Watching

Estarfin watched the road, eyes keen for any unwelcome traveler. As he waited under the stars, he ran through the lines of lore he had been writing.

Through snows that veiled the mountains bleak,

Three Firstborn strode o’er vale and peak,

Parnard, a wood elf, young and free,

He pulled them fast from western sea,

Though young he was, his spirit burned,

For hope in darkest Mirkwood yearned.

Danel, beside him, fierce and bright,

Her fiery hair a warming sight,

A Noldor elf of lineage proud,

Her voice, like silver, rang aloud.

With heart of steel and sword held tight,

Estarfin strode, a Noldor wight,

Long, raven locks his shoulders graced,

His eyes, like flint, the stars they faced.

They crossed the peaks, where eagles soared,

And winds of winter sharply roared,

Their cloaks of grey, the mists embraced,

As darkness filled the empty space.

Then down they delved to Mirkwood's hold,

Where twisted trees, like giants bold,

Sent grasping limb to snag and tear

And darkness choked the sunlit air.

Though shadows fell and hearts grew sore,

They pressed ahead, through forest door,

They found two elves upon the way,

Their forms lay broken, faces grey.

Grief sparked to rage, a burning brand,

Two blades they drew and made demand,

Of truth, from Men who stood nearby,

Madness, and silence were reply,

Estarfin met it with a sigh,

His blade a blur, the Man did die,

Danel drew Sárphir swiftly hewed,

Upon the leaves their bodies strewed.

Their victory, a bitter taste,

Somber thoughts upon the waste.

With every step, a danger new,

A hidden blade, a piercing hue,

From baleful eyes that watched unseen,

Yet on they pressed, their courage keen.

For hope, the flame they could not slay,

Had not been snuffed on crimson way.