Galdorion

            The world has shrunk to three – I barely remember the crowd of witnesses standing to one side. The full weight of the moment seems to hang above me in the still air - even the wind seems to be holding its breath. Galdorion stands before me, waiting by a huge figure swathed in red fabric. Beside me is Lord Anglachelm, standing silently, an imperious presence – impossible to ignore, even though I am almost afraid to look at his expression as he listens to Galdorion.

Galdorion stopped suddenly before entering to the room, his hand stood still in mid air and slowly descended down. It seemed like he was unsure what to say once he is in. Laters he started to evaluate his reflection from the polished brass door handle with a sad face.

What brought him hither, to the doors of his Tûr? Was it a petition for being deployed into far away patrols like most of his kindred hammerites bother Anglachelm for all day? Was it yet another complaint for Daegond? Or perhaps something else?

 A hand comes down over the sheet I am working on, startling me. Wordlessly, Condir pulls it towards himself, frowning at what he sees.

After a moment that frown turns into his familiar wry smirk, although he says only, “This is not entirely what I expected.”

Fire. Burnt wood, turned into charcoal in a blaze of energy. How it should have warmed, yet the flickering of the flames could not pry away the feeling of dread. The night over the once fruitful and lively land had come and gone, leaving its guests scurrying to prepare breakfast, feed the horses and plan for the morrow.

"-And when you two plan to marry?"

Lord Tindir's question was blunt and caught Galdorion unawares. Having faced with his piercing Hammerite eyes, Galdorion first opened his mouth to reply but then shut it back. It happening all too sudden.

A sudden stumble and a lunge forward made a disastrous idea. Only the reflexes of a trained warrior prevented a crash into the polished metal pane serving as a mirror. Sinking eyebrows and a resolute “Hmpf!” uttered before returning to the previous position. How long had she been practicing now? And how come a simple movement such as the most common dance performed in the Halls of Elrond would best someone like Himwen? Granted, she was not the best warden around, but she had her moments of accuracy and grace on guard, protecting the ones left behind.

“An outsider could believe that certain actions would have been avoidable. That the officers and leaders should have learnt by now how a certain young elf with golden hair would bring despair to their house. Is that the only truth or is it just one way of looking at a two-sided coin?”