Fresh pain ripped through him and tore his conscious mind back to wakefulness. He let out a wordless cry of pain and fear as agony tore through his leg. In desperation to stop the pain, to defend himself, he reached out for his shield or his spear. His searching and grasping fingers found nothing but snow as he raised his head to look down his body at the black-furred and yellow-eyed warg that had him firmly in its gaping maw. His leg was being slowly crushed between the steel plates of his grieves as the beast sought a way to get to the vulnerable flesh beneath. Further pain flared briefly in his chest as the goblin-rider attempted to spear him with a crude weapon, the tip barely scuffing the armour plates that still covered most of his torso but the impact travelling through to his damaged chest. The warg gave a growl and another tug at his leg and he felt the greaves buckling further, the metal cutting into the flesh of his calf. The warg twisted its head, trying to tear the leg away from the helpless figure. The spear descended again, this time aimed at his unprotected neck. As quickly as he could Estarfin raised an arm, hoping that his vambrace or gauntlet were not too damaged to be able to deflect the killing blow. There was no impact, then suddenly his leg was free from the terrible jaws of the warg and fell heavily to the hard-packed snow. Estarfin tried to roll onto his side to see what was happening, to search for a way to defend himself at least before the final blow fell. He managed to turn his head when an iron-clad boot hit him squarely in the face, causing him to cry out in pain and snap his head away. Stars danced before his eyes as the world slipped in and out of focus. A shape passed in front of him, accompanied by more pain, although it felt distant somehow. Then nothing.
***
“You must first see what is lurking in the formless shape before you. The metal knows it has a purpose, do you understand? Aulë alone understands the destiny of all metals, but such craft that I have was learned at his feet. That is what I am trying to teach you, at the request of your father. One cannot change the destiny of metal easily and if tried, the results will oft be flawed. The same is true of all things, do you not think Estarfin?”
Forodhir looked up from the crucible to see his pupil idly staring out of the window of the forge. “Estarfin?” he repeated gently. Sighing, he walked towards the slouching figure and cuffed him around the back of the head. Instantly the young dark-haired Noldor turned to face him, fire in his eyes. “You would do well to listen young one, for this is a lesson that you must learn. If you are to follow the path of the smith and not the warrior as your father has asked, you must learn to see the destinies of metal. And you must understand your own. Now, back to work.”
***
“Where is father? Has he returned from the hunt yet?” Estarfin asked the question before he had even taken his snow-covered cloak off and hung it in front of the fire. He kicked his boots off without thought and his mother raised an eyebrow as they landed in a heap, dripping melting-snow onto the fine rug that lay in front of the fireplace.
“Pick those up and hang your cloak up please Lelyafas, this is neither the forge nor the stable you realise?”
Obeying his mother, Estarfin picked up his boots and carried them to the rack, then pulled off his cloak and hung it upon the lowest hook. “Well?” he asked, looking hopefully at his mother. She smiled at him, her long dark hair framing her kind face that showed signs of worry despite her best efforts to hide it. “No, not yet, but the snows are still only falling gently. He will return before winter truly sets in. He always does.” She walked to her son, tutting slightly as she picked a leaf out of his tangled hair. “Forodhir tells me that you have not been attentive in your lessons. What am I to do with you? Do you wish for your father to hear of this when he returns, that once again you have not done as he asks?”
“But mother, it is not fair! Why can I not train to be a warrior, like he is, like the other boys do? I am strong enough, brave enough! I do not want to learn smithing from Forodhir, he is so dull. I can see the others training through the windows of the forge and I want to…”
“Enough, Lelyafas, enough. Your father knows what is best for you. There have already been enough battles, enough of war. We did not leave the West solely to fight, we must look to rebuild. Why, High King Fëanor himself was the greatest of all smiths. How can you believe that such a pursuit is unworthy of a Noldor?”
Estarfin looked unhappily at the reasoning of his mother. “But he was a warrior too, the greatest that ever lived! That is what the songs say of him, the tales. The greatest of warriors, winning us our freedom upon these shores. Father still fights for us, so why can I not? It is not fair.”
Her face darkened as she looked upon her young son, so willing to march headlong into battle. “I will hear no more of this. You will listen to what your father and I command you to do and that will be an end to it. Now go and wash before supper.”
***
Estarfin let out a cry of pain and raised his hand to his face. Pulling it away he saw the shocking brightness of his own blood. He dropped the blunt steel sword and blinked as the blood ran into his eyes.
"What have you done Namaica? Estarfin, are you alright? Let me see." Linthande pulled Estarfin’s hand away from his face and gasped as he saw the amount of blood flowing from the wound. "We have to take you to the healer!"
"You want his father to know what he has been doing Linthande?" asked Namaica coldly. "Do you think he will approve of him training with us in secret after he has forbidden him to do so? This was your idea after all."
Linthande responded angrily. "You are just concerned about what your father will do when he finds out what you have done to his Captains son! Do not feign concern for me, or for him!"
Namaica scowled and bent down to pick up the sword from the wet grass. "Take him to the healer then if you are so worried Linthande, see how pleased your father is when he learns of what happened."
"No." Estarfin spoke quietly but the two older Elves turned to look at him, their brief quarrel forgotten. "I will not have either of you blamed for helping me. I was clumsy and was kicked by a horse in the stables, do you understand?"
The older boys exchanged a glance. Linthande spoke cautiously. "Do you think such a lie would be believed?"
"Do you think any would call the great Captains son a liar? He is still away and this will be healed before he returns." Estarfin replied, fighting to keep the bitterness from his voice.
"Do not be foolish, the healers can tell the difference between a kick from a horse and a sword cut." Namaica said, looking unconvinced by the idea.
Thinking for a moment, Estarfin bent down and picked up a flat rock. Weighing it in his hand briefly, he tossed it to Namaica. "Hit me with this, it is about the right size."
"I am not going to..."
"You want our fathers to learn of this? You want more bruises to add to the ones I have given you today? If my father learns of this, I do not know what he would do. This is for the best, do it swiftly.”
Estarfin stood with blood running down his face, watching defiantly as his friend weighed the rock in his hand.
***
“You serve our Prince now Estarfin, remember that. Not all who serve must do so with sword or bow, I hope that you can see that now.”
Estarfin nodded to his father respectfully. “Of course, I am honoured that Forodhir requested my presence. I will not fail you father.”
“Do not fail the Prince, Estarfin. You are old enough to carry the name of this house now, I trust that that you will not be found wanting. It is a long journey, much may happen. Always remember to uphold your name, my name, the Prince's name.”
Estarfin nodded, then turned to his mother who was dressed in a long gown of pale blue. She smiled at him but he could see the beginnings of tears in her eyes. He kissed her cheek and embraced her before speaking. “I will see you again in spring mother. The road may be long, but the call of home will lead my feet back here once the snows have melted. I will bring you a gift. A pile of Fingolfin’s gold perhaps!” Estarfin smiled.
“High King Fingolfin, do not forget that is the title that he wears now, as if it belongs to him. Be careful Lelyafas, return home safely.” She leant towards him and whispered in his ear. “You have nothing to prove my darling, remember that. The path of the smith is an honourable one, despite what you may think.” She stepped back and smiled at him. “Return home swiftly.”
***
The storm-driven waves crashed against the rocky cliff; huge white clouds of spray coursing upwards through the air with each impact. The long coarse grasses and purple thistles were blown almost flat to the ground by the howling winds and beating rain. A bolt of white lighting arced from the black clouds above, striking further along the coastline out of sight. Seconds later a boom of thunder echoed through the night, causing the black-robed figure to look upwards.
The sodden ground was treacherous underfoot; one small slip could prove fatal this close to the edge of the high cliffs. If the figure was at all concerned by the dangers posed by the weather and the long drop he did not show it. He was staring straight ahead into the sea, trying to pierce the sea-spray, low clouds and heavy rain. Occasionally a patch of clear air opened in front of him and he would narrow his eyes, searching westwards into the night. He was soaked through, his robes sticking to him and chilling his bones. His teeth chattered and his hands shook slightly but he did not leave his vigil.
He had been standing and staring for three days despite the weather. His weapons and travelling gear were in a heap next to him, the cloth of the travelling pack rippling in the fierce winds. All other possessions were gone, caught by the fire that had destroyed his forge. He stood now at a crossroads; both destinations unknown, though the road East filled him with little dread. The road West? That was a terrifying prospect even now.
Did anything of it still remain he wondered to himself. Were there any remnants of the lands he had loved still above the fury of the waves? He had heard tales of course. A few islands off of the western shores, perhaps visible to sharp eyes on a clear day. He felt the crushing weight of the endless years stretched both behind and before him as he stared down in the violence of the sea. How easy it would be to take one step, just one small step and surrender himself to the embrace of Ulmo and leave his cares behind him forever. Yet there could be no true escape and for a moment he felt a stab of jealousy at the gift the race of Men had been given. His purpose as a warrior was gone, the purpose that he had known lost beneath the uncaring waves. Yet still he had lingered upon the shore, filling his time with the working of metal and the drinking of wine. Perhaps it was the life his father wished for him? What would he wish now?
***
He opened his eyes slowly, blinking quickly in the bright sunlight. As he awoke fully he could feel every part of him throbbing with pain and he fought down the urge to be sick. After a moment the feeling passed and slowly he looked around himself, careful to move his neck as little as possible. He was surrounded by a sea of whiteness with only a few blackened trees nearby offering any change in the landscape. Seated a little distance away with her head in her hands sat Danel. He rubbed a hand across his eyes, unwilling to believe such a vision. Frowning, he tried to sit up before gasping and falling back into the snow.
