He had written: “I will not ride hard after you, to wrench you away from the shores of the Sea; that is not my place and neither do I have the will or strength to attempt such a thing anymore. I do not even seek to give you counsel, for you know your mind better than I. But you must know that such a sundering would be unto the breaking of the world, and it saddens me that you did not seek me out, or even sent word.” (a)
A sundering unto the breaking of the world?
I had known he spoke truth in those words. They bit deeply through me when I read them, as they still bite whenever I consider them. So had I replied to him, setting my case as clearly as I thought I could.
He did not want such a sundering between us.
Neither did I.
He had misunderstood my riding to the coast, thinking I intended to depart, but that would never be the case.
Never would I desert him to be alone in these lands after all who so wished had departed; to wane in weariness, and become a shadow of regret. (b) That would be a parting far more bitter than even death.
But as was often the case with us, events transpired that we remained in different places, and so spoke not of the writing, nor wrote again.
Not until this day.
~ ~ ~
Echad Eregion. The ruins of the central way-post of the Old Realm had served as a resting place on many of my travels. It had served the same function before it had been but a ruin, on my journeys between the cities and settlements. More recently it had served when I had sought to reclaim my family heirloom, the sword ‘Urusse’, from Dol Guldur.
That particular mission had been challenging for, beside Belegos of Gondolin, I had been the only one with a reason to travel. Yet others had accompanied me. Out of choice? Aye, I think so, though I am still unsure if Estarfin was following orders from Lord Veryacano to protect me? No matter. What did matter was that while the group rested, he and I spoke more openly than we ever had. We both knew the other to be the one we most trusted, the one we felt most understood us this side of the Sea. Aye, we finally had an understanding.
For two days.
As our party of five made for the Redhorn Pass on foot, (we left out horses at Echad Eregion,) we were accosted by a large band of orcs. They were no threat to our number. All there could give a good account of themselves. But Estarfin made pursuit of those who fled into the nearby ruins of Minas Elendur.
When we eventually found him all orcs were slain, and he had all but lost his wits.
Alas and alas, that I had not forbidden that pursuit! Elloen, who had joined us at Echad Eregion, did his best to limit the damage done to Estarfin’s state of mind. But by the time we reached Lothlorien we understood that even such a skilled healer could do little.
Estarfin’s memory was all but gone, and for many a long day he languished under some form of Black Breath, nay even worse. We were admitted to Caras Galadhon, a place that he and I would not normally enter, and therein came to understand the evil that had caused his affliction. Thanks to the Lady’s forbearance, and the continued administration of Elloen, Parnard and Belegos, we brought him out of his stupor and back into the daily darkness he oft inhabited.
It was a bad time. I can speak no more of it. We pained Estarfin by seeking to free him. I dare to say he was at peace in his state of ignorance. I do not believe he ever recovered all his memories.
I failed him then. But the others brought him out of darkness.
Echad Eregion! This is a place that stirs a mixture of emotions for me.
~ ~ ~
The pale dawn light found me still walking in memory, and only the call of one of the Dwarves that I should join he and his cousin in breaking my fast, brought me to the present.
The memories had lessened any appetite I had, but I sat with them a short time while they ate dried sliced boar meat, and offered me some of a large round apple pie. I took a piece out of courtesy, though found it surprisingly good. The longer bearded of the two winked at me and broke off some more.
“Not bad for a dwarven cook, eh? But we shall not be wanting any of the elf bread in return, Lady.”
“I have never tasted a bad meal from a Dwarven cook,” I replied, ‘though Elven tastes are not always the same as your folks.’
They stoked the fire a little more, doubtlessly feeling the chill of the air a little more than the guards.
But it was time to turn my head to Imladris, even though I was still struggling with what words I should use to make myself understood. Nothing that came to my mind seemed to fit as I wanted it to. Not even after pondering for six years.
I spoke quietly with the guard, Dornhador, informing him I would not travel to Gwingris, but straight to the Hidden Valley, and asking if there was any message I could pass on. He shook his head. “We reported in but four days ago. Naught has changed since then. But thank you.”
There was the sound of hooves, as a horse approached at a canter. The guard and stable master gave a hail to the rider, as they drew to a halt and walked their mount to a stall.
One traveller arrives, one departs. Such was common in this place.
It happened so swiftly.
I turned, intending to head to my horse, Pelorian, as I heard the sound of the rider dismounting.
‘Heavy of foot, light of armour,” I acknowledged without thinking.
Then I heard his voice.
- 'A Final Letter'‘ by Estarfin
- Based on ‘The Doom of Mandos’ The Silmarillion. JRR Tolkien
