He wiped away more of the dark, sticky blood with the back of his hand; trying desperately to keep his eyes clear. He moved quickly down the slope, careful of his footing on the steep rock. He paused in his flight, taking a moment to look around his surroundings. He spotted a hollow between two large granite boulders and moved towards it as quickly as he could, grateful of the shelter it would provide. Sliding into the dank space he tried to catch his breath. He strained his ears, yet could hear no sounds of being pursued. In truth, he had not been expecting any. The armed group of Men that he had run into in the cold morning light had been left dead or dying and the region seemed remote enough that their shouts of alarm and pain would not have drawn immediate attention. He checked himself and his gear swiftly, ensuring that nothing was missing and he had not been badly wounded. His light leather armour had a few new nicks around the left shoulder and the tip of his knife had been bent on the steel breastplate of one of the warriors. The shallow cut on his scalp was an annoyance, nothing more, and he could feel no other injuries. He sighed; he would soon lose count of the number of patrols he had run into or narrowly avoided attempting to move deeper into Angmar. He had found no trace of Danel or the others in the bleak and barren landscape and had long since abandoned hope of finding them. Even his stubborn refusal to admit defeat was being eroded by lack of food and the constant battles for survival he kept stumbling into. There would only be so many missing patrols tolerated before a larger response would be triggered; his defeat in the Hithaeglir had taught him that.
He pulled out the last of the hard biscuits he had taken from the guard house a few nights previously and settled down to rest before the long journey back to Imladris.
***
"Estarfin?" Forodhir sounded confused. "What are you doing here so early?" He looked around the forge, wondering what the young smith was doing.
"Mastering my craft." He stood at the furnace, bellows in hand with a long steel bar lying on the white-hot coals. He wrenched it out and placed it upon the anvil, before beginning to beat it into shape.
"And what is it that you are crafting with such a hot temper, young one?" Forodhir noticed the bruise on his student's face, but made no mention of it. He knew the cause well enough, as did all who had been at the feast the previous night. He watched carefully as Estarfin hammered the yielding metal into a flat bar.
"What it wishes to be, as you taught me. This will be a sword, broad and of medium length." He picked up the metal that had cooled to a dull red and looked along the length of it before thrusting it back into the fire.
"You are sure of this?" He pointed to the stack of steel bars that Estarfin had taken his from. "I had no sword-steel in that pile, they are for the northern door of our Lord Caranthir's fortress. It seems that you have much to learn still, if you cannot tell a doorpost from a broadsword. You must see what the metal yearns to be, for if you force it into another shape it will be unlovely, flawed."
Estarfin stepped away from the bellows and turned to face his teacher, carefully-controlled anger showing on his face. "I know what the steel will be, I have seen it. I will make it so. See for yourself if you do not believe me." He gestured at the bar. Forodhir smiled at the misplaced confidence and pulled the bar from the fire. Looking at the steel in his hand the smile faded. The work had only just begun but he could clearly see the blade in his hand. "Where did you get this steel?" he asked, no trace of amusement in his voice.
"From the stack of sword steel on the table."
Forodhir laid the glowing steel back onto the fiery coals and walked to the table, taking a bar at random from the pile. "A sword" he muttered, before picking up another "A spear. A helmet, a bow…" He turned and looked at Estarfin; bruised face, a mess of tangled dark hair and plain working clothes. Little more than a child, but already with a will stronger than the steel he worked. He saw for a moment a tall and dreadful warrior in his place, but quickly the vision faded to be replaced with a frustrated young smith. Forodhir smiled gently and reached over to pull a dry leaf out of his hair.
"You are still angry about last night. I understand your anger, but do not let it consume you Estarfin. Your father is only doing what he thinks is best for you."
Estarfin started to interrupt but Forodhir held up a hand to stall him. "Let me speak. You disagree with him perhaps; you see your fate outside of the walls of a forge? Perhaps you are right, but for now you are here. Do not fight it, do not let anger and frustration hide what is good, what is beautiful, what is in front of your eyes.
"Look outside these walls." He walked to the door and gestured for Estarfin to follow. "Look."
Estarfin took a deep breath and looked around him. The clear waters of Lake Helevorn reflected the rays of the morning sunlight. The tall, white walls of the citadel of Caranthir stood stark against the deep green and grey of the cliffs behind it. Horses grazed in the distant green fields. He closed his eyes and breathed the clean, cool air, feeling the anger and resentment fading away. He thought of the feast the previous evening and understood a part of his father's anger. He had lied to him, had not followed his instructions. His mind drifted to her, to her red hair and beautiful gown and his face reddened.
"There are things worth fighting for. People worth fighting for" Forodhir said gently, noticing the colour in Estarfin's cheeks and understanding the cause. "Yet there is time for peace, for joy, for hard labour and a job well done. Wait here." He walked back into the forge and returned holding the steel bar. "Take it. What do you see?"
Estarfin stared down at it. "A silver tree. Tall. Part of a gate or a…"
"Door? Yes, I see the same. Come let us start the work for our Prince. He wished it to be completed before the next feast. Perhaps you may make a better impression then?"
***
Morning was passing into a dull afternoon when Estarfin emerged from the hollow between the two boulders. His food was gone, his gear was damaged and his spirit was weary of the cycle of aimless wandering, fighting and hiding. He had failed to find his companions, failed to find Danel and lend what little strength he had to her. Her destiny would be her own, as it always had been.
