Within the quiet gardens of Caras Galadhon he lay upon the rich green dew-soaked grass, clad only in a robe of simple white. Beneath his head was spread his long dark hair, wild and unfettered. His pale skin caught the light of the stars above, and his expression was of absolute peace. The dark circles beneath his eyes were the only sign that betrayed the trouble in his heart, the exhaustion that he felt. He was with friends and comrades, and knew that he would never leave this place. He allowed himself a small smile, surrounded as he was by the almost musical trickle of the stream and the leaves of the trees bristling against one another in the gentle breeze. Had there ever been a land as beautiful, as peaceful as this East of the Sea? In his mind he tried to recall the memories of his own past, of lands that he had seen and loved. Images of a verdant green country set between high mountains and a wide, clear lake came to him. There were no trees with golden leaves, but instead there were great white towers, set above a strong yet beautiful citadel. Flags of white, blue, crimson and gold flew in the chill winds as the clouds whirled overhead; tall figures in silver mail strode beneath them, pride upon their faces and laughter in their voices. Swift horses galloped through the fields, their riders delighting in the cool air streaming through their hair. The smell of pine was in the air, for it was those trees that were most numerous there. It was a harsh and wild land, but it was free, and the people strong yet joyous. Perhaps that land was greater than this. Perhaps...
The vision shifted suddenly, the image fracturing and reforming swiftly, leaving Estarfin feeling dizzy and ill. A shadow passed over his face as he saw the land again, saw what had become of it. The ruins of the citadel were still burning, acrid smoke pouring forth into the air. There were bodies everywhere; the inhabitants and their defenders strewn across the burnt grass where they had fallen, or displayed cruelly upon the broken walls and battlements. The beautiful white towers had been beaten into the ground for no purpose but malice and spite, and the great lake had been defiled. The once green land was burnt to a cinder, all life and joy destroyed in the conflagration. A small gasp escaped his lips as he saw shadows moving towards him.
"Be at peace my Lord."
Estarfin's eyelids fluttered open, the faces of Parnard and Elloen hanging in the air above him. He took a deep breath, trying to focus. Danel and Belegos were sitting cross-legged on either side of him, Danel holding his hand, Belegos resting a hand lightly upon his shoulder. They were speaking soft words over him, words that he understood and yet could not grasp the meaning of. Their faces appeared careworn, and for a moment he worried about them. Parnard will look after them, he thought to himself. The steady stream of their calming words mingled with the sound of water, and although he struggled against it, he felt his mind slipping peacefully into darkness again.
He opened his eyes and found himself standing once more before that vast expanse of crystal-clear water, surrounded on all sides by the verdant grasslands. Walking to the water's edge, he looked down at the shimmering reflection, seeing his own face staring up at him from the water. Dark coarse hair pulled back with a leather thong, his young, smiling face alive with mischief and joy. There were a few leaves and twigs still caught in his hair, testament to another successful adventure in the gardens of the citadel. He laughed to himself as he pictured the face of the guard contorted in anger, chasing him once again from the private gardens of the citadel. The smile wavered slightly as he realised his father would be displeased to learn of his rule-breaking once again. But he was away, leading cavalry patrols through Ard-galen again, so perhaps he would not hear of it. Relief mingled with a little sadness at his fathers continued absence. He was impatient to become as great a warrior as his father, to rise to the level of Captain. Every time his father went away, that dream felt a little further from him, and it frustrated him. He reached into the pocket of his dirty robe, pulling out a small flat stone. Turning it carelessly in one hand, he flicked his arm out, the stone bouncing across the surface of the water until it sank.
Estarfin felt a presence beside him and looked around, seeing a tall figure sitting beside him on the bank. He was dressed in a thick leather apron with old work robes beneath, long dark hair covering his face as he sat in silence. There was a smithing hammer held lazily in one hand, the other was running through his hair. The figure stood, and pointed behind Estarfin. Turning, he saw that the citadel had grown. More flags flew over the taller battlements and stronger gates were now protected by new gatehouses of white stone. A new path had been beaten into the grasslands, and led in a straight line to the nearby mountains. Frowning at this change, Estarfin turned back to the lake. He looked around in confusion as he saw that the stranger has disappeared. Shrugging, he swung the smithing hammer over his shoulder and turned away from the lake. When would the Naugrim arrive? He watched the road to Nogrod for signs of their passage, eager for the new shipment of ores to come in. He was working daily with Forodhir now, learning all that he had to teach. Looking at the Sun sinking slowly towards the horizon, Estarfin turned for home. He wandered slowly back towards the collections of buildings by the east side of the citadel, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as he walked.
He was at the door to his home, and knew that something was wrong. He had not even been near the citadel, yet now he was home? As this thought crossed his mind, he found himself back by the lake, staring at reflected starlight in the mirror-like surface.
The mirror cracked, and he was standing in front of the white citadel, watching the court of Caranthir leaving on a hunting party.
No, the world changed and he was at the door to his house, reaching for the handle to open the door and go inside.
