Seraile was sat in his comfortable cushioned leather armchair, in front of the roaring fire in the fireplace so big it could hold ten men. His estate, the location of which he gave no one but his closest friends and most trusted men was warm the cold night, he was the only one in, till the captain in charge of the current watch on duty around the fence warned him of an arrival.
A man entered, wearing dark leather armour, a black hood fell about his shoulders, a scarf fell down below his chin. The man himself was of average height, with long dark hair that fell about his shoulders, with an un-kept look, but clean at the same. His face had sharp features, Hazel eyes, high cheekbones, his chin narrow, his skin lightly tanned, the man himself could not have been past his thirty-fifth winter, his demeanour showed a strength within him.
“Welcome back Derson” spoke Seraile, his voice commanding but welcoming. The man, Derson, fell to one knee, his head bowed, “My lord” he replied, his voice calm. Seraile examined him closely, his green eyes studying the man in front of him, “perhaps you would like a drink… you look tired beyond reason… it looks like you have not slept for a week” he observed, reaching out for a silver jug, pouring out a goblet of clear water and handing it to Derson, as he drank, he ordered food to be brought, and then asked the man, “Would you like to eat first, or would you like to tell me of your adventures?”, to which Derson replied “Sir, I would tell you of my adventures… for if I eat, I am afraid I would fall asleep on your carpet and I would have to be dragged back to my sleeping quarters.” Seraile looked at him, amusement in his eyes, “You will sleep here tonight Derson, you are too tired to go anywhere, you deserve comfort tonight.” Derson looked at him and replied “thank you sir…”.
As Derson recounted his tale, Seraile stared into the fire, the situation worse than he ever imagined… We are stuck between the hammer and the anvil… he thought, gripping the arms of his chair. Once Derson finished his tale, Seraile had a join of roast pork laid out in the dining room and the hooded company feasted that night.
As the men retired to their quarters and Derson was guided to his room by the captain on duty, Seraile walked into a dark room at the back of the large house, he lit a candle at the door an walked in, lighting the candles by the door and lighting up the dark room, shelved and shelves of books appeared into view, and disappearing into the darkness the lights could not penetrate, he walked to a desk cluttered with a mixture of books, maps and feathers, a low squawk sounded in a dark corner, as Seraile walked closer to it, a large black eagle sat on a perch beneath an opening in the wall, he stroked its head, saying low “Sidh Morada… Sidh”, he places a hand on a map of Bree-Land, staring at one spot. The Doom of Bree… how could it be so… he thought, looking at a small label that read ‘Ost Alagos’.
Later, In the early hours of the morning he lay in his bed, and as he closed his eyes, the ghosts of the past spoke to him, “Estel Na Min huor”.
