Estarfin

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.

Miruial crept into the healing room on the soft padding of her thin periwinkle slippers. The scene before her was clearly the cause of alarm among the steady stream of healers who had come to her at her workshop that day. Glass jars and phials that usually stood at attention in neat orderly rows on their shelves stood in haphazard locations all throughout the room. Several balls of parchment paper lay littered at the base of the red table, where Eliriael sat poised rigidly.

“She cannot be consoled!” the first had announced.

Harsh voices called out in the vilest of tongues in mockery and perverse excitement as the remnants of the warrior-rabble that had set-out to kill the wraith returned. Their numbers were visibly reduced and some bore the scars of battle still. Cawing insults and catcalls sounded from the baying crowds at their perceived weakness at losing so many to a single foe. Leading the shambling crowd were three of the largest goblins; all carrying burdens and making their way inexorably towards the seated figure at the centre of the cavern.

Parnard twisted the paper in his clenched hand. I will be far away by the time you read this – it began apologetically, and ended with the strictness of admonitions not to follow. How was he going to explain this fresh madness to Lord Anglachelm?  He crumpled the letter up.  Lady Danel could do what she liked, as she always did.

“When?”

“Two days ago.” The Ambassador looked bitter, his usual pleasant disposition gone. “I would not have thought Estarfin to be so foolish as to disobey Lord Anglachelm.”

Limiriel hoisted her shield on her back, kicking up her spear and catching it.

“There is nothing for me to do in the Valley. And as you know, I... have amends to make." Pausing, she pulled out the small dagger in her glove then sheathed it again. "Gladly will I take on this errand.”

My Lord,

An involuntary cry of pain escaped his bruised and chapped lips as a thin dagger found a way through his broken armour and cut deeply into the pale flesh of his upper arm. With barely a conscious thought he swept the heavy shield that he carried into his assailant, knocking them careering backwards and clearing the immediate space in front of him. The anger that had fuelled the scything sweeps of his wicked spear was ebbing from him as the bone-chilling cold pierced the madness and began to rapidly sap what strength remained to him.

Once again I find myself on the road with a search party to find an elf. He’s called Themodir, is of the Order of the Hammer and he betrothed to a lady living in Imladris and that is all I know of him.

I didn’t plan to leave this time.

First, I’ve asked lord Estarfin to train me at least a little so that I have something else than survival instinct and the knowledge that, no, taking a sword or a knife by the blade is NOT a good idea to rely on when I need it.

Second, I also have duties in Imladris and I didn’t want to leave it all behind.