Celebhir

North and east with the elf beside me. Fate and fortune rise about me like the dust on the road. Here I ride, back into the north, the occasional wind chill as it blows from the further northlands, off the snows. Across the lands once enlivened by long forgotton Fornost. Even as I ride here, my linnet will be preparing her flock for its journey to scrabble about the ruins, inspire her to sing a new tale of Arvedui.

A delightful day. Yes. I rode with the elf maid obedient beside me, and my few men about me. North from the crowded, fetid encampment, out into the hills around the northmens' camp, Esteldin.

I watch her pull up the hood of the cloak that I have given her. Enveloped in its sable folds, clad in the black dress, her face shines softly, the moon in clouds. She has been enclosed in this tent for long enough, it is time to move her to more fitting accomodation.

I pull back the flap of the tent sharply. The first true light for her in many a day. I see her eyes open to receive the starlight, turning her face in yearning before, senses opened, the shock of the scene before her slaps her back to reality.

She sits. Because I tell her to sit. I am a man of passion, and dark humours boil within me now. She is wise to heed my words and do as I command.

I pour two glasses of the finest red that I have. The cut of the glasses deepen and intensify the rich colour of the wine. It is too crude to liken it to the blood of my man that she has caused to be spilt. My man, to me. To her and her ilk, just a Man.What can they know, secure within their timelessness, about what life is? About what life is, to a Man?

I invite her to remove all her gear, to place it all on the table beside me. Her eyes widen as she realises I speak in her language. Well enough; though each slippery syllable is bitter in my mouth, thick as ashes. I am an erudite Man, not a slack jawed fool. She needs to understand.