*One of the conclusions of a lovely lovely rp-session ends up in this letter to Lirandel. A great many more sides to this story exists, but here is one that may impact the Thorn rather a lot, should we choose to expand on it*
Paper of expensive make, firmly but delicately written in Sindarin...this letter can only come from the hand of Alcarion. It is delivered directly to Lirandel by a steel-faced elven rider and carries no return address. The rider rides off curtly without a word.
Mornereg.
I write to you in an attempt to purvey the depths of shame you intend to put me and the name you carry through.
Your people carry the mark of the Thorn, and in so doing answer to rites more ancient than they would ever in their minds have any chance to understand.
You have been given firm orders in the hopes that you may reclaim SOME of your pride: Secure Trestlebridge. Save the Bree-lands. Instead I see your Thorns descend on the lands of Celondim, carrying with them nothing but petty squabbles, accusations. They stood before me, and they argued like children. Like animals.
Your Thorns did great damage this night, Mornereg.
Damage that I saw no option but to sustain and silence myself on my very person. I took it on me, out of respect for *you*, my son. In my fatherly hope that you may YET prove yourself to your people.
I will not allow incidents like this, Mornereg. You will not do this to us, your people. Your Thorns nearly caused great insult to the inhabitants of Celondim. Only through my command did they leave the lands alive.
Talk to them. Be their leader, if you must. And prove to me why you insist these Men and Hobbits are worthy of the Thorn, before it is too late.
-A-