Estarfin reached out to carefully touch the fabric of my dress. “It is beautiful,” he said. He smiled brightly, softly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.
“It is an older dress of mine, from a tailor in Imladris, and never worn. This was the occasion I was saving it for. But I asked Parnard if he would embroider it with threads of silver and gold.”
“It is a marvel to behold.”
Parnard bowed deeply at the compliment. I had long known of his skill with thread and needle, but he had created something very special for that night. “T’was my pleasure and great honour.” Then he looked towards the window. “The moonflower is floating high in the sky,” he sang out. “Soon the stars will follow.”
Yes, indeed. I looked at Estarfin. We would leave for Celondim very soon. Any hint of apprehension seemed to have vanished from his presence. We were beginning a course that was the most natural for our people in Arda.
“Parnard told me you were asleep and covered with dust,” I said with a touch of wryness.
“His eyes were closed, ‘resting’,” my cousin reminded me. “Hard at work was he though, holding up yonder gazebo post.” He nodded to the structure on our small lake.
Estarfin glanced at Parnard. “I had become absorbed in my work that I…”
“It matters not, meldanya. You are here now. And not covered in dust.”
“The lake took care of the soot and dust,” Estarfin added with a hint of a smile.
“I have already said I helped, did I not? A small push was all it took - he was in haste, Cousin. No waiting on the bathwater for him.”
“You pushed him in?” I whispered to Parnard. Then I turned to a nonplussed Estarfin. “And you look beautiful, as always.” I smiled. That compliment always seemed to embarrass him somewhat. It was true though. He had always been beautiful, to me at the least.
Estarfin laughed softly as I took a step closer and laid a hand upon his arm. “I did not know whether to wear my best robe or my finest armour, so I chose both.” Indeed, he had a black and silver embroidered tunic over his armour, with pauldrons carefully attached. Gauntlets and sabatons added the impression that he was every inch the warrior, yet also the Noldorin Lord. Though he would never lay claim to the latter, in my eyes he was as one of our Princes. One of the last.
I could not help myself. “I have never seen you looking more like one of our nobles, an Elf Lord, in truth. I am honoured to walk by your side,” I said, and thought, You look happy, beloved, I believe you are finally healing from some of the past hurt and anguish. May this be just the beginning.
“Shall we begin our small procession to Celondim, then?” Parnard asked us.
“Yes. We must go to the place dedicated to Tintalle.”
Estarfin nodded. “The Star-Queen should witness this.”
“It is our custom to call on her as a witness, but also, we have her to thank for watching our path.” I added. It sounded arrogant to say such a thing, but somewhere in my heart, and in Estarfin’s too I suspected, was the belief she had brought us back together.
Dol Guldûr! One does not just walk in and out of such a place unscathed. The Hill of Sorcery in Southern Mirkwood had been occupied by the Dark Lord, as the Necromancer, and or his servants, for around two thousand years of the present age. The White Council had driven him out in the year 2941, such was true, but also we had known that more recently he had openly declared himself, and sent three Nazgûl to reoccupy the fortress. We knew Sauron himself was in Mordor. We knew not who exactly remained in Dol Guldur when we set out.
It was an orc stronghold. I was well aware of that. There was the possibility of facing a Nazgûl or two. I say that with the utmost caution. I knew from the start that if all three were at Dol Guldûr when we arrived, we could not prevail, but would be overcome, even as Estarfin had been at Echad Eregion, or slain. Few Elves could ride openly against the nine. Was the blood of Mahtan enough to face one? That Belegos wished to face them without succumbing to fear was some comfort to me, though I did not truly believe even the two of us could win against three Nazgûl. Their power has always been fear, and we people of the stars walk in a different realm to them that we fear not. Even so, it would be unwise to put it to the test. Estarfin, in his right mind, would never desert Belegos and me. I knew that. But Parnard, or Elloen? Neither were cowards, but it was still a great deal to ask of them, and for a sword.
