Winter was coming to the valley, that much was clear by the crisp night air, and the increasingly fleeting hours of daylight. The brown, red and gold leaves had mostly fallen from the trees; only the pines still held onto their greenery in the face of the relentless march of the seasons.
Before darkness fell each night, thin wisps of smoke could be seen riding into the sky across the valley as fires burned brightly in dwelling-places throughout Imladris. Estarfin bent and stoked the small fire that crackled and flickered in the old, green iron grate. He was sitting, looking out through the darkening window aimlessly. He had been watching the flight of birds, the occasional arrival of travelers wearing thick robes, cloaks and shawls, and of course, the rain.
It seemed as though it has been raining without end since summer had passed. The paths throughout the valley had become more difficult, some even dangerous. A few weeks ago a small party of naugrim had almost perished when earth, rocks and roots had suddenly rushed down the slope across the path they had been traveling. The Bruinen was swollen and angry, and was living up to the name it had been given; day and night it roared through the valley, rushing with all speed to the Sea. The Sea.
Estarfin frowned at the sudden thought, though if truth be told, the Sea had been to the forefront of his mind for many seasons now. Once more he strode to the mantle, plucking the well-read letter from the top and letting his eyes drift to the section he had read repeatedly for the last few years.
"You wrote that you are not gifted in seeing the truth in the hearts of others. Ai, do I not know that! Often I gave hint, though usually veiled. You never heard what I left unsaid. Often the most important part, as far as I was concerned.
So for once I shall be blunt.
I will never desert you to be alone in these lands. Though our paths may take us to different places over the space of time, I shall never sail while you remain. I do not say this as some sort of threat to cajole you to seek the mercy of the Valar, but as a fact. If I am slain, the matter is out of my hands. Should you be slain, then I will reconsider. It is my hope that does not occur. Death aside, I am bound to you, son of Thargolion, in a way you have not realised."
Estarfin frowned as he read the letter again. What did Danel want from him? He had sat, thought, wondered what to do, for six years now. His body had healed, his old strength returned. But now he needed answers, answers he could not understand without finding her. There had been rumours of course, few Noldor maidens rode through Eregion without causing them, let alone flame-haired ones who spoke the old tongue. Estarfin nodded to himself, finally having decided upon a course of action. He would ride, he would find her, and then there would be a reckoning.
