An involuntary cry of pain escaped his bruised and chapped lips as a thin dagger found a way through his broken armour and cut deeply into the pale flesh of his upper arm. With barely a conscious thought he swept the heavy shield that he carried into his assailant, knocking them careering backwards and clearing the immediate space in front of him. The anger that had fuelled the scything sweeps of his wicked spear was ebbing from him as the bone-chilling cold pierced the madness and began to rapidly sap what strength remained to him. The leather and steel plate armour that he had worn since departing Imladris was torn open and his thick fur cloak was gone; taken by the howling wind or the howling goblins, he did not know. His teeth chattered together as the snows blew around him, his coarse hair whipping around his head and stinging his eyes. He was covered in blood and a score of wounds from the unexpected melee and although the snow-covered rock around his feet was stacked high with the scrawny bodies of goblins there appeared to be no end to the stream spewing forth from the maggot-holes in the side of the cliff. The loss of blood was beginning to slow his reactions and his movements had become increasingly clumsy. He took another unsteady step back from the baying horde and raised his shield in front of him to try and stave off the onslaught, if only for a moment, if only for time enough to take a breath. His own body betrayed him as the shield slowly sank towards the ground, the dark blood flowing freely from the jagged wound in his upper arm and spilling onto the snow underfoot. The storm rolled on overhead and another fork of lightning split the night sky causing the goblins to shriek and cover their eyes from the sudden brightness. Estarfin stood alone before them and waited for the end to come.
***
"Fools and ingrates! Why did I waste time on such as them?" Estarfin scowled as he spoke, pacing in the semi-darkness of the forge. He held a bottle of wine and drank from it as he voiced his complaints, waving it through the air as he gestured wildly. "Do they think they have nothing to learn from me? Am I worthless to them, is that it? A single training session and they know everything and see fit to…. to leave to seek adventure in the wild? Mark my words Ruineth, they will find no trace of Themodir not matter where it is they look. If that is even his purpose!"
"Whose purpose Estarfin?" Ruineth asked, trying to keep track of the rambling conversation. In reply Estarfin waved a dismissive hand at her. "It does not matter. What matters is that the fools believe they are free to abandon their posts, their obligations. Do they not realise the danger that faces us? Once again the mountains are awash with the goblin-filth and yet they would leave them to flourish in their caves until they pour into Imladris like a flood? No, that will not be, I cannot allow it. No matter what manner of snakes make their nest here, there is still too much at stake. Besides, I was tasked with this and I will not turn my back on my duty. If they are unwilling then I must undertake the task alone!" He drank deeply from the bottle that he held and paused in his relentless pacing to turn and face his friend, to hear her speak.
"Estarfin, do you think that course of action to be wise? Perhaps your actions may be of benefit to us all. However, you must not let your pride and anger decide your path for you, remaining blind to the dangers that you face. What use will you serve if you are killed?"
“What use do I serve now?” The reply was strangely monotonous after his earlier exclamations and it took Ruineth off-guard.
“Estarfin, you cannot think of such things. I know that at times your mind can….”
“Can what?” snapped Estarfin, anger in his voice again. “Do not echo the venomous words of the Ambassador in my ears Ruineth. The task that was given to me is without meaning. Training those who have no desire of what I teach? Who will not even remain in the Valley? No, I will not remain here with no purpose except to drink and avoid the stares and idle tongues of those I once trusted. I will not wait and listen to gossip and rumours of war and wait for the high-tide to crash upon us all. If they will not listen, I must do what I can."
“Then you have decided upon your path after all? If you must go, at least do not go alone! Not all are against you Estarfin, you must see that. I have spoken with them and they are nothing but concerned for you!"
“You speak with them behind my back? What have they been saying?” Estarfin’s eyes widened in fury, the bottle hanging forgotten from his gloved hand.
Ruineth smiled sadly at the reaction. “Do not be so quick to anger Lord. Your humours have been so fragile since you returned, it breaks my heart to see you so quick to turn upon any that only try to help you.” Reaching out a hand slowly, she laid it upon his cheek, surprised at the heat that radiated from him. Seeing his temper cooling, she pulled the glove off of his left hand. “Why are you not wearing it? You are always worse when you are not wearing it. Where is it?”
Estarfin pulled his hand from hers and reached into his pocket, pulling out a golden ring which he rolled between thumb and fore-finger before slipping it onto his finger, almost unwillingly. The red opal caught the flickering light from the fire set amid the golden star. He took another sip from the bottle of wine he carried and leaned back against the anvil.
"I could accompany you if you so wished?" Ruineth almost whispered the question to him, her eyes burning and fixed firmly upon the floor.
