Estarfin

Faces new and faces recognised, it felt odd to walk in to Vanimar's Halls again. Estarfin was there before me, and we met inside the vestibule before crossing to the main hall to speak with Lord Anglachelm. It was good to see the Tur looking hale and hearty. There were plenty of dances, from set pieces to individual expression. It was the first we had danced among a larger company. Indeed, apart from one instance of spilled wine and the garnishing with caramel sauce, all went well. The event always comes with a tinge of sadness for us both though.

He spoke silently as he drew the dagger. “Aiya Nienna, Lady of Lamentation and Mercy. May you forgive this evil deed, for it stems from love. May you forgive the pain and sorrow, for it leads to hope."

It was hers. In the half-light the colour could have been mistaken for another, less experienced eye. It had been shorn with a sharp blade; another obvious sign to one such as he. The mingled blood and mud that caked the red hair? Of that he was less sure. He again felt the fear and anger wash over him, swiftly to be replaced with a feeling of helplessness. They were to be joined as one, he should be able to protect her as he would protect himself. As she would protect him. But he could not, had not. He had failed. His duty? Without doubt. His love? Doubly so.

Estarfin, whatever happens, know I will never choose to leave you. Others have suffered such fears as I, but I am of an old and high blood line. I shall not quail. Be safe, meldanya. Be cunning. Perhaps even open your thoughts to me, rather than shutting yourself away? I know that is asking much of you at this time, but I can do no other.