He fumbled with the silver and emerald clasp, cursing quietly as it kept slipping from his fingers and coming undone despite his best efforts. In frustration he shrugged the dark green silk and black velvet striped arming jacket off of his shoulders and sighed; looking at the armour pieces carefully laid on the table before him reminded him of his own weakness. A warrior that can no longer dress himself for battle is not fit to wear such armour. His eyes swept over the achingly familiar ancient black steel plates noticing with pride that they shone as brightly as they had when he had forged them in his youth in the cold winter of Thargelion. The armour had been simpler then of course; Forodhir had always taught him that function must take precedence over form. The forging of the armour had marked the end of his apprenticeship and the beginning of his career as a smith. The memory had always been a source of joy for Estarfin, but now he felt only the sting of loss and regret looking at such work that he could never again replicate.
The armour had always been beautiful of course, but every victory, every service performed had brought new decoration and shining gemstones; gifts from Prince Caranthir to his loyal warriors who shed and spilled blood at his command. Once he had fallen, Estarfin had continued the tradition after every battle. Despite the intricate patterns and curving Tengwar script picked out in gold and silver, despite the fiery red jewels that sparkled and shone like the setting Sun; the armour exuded a sense of menace, of terrible purpose. The plates had been washed incarnadine by fallen foes and friends alike and such stains cannot easily cleansed. It had been an age since he had last worn his armour of war, but he was left with no other choice; he could not fight in less protective mail or plate in his current condition. He was slow and weak even after a long recovery; a little less speed and a little extra weight would make little difference to him but the protection of the armour might turn aside blows that he could no longer avoid. In three ages of the world no enemy blade had ever pierced those black plates no matter what evil was before him.
A loud knocking upon the door to his rooms tore his attention from the task at hand and he turned and walked from the pristine room, dressed in only a pair of thin silken trousers, an undershirt and leather boots. Opening the door he blinked rapidly in the afternoon sun then looked at his visitor. Ruineth stood upon his doorstep dressed in an elegant purple and light green robe with her hair pulled back and fastened with sparkling silver and emerald clasps. She looked a little surprised at his appearance, although she quickly hid the look of concern and smiled gently at him.
"Estarfin, I hope that I have not called you from bed? The night has passed. The morning has passed. Evening will arrive swiftly and you will miss your chance to say farewell to your comrades." Ruineth laughed softly as she scolded him, still relieved by the news that she had heard regarding his hearing.
"Nay, it has not been sleep that has kept me inside, it has been this" he gestured at his left arm. "What was once simple has become complex. In fact your timing could not be better; that is if you have time to help me?"
Ruineth nodded at the request. "As long as it does not involve your Ambassador I would be glad to help!"
Estarfin stepped aside and gestured for Ruineth to enter before closing the heavy door after her. "You must excuse.... all of this" he said as he gestured around the half-painted room, devoid of any furniture "It is being redecorated, restored; reinvigorated even. Parnard and Norliriel thought it for the best and took most of my old projects as payment for the deed."
Ruineth looked surprised "Norliriel? Who is she? I do not think you have spoken of her before now."
"Have I not? Just another healer that likes to fuss over those who are no longer patients. She means well enough I think despite that though."
Ruineth nodded at that and followed Estarfin through another set of doors into a room empty of furniture except for an old bed piled high with rags. Another door stood open before them and they entered. Ruineth could not help but let a small gasp escape from her thin lips as she looked around. Hanging upon the walls were some of the most exquisite weapons that she had ever seen. Upon the cabinets that sat against the walls were pieces of the finest armour and inside the cabinets sparkling jewels shone. A few small items seemed out of place in such a collection but they were soon forgotten as she saw the black armour upon the table.
"Magnificent" she whispered to herself. She looked quickly to Estarfin "May I, my Lord?" He nodded his head fractionally in response. As she gingerly lifted the helmet with its tall crimson plume Estarfin made his request.
