To Judge a Stranger

The bowstring snapped and the arrow whistled through the air until it hit the target with a satisfying thunk.  Dolthafaer barely noted its position near the center before he knocked another to the string. 

It had been a day since the hearing of Estarfin by the Cauns of Vanimar for his disastrous foray into the Hithaeglir. 

The hearing itself had been unremarkable; in attendance had been Veryacáno and Tindir of the Hammer, Vorongwë of the Fountain, Danel, and Parnard, the Ambassador, as well as a few curious onlookers and Estarfin himself.  Dolthafaer had not laid eyes upon Estarfin since the healers had fought to save his life upon that bloodstained bed, and though clearly far from hale, it had been good to see him standing upon his own two feet.

Estarfin had stood straight and proud, in fact, as he had given his testimony and answered their questions, offering neither excuse nor apology.  He had insisted that his actions were not only justified but that his duty and oath had allowed him no other recourse. 

Dolthafaer had said little during the hearing.  It was, after all, simply a hearing – no interrogation, no trial – though there had been times when the others had seemed to forget as much.  Veryacáno had pressed him to admit his guilt, while Danel and Parnard both had been quick to defend him, as if he had not the power to speak for himself.  He had found their behavior irritating. 

Messy.

This entire affair was messy, and had been from the start. 

Dolthafaer owed much to Estarfin.  Though he had only received a few brief lessons from the old warrior during his stint in the Hammer, he had been one of the wayward recruits that had left Estarfin to set out alone – and in the finding of him, he had earned himself a title and an Order of his own.  That title now left him in a position to judge that same elf.

A second arrow hit home, closely followed by a third.

During the hearing, Estarfin had claimed that he did not hold his recruits to blame for what had transpired, but that did not change the facts.  Estarfin would not have ventured out alone if he had had his recruits by his side. 

It was the meeting with Tindir after the hearing that stuck most clearly in his mind.  Dolthafaer had found him sitting alone in the Hall of Fire, a half-empty bottle of wine at his elbow. 

What would you do? If your pupils left you? Question yourself?

The answer had been an easy one. 

Certainly.  I would assume that I did not have their respect, or the ability to lead them.  I would feel useless.

Indeed.  And what would that do to you?

Dolthafaer marched up to the target and wrenched the arrows free. 

Messy.

Too damned messy. 

As messy as blood in the snow. 

He was too involved in this tale of oaths and duty and betrayal and loss and redemption and damnation to judge it, but he was not the only one. It seemed as though Estarfin needed only to brush against one in the hall for them to then be caught in his orbit, changing their lives in ways they could not expect, while he himself remained as unchanged as the peaks of the Hithaeglir themselves.

Was he aware of this power of his?  Danel, following him to what she could only assume would be her death?  Parnard, loyal even in the face of his scorn?  The healers, driving themselves mad fussing over him? Did he see their regard?  Would he treat his own life so carelessly if he did?

Who could judge such an elf?

He needed to make his report to Lord Anglachelm, and then – perhaps it was time for him to call upon his one-time teacher, this near-stranger whose orbit he had been dragged into and whose fate in Vanimar he must now judge.