Estarfin let out a small exclamation of frustration as he examined the shining metal in the palm of his hand; another flawed attempt after a long day spent before the forge. The alloyed steel was beautiful, but it was still too soft, too liable to be harmed. The delicate inscribing chisels he had created for the task cut too deep, splitting the grain of the metal apart. He held it up to the light once more, wondering whether such a flaw mattered. He shook his head slightly, then tossed it carelessly back into the heart of the forge. Any imperfection could not be tolerated. The metal swiftly heated red, then white. After a moment sparks started spitting from the abused metal as it burnt, then withered to ash and slag.
Estarfin wiped the back of his sleeve across his brow and stepped away from the heat, picking up a half-empty glass of wine. He walked to the window and pushed it open, ignoring the drizzle that began misting the sill. He took a sip of the wine, screwing his face up slightly at the sour taste of the glass that had been sitting for a few days. He sighed as he gazed out of the window at the swaying trees. Every attempt had failed despite the care that he took. Perhaps it was doomed to fail? The thought felt like a stone in his chest pulling him down. Was it perhaps not only the crafting that was doomed to fail?
He stood, drinking the wine for several minutes and letting thoughts of despair and anger run through his mind. He had learned long ago that at times such thoughts were necessary and could not be caged for long. Eventually the dark thoughts blew away, as a storm cloud is wont to in the face of a warm summer breeze. Perhaps the issue was the material itself, rather than the purpose? The steel was too soft, so perhaps harder steel? So far he had been using regular stock from Celondim, good steel for most purposes. Yet perhaps this needed something different? He frowned as he thought of the hard Formenos steel that he treasured above all other possessions that he still retained.
***
Barahirn, that was his name. Estarfin strode towards the stable keeper, dressed in travelling robes and light mail. He carried a few sacks, his sword and shield. "Is Gilastor ready to ride?" Estarfin called.
"Yes Lord, but he… he is reluctant. I do not know why, there is no lameness to him."
"You will refuse me friend?" Estarfin asked the tall black steed in Quenya. "Are we then to be parted? If this is your wish, so be it."
Gilastor stamped his feet and pulled on the reins that Barahirn held, eager to reach his master. "Very well, friend. One last time together then." Estarfin smiled sadly, then started strapping his gear to Gilastor.
"Thank you for your care of him Barahirn, I shall not forget it."
"Where shall I tell the Lady Danel you are riding Lord?"
"For answers Barahirn, for answers."
***
The journey to Imladris took longer than expected. Estarfin frequently had to walk as Gilastor slowed and appeared uncomfortable at times. He unstrapped the shield and wore it on his back, and carried the sacks across his shoulders to save Gilastor any undue effort. He spoke what words of comfort and encouragement he could, and they travelled mostly at night. Estarfin gazed up at the stars and led Gilastor along the paths to the hidden valley, through streams, across moors and past dark forests. He told Gilastor tales of Beleriand as they walked together in the quiet nights, and he sang often, mostly old songs concerning the stars. His voice was fair by the low standards of mortals, yet paled in comparison to any accomplished singers of his own kind. Yet it was enough for the two dark travellers.
"I named you after the dust of the stars, for your mane shares their colour. Did you know?" He ran a hand over the black mane speckled with silver-grey. "Do not fret, soon enough you will taste the sweet water and grass of Imladris again. We should reach it tomorrow."
Ladrochan greeted them as they arrived at the stables of Imladris, keen as always to see to the health and wellbeing of his charges. The smile on his face faded as he saw Gilastor, as he saw at once how tired the black war horse seemed and that Estarfin was carrying their gear rather than the sturdy horse. Estarfin led Gilastor to the waiting stable hands for a well -deserved brush and feed, then walked away from the stable and beckoned the stable master to him.
"Ladrochan, it is good to see you again. I value your wisdom above all others in these matters. There is something wrong with him. You have noticed it even from a brief glance, I see it in your eyes. Please, let me know if anything can be done for him. Either to restore him, or to ease any pain he feels."