Urussë was made by my great-grandfather, Mahtan of Tirion, who crafted it in Valinor, in the light of the Trees, with a measure of foresight. Mahtan had frowned at crafting any weapon of war in the Undying lands. Would not the Valar protect us? But it was a skill taught to him through communication with Aulë that had helped our people follow Finwë. There had still been creatures of darkness in Middle-Earth even after the War of the Powers. Melkor may have been taken captive, but not all his servants and creatures had been removed. Weapons had been necessary. Although Mahtan had not come into his own as the Great Smith of the Noldor until he learned the craft in Valinor, he was capable before that. The few items he made were well-made.
That sword had been given to his daughter, Nerdanel’s sister, when she departed with the forces led by Eonwë in the War of Wrath. A large, two handed sword she could wield, but my smaller hands could not. It had been wrested from her in an ambush in the Third Age, and although she sought it, she had not recovered it. As the only surviving descendent, I had also taken the quest upon myself. And then news from Mirkwood reached me. Through an overlong trail, the news had been passed from an escaped prisoner who had been on his way to Dol Guldur, through a few friends and family, and eventually to Imladris and me; there was a great sword in the treasury of the old fort, one that only a giant of an elf or men could fully wield. I believed it to be my kin’s weapon, though I admit I could have been mistaken.
I never wanted Urussë for myself. I wanted it back in the hands of my people. Once recovered, I had offered it to Estarfin three times. Each time he refused, saying he had not earned the right to wield it. I had cleansed it myself through fire and water. It was free of any taint, but with my grandmother finally taking ship West, it remained in one of my chests. Protected…safe…but never wielded as it should be. There was a time when I had naively thought it could be borne by any child Estarfin and I brought forth, a descendant of Mahtan and the hands of one with the strength to use it. But now I know how unlikely that will be. I do not regret the sword’s recovery, but I question why I led loyal friends into such danger. I do not think I would do so again. Are any of us truly the same after that experience I wonder? For good or ill, the fault is mine.
There was a polite knock on the door.
“Enter,” I said. But at that moment it was hard to take my eyes off of Estarfin.
He seemed to have the same problem regarding me.
Marawendi entered the house, having changed into her best dress, and sporting her newest ribbon that she had tied into a big bow on the top of her head. She made a graceful curtsey before us. “My Lady, my Lords. I have seen the first star of the evening.” She glanced at Parnard briefly as if seeking his blessing on her attire. Was it suitable? Would she be an acceptable witness for the Noldor? At his nod and smile, she blushed.
“You are welcome to accompany us, Marawendi.” I sought to put her at ease.”And well done for bringing us your report. We ride to Celondim then, and to the appointed place of Tintallë.”
She glanced into a looking-glass to make sure her blue bow was perfectly positioned, while Parnard snatched a pastry from a tray and stuffed it into his mouth. Beaming, she followed him to the door. As Estarfin and trailed after them, his hand found mine, and his gentle touch sent a warmth through me. We waited in silence for Barahirn to bring the horses down the path.
“Our best wishes to you,” he said, bowing and smiling. He gestured toward the horses, delighted by his handiwork. They wore wreaths of fresh green leaves around their high-arched necks, with flowers tucked in their manes. Then I noticed who Barahirn meant. The rest of our small household had assembled on the incline before the Main Hall. A large, airy tent had been raised, and was adorned with small lights that slowly yielded their brilliance to the gathering stars above. I also saw a few guests, Curumaito, the healer from Celondim, and his wife, Alimiel. A couple of merchants from Duillond and one of my jewelry traders from Mithlond were also present - no more than twenty five folk in total, but it seemed like a crowd. There was a swish of silk as the nissi made curtsey, and the neri bowed. Filignil stepped forward.
“My apologies for the surprise. But others wished you to know their thoughts and blessings are with you both. You have become dear to many. We shall await your return before any wine flows, but there are dainties, sweet pastries and cordial enough until then. “ She curtseyed deeply. “Alas, though we sought him, we could not find Belegos. I am sure he will congratulate you both when next he sees you. But we shall keep you no longer from your tryst. My Lady, my Lord, we await your return.”
