Estarfin

Estarfin felt the brief resistance of cloth and flesh before the beautiful blade nearly bisected the dark figure. He kicked the almost-lifeless body from his sword, flicked the blade back, taking the misshapen head from the thing, then watched with fierce satisfaction as it slumped to the floor. Another wrong righted, another of their wicked race wiped clean from the spheres of Arda. He raised his crimson blade to the stars, a gesture of both reverence and defiance.

By the time Parnard decided he had enough of rock diving, the stars were fading, and the skies above the sea were turning pallid with the whitening dawn. He swam back to where he had left Danel and Estarfin floating in the shallower waters, not really swimming at all. The three elves, desirous of rest, waded out of the surf to dry themselves on the beach.

(To be read after The Music Lesson - Part 2 | The Laurelin Archives by Parnard)
 

I stepped out onto the narrow path directly in front of Gilastor. With swift management, Estarfin halted the mighty warhorse a few feet from me. He met my eyes with an expression that would have feared most folk. He was furious. 

I am far from perfect. I make mistakes, I misunderstand certain things, I am likely to do so again, despite my best efforts. But never, never would I intentionally hurt him in any manner.

The elves decided to let Estarfin sleep as he was fatigued from his long journey. Any questions related to where he had gone would have to wait until later. “We will not disturb his slumber,” agreed Parnard, with some reluctance. “But if he were in the Greenwood,” he added, “we would wake him up and drag him along, ha ha!”

“A merry evening to you, cousin,” Parnard said to Danel. He had taken to calling her his cousin after she told him that he seemed more comfortable among the Noldor than his own kindred. Perhaps it was because he had Noldorin blood coursing through his veins, he thought at the time. It was a preposterous notion.