Naraal

Estarfin….beloved...I saw you for a moment, I heard your voice, calling to me. I hear it still in thought and I reach out to you. 

But I could not answer you in words. I knew what would happen if I did.

Khahaynd thought about Zairaphel and her frequent mentioning of handsome men; clearly that was her weakness on full display, and she wondered briefly if her brother Naraal was handsome enough to hold the Sorceress's favor, so that she could gain something by it. “You have a traitor to Prince Imrahil?” she said to her, raising her glass of wine in silent congratulation. “That is most unusual and useful.”

It had been a long ride more than a difficult one. The path from Bree to Angmar was not well-worn, neither were there welcoming places to stay, not even for one such as her. Khahaynd had known that when she set out she would be on her own until she reached Lady Zairaphel’s house. But difficult? Nay, there were Men around Trestlebridge, but not the sort she would waste any time on. They were not interesting nor threatening enough for her.

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He said his name was Balkumagan. “It is easy to see we are from a similar place, lady. I am Balkumagan, First Mate of the Shakalgimil, though alas, rather further from her and the Sea than I like.” He bowed elegantly, as one who knew well his manners.

“Sire, your armour is excellent, but may I suggest something?” said Naraal as he stood before the decrepit old house with the wolf’s head device carved upon its ancient oaken door.

He knew he would be lucky to get away with it. He knew his boss, Naraal, had told him to leave the Elves alone. Ham Gorsefoot had told him to have his men stand ready. Well he had done as they said!

She had been watching the children of the Caru-Luth playing near the tents. Scruffy, grubby little urchins for the most part, but they were full of laughter and jest. They enjoyed their meager lives, they enjoyed competing against each other in mostly friendly fights. Some had short shaggy ponies, and they raced them round the settlement, calling for adults to ‘beware, for the young warriors were training’. And the adults looked on, smiling as they recalled their own childhoods.