Danel

As he ran through the forest, the undergrowth clawed at his deep-green clothes with every stride and the odour of stagnant, rotting leaves filled his nostrils. Clutched in his one hand was a great, beautifully carved bow and in the other was a long, slender, elven knife. The air was heavy underneath the canopy of the trees, and even the elf, who was accustomed to the woods, felt the closeness of his surroundings. The forest-floor was carpeted in dead, brown leaves, fallen branches, and old lichen, but the hunter ran sure-footed and made almost no sound in his pursuit.

Belegos stared into the fire. The flames danced in front of him as they always did, though he did not pay any heed to them this time. He had returned to the valley only a day ago and now stood, as he had done many times before, in the Hall of Fire. In front, and slightly to the left of him was his friend, Estarfin, a warrior of the Hammers. He was dressed all in black and nursed a burned hand from his recent work at the forges.

I was bringing a tray of thin wafers and broth to Rainith, and thinking of a hundred ways to coax my stubborn mistress to eat a bit of this delicate fare if she refuses it

The sound of the hammer striking the hot metal rang from the walls of the forge. I wiped my sleeve across my brow, smearing soot across my features no doubt, but keeping the sweat from my eyes. As I looked down at the anvil, I felt the familiar uncertainty at the quality of the work. I smiled indulgently to myself, for there were no others within the forge at such a late hour to witness it. I had worked metals since Caranthir himself walked this Middle Earth, but still I doubted myself. Picking up the blade with the forceps, I quenched it for a final time.

Estarfin pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the dark room. He slammed it shut behind him, blocking out the light flowing from the candelabras in the hallway. He took a deep swig from the bottle that he carried in his gauntleted hand, hardly even tasting the fine wine that it contained. As he moved through the dark room his heavy boots sent trays and bottles skidding across the floor, the sound of breaking glass not slowing his advance. Estarfin reached the thick velvet curtain and pulled it open, allowing the bright starlight to illuminate the room.

Estarfin paced back and forth within the small suite of rooms that he kept. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight and noises of the valley. Empty bottles, stacks of papers and various weaponry and armour pieces littered every surface, and Estarfin strode between them, a thick crystal glass in his hand. Anger and frustration radiated from him; every few strides he would run a hand through his coarse hair and take a swig of the cheap wine that he was drinking.