“Lord?” Danel called out in concern as she noticed the movement and hurried over to him. Opening his eyes again, he looked up into her face, noticing even through the haze of pain how pale her skin was, how red her eyes were. He tried to speak but instead let out a series of choking coughs. Danel hurriedly ripped a scrap of cloth from her sleeve and used it to wipe the blood from around his mouth, despite his feeble attempts to turn his head away.
“Help me up.” Estarfin managed to say.
“You should remain still Estarfin. Your wounds….”
“Will be no worse whether I am lying or sitting. Help me up. Please.”
Danel frowned, but reached a delicate hand behind his neck and tried to help him up to a sitting position. After a few moments of gritted teeth and struggling he managed to prop himself against a withered tree with her help. He breathed heavily, as though he had just run a hundred leagues or fought a score of warriors instead of simply sitting upright. Once he had managed to slow his breathing and regain a little of his composure he looked down at himself. “How bad is it?”
Danel bit her bottom lip briefly before answering. “Your right leg is broken I think, from the warg or the fall, I am not sure. Your armour, broken though it is still hides a lot, but I think you have several broken ribs. There is a deep wound in your left arm and the fingers of your left hand are…damaged. There are a host of deep cuts across your chest and your back. And there is an arrow lodged in your chest. I have tried to…” Her voice caught briefly as she lost control of her emotions. “I have tried to dress your wounds as best as I can, but I have no supplies with me.”
Estarfin noticed that there were long strips of fabric missing from her clothing that must have been used for dressings. He nodded slowly at the list, his expression grave.
“I can feel bones grating against something as I breathe, I think you are right about broken ribs. My shoulder feels damaged as well. My right shoulder.” He sighed and looked upwards briefly at the afternoon sun. “They will return at night, we must be gone by then. Call the others and gather my weapons.”
Danel looked at him suddenly, then sadness filled her eyes and she could not find the words that she knew he must surely know.
“Danel? You are wearing that long face for me? We are not mortals, you understand that. These wounds will heal with time, my strength will return. Now is not the time for despair, you cannot give up. Would our Prince have given up whilst he could still draw breath? Now, call the others and let us be gone from here.”
“Lord Estarfin, there are no others. I came alone with all the speed I could muster when I felt… when I heard rumour of your absence. My mare has fled from these perilous heights and I have crossed the snows with nothing to aid you. I.. There is no-one else coming.” She let her head droop onto her chest, dark red hair falling across her face.
Estarfin sat in silence for a long while, staring down the white slopes of the mountains. After several minutes he spoke again, his voice soft. “Then we must attempt to flee on foot, or else sit here and await death at the hands of the foul goblins that haunt these passes. They know of me and I believe maybe you as well now. I can use my spear as a crutch, though you will have to carry my shield, if you would?”
Danel did not respond, but instead shook her head softly.
“No? What is this? There is still hope despite your strange mood. I laid upon this snow under the stars and called to Tintallë, though I have always believed we dwell with only her light upon us and the Valar remain uncaring of the unhappy fate of this world. Yet you found me in this endless whiteness. Such things cannot be ignored, and cannot be wasted. Take heart. Pass me my spear and help me to my feet. We may be able to escape their pursuit if we travel straight downhill.”
“They are not here Estarfin. Neither shield nor spear was with you when I found you. Neither were they buried in the snow-drift.” She cut Estarfin off as he began to speak. “I have checked thoroughly, believe me.” He ran his right hand through his hair at the news, unable to believe it.
“Gone? That cannot be. You are sure? How can you be sure?”
“They are gone Lord. Taken by the goblins perhaps?”
Estarfin let out curse at the idea, his eyes flashing with fire. “Give me your staff then, it will have to serve.”
“I…. I only carry Sarphir. If I had known, I would have brought it of course. You must try to walk without a crutch. I can support you – we must try. Come, give me your hands.”
Danel held her hands out and slowly pulled Estarfin upright onto his feet. She laid his shoulder around her neck, trying to support as much of his weight as she was able so that he did not have to use his injured leg. “There” she said. “If we move swiftly enough, we will be able to evade them.”
Estarfin took a hesitant step forwards, then let out a gasp of pain as his leg collapsed under him. He held on to Danel for support but the weight was too much and he fell to the floor with a howl as daggers of pain stabbed into him. He rolled onto his side, eyes shut tightly and breath coming in loud rasps. He spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the white snow, then rolled onto his back.
“Just go.” He muttered. “Go. You cannot help me, so there is no purpose to remain here.” His face flushed as he felt heat and wetness at the corners of his eyes. “No weapons, no strength, no hope. Leave me be.” Danel did not move. “GO!” Estarfin shouted, then started coughing again.
Danel simply sat down in the snow next to him, a sad but resigned look upon her face.
“You seek death here? That is all you will find if you stay. There is nothing that you can do. Go back.” Danel remained still, unmoving. “Please.” Estarfin whispered. “Please just go before they return.”
In answer she drew Sarphir and laid the blade upon her lap, waiting for doom to overtake them.
