Estarfin shook his head, scarcely able to believe the news. The Hound of Vanimar, fallen? It could not be. How had his stout armour failed him? How had his mighty hammer missed the mark? He smiled, trying to convince himself that the Hound was again trying to trick them all, yet knowing in his heart that the terrible news was true. Running his hand through his hair, he poured out a glass of wine, raising it to the air in memory of his friend.
"We will meet again one day my friend, neither of us will escape Mandos in the end."
He remembered the words that his father had taught him.
We have sworn, and not lightly. This oath we will keep. We are threatened with many evils, and treason not least; but one thing is not said: that we shall suffer from cowardice, from cravens or the fear of cravens. Therefore I say that we will go on, and this doom I add: the deeds that we shall do shall be the matter of song until the last days of Arda.
Daegond had never faltered, never failed. His deeds would indeed be the matter of many songs, he was sure of it.