"Your place is here Ruineth, with the other gentle folk of our kind. I would have no harm come to you or to them.” He sighed. “That is why these decisions must be made and these actions taken so that some of our kind know at least a little peace for a while longer. If my blood buys you even a moment more with a hammer in your hand rather than a sword then it is a price worth paying. I will miss you." He placed the half-empty bottle onto the anvil and pulled her to him, planting the briefest kiss onto her dark hair before turning his back and walking slowly out of the forge as Ruineth watched him leave with tears upon her cheeks.
***
The journey into the mountains had proven uneventful enough. The guards posted at the entrance to the Valley had no questions for the tall Noldor and parted without comment. The steel plates upon his armour were polished to a mirror shine and the leather jerkin underneath was of the highest quality. Swathed in a fine fur cloak and carrying a deadly spear and a wide shield he strode from Imladris with the appearance of a Prince of old, pride burning brightly in his eyes and his long dark hair hanging around his pale face. Word of his passage would reach the ears of his superiors soon enough, but at that moment he did not care. His path was laid out before him as it had not been since his first journey through Eregion. Everything was clear and the fresh winds from the mountain blew away any trace of doubt he harboured about the endeavour.
The weather was kind enough and he made good time into the pass, stopping only occasionally to eat or to sleep. The higher he climbed, the more evidence of foul goblins he came across. Eventually he began to find isolated camps or patrols of the foul creatures. Moving with brutal speed Estarfin killed all that crossed his path and mounted the severed heads upon spears, tree branches or wedged into cracks in the rock of the mountain itself. In every one he carved the four-pointed star as a sign to the other goblins that their doom was upon them. Fear and hatred spread amongst the goblin-kind of the mountains as the bringer of swift death moved through their strongholds unchallenged. Finally on a stormy night he caught sight of torches held aloft at the end of a narrow path that ran next to a sheer drop. Creeping silently up the path he used a long knife to slit the throat of one guard and was about to pounce on the other when the sound of charging bodies filled the air and the trap that he had walked into was sprung.
***
His boots slipped on the compacted snow as the goblins renewed their relentless assault, sheer numbers buoying their confidence no matter how many of them were slain. The flaming torches that they carried stained the snow in hues of orange and red, shadows dancing manically across the frosted ground like capricious spirits of the unquiet dead. Estarfin's grim face was thrown into stark relief before being concealed in shadows as the light changed. Another horn blew from inside the cavern, summoning more goblins to rip and tear at the interloper they had found, the trespasser that had been haunting the mountains for weeks like an unquiet wraith. Their hatred of Elven-kind was hot enough, but having the spectre within their grasp seemed to rob them of what little sense of self-preservation they had, throwing themselves onto his spear in their desperation to get to grips with him. The weight of the corpses on his spear pulled it out of his grasping hand and a glancing blow from a club sent him stumbling backwards. Looking around, he realised that he could retreat no further or he would risk being surrounded and hacked to pieces. Yet his spear was gone so there was no hope in charging forwards into the fray. The narrow path was his only chance of escape, the only way out of the trap he had stumbled into. And so he ran, abandoning his priceless spear and his foolish pride to his hated foes. His legs were heavy and his feet slipped on the snow, yet he kept his balance and reached the path before he was cut-off by his attackers. Despite the danger at his heels his mind drifted to thoughts of home and hearth and he knew that his foolish mission was at an end. Hope gave strength to his weary body and carried him away from the shrill cry of the goblins behind him.
***
White-hot pain slammed into his chest as a black-feathered arrow flew out of the shifting darkness at the base of the path. Stumbling, he reached out a hand to the cliff face and fell to one knee, all thought of escape gone from his mind as he struggled to take a breath and saw more goblins swarming up the path towards him. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the snow and tried to stand as he heard the goblins charging from the plateau in front of the cavern as well. He had time to try and raise his shield before the first goblin reached him, though he was too slow to block the sword-stroke fully and instead merely robbed it of killing power and deflected the blow into the shaft of the arrow jutting from his chest, splintering the wood and causing him to cry out once more with almost unbearable pain. The broken arrow was like fire and every breath rasped out of him as he tried to move or fight. Pain flared from the wound, robbing him of all sense and his own blood kept seeking to choke him. Another blow from his side knocked the shield from his grasp and then suddenly there was nothing but the night air beneath his boot. Frantically he flailed his arms as if he sought to soar as an eagle. Then the path was gone and he felt the cold air streaming past him. The first impact elicited a cry from him as he felt something inside him break. The second impact removed all pain, all sensation.