"Lord, we shall see, for I will need to spend a little time with him. How long has he been like this?"
"A few weeks maybe, but I have had suspicions for a little longer. He would not carry me, and seemed tired beyond the service I asked. There has been no fever, no coughing, nothing I would usually look for."
Ladrochan nodded. "I will do what I can."
Estarfin smiled slightly and walked back to Gilastor. "I will return soon. Rest well my friend, we shall see each other again soon." He patted the neck of Gilastor, then turned to walk to the forges.
***
Ruineth was standing by the grinding wheel inside Imlad Gelair, staring into the distance with two unfinished knives on the table next to her.
"They will not grind themselves, no matter how we may wish they would." Estarfin said as he approached from the open wooden doorway. Ruineth started and turned swiftly at the interruption.
"Estarfin? I thought you were… Why are you here?"
Estarfin raised his eyebrows at the flustered outburst. He walked forward and picked up one of the blunt knives. Excellent work, as he has expected. "For metal, for tools, and for answers."
Ruineth narrowed her eyes, and took the knife from his hand, placing it upon the table next to its twin. "I have no answers for you, but you are welcome to whatever metal and tools are in this place. As you know. Does the Lady Danel and the Fool of Mirkwood not provide all that you need? I have heard the talk of course."
Estarfin sighed, he had expected the anger from Ruineth but still it saddened him to hear such bitterness in her voice. "I have wronged you Ruineth. Twice in fact. I can only offer my apologies, although I understand if you do not accept them." Ruineth was silent, so he continued. "I did not understand your thoughts towards me, at least in the beginning. I had assumed simply a friendship and a keen apprentice seeking knowledge. You must understand, it has been so long since I considered any other type of attachment… Still, that is no excuse. For once I realised what it was you sought from me I simply drove you away through fear. It was not well done."
"Not well done? You stood before me, your body close to collapse after your ordeal in the mountains and had me dress you in your accursed armour. All the while you tried your best to terrify me with tales of the wicked deeds you had done. As if I did not know?" Ruineth looked at Estarfin, her eyes shining with emotion. "I knew what you were Estarfin Yarehtar, your name is known to many in Imladris, many of whom are willing to gossip after a glass of wine. You thought so little of me, of the love that I felt for you. And you were a coward, once you had finally understood that I sought more from you than simple friendship you lacked the courage to simply tell me that you did not feel the same. I would have understood. I may be young to your ancient eyes, but I am no child."
Estarfin thought for a moment "You are right."
Ruineth looked surprised, perhaps expecting, maybe hoping for an angry rebuttal to her words rather than quiet acceptance. "What do you seek here Lord? My forgiveness? You have it. I see now that what I loved was simply a reflection in the water, an image of something once great. But it is a hollow visage and utterly empty. They are welcome to you. She is welcome to you. Now…" Ruineth picked up one of the knives. "I have work to do. Excuse me."
Estarfin nodded, and walked to the main room of the forges.
***
The Formenos steel mixed well with the silver, and was harder than any metal of the Naugrim, save perhaps Mithril. Estarfin nodded, pleased with the silver steel mix. It glinted under the starlight, cold yet brilliant. The steel had been a gift from Forodhir upon completion of his apprenticeship, in the beautiful land of Thargelion in the flower of his youth. He had used it only sparingly through the ages, and only for items of the highest value. There was only a little remaining, yet he was glad that he had used it.
Now he had the next challenge to face. He was not a jewel crafter, yet needed the finest cut stones. There were some jewelsmiths of worth in Imladris, both Noldor and Naugrim, yet he wanted somewhat more personal. He did not want to simply purchase the stones he wanted. There was a source he knew of, yet he had been avoiding the thought, painful as it was still. He had fetched from his rooms a beautiful circlet of gold, set with a great green gem. Small diamonds were studded along the rim of the stone mounting, the finest craft of Thingol's Halls, taken even as they were burning. It was fitting, but he wondered if it was an ill omen. He extracted seven stones carefully, taking his time to place them into the silvered steel. After hours of work, he had finished. Holding it up to the light of the stars he nodded as it flashed with cold fire.
