Nirhen

“Mmm, I see,” said Parnard, nodding. “That this rankled in your breast so, all this time: you should have told me sooner.” *

The words stunned Estarfin into a temporary silence. Even after the passage of years, Parnard still did not understand him, did not understand how deep of a wound his failure in the mountains had caused him.

***

Some time ago

The map had made no mention of this place. A looming stone shape stood before him, dark and forbidding. He dismounted carefully from the bay mare, ensuring his boots made as little noise as possible on the loose scree outside the squat ruin. He whispered a word of caution to the tired horse, patting her mane as he did so.

*Written with Nirhen [Rainith]*

He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva onto the patchy grass of the training field; his lungs burning from exertion. His limbs felt like lead weights and sweat ran from his brow down his face. He looked at the blunt training sword laying in the damp grass and steeled himself for the effort to reach down and pick it up.

He fumbled with the silver and emerald clasp, cursing quietly as it kept slipping from his fingers and coming undone despite his best efforts. In frustration he shrugged the dark green silk and black velvet striped arming jacket off of his shoulders and sighed; looking at the armour pieces carefully laid on the table before him reminded him of his own weakness. A warrior that can no longer dress himself for battle is not fit to wear such armour.

He glanced at the slumbering figures again. The moonlight was not bright enough through the clouds to show the disappointment on his face.

The Wood-elves generally conceive of their woods as their world, and the rare sight of stars shining through the branches of the trees is their great delight, for it is always dark in shadowy Mirkwood. Game animals are still plentiful in the northern part, and so the elves are comfortable and well provisioned with meat and skins. As they do not keep herds of animals, nor are they skilled at raising crops, having no cleared land fit for this purpose, the Wood-elves have abundant leisure time, which they spend in feasting, singing, dancing, and playing games.

It is over. Darkness fills the hall, tempered by the light from the huge fireplaces. Sogadan mutters something and scowls at her, refusing to be cowed by Cachunir's reproachful looks. She stares into the gloomy depths of her wine, ignoring the vintner and scholar alike. Eventually, their third companion, still clad in his uniform, draped in Elrond's colours, speaks.

“When do you leave?”

Laurelindo was at home, sitting near the little pool, harp in a side, writing supply on his laps, writing :

'Yesterday was the trial, finally. It has been long in coming…

The trial was long and, despite the seriousness of the crimes and of the situation, it was quite… Entertaining. Between the famous argument of : 'Feanor did that, why can't we also… ?' and other liberties taken by the defendants, much to their attorney's despair I believe… Really it was entertaining.

The trial being concluded, I approached Lord Estarfin to congratulate him on his victory, but he only shook his head at me and gave me quite a cold answer. I perceive that he takes very ill with me, and thinks me a faithless friend, when I insist that I did all I could to help him.