"There have been times when I have asked this service of others Ruineth, but do not think that I ask lightly. I cannot now ask it of them again, a fact that fills me with regret. Forodhir, long dead on the despoiled plain of Anfauglith. Sarlin, lost at the Dagorlad. Helphas and Tinur, the smiling brothers, lost at the ill-fated assault upon the Havens. Belegos.... Well, there are no others left to do it and I cannot achieve it by myself. Will you help to prepare me for battle?"
Ruineth looked horrified at the request "Battle? What battle do you speak of? You can barely stand, what business do you have in battle? Is it death that you seek?" angry tears appeared at the corners of her large eyes. "I did not want to believe the reports that I heard, I thought...." she broke off and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "At least tell me why Estarfin. Whatever is between us you owe me that at least."
Estarfin looked at her for a moment, then spoke "Anglachelm ordered me to..."
Ruineth cut him off "No he did not! He gave you no orders, only a choice. Why must you always see only a path that leads to your own destruction? Just for once stay here and have peace."
Estarfin turned around and picked up a shield, turning back to let Ruineth look at it. A swan with outspread wings was flying upon the face of it with a Silmaril carried upon it, symbolised by a large flawless ruby. "This is Anglachelm's own shield that he presented to me so that I could march with the others. How can I turn my back on him? How can I turn my back on my House?" he sighed and set the shield down. "If I do not do this then what would I be? What would I have left? I was a warrior and a smith and both talents were given freely. Now I can no longer work metal and as you say, I barely have the strength to stand. Yet perhaps it is strength enough to march with my comrades, my friends, one last time before I cease to fulfil any purpose. You speak to me of peace but that is not something I will find here" he smiled kindly and reached out his right hand and raised her chin so that her shining green eyes met the sea-grey gaze of his "You see more to me then there is, Ruineth. If I could stay with you and find happiness then I would. However there is a heavy price to pay for some deeds. Blood has been spilled, Oaths have been sworn. Such things cannot be mended."
Ruineth again wiped her eyes dry with her hand and then spoke "All I hear are excuses Estarfin. You have taken no Oath that states you must forever dwell alone, that you are afforded no joy in this world. That choice you alone have made; to shut out all others and to make your heart cold and hard as a stone" she laid a pale hand upon his chest as she spoke.
"Perhaps you are right, it is a choice that I have made. You still cannot see what I am, can you? I will show you. Help me to dress for battle and I shall agree to stay here, if you still wish it."
Ruineth looked surprised at the announcement but nodded and stepped back.
"Help me with the arming jacket first" he said, pointing to the padded velvet and silk jacket "A gift from Fingolfin's folk upon our arrival at Barad Eithel. We were sent to try to rebuild a semblance of friendship at least between Prince Caranthir's folk and those of Fingolfin with the exchange of armour and other gifts" Estarfin smiled briefly at the memory "Before that I was using a woollen jacket, if you can believe it? It has been repaired many times of course, for material is not as durable as steel."
Ruineth listened and slid the beautiful jacket over his broad shoulders, marvelling at the detailing on the clasps; each one a stylised bird on a green leaf. She fastened the clasps as he continued his tale.
"Twenty-five of us marched there from Thargelion, eighteen made it through the terrible fighting..." his eyes drifted out of focus briefly as he remembered the horrors of his first taste of war. “We decided... I decided, that we could follow in the wake of Fingolfin, for nothing could stand against him the day that he rode out alone. Two of us were all that was left at the end of that day" he smiled without humour "My first true failure." He gestured to the black velvet stripes "Sixteen stripes for sixteen of my own kin dead upon the field because of my hubris. The breastplate next" he said, noticing that she had finished fastening the jacket. Reverently she lifted the beautiful piece into place, strapping it over his shoulders and around his ribs.
"What are these?" she asked, running her fingers across three indentations over his heart.
"A symbol of what drove us and what will forever be beyond our grasp."
Ruineth nodded, understanding the significance.