***
Ladrochan approached Estarfin as he trudged from the forges of Imlad Gelair towards his rooms. He looked tired, but it could not wait. "Lord?" he called, hurrying a little to catch up with the tall Noldor. Estarfin turned, looking to see who had spoken. His face fell a little as he saw the stable master, but walked towards him to hear the news.
"Ladrochan, my rooms are near and you look tired. Come, walk with me under the last of the starlight and have a glass of wine with me." Ladrochan nodded, glad for the chance of a rest. They walked together in silence to the suite of rooms that Estarfin kept. They appeared grand to Ladrochan, but had the feeling of being abandoned. They went inside, it was clean but mostly empty. Estarfin gestured for him to take a seat and fetched two clean glasses. He disappeared into the next room for a moment, then returned with a bottle of wine and a few lit candles. He filled the two glasses, then sat with the stable master.
"Thank you Lord. I must speak to you. I see from your face you already know what I will say, you have known since you set out for Rivendell. If I was to make a wager, you simply wanted Gilastor to see this place once more and find a little peace before the end. Am I correct?"
Estarfin took a sip of wine, and used the sleeve of his robe to wipe his eyes. "It is strange, the attachment that we make with such brief beings. I thought I would have at least a score of years with him, yet it has barely been a dozen. Is he in pain?"
Ladrochan shook his head. "No, he was uncomfortable and tired, but I do not believe he was in pain. We are taking care of him now, and will ease his passage. Do you wish to see him again before…?"
Estarfin finished the glass of wine swiftly. "Indeed. Let me change and I will return with you. Sit, finish your wine, please. I will not be long." He left through another door, leaving the stable master with his thoughts and the excellent wine for a few minutes. He soon returned, wearing black and pale grey robes.
"Come, I will not keep him waiting."
Estarfin had never grown used to the loss of a loyal steed, though he had owned many throughout his long life. Some had fallen in battle, pierced by blade or arrow. Most had simply fallen to the onslaught of time. Twenty or thirty years, such a brief span. Others, such as Gilastor had been cut down in their prime by sickness, fever or wound. Ladrochan had not been specific, and Estarfin had not pressed. There was something wrong with his blood, and nothing could be done. Estarfin had sat with him through the hours of daylight, once again telling him stories and singing, when his voice did not catch. The stable hands let them alone, they too had far too much experience with the bitterness of mortality and would not intrude. Ladrochan himself visited briefly, waiting for Estarfin to be ready. Eventually he steeled himself and nodded, Ladrochan bent down, Gilastor stiffened briefly, then was still.
"I will wait outside Lord, take whatever time you need."
Eventually Estarfin emerged, red-eyed and covered in straw. Ladrochan was waiting for him. Estarfin pulled a pouch of coins from his robes and pressed it into the hand of the surprised stable master.
"There is no charge Lord, you know this."
"Take it, for two reasons. You have performed me another service and I would repay you, this is the only way I have. Secondly, and do not think me cold, I beg of you. I need a new steed, for I have a long journey ahead of me."
"I… I..." the stable master stuttered. "Of course Lord, we have many young horses ready. I will have one for you by tomorrow, if speed is what you require."
Estarfin nodded, looked back once and spoke, "Gilastor, ú-reniathach i amar galen."
***
"Lord Elrond" Estarfin bowed as he spoke the name. The Lord of Imladris watched him as he approached, neither welcome nor disdain upon his face. He bowed in turn, and smiled slightly at his visitor. "Lord Estarfin." He gestured for Estarfin to sit with him, then waited, watching the tall dark Elf. After a few moments, Estarfin spoke.
"Thank you for this audience, I was not sure that you would accept."
"It was surprising. I knew that you had returned to the Valley of course, but you have never sought my council before, let alone a private audience such as this. It piqued my interest, I shall say that much." Elrond steepled his long fingers together and waited.
