Estarfin gave an involuntary shout, despite his efforts to conceal his discomfort. We turned, just in time to see him lowering himself into the cold lake. I had not known until very recently of his strong dislike of cold weather and cold water. His filthy armour was piled on the bank. Within moments two of the residents collected it for cleaning.
“Estarfin seems to struggle between the cold and his desire to wash,” Culufinnel observed with a hint of amusement, and flicked a glance over my appearance.
I knew I was not the sweetest-smelling of folk at that time, and that it was needful I freshen myself. But Estarfin’s shout made me ponder. It was not like him. Was the water truly that cold? Then he knelt in the water. “Tintallë!” he swore, trying to get most of the ash and the dirt from his hair, and scrub himself as quickly as possible in the icy stream. He rose from the water still cursing and shaking with the cold. It did not inspire me.
There was no outdoor fire lit, nor could we walk soaking wet into the archive, and drip water on the scholars’ research. Estarfin found a thick woolen blanket from his saddlebag, and wrapped himself in it. All the time he was shuddering, his teeth chattering together.
And I could not try and warm him, as filthy as I was, clothed in a sleeveless silken shift of outlandish style, which was given to me to wear by the wicked Zairaphel, so I plunged into the water, wishing that I could wash away the past couple of months. It was cold!
Like Estarfin, I did not dawdle. As I re-emerged I could see Culufinnel and walking over to join Estarfin, his skin pink from scrubbing, and the tips of his ears were bluish from the cold, but he did not shiver. He balled up an extra blanket and put it under his head. He seemed to be settling down for a nap. “Cold night, or no cold night, I will rest for a time,” he said.
More blankets and mulled wine were brought out to us. Estarfin wrapped his hands around the hot cup, and murmured thanks. Now that the water was wrung out of my hair, I joined Estarfin, and curled up next to him.
By the Valar, it was turning into a bitter winter's night.
For an instant I recalled another time when I had walked from the water, my soaking wet dress clinging to me. That had been a warm day and night though.
Estarfin nodded towards an extra blanket. “D-dry yourself off on th-th-that,” he stammered out. I took it without hesitation, wrapping it around myself and patting it on my skin. Then I sat down.
“Th-throw it aside w-when you are dry,” he said, then held out his cup and offered me his blanket.
I shook my head. He needed all the warmth he could get. He did not wait to be refused twice, but wrapped himself up again. “It is t-too late in the year to be b-bathing outdoors.”
Culufinnel had closed his eyes, and seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber on the hard ground, experienced soldier that he was.
“You remember what you said last autumn? No swimming after the summer?” I asked Estarfin with an amused laugh. “Indeed,” he replied. He checked that his numb toes were still covered by the blanket. I blew steam from the surface of the wine and took a few sips, but I would not sleep sitting there. I reconsidered my earlier words.
“I am too cold after all. May I share your blanket?” I whispered. He looked at me and nodded, lifting the edge of the blanket and gritting his teeth as the cold air blew in. It would only be temporary. We would both be warm soon enough.
Suddenly Culufinnels eyes snapped open. He grabbed his spear and stood alert, ready to strike.
“What is it, Captain?” Estarfin propped himself up on one elbow and looked around. He glanced to where armed guards stood at the far side of the small bridges, noting they did not seem bothered.
“Nothing. Only a phantom of memory. Are we ready to go?”
Estarfin shook his head. “Not yet. The horses need rest if we are to catch up with your brother.”
The captain lowered his spear, realizing that dawn was a few hours away. He settled back and closed his eyes again.
Estarfin also drew back under the blankets. He smiled just a little as he felt the benefit of our shared warmth. But there was something in my mind that would not let me rest. “Captain,” I spoke. “Are you asleep?”
Culufinnel, sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Not anymore,” he said. “What is it?”
“She thinks your brother is not just the ‘High Lord’, but the High King of the Noldor!”
Estarfin made a choking sound. “Who would think that?” he said.
“The Umbari Sorceress,” I replied.
“Not that High Lord nonsense again!” groaned Captain Culufinnel. “It has even spread abroad, this rumour.”
“‘That High Lord nonsense’ is the only thing that is keeping him alive,” I said.
“Is it not also what put him in danger?” Estarfin asked. He made a good point.
Culufinnel shook his head, saying, “That is what comes of putting on airs: now the daydreamer is being punished.”
I noticed Estarfin was looking up at the stars. He was as warm and content as I could wish for, given the circumstances. I could rest.
“I grow tired,” I said, and curled up close against him. I felt his muscles tense, and to ease his concern, added, “but I shall be fine, dear one. I just need to sleep.” The captain probably had unanswered questions about his brother’s apparent ‘elevation’. They would have to wait until the morning.