"The roaring lion's head with the ruby eyes, that was in honour of my Prince when he fell. He is surrounded by the flames that we set in that place to avenge him and the others."
Estarfin spoke thusly to Ruineth as she attached piece after piece of armour, pointing out each decoration or piece of script and explaining it to her. Some marked brave and glorious deeds but all too often they were only a reminder of the darkest actions of the Noldor; orders followed without question or violence of his own making. When he showed her the blood-red jewels set into the knuckles of his gauntlets and spoke to her of the Havens of Sirion she visibly paled and began to cry softly again. He expected her to leave, to stop, to do something, but instead she carried on in silence, listening to his tale.
Eventually he stood before her, only his crimson-plumed helmet missing. The shield of Lord Anglachelm was strapped in place upon his left arm and he wore two swords at his side; the ancient blade that Lord Veryacano had gifted him and another blade of his own work in a simple scabbard. Ruineth wiped her red eyes and stepped back to look at him. Her breath temporarily caught in her throat. He stood before her tall, proud; with bright eyes, dark hair and ornate armour and weapons he looked every inch a Lord of the Noldor. She thought of all the glorious and brave deeds he had ever performed and without thought she dropped her gaze from his, but looked up again when he spoke softly to her.
"This is the only face of mine you have ever seen Ruineth. It is the face that I wear with friends, when I am at peace" he smiled sadly, then slipped the helmet on and fastened it in place with one hand. Ruineth took a step back, but this was not in reverence. The kindly grey-eyes were gone, in their place were cold and empty things. There was suddenly nothing familiar, nothing comforting about the figure before her and for the first time she was afraid. Every tale of brutality, of treachery, of innocent blood and the excesses of war spun through her mind.
"This is the face they saw. Through fire, through smoke, through snow and through blood, pain and hatred. What say you now Ruineth of Imladris? Would you have me dwell here with you?" his voice was different, empty of emotion and strangely distorted by the snarling grille of the helmet.
"I..." she stammered, then shook her head and backed away again, knocking into one of the cabinets. A broken wooden training sword and a coil of rusted wire clattered to the floor, causing her to jump. Looking down she saw them and knew them both from Estarfin’s tale. Shaking her head she fled from the room, away from the terrible Noldor Lord.
***
It felt familiar wearing the armour. A sense of calm and of purpose had fallen over him as soon as Ruineth left; as if the eye-slits in the visor had managed to not only narrow his vision but also to focus his thoughts; to eliminate the choices before him until only one was left. He would not waste away in the Valley, suffering one humiliation after another as he would do if he tried to work at the smithy, if he tried to practice his swordplay. Any endeavour was without hope, but at least this end would be the swiftest, the most fitting. He looked around the room and caught sight of his own reflection briefly in a long mirror. He nodded to himself, then slowly walked from the room, through the empty halls of his house and out into the evening air. The path from his rooms to the entrance to the mountain pass was neither steep nor long, yet it took a long time for him to walk it, but ever he plodded on, placing one weary foot in front of the other.
Finally, he saw the guardhouse of the pass come into view and took a deep breath, trying to rest for a moment before he left the safety of the Valley. As he stood still, he noticed a slim figure dressed in black striding towards him from the direction of the guardhouse. Nirhen. He scowled.
"I thought you would do something stupid" she called to him as she came nearer; raising an eyebrow at the absurdly ostentatious armour that he wore. "This time I thought it would be better if someone stopped you, before you fall off of another cliff and waste the many chances that have been given to you."
"Get out of the way" he said and made to walk around her.
Nirhen stepped to the side, back into his path. "I would tell you to make me, but I doubt you would be able to, even in such garish attire." There was a hint of amusement in her voice. "But you are welcome to try. First to twelve, as usual? If you win, which you will not, I shall stand aside or even accompany you to your death in the mountains. If you lose, which you will, you will give up the foolish notion and return home.” She shrugged a bundle from her back and let it fall onto the rocky path. She bent down and opened it, picking up two blunted swords. She tossed one to the ground at Estarfin’s feet and weighed the other one in her hand for balance. "Let us see how healed you truly are."
