Barahirn

She returned nigh midday, to find Estarfin speaking casually with the Dwarven workers about the wall building. He hailed her as she rode past him to the stables. Despite his earlier words, he did not seem particularly at ease.

“Any news, Yrill?”

Mirdanel took her hand and grasped it reassuringly, with unexpected strength. She had always wondered at how an elleth with such small hands could forge as well as she did. But then for a Mirdan, small hands were a benefit. Istuil had seen the Lady work on larger items too. Though she did not have the strength…nor the skills of a metal-smith, Mirdanel was far stronger than she looked. 

Instinctively I turned my betrothal ring on my index finger, finding comfort in the action. My fingertips traced the design, the diamond stars embedded in the pattern of the Calarcirya, to ‘watch over us, always,’ Estarfin had said. I smiled at the memory.

Estarfin’s brow furrowed as he narrowed his gaze. “How many warriors does the Captain of Celondim command? Would he support an attack on Bree?” he asked.

“What will we do?” asked Parnard.

I had suggestions, but before I could open my mouth Barahirn spoke up. “How can I be of help?” he asked.

“We should visit the grave, should we not?” said Estarfin. 

“Yes. We go to see Aearlinn’s grave first,” I replied. 

The sky was a cloudless grey as we rode through the outer gates of Numenstaya. The heavy metal frames were unlocked, as usual, neither were there any guards. What need did folk in our lands have for guards on their gates unless in times or war?

But we learned that day. And others had paid for our lack of foresight.