Estarfin

The warriors of Fingolfin and Caranthir were brave, but they quailed in the face of the monster before them. Tall, wreathed in smoke and fire and holding a whip of flame, the Balrog of Morgoth came towards them. The Noldor fell back, save for a single figure who did not give way. Cendamo stood his ground; his armour, dented and scorched, bearing the marks of the terrible battles so far. His eyes, once bright with hope and joy now burned with the fire of defiance.

Moria. Perhaps once it had been fair, at least to the eyes of the Naugrim in Elder days. Casarrondo it had been called, before it fell into darkness. Their greatest King, Durin, had ruled it, or so Estarfin had been told. He had seen King Azaghâl upon the field during the Nirnaeth Arnoediad; if Durin was greater than he, he must have been a mighty Lord of their kind indeed.

Having travelled with Captain Greenfield as far as Angmar, Naraal finds he is learning more than he ever thought possible about the Heirs of Castamir. He does not like the dark northerly land, but his loyalty to Greenfield grows stronger by the day. 

And after miles of almost emptiness, they finally come across a Goblin camp. Estarfin, Danel and Parnard do not hesitate to clear the way, but reluctantly leave the far less experienced Marawendi some distance from them. And after the immediate path is cleared, they all take a short rest in what appears to be an old library. Parnard takes the first watch. 

The group continue in their slow and difficult traversing of the old Dwarven realm. Narrow bridges, steep stairs, and always an oppressive darkness over what was once a most beautiful place. But the Dwarven ideal of beauty has more to do with caves and mines than the elven ideal. 

Marawendi does well for one so young and inexperienced, but she is obviously scared. At least the situation seems to have diverted Parnard's thought from Brasseniel for the moment.