Estarfin

The silver-toothed comb passed smoothly through his thick dark hair, with only the faintest of rasping sounds; the usually coarse mane that he bore smoothed almost to silk. He had been combing it slowly for the past hour, the repetitive motion calming his mind and allowing the anger and frustration to flow out of him. As his thoughts became clearer, he began to think of the progress that they had made so far. They had left the valley of Imladris far behind and had journeyed south, across the High Moor and through passes that he did not know.

I do not know how to begin this, as I do not know who will read it. At times I have seen others writing their own thoughts in such a way, and perhaps it is only now that I see the value of such a record. For even though I have no great wisdom to pass to those who come after me, I would still have them know of me. Maybe writing this down will grant me a little peace before the darkness overtakes us all, and the world ends in ruin. But how to start, that still eludes me. What would any wish to know of me?

“Sit down!” Rainith told Parnard. “If you keep hopping up and down, you will be worn out before we reach our destination.”

I went to the Hall of Fire and sat, and drank a bottle or two of wine. Sogadan told me how Lord Belegos is angry with his friend Estarfin. I said I was not surprised in the least; I had just come from that fell warrior’s home and his face was smeared with blood. It seems he spares no one in his wrath, not even himself.

Continued from A Hard Lesson

“And that is what I heard happened to the Lady Danel. It was a training lesson, that is all, nothing more, nothing less,” Sogadan finished.

In a wide room arrayed with all manner of decorations, 

He stood silently by the window, deep in thought as he stared out across the valley. The leaves had turned from green to gold, and from gold to brown, and he could feel the time slipping away. Winter would follow soon, and many of the passes would become closed until spring arrived, the chance to leave the valley lost. The last of the day’s sunlight flowed lazily through the thick glass, casting his shadow across the richly-inlaid desk behind him. A map and a letter lay upon the desk, but otherwise it was bare.

Estarfin turned the large brass key in the lock, hearing the mechanism click open. Pulling the heavy ash door open, he stepped inside the dark room, the torch that he carried flickering as a breeze caught it. He thrust the torch into an iron loop that hung upon the wall and looked around the Vanimar armoury. There were weapons of all varieties hanging upon the walls, or stacked on shelves. Large war hammers lay propped against the wall, next to a rack of delicate single-handed swords.