Estarfin

We had all thankfully changed into the clean clothing and polished armour that was presented to us. It was a job well done. ‘An honour to be of service’, several of the Elves said. My two companions looked positively shining, whereas I felt more myself, as I looked at my reflection in the water. A plain but thick, light brown hooded cloak, over a cream coloured tunic, belted at my waist, with light brown hose and soft leather boots. 

Estarfin gave an involuntary shout, despite his efforts to conceal his discomfort. We turned, just in time to see him lowering himself into the cold lake. I had not known until very recently of his strong dislike of cold weather and cold water. His filthy armour was piled on the bank. Within moments two of the residents collected it for cleaning.

We parted with the Hobbits on Kingsfell around midday, them taking the faint and infrequently used path to Trestlebridge, Bree Town and then their home. We bid them a rather fond ‘farewell’, being a little concerned for their safety, but also knowing they were far from incapable. They were a tough and hardy folk at need. 

I must have fallen asleep, resting back against Estarfin. No bumping of armour against armour this time, as I was clad in flimsy southern garb, but with his thick cloak wrapped round me. It was comfortable for me, more so than anywhere else I had been for several weeks. 

We rode with them Elves as far as the North Downs. Them took a turnin’ ter what they said was an Elven Haven. A place where the Lady could get a horse and some more suitable clothes. Not that I thought she or Lord Estarfin minded riding together, but the poor horse likely had a long journey ahead, an’ would do better with just one rider. Norlomë was her name. I liked her, even though she be very tall. Henepa liked her too. 

“I can tell ‘em about it, if yer like Lady?” Gaisarix moved closer to me. He was still quite shaky on his legs, and his hair and clothing seemed a touch singed, but he didn’t seem as weak as I was. He had had a rough time as a captive himself, and from watching how others, particularly Henepa, had been treated. But he was of sturdy stock, and wanted to help if he could. 

I reached out, even though what was left to me of clear thought told me he could not be there. Caranthir was long since in the Halls of Mandos. But something about ‘seeing’ him stoked up my spirit. Would he have ever given in, that cousin of mine?