Edhelfaron stood there silently, ready to depart at any moment. His thoughts deepened as he waited.
It was the four of them then. Galgardor – powerful, yet uncaring. Alestair – skillful and... mysterious, or rather questionable. Luthbereth... well, he had not time to study her.
And of course, himself – unsure if he was going to come back alive. He remembered what Luthbereth had said about the Cargul’s power when wielding the Stone… and yet, it was the four of them, how could they fail? As long as they fought together, they would overcome it…
But there was still that strange gut feeling.
He considered himself the weakest of the four. The Cargul could pick him off... even if they ended up banishing the evil thing. But it was not mere death that he feared. No, it was the possibility of being victim to the Cargul’s blade... where it could leave behind shards of darkness, thus slowly corrupting him until he became that which he sought to destroy.
The elf shook the thoughts away. It was best not to dwell on such things. He had to go.
He then turned his light-blue gaze to the sheathed sword on his left side. The sword he’d given Calagand several years back... but he was now in need of it again. Two silver swords once more instead of one, bright enough to send a creature such as the Cargul to the darkest depths, never to return. But he had to run them through the wretched Wraith first. Even that, though, might not work as the Cargul would have the Stone.
Edhelfaron’s thoughts turned once more to Calagand, the man whose life he’d saved near the Dale-lands ten or more years ago. Not long after that, he traveled with him across the Misty Mountains, toward Bree-land, and became quite fond of him as time progressed.
He’d make sure to bid farewell and express his friendship to him before their paths split.
