in the lines that had secured the obelisk. His shirt was soaked, and he grimaced from the effort. He picked up a nearby cup and drank the water in a few gulps. "We've come a long way in these hard years," he added, gesturing to the walls and towers now surrounding the manor house. "But there is still so much to be done."

Elerior, a Noldo with short, dark brown hair and warm amber eyes, took the ropes from Fëatur. "You worry too much. Always so dark and sullen," he said. "These are times to celebrate. Our defenses are almost complete, and we have a sizable force to secure our lands. Every orc attack has been thoroughly destroyed."

Fëatur snorted. "Elerior, your endless cheer will be your undoing. This war has not even begun. These were only bands of orcs, poorly lead. The Dark Lord has untold terrors breeding in the pits of Angband as we speak. He promises power and wisdom and dominion over the land and many of our brethren have fallen for it."

"Like you did," Talan said, expressionless, his thin lips taut. "I read a dark path for you in the stars. While I do not trust you, you are right. This war has not yet begun."

Chrys waved his hand over his head. "Enough. We will have time to plan and discuss. We have put in many weeks of work to come this far. I want to commemorate the raising of this obelisk and the founding of our Guild. We honor the elements in our bond, and I name each of us to represent one of the elements. Talan, you are of water. Elerior is of air. Carnil is of earth. Ralian is of light. And I am of fire." He picked up the scabbard of his hand and a half sword and drew it, the blade bursting into flames. "By my sword, Kirlhach, I consecrate this land in the name of the Valar and dedicate my life to fighting the Dark Enemy and bringing peace to our land. We will keep our families and friends safe."

"And what of Fëatur?" Elerior asked. "Is he not one of us?"

Chrys was about to speak, but Talan cut him off. "He is here, but he is not one of us. Never forget, he was deep in the enemy's council. This guild is for those of us who stood firm from the beginning."

Fëatur nodded. "The words sting, but I cannot deny their truth. I have not forgiven myself and neither should you. You would be wise to heed Talan's words."

"It has been decided," Chrys added. "Fëatur, we thank you for the work that you have done here and listen to your counsel about the enemy, but you are not one of us yet. That time may come."

"That is enough for me," Fëatur said.

As the sun moved lower in the sky, Chrys swung his hand above his head for all to see. "We are done for the day, good friends. Let us clean up and prepare for dinner." Workers began putting their tools away and climbing down from the scaffolding. He was proud of the work and the team that he had built. Silvan elves from neighboring tribes had joined them and filled their ranks. With their help, every orc raid had been destroyed with ease. No orc dared to enter the forest path to Tumlindë for fear of the swift bows of the elves.

As the sun began to set, members of the kitchen staff approached with drinks and platters of food. Elerior waved them over. "Aelrie! Here! We're over here," he called to the woman in the lead. The woman turned her head and tilted it down in recognition and began to walk that way, followed by the rest of the staff.

Chrys touched the tip of his sword to a pile of wood, and it burst into flames, lighting the area. As Aelrie walked into the clearing, he set down his sword and took the flagons of drinks. Aelrie stretched up to kiss him and then sat down as the workers took the platters and set them down. He looked down at the myriad vegetables, the bountiful salad and the roasted chicken and his mouth watered. And the large pot of crab bisque was always a favorite for him. "Thank you, my wife," he said. "We are always treated to the finest care under your watchful eye."

She brushed back her wavy red hair, revealing a sly smile on full red lips. "Well, credit for this meal goes to our son," she said as she gestured to the boy who was already devouring his food. "He helped with the soup and salad."

"Laurre! Come here!" Chrys called out and the boy set down his food and came running, burying his face into his father's chest. He felt immense pride in raising a son who had grown strong and agile. Laurre would be a warrior like his father, and he had learned much of the sword and bow and was now learning to ride.

The members of the Guild laughed heartily. "He has the heart of his father, full and open," Carnil shouted above the din, eliciting more laughter. "I can see great things for the both of you."

Chrys bowed to Carnil and then picked his son up in his arms and set him down on a stone seat. "He looks so much like me," he said, his voice full of warmth as he tousled Laurre's thick golden hair. "I'd say that we have the greatest feast since the Mereth Aderthad, the High King's festival." The gathered group raised mugs of mead and wine and drank in unison. "We pledged our friendship and support in the south and Fingolfin has proven true to his word of aid to our cause. We have been receiving regular shipments of arms and armor from the north, all quality work from their finest smiths."

"That is one weakness that will be our undoing, Chrys," Talan said evenly. "We have no quality smiths here and what if our supply line to the north is severed? What then? The Silvan Elves are fine archers, but no weapon or armor smiths are they."

Aelrie raised her hand to quiet the alchemist. "The Silvan Elves will learn. After all, I am half Silvan and I learned to put up with all of you."

Talan bowed his head with a chuckle and spread his hands in defeat. "Yes, you have. I may seem morose, but I assure you that I am a realist."

"That you are," Aelrie added and then turned back to Chrys. "Love, wasn't the Mereth Aderthad a wonderful display of elven unity? It was thirty years of the sun ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday…a festival of lights that filled the entire vale. And the song and voice of Maglor…sublime."

"I was glad to see the eldest sons of Fëanor," Chrys said, tilting his head back with this hand on his chin. "The fact that Maedhros ceded the title of High King to Fingolfin will be a positive in the war on Morgoth. Fëanor bred much division and Fingolfin will be a unifier."

"Agreed!" the group called out and downed another mug.

"I long to see my kinsman, Finrod again," Chrys added. "He is always the life of any festival. And we met with the Grey Elves and the Sindar of the Havens, great allies all."

"As well as Mablung and Daeron of Doriath," Aelrie said and then sipped from her glass of white wine. "I daresay that Daeron is the equal, if not the greater of the two bards between he and Maglor."

Elerior tossed a nearby lute to Carnil, who caught it deftly. "Speaking of bards, we have one right here. He is easily the equal of the other two."

Carnil examined the wooden instrument carefully and then cradled the lute under his arm and set it on his lap. He plucked a couple of strings and then tuned it with deft fingers. "You flatter me, stargazer. But I shall entertain you in my own weak way." With that, he strummed a lively tune to which all of the gathering sang with joy. Even Talan joined in with a smile.

Chrys tore off the chicken thigh and admired the herbs baked into the crispy skin. Many elves preferred a diet of fruits and vegetables, but he was always a meat man. He took a hearty bite out of the juicy thigh and some sauce dripped down his chin. He laughed as he wiped it off with the back of his sleeve.

Aelrie rolled her eyes. "What a rustic barbarian. Here, let a Silvan Elf show a Noldo some manners." She reached over with a napkin and wiped his mouth.

Chrys smiled broadly and waved to the group. "We will defend this land as Manwë is my witness. We have built a home here and I am surrounded by friends and family. This is all that I could ask for."