Estarfin looked around the room, trying to govern his thoughts as his eyes drifted over the vast collection of books and maps behind Elrond.
"You have come to admire my collection? I think not. What would Estarfin Yarehtar of Thargelion wish of me?" There was no anger in his voice, yet Estarfin felt his presence was not wholly welcome. Regardless, he spoke the word that had been filling his thoughts for weeks.
"Betrothal."
Elrond raised his eyebrows. Whatever he had been expecting this was not it. He looked at Estarfin, waiting for him to continue.
"You are known as wise amongst our kind, the greatest of our lore masters, East of the Sea. I have questions for you, if you would deign to answer them?"
"Speak your questions, and we shall see. I do not know all, despite your praise."
"I know little of betrothal amongst our kind… When I was young it was something for the future, then it was something lost before the fire and blood. Now, now it is something I would know more of… I have heard many things.
"The purpose of betrothal is to conceive and raise children, is it not? But I could not see a future into which I would bring children into this world. Is this true?"
Elrond paused for a moment, surprised and saddened by the questions. "There is no need yet to give in to despair, the dawn may come and chase the darkness from these lands, and it would be a finer morning of the world with Elven children to see it. But to answer your question; yes, the purpose of marriage amongst our kind is to beget children. So it has always been."
"But must betrothal always end with marriage? Would it be possible to continue such an engagement indefinitely?"
Elrond sighed, understanding the purpose of the visit finally. "And would such an arrangement be fair to the Lady Danel? Do not look surprised, it is obvious enough. But think on what you both want, not only yourself. A betrothal lasts for a year, as the customs of our kind dictate. It would not be seemly to extend the duration. And a marriage… think of it as an oath, that cannot be broken while the powers of the Valar endure. You see no future where you would bring children into this world, is the Lady Danel of the same mind?"
"I… I am not sure. She does not despair when thinking of the future, but to bring children into the world? I do not know. But I believe this is what she wants from me." Estarfin pulled from his robes the betrothal ring that he had forged. Even Elrond paused as he saw it. Forged from the steel from the Citadel of Fëanor himself, mixed with silver and worked by hands skilled beyond measure. Stars were engraved into the metal that shone with cold fire, the sigil of Fëanor himself, but others too. And clear gems, diamonds that danced with their own internal light were sunk into the delicate band, picking out the shape of the Valacirca.
"It is fair indeed Estarfin. But you speak only of what you believe Lady Danel wants. You know not, and I believe you do not know if it what you wish."
Estarfin sighed hearing too much truth in his words. "I do not want to disappoint her, that is what I wish. When she is near the world does not seem as dark. Yet is that enough? Is it fair that I would bind her to me, yet not fulfil the purpose of a marriage?"
"You must decide this Estarfin. You know that those who seek betrothal after the usual time can find unforseen or unwelcome fortune. I knew the same, yet I could not turn from Celebrían and despite the path, I am grateful every day for our time together, for Elladan and Elrohir, for Arwen Undómiel. And there will come the day when we are united again beyond all grief." Elrond looked away, smiling as he entwined memories with the waking world. "I will not counsel you Estarfin, for I do not believe that I would sway your thoughts even if I tried. There is nothing I can tell you that you do not know of our laws and customs. You must put aside your hatred and despair, and seek to make a life for you both, and for your family. Or you must cease and break the growing bond between you. If you choose another path I see nothing but pain. Do as you will, as you always have."
Estarfin rose from his seat, bowed and readied to leave.
"Estarfin wait, I spoke harshly, more so than perhaps I should. You are a stranger to me and what little I know of you has usually been dark. Yet even if I had spoken more kindly, I see no other way. You cannot change the laws of our kind, and it would be foolish and dangerous to try. I see in your eyes the love that you have, you must either surrender to it wholly, or not at all. There can be no compromise, no half-measure. Go, and know that you take my goodwill with you. Namárië."
Estarfin bowed low. "Namárië, Lord."
***
Estarfin hunched over Norlómë as they raced through the heavy rain, heading West, back towards the coast. He had found answers, but needed more.
