Dolthafaer

Dearest Gwanûr,

The news you sent in your letter greatly surprised me! I would not have left so far from home, indeed, if I knew that I could obtain a position as a courier so close to home. Who learned of it, you or Ada? Whoever it was, I am extremely grateful and I will hurry back west to begin. I think it will take me some time still for me to pack all my things and return.

Luthelian stood, considering the items upon her bed: rope, extra clothes, a leather satchel containing a needle and some thread, and a water skin. These, she had pulled out from the corners of her room or bought at the market. She had never been on a longer journey before; her only experience was scouting, a couple days at most, with her father upon the Moors.

Lord Anglachelm,

Pray forgive me for not seeking you out in person, but a personal matter of great urgency demands my immediate departure from the Valley and from my post as Arrow Lord.  It is my hope that this errand will be brief and my return swift, but should that not be the case, I leave the Order of the Arrow in your capable hands to command as you see fit. 

Dolthafaer was elbows-deep in the Arrow’s monthly expense reports, trying in vain to sort through them and hoping desperately for any reason to put it off for another day.  He was no bookkeeper; he simply did not have the patience for it.  He wondered if it would be rude of him to ask Parnard if there were any idle Pillars about who were in need of some busywork.

This is written on two sheets of neatly folded parchment, sealed with a drop of brown wax imprinted with the head of an arrow on it. The handwriting is neat and precise, not in the slightest ornamental, though in some places it loses its crisp shape as if the writer's hand was fatigued. On the outside of the parchment is written the name of Lord Dolthafaer, to whom it is addressed.

To Lord Dolthafaer of the Order of the Arrow, Bar-en-Vanimar

The copper-haired elf took the silver arrowhead and held it up to the light of the forge, inspecting it with a keen eye. 

“How many?”

“Twenty.”

The smith’s lips twitched into a smirk.

“You lose twice as many in a single day, Dolthafaer.”

The Lord of the Arrow chuckled under his breath and dropped a small pouch of coins onto the table strewn with scattered notes, tools, and metal shavings. Sometimes he wondered how the foreman could find anything amidst this mess.

Dolthafaer was not sure how long he had been sitting on the porch, carving sticks into arrow shafts.  There was a neat stack of them at his side, and he was surrounded by (and covered in) wood shavings.  It was an easy task – repetitive, calming.  He was so absorbed in the work that he did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps.