Bitter Cold

Dolthafaer frowned down at the map spread across his desk, brow furrowed, restlessly drumming his fingers against the smooth wooden surface.  His gaze swept over the inked region of the Hithaeglir, returning again and again to the red splotch marked on the top right corner.

That is where Estarfin went, Parnard had claimed.  To the Goblin Caves.

Against the orders of lord Anglachelm, in fact, which had forbidden him from leaving the Valley.  The Hammer had taken off alone into the icy North in the dead of winter, apparently hell-bent on the foolish notion to singlehandedly take down an entire host of goblins.

Rather than turn to Dolthafaer and the Arrow to track down the rogue soldier, Parnard had sent a runner after him – Limiriel, an impressive fighter but no trained scout in Dolthafaer’s estimation.  And, as of the night before, it was learned that the lady Danel was also on Estarfin’s trail.

Three Noldor, lost in the snow. 

Fantastic. 

Dolthafaer rolled up the map and slipped it into its protective leather case with a sigh.  He turned on his heel and strode towards his bed, upon which was strewn items yet to be packed – warm cloak, flint and steel, rope, waterskin, flask.  Tomorrow morning, he and his company would set out for the North.  They would track their missing friends in what was likely to be biting cold and hip-deep snow, and they would find them – or, as he had told Parnard, sign that they were not to be found.

The thought was not a pleasant one. 

Bored, the Ambassador had said.  No recruits.  No one to train.  Nothing to do.

Dolthafaer had known the missing Hammer neither long nor well, but he had respected him.  He remembered training with him.  He remembered asking his permission to leave with Belethoriel’s company.  He remembered that he was one of the three recruits who had abandoned him for that search, robbing him of his duty and leaving him free to his own devices. 

Frowning at the thought, Dolthafaer plucked up the silver flask, unscrewed the top, and took a small swig.  He did not regret his choice, nor later accepting the role of captain and the task of reforming the Arrow, sundering his path from that of the Hammer.  But he could not shake a shadow of guilt.

He hoped that there would be something for his company to find in the North.  No one deserved to die in that bitter cold.