Wait, he was standing by the lake…
The wind rushed through his hair; he was riding across the green grass laughing…
No, he had reached out a hand. He was opening the door…
Estarfin gave a groan as he felt his gorge rising. The world about him was changing too fast, and he knew he was dreaming. The world was plunged into an impenetrable fog. He tried to awaken, to call out. He could see light through his closed lids, struggled to open them. He heard the soft words of Danel and Belegos through the haze of his mind, pushing him back down into the darkness against his will.
He opened the thick oak door, stepping over the threshold into the warm, comfortable interior. His mother looked up from her painting, smiling slightly. There was food already set out upon the scrubbed table, and a small fire burned in the hearth.
A grinning, blackened skull stared at him with accusing eyes from the ashes of his home. Tears feel freely from his eyes at the sight, and he turned away in grief, unable to comprehend what had happened. How could this be? Who had done this? Looking around, he could see signs of destruction all around. Had they fought for this? A sudden sound caused him to tense, to look around in fear. Were they still here, waiting for him? Estarfin was glad to find the heavy blacksmith hammer still in his hand. The heavy sound of armoured feet echoed through the gutted buildings and grew closer with each passing moment.
“Who is there?” he called into the darkness. “Show yourself!” A figure, dressed in thick plates of black mail stepped into the clearing before him, a huge shield in one hand and a long, bright spear in the other. His face was covered by a black hood, and he began to stride toward Estarfin, his heavy armoured boots crunching across burnt wood and bone. Estarfin tried to back away, but stumbled and fell over the entrance to his ruined home. As he fell, the figured moved too quickly to be real, the black hood flying back to reveal a pale face, streaked with dried blood. There was a fixed rictus of fury upon that reaver-like face. The terrible warrior leapt upon Estarfin, hot breath against his face. “Fight” he whispered to Estarfin. He began to press the terrible spear into the breast of Estarfin, causing him to gasp and cry out in pain. “Fight!” the warrior commanded again. Cold fury erupted within Estarfin and he lunged for the warrior, trying to fasten his hands around his throat. He would choke the life out of him for daring to despoil his home like this. He would…
Danel. It was Danel who stood before him, a slender elf-woman with fear, compassion and pride upon her face; not a terrible warrior dressed in black. No, that was but a part of his memory he realised. That was …him. What he had become after the Dagor Bragollach. It came flooding back to him and he relaxed, realising that Belegos held him firmly, so as to restrain any violent outbursts that may occur. How right he was, but the realisation that such measures were necessary filled his heart with sorrow. Belegos slowly released him, feeling that the threat had passed.
“Estarfin?” he asked quietly.
Estarfin nodded, too tired for speech. He sank slowly to the ground, seeing the looks of concern upon the faces of his fair companions. He finally knew who he was, knew all that had passed in his life. He smiled sadly to himself. He had suffered losses and hardships, had fought terrible battles against the darkness, but he had kept his honour. There was no need to hide anymore. He could still find peace here.
The sound of the stream, of the trees, of his companions speaking faded. Looking up in confusion, Estarfin wondered if there was something wrong with him. Dark clouds had rolled overhead, somehow bleaching the colour from the scene before him. What was this? It could not be a memory, for he was in the present.
He felt it before he saw it. It was coming through the bushes on the far side of the stream, plants and flowers wilting and rotting as it passed them. He watched it blurring in and out of focus, a nightmare walking under the Sun. It was terrible. A bent and wretched form, wrapped in black cloth and silver chains. The thick iron links dragged behind the shambling creature, the noise making Estarfin feel sick. At the end of the chains dragged foul objects. Corpses, burnt and blackened stone, broken swords and other objects too damaged to recognise. Estarfin stood suddenly, fear in his heart as he beheld the monster before him. He tried to back away, but found that something prevented him from fleeing. Tearing his eyes from the terrible apparition, he saw that Parnard held him fast, a look of concern upon his face. Estarfin struggled weakly against the smaller elf, trying in vain to push him away. It had reached the stream and paused, looking down at the water. A wizened and wasted claw of a hand emerged from the end of a sleeve, pointing straight at Estarfin's chest. He blinked, and the monster was somehow on this side of the stream, shuffling towards him once more.
"No!" Estarfin moaned in fear, beginning to panic as he continued to struggle against Parnard. "Let me go." His breathing grew more rapid as the apparition became blurred once more, and then became terribly clear. He did not know what it was, he did not care. His eyes flicked away from the hood and saw a body dressed in fine green robes being pulled along on those dreadful hooked chains. Parnard finally released him and he fled, as fast as he was able to. He could feel it closing in behind him, but he did not look around. He reached a set of stone steps before he felt a cold hand upon his shoulder, and then he fell.
He saw it all, every act of evil he had committed, every innocent life he had taken. Hundreds of faces swam before his eyes, all staring at him with accusing eyes. He remembered everything, his mind was finally healed. But as he fell he wished that it was not. He hit the stone steps hard, his head snapping into the stone flags, and everything went black.
