Estarfin

Belegos stared into the fire. The flames danced in front of him as they always did, though he did not pay any heed to them this time. He had returned to the valley only a day ago and now stood, as he had done many times before, in the Hall of Fire. In front, and slightly to the left of him was his friend, Estarfin, a warrior of the Hammers. He was dressed all in black and nursed a burned hand from his recent work at the forges.

Continued from http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12450

In the Hall late today, but had no wine as I have not settled my bill with Sogadan yet. After a little angry talk, I have concluded that he is the most ill-humored, miserly elf that I have ever met in all my life. The Hound Daegond was here earlier, and though I did pretend not to notice him over my book, he stood at length glowering with those dark eyes of his until I was near flummoxed, and had to acknowledge his presence.

The sound of the hammer striking the hot metal rang from the walls of the forge. I wiped my sleeve across my brow, smearing soot across my features no doubt, but keeping the sweat from my eyes. As I looked down at the anvil, I felt the familiar uncertainty at the quality of the work. I smiled indulgently to myself, for there were no others within the forge at such a late hour to witness it. I had worked metals since Caranthir himself walked this Middle Earth, but still I doubted myself. Picking up the blade with the forceps, I quenched it for a final time.

Estarfin pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the dark room. He slammed it shut behind him, blocking out the light flowing from the candelabras in the hallway. He took a deep swig from the bottle that he carried in his gauntleted hand, hardly even tasting the fine wine that it contained. As he moved through the dark room his heavy boots sent trays and bottles skidding across the floor, the sound of breaking glass not slowing his advance. Estarfin reached the thick velvet curtain and pulled it open, allowing the bright starlight to illuminate the room.

This very unimportant opinion is presented to my lord in the hopes that he will forgive any wrongness or imbecility of idea: his servant is no scholar on tactics or war, but if my lord would read this letter, something of interest might be discovered by him, for not only is he most thoughtful, generous and kin

Continued from http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12148

Continued from http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12147