Dolthafaer twirled an arrow in his hands, keen grey eyes flickering in the light of the fire as he examined the fletching – one white feather, two speckled brown. Satisfied with the spacing, he took up a length of thin sinew and began to bind the feathers to the shaft. A quiverful of arrows was already stacked neatly on the floor beside him, but his mind was full tonight and the familiar task helped him think.
By this time tomorrow, he would be far from the Valley and well on his way to Eregion, along with a company – his company – of Arrows. He was familiar with some, some he had met in passing, and some he knew only by name; but they had all come highly recommended as the best marksmen, hunters, and scouts that Vanimar had to offer. Their task was to scout the pass of Caradhras and the surrounding lands to determine its suitability for transporting heavy forces and supplies, and it was his duty to lead them.
A small smile tugged at the corner of Dolthafaer’s mouth.
Captain.
He could not have been more surprised when the lord Anglachelm had called him forth during the council to name him captain and saddle him with the task of waking the sleeping Arrow as a private company to serve their House once more. The prospect both intrigued and excited him. In truth, his experience in Angmar had instilled in him the need for well-trained scouts in Vanimar’s ranks, and he had had a mind to take a student or two under his wing upon returning home. Forming an entire company had been beyond his ambitions; never before had he been formally placed in a position of command. But not even for a moment had it occurred to him to refuse. He was confident that he had the knowledge, experience, and skill to do his house proud.
Still, it was quite the adjustment: Hammer recruit one moment, Captain of the Arrow the next. After from his return from Angmar, Dolthafaer had hoped to linger in Imladris for a long while, recovering from that black land and reconnecting with friends he had left behind. It felt as though he had only been home a moment before he was preparing to leave again.
A thoughtful expression lit upon Dolthafaer’s face as he pulled the binding tight and knotted the end of the sinew. It was an unfamiliar feeling – the reluctance to leave, the desire to stay, the concept of home. Home for him had ever been Lindon, the white walls and blue banners whipping in the breeze, but he had not returned to the city since the fall of Gil-galad and the death of his father. He had flitted from place to place ever since, never staying long enough to put down roots.
But now there was a title, captain, and responsibility holding him in place, and there was a dark-haired maiden who had begun to wind her way into his heart and make that place feel like home. Though he was leaping now from one journey into another, he could not shake the feeling that things were starting to settle and fall into a place in a way they never had before. It was curious. It was exciting.
Dolthafaer cut the thread, dropped the newly-fletched arrow into the stack, and decided his task done. The hour was growing late, and tomorrow he would rise before dawn to meet his new recruits. It felt as though he had made enough arrows tonight to supply an entire damned battalion.
