Parnard

Herne was an old town in a very Mannish style: a few wooden outbuildings next to run-down houses with stacked stone walls and adjoining fields, all surrounded by an abundance of oaks and larches. We approached it at a steady pace. It was late morning, Anor was bright, but the air was chill. It was a good excuse to be wrapped in our cloaks, though our bearing and stature and the noble blood of our horses possibly caused some to regard us twice.

Estarfin gave an involuntary shout, despite his efforts to conceal his discomfort. We turned, just in time to see him lowering himself into the cold lake. I had not known until very recently of his strong dislike of cold weather and cold water. His filthy armour was piled on the bank. Within moments two of the residents collected it for cleaning.

We parted with the Hobbits on Kingsfell around midday, them taking the faint and infrequently used path to Trestlebridge, Bree Town and then their home. We bid them a rather fond ‘farewell’, being a little concerned for their safety, but also knowing they were far from incapable. They were a tough and hardy folk at need. 

I must have fallen asleep, resting back against Estarfin. No bumping of armour against armour this time, as I was clad in flimsy southern garb, but with his thick cloak wrapped round me. It was comfortable for me, more so than anywhere else I had been for several weeks. 

Henepa looked apologetically at the elves. They were not unmoved by her predicament, her ragged and filthy clothes and her pain shadowed eyes, but they had their own quest, their own folk to rescue urgently. 

The Captain nodded at the water skin. “Keep it,” he said to her.

Estarfin halted beside the bodies of the other Men. Dismounting briefly, he took up two half-filled water skins and a handful of gold coins from the corpses. He took a cautious sip from one water-skin then, with a look of unexpected surprise, drank a mouthful or two. He held the skin out to the others. 

The storm of the previous night had been fierce, almost as if foreshadowing a mighty clash of arms. Rain had struck the roofs of the fortress and the surrounding ground like the arrows of an attacking army; trees as strong as any senchenal were battered, their limbs ripped from them, some even fell under the continued assault. In my room in the tower I had felt like hiding away under the bed, I had wanted to hide, but it just would not do.