Estarfin tightened his grip slightly on my hand. He bowed though. “Thank you for your wishes, but do not wait on our return for music and dance. The night is not a long one, so do not shorten your celebrations.”
I curtseyed to the group. No need for words. Those there already knew. Pelorian held steady as I mounted up, and then turned her head to walk alongside Estarfin’s mare.
Why were Estarfin and I not together in Imladris? I do not really know. At first I felt guilty at what I had put him and the others through. Then, after a few weeks I was aware of Ruineth, that is her name, who learned from him in the forges. She was quite a bit younger than us, Ages younger, but she was a keen and conscientious metal smith. She wanted to learn from the best. She would hurry past me on the few occasions we were in the same place, and then one day she stopped me, to tell me she was glad Estarfin was returned safely, and that now he sought out her company most evenings, for talk, or wine or both. She was happy. He was happy. What could I say to that? It would have been most unseemly to question her on the matter. If she said that was the way of things, then it was so. It was a long time before I understood that she was misinterpreting matters. In my folly I withdrew further from fellowship so that only Parnard sought me, and that when he had time. Some things changed in our Company shortly after. Less patrols, less driving back enemies, yet more attacks reported on those traversing the Hithaeglir. We were not the only Order in the valley to hold back the tide of darkness, but for a short time it seemed our focus was elsewhere. Then Estarfin disappeared.
Although I hid away, feeling unworthy, I did try to catch sight of him most days. Four days yielded naught. Neither were there any tales of his departure. I saw Ruineth once, her eyes reddened with tears, but she hurried past me, in no mood to talk. Then I sought out Parnard to see if he had overheard anything. As our Order’s Ambassador, he had been hand-picked by Lord Anglachelm, who held him in high regard. However, Parnard was so preoccupied with House matters that Estarfin’s absence had likely gone unnoticed. He said to me, “Perhaps he has gone elsewhere because he has grown restless and bored with life in the Valley? Otherwise, I cannot fathom the reason - why are you asking me, and not his commanding officer Lord Veryacano, or that forge-maiden he associates with - what is her name…”
I did not explain to Parnard at the time. I don’t think I fully understood myself. I had been so joyful to finally find Estarfin alive and well. I had allowed my hope to grow that, in time, we would be together in a more permanent manner. But before that could come to pass, I had taken up the notion to find the sword and had led him, and others, into dreadful danger, knowing he would follow. What sort of love was that? I wandered off into the gardens, as the afternoon of that day wore on. I was focusing on Estarfin, on memories of him as a youth in Thargelion, the street fights where his friends helped him hone his early skills, our dallying by the shores of Lake Helevoren, the last I saw him there. Then the images moved on to us sitting out on the sward before my rooms, talking about how sharp my fighting skills were, and my asking him to spar with me the following day. I saw him lying in the dust, bruised and bloodied, as I had rammed Sarphir against his temple, and walked away in fury. I had walked away from him? And then it happened. The occurrence that turned my life around.
I heard his voice calling to me. Oh, not with my ears, but in my mind. He was in great pain, broken, covered in snow. He was thinking of me. A dream, a foretelling? I knew quite a lot concerning our ability to communicate by thought in Middle earth, of osanwë, but I did not understand. It was something usually found between family members, lovers, very close friends. Were we that close he could call, and I could hear?
Whatever it was, or was not, I would take no risk over his life. So I took Parnard’s advice and sought out Ruineth with purpose. “Why did Estarfin depart? Where has he gone, into the mountains?” I asked her.
She tried to look away, and was obviously in some distress, but her concern seemed to overcome the unwillingness to talk. “He has gone to fulfill his duty,” she whispered. “He was to train a group to clear the mountain passes of the goblin horde, that folk may travel safely, but one lesson he gave them, and they ran off believing they knew enough. They forsook him, so that he feels useless. Yet he will fulfill his orders, alone it seems.”
“He seeks to slay all the goblins in the mountain pass, alone?”
Ruineth nodded, her face pale. “He would not permit me to accompany him.”
Allow? And I would not have permitted him go alone.
