Belegos

Danel,

It was with great sorrow that I learned of your departure Westward. Sorrow, but not surprise. Ever since that night years ago in Mirkwood, I have been expecting this day. You told Belegos that you would not sail, that you would linger on beyond your time here. I think he believed you, perhaps you even convinced yourself? I am not gifted in the ways of seeing the truth of the hearts of others, but I could see that your heart was not in your proclamation.

She was suddenly aware of movement nearby; a presence that she had not been expecting. Looking up from the grinding table, she wiped her face to remove the flakes of impure iron from her skin and wondered what had woken her. Looking around she saw nothing untoward. Her tools were laid out haphazardly around the workshop and the forge-fire had faded to a dull red.

The snow white petals of her royal roses cuddled the tip of her nose as she inhaled their lofty scent. These had always stood apart from their more colorful brethren - not as heady in scent, but still retaining the elegant integrity of the rose. Danel's instructions on the scents of Thargelion came in good time, just as the edges of her lavenders and herbs began to crisp and dry.

Miruial crept into the healing room on the soft padding of her thin periwinkle slippers. The scene before her was clearly the cause of alarm among the steady stream of healers who had come to her at her workshop that day. Glass jars and phials that usually stood at attention in neat orderly rows on their shelves stood in haphazard locations all throughout the room. Several balls of parchment paper lay littered at the base of the red table, where Eliriael sat poised rigidly.

“She cannot be consoled!” the first had announced.

Parnard twisted the paper in his clenched hand. I will be far away by the time you read this – it began apologetically, and ended with the strictness of admonitions not to follow. How was he going to explain this fresh madness to Lord Anglachelm?  He crumpled the letter up.  Lady Danel could do what she liked, as she always did.

My Lord has heard Lord Veryacano say that I arrived to talk the company out of searching for him. I say that this is a wrong-headed assumption, and the reasons for my accompaniment were to gather news for the remainder of the House waiting impatiently in Imladris, and secondarily, to see what resulted from his leadership.

"There must be another set of bellows, surely? Search the whole city if you have to!" Estarfin snarled the last command at the wide-eyed assistant, pointing out of the door of the crafting hall as he did so. Nodding briefly, the brown-haired Elf almost fled from the forge, keen to distance himself from such anger. Left alone finally, and dressed only in his old boots, filthy trousers and undershirt, Estarfin turned back to the forge with a determined expression. He would repair the shield; he must.

Numerous beyond counting, the stars reflected upon the surface of the lake could have been a second sky, so clear was the image. Watching them in silence brought a sense of peace to Estarfin such as he had not felt for a long time. His breathing was slow, his coarse hair shifting slightly in the cool breeze that rippled across the surface of the water. As he stared at the black mirror bathed in starlight, memories came to the forefront of his mind of Lake Helevorn in the green lands of Thargelion and the joys of an all-too-brief childhood spent upon the shore.

They moved quickly from the deep shadows and despair of the dungeons into a small courtyard full of broken stone. Belegos led them out, moving with almost indecent haste to escape what they had done, had been forced to do. As he reached the middle of the courtyard he seemed to realise his mistake, as his sharp eyes scanned the empty windows and rough holes that had been delved into the high walls surrounding the open space. Nothing stirred in the silence, but the scout did not let his guard down.