Instinctively I turned my betrothal ring on my index finger, finding comfort in the action. My fingertips traced the design, the diamond stars embedded in the pattern of the Calarcirya, to ‘watch over us, always,’ Estarfin had said. I smiled at the memory.
Although I felt rather distant from Tintallë of late, I did not question she knew what had happened. She watched, I believed that. But it was not the habit of any of the Valar to step directly into someone’s life, to aid them. Sometimes there were messages, sometimes dreams, for a few. But guidance was usually most subtle, and for many there seemed no guidance at all.
As the days passed since our return, I felt in desperate need of help. Was I losing myself to my anger? Was my descent into hatred to become all-consuming? I was old enough and wise enough to know where that could lead. Deserved though that anger was, it was destroying me more than the guilty ones.
The day was a generally pleasant one. The breeze was southwesterly, carrying the fragrance of salt air far inland that I wondered, just for a moment, if we should all head to the house at the coast to rest, to regain perspective? If Barahirn was laid into a cushioned cart drawn by the steadiest of our horses, would the sights and sounds of the sea invigorate him? But no - I would not run away from the pain and destruction that surrounded me until matters were dealt with. I had folk to keep safe, to help heal, to inspire. I would not disappoint them. And besides, the rings I had made to lessen our Sea-Longing were stolen. That any of us suffered the call of the West at present was the last thing I wished for.
I sat on the sward outside the main Hall, near the statue of Tintallë, to search for the wisdom of the Lady of the Stars. It had been so long since I had felt such anger as I did at that time. I liked it not, the coursing fire in my blood, the ice in my heart. The desire to pursue and slay. And my sword, Sarphir, joined in my mood, positively howling to drink of Men’s blood. Almost any man’s blood. I had spent the morning practicing on the training dummies outside the Hall. (One of Ceuro’s present favourite locations.) Many times over did I slay them all, but my thoughts kept whispering, ‘Too slow, too stiff of movement; kick, smash, bite, elbow, headbutt, any weapon can be used in any way, so long as the men lie dead. It felt so unlike me, yet…there had been times of late when I could…when I did kill.
I had been that way before, in battles it was necessary, but even so, tempered with cunning and wisdom. A blood rage rarely won anything of consequence. But when Thargelion was attacked in my youth, after I saw so many perish, I could have slain anyone, anything, had I the ability. An attack on one’s home is one of the worst things to endure. The attack on my second home of Eregion had been the same. So many folk fell under Sauron’s invading army. And I had been dragged to safety by well-meaning friends, some of whom had perished in my stead.
Tearing my thoughts from those memories, I looked past Aearlinn’s grave to the ruins at the bottom of the slope. Two houses were now but burnt out rubble. One, my own, half burnt but likely restorable. I clutched Sarphir ever more tightly that my hands ached.
Turning from the view over the Vale, I looked up at the immovable features, the serene gaze of the Lady. “Help me; help us,” I said to the reality behind the marble. “I will act, but I do not wish to lose myself in the doing, nor will I lose him.”
And I respectfully lay Sarphir on the ground before me.
Of course I meant ‘help us all’, everyone in Numenstaya. But more specifically my thoughts had turned to Estarfin. I looked closely at the silver betrothal ring on my finger again. I remember clearly that day in Imladris when we had spoken our promises to each other. What we had between us was long awaited, and too precious for me to endanger.
‘We have had little chance to spend joyful time together,’ I whispered to Tintallë. ‘Since our betrothal we have travelled to the Greenwood, then back through Khazad Dûm, and now we find this attack on our home. There has been little time for joy in any of it, save the joy of being together. I almost led us to our doom, even as he once said I might, or he led me.’ I shook my head, feeling my pulse quicken as I thought of him. “I believe you brought us together, Lady, watch us still. I cannot bear to lose him through the hardening of my own heart.”
As usual, there was no clear reply. But there was the call from Curumaito to come indoors for refreshment. I rose to my feet, picked up my sword and, with a respectful bow of my head to the one who the image portrayed, entered the house again. There, the four of us: Curumaito, Barahirn, Ceuro and myself, shared a simple meal together. Barahirn had been brought to lie on a comfortable sofa in the breakfast room, adjacent to the kitchen. I prepared a meat, cheese and bread platter to take to Estarfin, who had been working at the forge since the previous night, but Curumaito had already seen to that matter. Yrill was on patrol, and Parnard and Marawendi were still in his house.
Once all were seated, Curumaito announced that he would be departing us the following day. “With your approval,” he nodded to me and to Barahirn, “I need to return to my family in Celondim. I am not far away should there be any problems, though I suspect there will be none.”
“Then I shall ride with you,” the oft silent Ceuro interjected. “I shall not allow any to ride out alone, even over such a short distance.”
A hammering sound could be heard from the direction of the nearby forge, followed by a faint hissing, the sound of hot steel being plunged into cool water. Estarfin still laboured away.
Curumaito smiled, inclining his head. “I thank you, Ceuro, but I shall wait upon the morning patrol out of Mithlond and ride back with them. I shall be in no danger.”
