At What Cost?

All through the night the wind howled in the heights. As dawn approached, and the clouds became a lighter shade of grey, the two elves remained huddled together, now almost white after a nights snowfall. They were bitterly cold but alive, and the coming of the day gave them renewed hope to travel back to their small camp; now undoubtedly lost beneath the white blanket that covered everything.

 

The gusts began to die down and the snowfall lessen so that the sheer peaks of the mountains that loomed around them were revealed. It had been a long night. Both elves were injured, and whilst not serious, the cold made everything worse. Belegos had managed a disturbed, patchy sleep, but Estarfin remained awake, brooding on the consequences of their actions the previous night. He was staring into the distance, an unflinchingly dour look upon his face when he was startled from his thoughts by his friend. “Worry not” said Belegos, “what is done is done. If we are to be punished, then so be it. Besides, I see it as a good thing!” He said the last few words with all of the enthusiasm he could muster, but in return Estarfin looked at him with a confused expression. “Here we were, two valiant members of the House, doing our most reverent duty and maintaining a very close watch on the pass; when suddenly we spied a force of goblins heading our way.” Belegos had a wry smile on his face. “So,” he went on, “Being most devoted members of our order, we took the decision to engage the enemy at the risk they may cause some mischief down in the Valley.” Estarfin smiled at the very generous description of their actions the previous night.

“Nevertheless, we abandoned our post.” he protested.

“True. Perhaps...” Belegos paused for a moment. “Perhaps we made another mistake.” Estarfin gave him a sideways glance.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Maybe we should not have thrown the bodies over the cliff.” Belegos spoke as he chuckled “After all, if the sergeant could see how many goblins fell to our blades, he might be inclined more to respect than retribution.”

 

As dawn finally reached them, and the snow stopped almost completely, Estarfin suggested that they find their camp. As they picked themselves up and began to dust the snow from their clothes, Belegos tapped Estarfin on the shoulder, pointing back up the pass with a grim look upon his face. He turned around and saw two figures far off in the distance, but even from here they could see the reflections of light on armour. They were no goblins. Belegos and Estarfin raised a hand in greeting, for as the shapes had got closer, they recognised two of the Hammers. Daegond was in front, a warrior of their order, his great war-hammer slung across his back. Far from being relieved at the sight of their friends, Estarfin's heart sank and Belegos rued the agreement he had made with his fellow. They had been apprehensive at the wrath of Ancalassë, but this was worse. Much worse. Behind Daegond strode Veryacano, Lord of the Hammers.

 

It was Daegond that reached them first. He was the Lord Verycano's aide, the Hound of Vanimar. Many that had met him were either disgusted or dead. Daegond was outwardly aggressive to those he did not know well and his occasional grunts distanced people from him. He was fond of wine also, and dice. At many a gathering he could be found, goblet in hand, relieving his fellows of their silver: the wise did not gamble with him. Yet he was a fearsome warrior, and his skills with his great hammer were held in high regard amongst his brothers-in-arms. He was a Noldo, and the rage that fuelled him had never cooled in all the long ages. Enemies fled before his face, for the power of the Elves of Beleriand they saw, and they quailed. Neither had he forgotten the Treachery of Men. He had witnessed first-hand the terrible losses that men had wreaked on the Elves in the battles against the Dark Power and he hated them. A trait shared with Estarfin.

 

“That looks cosy" he told Estarfin and Belegos, looking at the collection of furs they had been sheltering in. He studied what he could see of their clothes and armour and raised an eyebrow just as Veryacano strode up to them. He was in his war-splendour, and the steel of his armour gleamed and reflected the light of the dawn. The air had become warmer since the snow had stopped, but a chill still blew through the mountains. If the Elf-lord was cold he did not show it, though his voice was like ice.

“Explain yourselves,” he demanded of them. The two elves bowed their heads and felt Veryacano's eyes bore into them. “Well?” He asked, after neither had attempted to speak. It was Belegos that broke the silence.

“My Lord. We watched the pass as we were commanded but goblins emerged from their holes and began to cross the pass. We thought...” the hunter was interrupted.

“You thought what? That the two of you, outfitted as you are, would stir-up the hordes of the caves? Would actively seek to threaten the peace of The Valley?” He paused as they lifted their eyes to meet his and then they turned to face each other with looks of bewilderment and unease. They had thought they were alone on that lonely mountain-side, how had news reached him of the skirmish?

“Do you desire the Halls of Mandos that greatly? For this night you have come near to their doors.” he asked of them, studying their wounds. He was not finished. “You,” he pointed at Belegos, “are a hunter, a scout for the Order. Your ways are in secrecy, and whilst I do not doubt your skill in battle, this is not why I have accepted you into the Hammers.” The words rang in Belegos' ears. He felt that he had just been slighted, his choice for taking up the bow frowned upon amongst his peers. “And you, Estarfin. Do you deem yourself so mighty as to make war upon our enemies alone, with naught but a hauberk to protect you?” He waved his hand dismissively toward the Hammer. “Whilst goblins there may have been, they posed no threat to us nor Imladris. You know well they were too small a band to trouble Elrond's folk.”

“I... My Lord...” Estarfin began, but his words became lost and his voice trailed into the wind.

“Enough!” The Hammer Lord hissed. He turned to Daegond, who gave a shrug and stared into the distance, evidently uninterested in the situation. Veryacano gave a sigh, shook his head and faced the two elves again. “What now do I do with the both of you?” He folded his arms in thought. “The Order of the Hammer has gathered at the Watcher's Camp. You two are to return to Imladris.” Estarfin was distraught at the words. He had shamed his Lord, and now he was to be sundered from his comrades, only to face the greater shame upon their return.

 

Veryacano had deliberately let his last words linger, for he knew they would sting the elves.

“You are to return to Imladris,” he continued, “to heal your wounds and sharpen your blades.” Belegos and Estarfin thought they had misheard what Veryacano had said. The Caun saw their confusion. “You heard me. You are to head to the Valley, pick up some supplies for the Order, and meet us back here with all the haste you can manage. Though I would see you, Belegos, stay a while longer, for to me it seems you are the more grievously hurt.”

“As you command, of course,” replied Belegos, “But are we to await our punishments there?” he asked, unsure of Veryacano's mind.

“Your punishment is the journey, and for you, Belegos, I fear, to miss the next stage of our deployment,” he clarified, now speaking more softly than he had done before. “The Hammers are to enter the Goblin Tunnels. After your fight with them, they will be roused to revenge. We must make sure they do not exact it. Besides,” he threw a glance at Daegond, still seemingly unaware of their conversation, “the Hound hungers for goblin blood, amongst others of the Order. We have been in Imladris overlong.”

Overcome by the realisation that they would be spared the Lord's wrath, Estarfin dropped to his knee, sinking into the snow.

“My Lord.” said Estarfin. The Caun placed his gauntleted hand upon his shoulder. “Come.” He told them, and turned to leave.

Whilst walking away, without looking back, he called to them, “You did well! It shall not be forgotten.”

 

Estarfin and Belegos looked at each other in disbelief and both exhaled slowly. No words did they speak, but each knew that they had come close to a miserable doom.

They walked back in the direction of the camp, the Hound at their side with a grin on his face. “Make sure you hurry back Estarfin,” he said.

“Why?” Estarfin asked.

“Because,” Daegond replied, “the sooner you return, the sooner I can tear those filthy goblin heads from their necks.”

Belegos chuckled. The Hound it seemed, was out for blood.