Harsh voices called out in the vilest of tongues in mockery and perverse excitement as the remnants of the warrior-rabble that had set-out to kill the wraith returned. Their numbers were visibly reduced and some bore the scars of battle still. Cawing insults and catcalls sounded from the baying crowds at their perceived weakness at losing so many to a single foe. Leading the shambling crowd were three of the largest goblins; all carrying burdens and making their way inexorably towards the seated figure at the centre of the cavern. The foul goblin-chieftain sat upon a throne of hewn flint, his black skin reflecting little of the light of the guttering torches as dark saliva ran over tusks such as would be found upon a wild boar. The goblin wore a suit of black iron plate mail and held a large axe in one hand, the head resting upon the jagged rocks of the cavern floor. The expression on its hideous face was inscrutable as the trio approached the throne warily.
The first inclined its misshapen head in a mockery of a bow and carefully pulled a dirty cloth off of a beautiful silver spear. The goblin kept the cloth wrapped around the metal shaft of the spear as if afraid to touch it, or unable to. The volume of the surrounding crowds increased as they recognised a weapon forged by their ancestral foes and they screamed obscenities at both its maker and bearer. The chieftain snarled as his beady eyes looked upon the weapon then raised his eyes to stare at the goblin instead. It spoke in the Black Speech with anger in its guttural voice.
"Well, what are you waiting for maggot? Get that orc-sticker out of my sight and throw it into the deepest pit. And be quick about it else you'll follow you creeping worm!" The goblin snarled at the words but nodded again and scrambled away into the darkness. Turning to the next in line, the chieftain grinned widely, displaying a mouthful of blackened and broken teeth. “And what treasure do you have for me then, eh? Quickly, quickly now else I'll be quick to forget my manners and bleed you where you stand!"
The goblin pulled the rotting leather cover away from an immaculate shield, again making sure that material lay between taloned hand and unblemished Elven steel. The carrier spoke harshly. "The shield. Torn from the Elf-warriors dying hands."
"Elf? Elf? Then it is as I thought. They come here from their hidden valley they do. They’ll be sorry when we find them and hack them into little pieces. We’ll burn their houses and see if they can fly away then! Cover that wicked thing up and throw it into the same pit as the sticker. Bright, hateful things. I'd smash them if I could but these Elves are devilish cunning and our heaviest hammers would crack if we tried." The chieftain stood suddenly. "What are you still doing there scum? You heard me right or do I need to shove that pig-sticker into your ear?" The goblin thought to shout its own insult, but instead ran off muttering.
The third goblin stepped forwards, head held high and staring straight at the chieftain. The burden it carried was light and took but one hand to hold aloft. The scaled hand gripped a handful of dark hair tightly as it lifted the severed head. Coarse hair hung around the shrivelled skin of the face and the noise of the crowd lessened as they all moved closer to look at the prize.
***
White. Endless white. There was nothing else, no break in the onslaught of emptiness, no familiar shape to latch onto. No feeling. No pain, no cold. Just whiteness. Perhaps this was what eternity would be. A landscape of endless nothing. Other fates could be more terrible of course, yet that nothingness seemed to stretch the concept of eternity to a concept alien to him. Yet if there was nothing in the eternity, what was the noise in his ears? Slow, rhythmic. A heartbeat? Why would he need a heart here? If there is a heart then maybe he could.....
Estarfin let out a pitiful cry of pain as he tried to move his head and felt bones grind against each other. The spell was broken and the endless landscape of white was revealed to be merely deep snow. The lack of feeling due to the numbing cold of his surroundings. He tasted the bitterness his of actions as he lay broken and felt the warm touch of tears at the edge of his eyes as he understood his failure. All was lost to him and he lay alone in the dark. There was nothing left to him, no reason to struggle for another dawn, another breath. It would be easier to simply lay where he was and wait. The snows would finish their slow work eventually and the pain would be less than trying to move. What escape could there be after all from such isolation? What point? He closed his eyes and tried to quench the impetuous voice of the stubborn son of his father who railed against such submission. The time for rage was finished, it was time for peace at last.
***
“Well? What do you mean by this?” The chieftain was looking suspiciously at the third carrier holding the severed head aloft. The goblin casually tossed the head at the chieftain’s feet where it rolled to a stop. The chieftain slowly reached down and picked it up, staring at the face with a star carved into it.
“It was him alright. The one that was killing our warriors and mounting their heads on pikes! We saw him fall after sticking him in most uncomfortable ways.” The goblin grinned wickedly. “He’s lying dead and frozen in the snows and will stay there till the snows melt.”
“I want his head, not this!” The chieftain roared and threw the head at the carrier. “Bring it to me by morning, or I’ll take yours instead you flea-bitten vermin! Send out the warg-riders!”
***
His eyes snapped open again as the long howl ripped open the peaceful silence of night. He sat up quickly, a natural response to the sound of danger. Another cry escaped his lips as the bolt of pain threatened to split him in half. He wretched at the sickening agony before the howl sounded again. Closer. He was surrounded by snow still, soft powder that must have fallen during the night. He leaned forwards and began pushing against the snow with all of his might. Slowly, he managed to push through the soft snow on his hands and knees. The snowdrift seemed endless and only the thought of pursuing beasts drove him onwards against the lethargy that threatened to swamp him. There! A fleeting glimpse of starlight. Muttering a hurried prayer to Elentári he collapsed forwards into the open, then quickly rolled onto his side as the numbing pain of the arrow throbbed through his chest. He laid there for long minutes, trying to catch his breath and gain control of his broken body. Eventually he gained enough strength to raise his head and look around himself. White snow reflected the starlight all around, although a dark ribbon cut through it a short distance ahead of him. A path? Did he take a path on the way to the goblin horde? Would that lead him back to the valley? The call of wargs sounded again, louder. Estarfin began dragging himself towards the path, realising that it may as well be a thousand leagues away for all the good it would do. He travelled as quickly as he could, gasping for breath and stifling cries of pain as he leant on broken bones or ripped muscles. Finally he lay still, fully spent. He could go no further and knew that the path offered no hope anyway. Even if he reached it, what good would it do for him? Lifting his head and peering through the hair matted to his face, he looked behind him and saw how small a distance he had covered. The path lay no closer to him. In desperation he begged silently to the uncaring stars, knowing that their cold light was all that would be received.
