The cold breeze that never seemed to seize tried to steal the cloaks they wore. Snowflakes kept falling, in a fashion Himwen was unaccustomed to. Sort of sideways. It made everyone sidle closer to the fire and what little warmth it could bring. Still awakening from the uncomfortable short rest from the night before, she started dispensing the tea Sargiel had brewed during her watch. The flavour was strong and perhaps a little bitter, but it was welcome all the same. Annunghil reported about a female elf who had scouted the enemy territory. The scout had found some kind of prison which the goblins used to hold dwarves captive. It was a mystery how she managed to sneak in and out without being seen. No sight of the lost wood elves. Parnard seemed uncertain of their fate and so Himwen let the questions be for now.
Tindir had been left in charge for the following leg of the march and was thus ensconsed in reading maps and counting supplies. Daegond helped, it seemed. As she looked around the camp, more of them started to gather their belongings and prepare. Prepare for what, she thought. Another cold march to another dwarven settlement. Limiriel expressed excitement at the prospect of consuming dwarven ale. Will the dwarves welcome us with open arms? Himwen wondered.
Dolthafaer was fully prepared to dispatch his archers if need be. On the way to the dwarven settlement, he made sure that his scouts informed the rest of any enemies. While waiting for such a report, Daegond noticed a shivering noldor standing behind a tree. Themodir had disregarded protocol and now had to suffer the consequences of not wearing fur in a growing blizzard. Norliriel, as kind as ever, offered her own fur cloak to the soldier. Themodir of course refused, as is the manner of a noldor soldier. He would rather die of shame, apparently, than to take the clothes off a maiden. Himwen idly wondered how his wedding night would be. Luckily they would reach the settlement quickly enough so that the soldier at least would survive to see his wedding.
The settlement itself was on the smaller side, but made of stone and robust, it seemed. A few dwarves were posted inside, they soon found out after having sent Themodir in to play a game of friend or foe. It turned out that Limiriel would have her wish granted this eve.
Himwen lingered on the stone steps watching the wilds. Thendryt and the elf Curundar did not enjoy eachothers company all too much, for the discussion they endured was not a friendly one. Himwen wondered about the man, how he had managed to be ensconsed in the warband. Curundar was perhaps a young elf, she thought. He had taken a shine to Caethel of the Arrow who in turn had seemed quite taken aback with the attention. Dolthafaer must have set her on a scouting post in the rear, for Himwen had scarcely seen her this day.
Snow. More snow. Himwen looked up and realised that she could not see more than a few meters ahead. A storm was brewing and one not only in the dwarven settlement. As she entered the stone building, the reek of the fireplace and the smell of ale hit her nostrils like a brick. Dwarven sweat, dust and what at closer inspection looked like a stew on the fire joined the other smells and overloaded her senses for a moment. Once she found her bearings again, she noticed Yrill had joined from her scouting post. It was a welcomed sight, for they needed more able bodies if they wanted a swift outcome from this march.
The stew... it actually smelled pleasant. Sargiel had made an effort to bring spices and herbs to make it tasteful and as Daegond handed the food out Himwen found a quiet corner to rest. Raolor was eager to find a goblin or two to hit with his hammer. Parnard was talking to an elf maiden new to Himwen named Daelinn. Brasseniel seemed to mediate between the aforementioned, but Himwen did not pay too much attention to it. The soup warmed and as she finished it, she noticed that Fingolrin was couped up in a corner next to the fire. In his hands he held a book, and Himwen being who she is, became curious about its contents. His father was an accomplished artist and had sketched quite a few of the images in the tome. Himwen hoped that he would not lose his book, in the manner that Estarfins had lost his spear...? Himwen blinked, had she heard correctly? The ambassador had pleaded with Tindir to search for Estarfins lost belongings. Himwen shook her head and looked around the room.
The blizzard was raging outside, and thus, they were stranded in here with the dwarves whilst being told to find rest. The order seemed to prompt the very opposite in some, such as Raolor, Themodir and Makanare who tested the strength of dwarven hammers. I am not sure how content the dwarves would be with the walls of the settlement in ruins, but the test was brought short when Raolor tricked Daegond into searching for leaks in the roof just so that he himself could steal Daegonds bed. Himwen would have thought the trick amusing had it not been for the fact that it woke up Daegond. Despite his snoring, he was still the hound and should obviously not be toyed with.
There was a sudden outburst about noldor from Daelinn and Brasseniel went after her to mediate once more. Himwen only caught a part of that conversation and could not really make out what it was that offended the maiden. A quick glance at Tindir on the other side of the room told her that he was already at rest, with gauntlets and boots off, feet on the table. Once the dice game started, Himwen suggested to Fingolrin that he join the others for the night would be long. Wrapping the cloak about her, she went to rest, back leaning against the cold, hard stone. A long night indeed...
