Caranthir

I reached out a hand tentatively. Parnard had said Estarfin must dance, but Estarfin would do exactly as he determined, not any other. I saw the move to decline, even as I offered my hand to him. I saw the change in his eyes as he understood. And he reached forward, taking my hand in his as he pushed himself to his feet. Parnard did not know our customs of old. Why should he? He did not know of our proprieties, at least not those more specific to us than to the Eldar in general.

I remember!

It was winter. My father and I had stood on the balcony of our house, cloaks wrapped about us, intending to watch the stars for a short time. But it was a moonless and nigh starless night, as if another, darker, cloak was thrown across the sky. He put an arm on my shoulder. 

The black-clad host of Elves moved as quietly as they could through the deep winter snow. Their heavy armour prevented them from moving silently, but they knew that their approach would be marked long before they neared their destination, silent or not. The mood of the company was grim, but hope remained that King Dior would see sense; that when the Sons of Fëanor arrived at Menegroth the doors would be open, with the Silmaril awaiting them.