Estarfin…
…meldanya, can you hear me? I think not. I dare not call with any force. I will not give cause for you to think my need is more important than your safety. But strange it seems not to feel you there at all. After the first day, all I sensed was anger in you. So much anger with someone, though I know not who? And after that…it felt as if I was speaking to a rock, so withdrawn are you become.
Do not despair, beloved. This is but a trial. We shall overcome. I believe that with all my heart. We are children of Thargelion, are we not?
Yet still I know not why Parnard and I are prisoners? The Men speak little in our hearing, though do not always keep a wise enough distance. We can hear them occasionally, we can see their lips move.
What we do make out is much to do with payment, with reward. A few of their number would torture us slowly as weregeld for their relatives and friends that we slew in the brigand camps, but the leaders, one Jexson and one Daviion, urge them to think of the greater reward. They seem to believe much gold will be exchanged for us, but also that we will go to a fate worse than any they can mete out.
They dare to slap us, to kick and trip us. Parnard suffers the worst, for he tries to escape at any opportunity. We are forbidden to speak with each other, lest we make plans, but I try to tell him, ‘Wait but a short while.’ What they have stolen from us does not belong in their hands, and will yet be their undoing. It began even as they took us aboard ship at Kheledûl. There was arguing and fighting amongst the men, begun by the one who had taken up ‘Steel-Thorn’, the second-in-command of the Bree-Men, Daviion. He even pointed the sword at me, but was stopped by the Umbari commander. That Man, Balkumagan, has better manners, that I begin to wonder if I can convince him to free us. He clapped Daviion in irons, and gave the sword to another. The next day, while on the ship, Daviion was found dead in his cell, pierced through the heart. I know not who killed him, but I suspect it was Jexson.
You see, meldanya, Jexson has Sarphir, and is often toying with the weapon, not knowing it thirsts for his, or any Man’s blood. Indeed, he does but confirm my suspicions since we were in Mirkwood. You forged Sarphir for my hand, dear one, and though not intentional, I consider you imbued it with some of your own loathing for Men. ‘Steel-Thorn’ too sings for blood, equally loud as it is in the hand of one it would end.
I fear not either blade. If they try to use them against Parnard or me, they shall fail.
But even more I see what the rings do to the Men. Some, including Jexson, wear the rings stolen from Numenstaya. I spoke not of these to you, as they were to be a surprise for you, although Parnard knew of these rings to ward and lessen the Sea-longing, one for each of us. I never want to inflict my sea-longing on you again, nor do I wish Parnard to suffer from it at all, nor you to know its hold ever again. You have spoken of its influence on you in the past. No more, if I can lessen it through my skill.
But these rings are worn on the hands of Men as trophies. Now they thirst but cannot drink. They turn away from water and ale alike. And then they were ordered onboard a ship!
I heard the shouting as we departed the Dourhand port. I heard the moans and complaints up to the point we docked in Evendim. They screamed to be set ashore, and the Umbari, who are natural seafarers, laughed at them.
Fools! They contend with the Noldor to their peril. I need not lift a finger.
Nigh thirty there were. Six departed before we sailed. When we reached Evendim, Balkumagan sent two back through the Barrandalf as scouts, to see if you followed. Yesterday evening, Steel-Thorn's newest ‘master’ slew yet another, and the roguish Jexson grows weaker by the day.
The Men from the South, the Umbari, are a different matter. They are wiser and more crafty. They touch nothing of ours, not even us if they can help it, and they protect us from the brigands.
“Our orders are to deliver you both, unharmed,” Balkumagan said. The other one, though young by my reckoning, is a skilled swordsman. He can be proud and abrupt of temper, but he guards us with his life. Pharazagar he is named, and he has the dark countenance of one of those from the sun-scorched lands.
These two men will keep us alive. Now my thought is how do I ensure Elven weapons or rings end up in their hands?
We camped this night under more northerly stars. A small fire and a few bites of roasted rabbit were our only comforts. It was not enough sustenance for Parnard, I fear. We travel North, nigh Fornost, I have overheard. And after that? I know not.
What I do know for a surety is that more Bree-Men will die tomorrow, and the day after that.
I raise my eyes to the Calacirya. She watches over us.
Silent though you are, I know you follow now. But take care, meldanya. These Umbari have nowhere near your strength or skill, but neither are they fools.
