The man would be lying if he said he was unafraid. He was terrified. They were gallivanting off into hostile lands, into CARN DUM to rescue an elf friend's husband. It was folly, a suicide mission.
He felt terror in battle before, many times at the Hornburg. This was a different type of fear. He felt like a mouse sneaking into a fortress full of cats. They would either suceed and be the heroes Amathlan needed or die trying and fail him and everyone else. And fail Idhrandir.
His sweet little deer, his prince. He wouldn't admit it, but he felt hopeless about the whole affair. He had wished he had listened to Algaril's and Idhrandir's insistence to stay in Esteldin. His stubbornness, pride and desire to be useful pushed him on. He rested a hand on his chest. Nestled against his breast, there lay a small ceremonial dagger. Idh did not explain the meaning of it, but he would assume it was an important heirloom, thus he kept it in a secret and safe spot. That, he admitted, was his one beacon of hope and light in this dark, foreboding place. He couldn't shake that look of grief and sorrow in Idh's eyes as they exchanged glances one last time before parting ways. It was burned into his heart and mind.
A scathing comment from Gheomaer made him snap out of his thoughts. He glared coldly at the man, hoping he would get the hint, however, he seemed not to, seeing this an opportunity to spread misinformed prejudices about something the Eorling was raised to ignore the reality of. Egfor sighs and ignores the man, pressing forward.
Whether Dalbran was intending to be the comic relief and tension breaker or not, either way, he appreciated the dwarf.
Egfor lifts his gaze as the band stops. Something felt horribly wrong. He mumbles to himself as he nocks an arrow, "So it begins...."
