Estarfin

In response to http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12005

Contrasted with Folly and Fury: An Account by Estarfin

Continued from A New Task

Continued from: Footsteps in the Snow

Not much could be seen through the white mist of the mountains and even less could be heard through the endless cold winds that blew. Still, Parnard was of the Quendi and he was blessed with sight and hearing beyond the ability of mortals. His senses allowed him to hear the slight sounds of the grinding snow under approaching footsteps.

Estarfin paced back and forth within the small suite of rooms that he kept. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight and noises of the valley. Empty bottles, stacks of papers and various weaponry and armour pieces littered every surface, and Estarfin strode between them, a thick crystal glass in his hand. Anger and frustration radiated from him; every few strides he would run a hand through his coarse hair and take a swig of the cheap wine that he was drinking.

-         Good day my Lady, I hope to speak to you again soon.

-         Speak to me? Speak of the sorrow and pain? You hope for this?

-         Not all from that age was darkness and despair. There was hope.

-         Hope is at the hands of the Hammers now, few in number yet many at heart.

The black-clad host of Elves moved as quietly as they could through the deep winter snow. Their heavy armour prevented them from moving silently, but they knew that their approach would be marked long before they neared their destination, silent or not. The mood of the company was grim, but hope remained that King Dior would see sense; that when the Sons of Fëanor arrived at Menegroth the doors would be open, with the Silmaril awaiting them.