I left with but a few words that I would find him, and headed to the stables, telling Ladrochan to ready Pelorian for a journey into the Hithaeglir as soon as possible.
“The weather reports from the Mountains suggest a heavy snowfall. Are you certain you would travel just now?”
“Yes,” I snapped back at him. “Time is of the essence.”
I hurried back to the Halls wherein I had my rooms, But first I sought out Lord Veryacano in the Hammer Halls.
Now Veryacano knew I could be tempestuous of mood at times. He was used to moods such as mine, and knew that, while often there was a rightness about them, our headstrong nature was a main source of our failure. The ‘hot headed Noldo’ was no myth. He listened to me. He listened to me ask him to send out a search party, Hammer or preferably Arrow, to search for an injured Estarfin.
“Where do you say Estarfin is?” he asked patiently, for him.
“I know not for certain. I know not the Hithaglir, but there was a high ridge, and a clamour of goblins.”
“That could be one of a dozen places,” he replied, tapping at the desk top with his pen. You say he is in a bad way? I doubt we could find him in time.”
I sighed with exasperation. “He feels ‘broken’, his body, not his spirit.”
Veryacano shook his head. “I am sorry Danel, I cannot send out troops on such scanty evidence. Thought transference is rare between folk who are not direct family. To my knowledge, Estarfin has never shown any ability for osanwë.”
I had much regard for Veryacano. I could understand his reticence. Were Lord Daegond in the Valley I would have gone to him first, knowing he was more impetuous of temperament, and would possibly have accompanied me had a troop not been available. Great was the carnage we two might have wrought upon the wretched goblins. But alas, he was away in Eregion.
I bowed to Veryacano, biting my tongue. I wondered if he would accept my withdrawal without sending a guard to watch me, but fortunately I was not followed. In my rooms I drew out winter clothing, rations and a few basic herbs and other supplies. I scribed a short letter to Lord Anglachelm, explaining that, while I understood Hammer and Arrow could not be spared, I certainly could be, and I would find Lord Estarfin. I needed to give the letter to someone who could follow my instructions, and deliver it several hours after I had set out. I knew just the person.
“Parnard!” Naturally, I found the Ambassador sitting in the Hall of Fire, conversing over wine with his good friend, Sogadan the Vintner. His eyes met mine, then swept downward, taking in my new, fur-clad silhouette with a slow, thoughtful nod. “You are departing on a journey,” he said.
I nodded. Now I knew Sogadan was one of the Vale's greatest purveyors of tales, but Parnard was growing fluent in Noldor silences and sharp glances. It was not the same as osanwë, and more like crowding the Wood-elf’s mind with the sheer weight of our own determination.
I held up a hand, asking Parnard to listen. Then I held out my letter. “Parnard, you will deliver this to our esteemed Lord Anglachelm at the tenth hour this evening. No sooner, and no later, as past and future may depend on it.”
Parnard accepted the letter with a slow, deliberate grace, though the sudden expansion of his pupils betrayed his excitement, and tapping the envelope against his chest declared, “Lady Danel, you may depend on me to be the most dependable thing you’ve ever depended on! On that, you may depend!”
“Good. Now I ride to find what I seek; time is fleeting and the call of urgency in my heart grows great.”
Parnard opened his mouth again, but one sharp shake of my head and a warning glance told him everything: the less Sogadan overheard, the better, both for him, and for me. Then I departed, sensing Parnard’s gaze following me. He had many unanswered questions, but I left the Hall of Fire satisfied in the knowledge that the letter would reach Lord Anglachelm - eventually. Parnard would surely dawdle in the Hall of Fire, lose track of the time, and by doing so, give me the head start that I needed.
Pelorian was brought to the bridge below the House, and swiftly mounted. I was away from the Valley, past Imolden and through Cirith Imladris, heading north westwards where my thoughts led. For my thoughts did guide me, to my amazement and relief. I stopped often, finding piles of dead orcs marked with a Feanorian Star. Estarfin had undoubtedly been there.
( Pride Goeth Before Destruction | The Laurelin Archives ) by Estarfin
