We walked to our horses, both stabled close by. I would not say I had peace, but I think I had more of a measure of where I was going than I had since Belegos introduced me to his friend a few years ago.
That had been a surprise to say the least. Now I had known Belegos for quite some time, and as a bowman of great skill and a tracker of exceptional ability. I liked him a lot. He had taught me more of his art that I was finally proficient with a bow. I could not say more. Even he could not turn me into a huntress of much skill. Nay, I was trained in the art of the sword dance, and to wield one or two weapons in close encounters. That was my forte. Belegos tried to improve my range of skills. And we had become companions, along with others, in a few expeditions.
Then he told me of his good friend. Another from Thargelion, it seemed. Another of Caranthir’s folk. So I was interested of course. There were other survivors from those days, and at times I would encounter them. But it was very rare to meet someone I actually had known. That evening, in the Hall of Fire, I was to come face to face with the living dead. For finally Belegos put a name to his friend.
“This is Estarfin, who I was telling you about!”
I had gone through the motions of introduction, being named by Belegos as ‘Danel’, my much used epesse from the Second Age. Estarfin had known me only as Carnifinde.
For a moment I wondered. Was it really him? Oh his hair was the same, a mane, dark and wild, though he seemed to have made a move to tame it somewhat. His eyes held unspeakable pain..and anger…and sorrow. I had seen that look in too many others already. War-tired, slaughter-tired.
He was polite, picking up on our mutual place of birth, but said very little apart from that. He drank a lot.
I spoke a little too, wondering, was this some other who had taken his name? That was so unlikely. Names are important, but perhaps as an epesse of his own choosing? Estarfin was not the only one with wild, dark hair.
I watched and listened, as Belegos and some other friends steered the conversation. And Estarfin drank.
It was only when one of our number mentioned there were a few Men in Imladris that Estarfin broke into the conversation.
“Men? Why do we suffer their kind here? The only good ones are the dead ones.”
I had the impression Belegos had not seen that side of Estarfin before? Neither had I, having seen him not at all for almost two Ages. My own experience of the Secondborn was to be hesitant. Many I had known of had not impressed me, but there had been exceptions. There were always exceptions. I would not move to take-up a sword against them without very good cause.
But Estarfin was enraged. Belegos tried to reason with him. These Men were guests of Lord Elrond.
“Men are not to be trusted, they know not the meaning of honour.”
And at that point I interrupted. I was still in some form of shock, but I was not overawed by Estarfin’s temperament. Rather, I only saw his pain.
“Of certainty there are those of that Race who deserve naught from us. Some likely deserve death, but for the most part they are willing to grant that to each other. Yet there are those of the Dunedain, some of the folk of Rohan and of Gondor who warrant our courtesy.”
He looked at me fully, for the first time. His eyes were blazing fire. “You would defend them? You, who surely know how they betrayed….ah..” And he turned and marched swiftly from the hall, cup still in hand.
“How they betrayed Caranthir,” I finished the sentence for him.
Belegos was all apologies. Estarfin did not usually act so, he reassured me.
“He drinks much wine?” I asked.
“Indeed,” came the reply, “though never when under orders.”
I was shaken. I did not know what to make of that evening, for of certainly, and despite his mood or maybe because of it, he was angry with me.
But of one thing I was certain. This was the far older champion of our Prince, who I had long since believed perished.
In due course we made up for that first encounter. He was to make me the sword, Sarphir, as a gift. It has been the only sword I used since that time. In turn, and without any expectation of the gift from him, I fashioned a ring such as our Lords once wore as a sign of their loyalty to our Prince. It was set with a large ruby, as theirs had been, but also I imbued it with a certain ‘power’ I had learned from my time in Eregion. Though red, it was a fire to contain fire. Its heat a wall to slow the progress of anger and turn it to a fire-point focus. It was not something I was sure would work, though it did after a fashion and for a short time. Estarfin eventually lost it, along with his great spear and his shield, when the goblins tried to capture him in the Hithaeglir.
As we rode forward, over the scrubland and towards the holly woods, I wondered what his mood would be like now, and what it would take to unleash his anger? Not that I was want to make a test of it.
I was unsure yet where to head, as I had been but on a wandering, and knew his dislike of such aimless activities. “I would see Pembar again,” I spoke up, “As we are close. A last visit to the place I spent happy decades.”
He nodded. We had been there before, on our search for my grandmother’s heirloom sword. The place had been ruins of memories, and inhabited by orcs. It may be it was again, but it was also a sensible place to start. Whatever dwelt there now, we two could handle.
Not that Estarfin spoke much to start with. “It is good to be riding with you again,” was the most I was rewarded with. But his words were sincere, and so I smiled, and accepted them as such,
“And with you.”
And then he said “I see you are wearing a scarlet cloak!”
Such was true, and in fact he was also wearing a red cloak at that time. Red, not scarlet. I pointed it out to him. He shrugged.
“I am wearing a cloak that is suitable for travel in well guarded parts of Eregion. You wander far and wide. It is not subtle. Scarlet is highly visible. You would be seen for miles by an enemy.”
I slowed my mare to a pace better suited for conversation. “I wear a red cloak because it is the colour of my house, and of our people’s allegiance. Do you suggest I wear something dull and unnoticeable, like a scout?”
“Something less noticeable than scarlet would be good if we travel further afield.”
Now I was feeling the itch of annoyance. We had ever argued over what was ‘red’ and what was ‘scarlet’.
“I suppose then you want me to cut off my hair, as that is reddish hue, and so also noticeable?” I defied him to call my hair scarlet.
He almost looked amused. “That will not be necessary. A raised hood would suffice.”
And he urged his mount on at a canter.
“My cloak is ‘red’ “I stated, ‘And so is my hair.”
I heard “Scarlet’ echo back to me.
I could not see to be certain, but it felt as if he was smiling.
