Dolthafaer

Uilossiel leafed through the multitude of books upon the shelf. Three handsome bookshelves, deftly carved of lebethron wood, stood within her room. Two flanked the large bay window in front of which her writing-desk stood. If she stood facing the window, the third bookshelf was to her right, on the wall beside the fireplace. She had a meticulous system of arranging her books and papers on these shelves. If the placement of anything was disturbed, she felt as if the fabric of the universe had somehow been tampered with, and would not rest until all was in order again.

A dark shadow of fury sat perched in Luthelian's usual seat amongst the eaves above her sister's workbench. The sound of hammers beating against the anvil chimed the impending hour when the shadow would rise from its place as a raging inferno. Though her caramel hair lay straight and delicately around her face in the semblance of peace, the tight knit of her brows and the furious scratching of her quill betrayed her tempestuous mood.

Firelight played over worn parchment as Uilossiel sat within the Hall of Fire, engrossed in a book. She turned the page sideways, eyes roving over a diagram of various bone fractures, and how they were to be set and bandaged. She frowned in concentration, pencil tapping her chin thoughtfully. She had not known there were so many different kinds of bones in the body, nor had she ever given thought to how they might be broken, and later mended.

Lilleduil pulled the silk gauze from over her eyes, since she was safely under the cover of the trees, and looked up the hill at Akûltot.  Yes, the goblin settlement had spread further than the border she’d noted the last time she’d been up here, creeping like some leprous fungal growth down the slope.  The goblin activity was subdued in the bright daylight, but there was still some bustle in the camps.

A comforting sense of forgetfulness was draped over him like a shroud; drowning out all fears and all questions in a warm and dark embrace. Yet it was not a sense of peace that filled his limited perception, for peace is a state of being that is dependent upon the existence of another, alternative state. Without war or conflict what meaning does the word peace have? Perhaps then oblivion would be correct; an absence of all sensation except darkness. Although despite the emptiness around him, not all was still and silent.

Today I went to the place where the broken officer Estarfin lay, but finding the chamber-door locked, I returned to the Hall of Fire, where I stayed a little while talking with Lord Dolthafaer, who speaks exceeding easy, yet with great authority.

My dearest journal,

I finally know what it is I have been searching for all these years! All those patrols on the moors, scouting for enemies and beasts, yes...but also more. Something tugging at my mind.

Up in the misty Mountains with my captain and fellow Arrows...I tasted it on the crisp air, heard it with the wargs' howls and felt it as the snow and wind nipped at my face. The thrill, the adventure of being somewhere I had never been. Danger waiting on the next hill. Every movement and sound, a sign that meant life or death.

Dolthafaer found himself standing a lonely vigil on one of the balconies of Elrond’s house, watching the stars light up one by one as night crept across the Valley.  He was clad still in the garb he had worn upon the road, the thick fabric and leather stiff and caked in mud.  He had lost his cloak days ago in the effort to bind Danel and Estarfin’s wounds.  He was exhausted, hungry, and uncomfortable.  His task was over, and it was time for him to return home.

A scene of confusion met her eyes as Uilossiel opened the door to the healing room, piles of fresh bandages in her arms. A mangled body lay upon the bed, which she assumed to be Lord Estarfin, and Lady Danel sat very still in the corner of the room, attended by Elvealin. Eliriael and Laurelindo were already hovering over the patient on the bed, while various other lords of Vanimar spoke in hushed tones nearby. She caught a glimpse of Dolthafaer standing in a corner conversing with Lord Anglachelm, but quickly looked away.

It continued to snow. It was enough to cover the deep scar left on the white ground by Estarfin’s sled, and the footprints of those carrying Danel’s stretcher.