Danel

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.

When Parnard had sufficiently recovered from the shock so suddenly induced by the scholar’s gross and glaring indiscretion, he repaired to his office and feverishly set to work.

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.

Dolthafaer stared down at the valley, the snow reflecting the sun’s dying light.  A lone howl drifted up to the crumbling stone ruin where the Arrow had stopped to rest.  He grimaced, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword, and turned to face the rest of his company.

“We have rested enough.  Time to move on.”

Fresh pain ripped through him and tore his conscious mind back to wakefulness. He let out a wordless cry of pain and fear as agony tore through his leg. In desperation to stop the pain, to defend himself, he reached out for his shield or his spear. His searching and grasping fingers found nothing but snow as he raised his head to look down his body at the black-furred and yellow-eyed warg that had him firmly in its gaping maw. His leg was being slowly crushed between the steel plates of his grieves as the beast sought a way to get to the vulnerable flesh beneath.

Dolthafaer regarded his company with a critical eye, taking in their thick cloaks and heavy boots and somber colors, and nodded his proud approval.  He passed each of them a small flask of firewhiskey, warning them to use it sparingly in the bitter cold.  He reminded them of their mission, informed them of the dangers they might face, and a moment before he would have started them down the path, Veryacano approached them.  The Hammer lord briefly inspected the gathering before leaving them with a final order:

Dolthafaer frowned down at the map spread across his desk, brow furrowed, restlessly drumming his fingers against the smooth wooden surface.  His gaze swept over the inked region of the Hithaeglir, returning again and again to the red splotch marked on the top right corner.

That is where Estarfin went, Parnard had claimed.  To the Goblin Caves.