Estarfin said nothing, but instead tried to walk past Nirhen. She instantly had her sword held ready, prepared to strike. "If you are afraid to face me then I understand, but I will not let you pass" she smiled wolfishly.
Estarfin looked at her with cold eyes for a moment and then drew his own sword from the scabbard at his side and raised his shield into a fighting stance. Nirhen looked surprised briefly but shrugged, knowing how weak he still was. They stood facing each other for a moment, then began. He swung the sword at her in a crude overhead strike that she easily avoided, swinging her own blade out to make a hard strike against his helmet. She shook her head at his sloppy swordplay and said "One to noth...." she was cut-off as she had to duck below a swipe aimed at her neck. She took a step backwards, looking surprised and angry. Estarfin followed her, swinging the sword with no finesse and no care for a defence. Time and again Nirhen rained hard blows upon the black armour but still he kept coming at her, shrugging off the strikes from the dull, iron sword and trying to split Nirhen in two with his own sharpened blade. Any trace of amusement was gone from her pale face, replaced by a mixture of anger and concern.
"Estarfin, stop! You will prove nothing if you drop dead from exhaust..." Again she was interrupted by a swing of his sword, but this time she gripped her own sword like a club and swung it with all of her might at his, knocking the silver sword spinning away. Nirhen raised the bent training sword to a ready position again. "You have lost, as I told you would happen. Turn around and go home, there is nothing for you up there. Estarfin, stop!" she raised her voice in frustration as he began to draw his second sword from the scabbard at his hip. With a snarl she hurled herself at him, knocking him backwards. His legs held his own weight, the weight of his armour and her weight for a few moments, then collapsed. Scrabbling over him she wrenched his gauntlet away from the sword and she pinned his left arm down with her knee, straddling the black armour awkwardly. She reached over with her free hand and yanked the helmet from his head with a snarl. His face was pale and covered with sweat, a little blood coming from his nose and his eyes wide and dark. He was gasping for breath and Nirhen shook her head at him. "You have lost. At least this match, perhaps even your mind. Yield!" he struggled a little under her and she delivered a hard slap with the back of her hand across his face. "I can do this all night. Yield!"
He nodded once, then stared into her eyes "You have robbed me of my rightful place in battle besides my comrades, so that I must stay here and live the half-life that is left to me in bitterness? Are you happy to have such company join you in dishonour?"
Nirhen narrowed her eyes, then slapped him again "You mewl like a child, not a warrior of the Hammer. You have a choice. March to a pointless death in the mountain, or go home and rest. In the morning I will bring PRACTICE swords and will continue to try to beat some sense into you” she shook her head at him “Despair brings nothing but ruin Estarfin, do not submit to it." With that, she got up from across him and held out her hand. After a moment of hesitation he lifted his right hand to hers.
"No, the other one" she scolded him.
"It does not work you foo..." he was cut-off as she slapped him hard across the face again, swift as a snake.
"You are not the only one who can interrupt others when they are speaking. Use your other arm."
Slowly he lifted his left arm that still had Anglachelm's shield strapped tight to it. Nirhen grabbed the gauntlet and heaved him up to his feet. She then took a step back, leaving his path free in whichever direction he wished. He looked up towards the snow-covered mountains, then sighed and turned back down the path. Nirhen nodded at his departing figure, then called after him "You have forgotten your sword Estarfin! I am not your maid!" He did not slow, or show any sign of having heard so she sighed to herself and walked over and retrieved the sword. She looked at it, surprised to see such a basic and unlovely blade is his possession. The handle was plain, unfinished wood and the blade was not even straight. She realised with a start that the blade was clearly newly-forged and her heart fell a little to see the fruits of Estarfin’s labours.