Riding in numbers or waiting on the patrol seemed to be our present mode of travelling. It felt restrictive to me and no doubt would to the others as well.
Ceuro nodded. “I understand.” He took up a pitcher of strawberry cordial. “Please forgive my manners,” he said as he filled our glasses, “but I shall not see any other lost if I can do anything about it.”
Barahirn stretched over from his reclining position and patted his friend on the arm. It pleased me to see those two becoming closer.
“Do not be a stranger,” I addressed the healer. “You and your lady-wife are welcome here anytime. You have done us a great service that we shall not forget.” I took a small helping of the summer salad. Not that I hungered for food, but more I wanted to set an example.
He nodded thoughtfully. “I know it seems a shallow comment at the moment, but this time shall pass, and then there will be - ” He paused, a questioning look on his face.
“Then there will be what, Curumaito?” asked Barahirn.
“Better days ahead,” said the healer.
‘Better days ahead?’ I thought. Nothing could restore Aearlinn to us.
After the meal, Barahirn being restored to the bed, and the plates being cleaned, I returned to my training, only this time with the indoor opponents in the side room. As the afternoon grew warmer, I was glad I wore but a thin sleeveless dress. Swinging Sarphir repeatedly at dummies was hot work, and my arms began to ache due to lack of regular practice, but I would not stop.
A few times I heard Estarfin’s voice, speaking as if to something he had crafted. I wondered at what he was making with such tenacity, but knew I would find out as soon as he wished.
I took a short break to pause and cool off with a glass of cordial. I tried to tidy my hair which was curling tightly in the heat, and had escaped its combs - I looked more like a farm assistant in the rain than any Lady, but no matter, I was doing what I must. I took down a heavy staff from the weapon collection on the wall, and tried that. One could never be absolutely certain they would have their sword to hand. I swung, I parried…I thought I should ask Ceuro to practice with me, he being a sword-master. Then as I raised my staff to smash the training dummy's padded wood skull, I realised Estarfin was watching me from the door. I did not know how long he had been there, nor when I had last heard sounds from the forge. With pride in my training, but also some embarrassment at the state I was in, I put down my weapon and faced him.
“I need more practice,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders, as a way of explanation.
He looked me up and down. Yes, I knew I looked a mess, whereas he wore a clean, fresh, red and gold tunic, and had at least washed his face, hands and hair. (His wild hair needed combing though, I thought with some satisfaction.)
I tried to smile, but he knew me too well to be misled. He almost always knew my moods. “I can’t stop thinking of what they did. I want to get my hands on them,” I said as I met his gaze, and spoke my heart.
He nodded. “You overestimate them, I think,” he replied.
I noted his point. “They are only men, little more than nothing. But when they are in packs they can injure even those who have noble training.”
Estarfin tilted his head and frowned. “Is this a single tragedy, or a pattern of things to come?”
I stood up straight and firm. I pushed my hair back behind my ears. In my mind I could hear the words of the Curse:
‘To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well.’
‘No’, I thought. ‘I will not permit it.’ Neither would I be happy with Estarfin beleving all that lay ahead of us was unremitting doom. I would understand his thoughts. “How do you mean?” I asked him. “This is a tragedy to be sure. Do you think if we pursue the Men, a greater tragedy will befall?”
His shoulders slumped slightly, as if there was a heavy weight settling upon him. “This last year - was it simply a dream, a shortened imitation of the Long Peace? Is all we have shared to be put aside for this?”
“Oh, Estarfin!” I cried out, my eyes widening in surprise.
He walked slowly over to the large window. “I do not want that,” he said.
Hurriedly, I walked over to stand in front of him. Seemly or not, I wrapped my arms around his waist and shook my head.
“Neither do I want that. No vengeance is more important than what we now have, than what we have shared this past year. I want peace. I want us to have a life together.”
He looked down at me and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“You think hatred consumes me?” I asked him what I feared to ask myself. I knew that he would speak the truth. “Nothing will ever turn me from you, you know.”
His expression softened, though he still looked concerned. There was nothing for it. I raised myself on my toes, turning up my chin…
“My pardon, I shall take my leave.”
Estarfin closed his eyes, but I think he was smiling.
I cared not that Curumaito had entered the room. But I released my hold on Estarfin as we both turned to face the healer.
Curumaito bowed deeply to us both, a smile on his face.
“No need for pardon, my friend. Thank you for caring for Barahirn. How can we repay you?” I said.
Curumaito waved a hand. “Be patient with him. He will try to run before he can walk. But he will walk again.”
“He will be whole again. That is good,” Estarfin nodded approvingly.
A look of satisfaction, of a job well done, appeared across the healer’s face. “I bid you both goodnight, and ask that you ignore my untimely interruption.” He bowed again, making another smile that looked like a blessing, then departed.
I covered my face with my hands to hide my broad smile. I liked and respected Curumaito; I would forgive him almost anything. But his timing was inopportune. I took one step back, and looked to consider Estarfin’s mood.
“And you were saying, meldanya?”
