[Envinyatar]

Mid-winter - the turn of the year/Lindon – SA 1695-1696

‘The seas are becoming too rough,’ said Alcarfalon, stamping his boots on the snowy quay. ‘Even for such a sea-worthy vessel as the Lintaramë. This will be the last voyage for my ship and crew until the Spring winds come.’

It was mid-winter; the northern lands cold with snow and ice. Alcarfalon’s ship had managed the passage from the northern reaches of Forlindon but barely. She had picked up the last of the Elven troops from a small port just across the northern sea from Himling. One hundred warriors – fifty spear wielders, twenty five bowmen, and twenty five with swords.

Many of them came from Elven families who had fought under the command of Maedhros before Beleriand was sunk beneath the waves. There was no love lost between them and Sauron. They had heard stories from their kin who had seen him and his foul creatures slay many of the Eldar to prepare the way for his Dark Master’s return. And now they knew he would do so again, but this time the Elven deaths would be for his benefit alone.

Elrond, himself, had come down to the dock to see these last troops disembark. He had thanked Alcarfalon for his help in getting them to Mithlond in a timely manner and had walked among them, greeting their captains as he went and once again expressing his appreciation for their coming. His aide had stayed behind once Elrond had gone and had taken the new captains and their troops to the snug wooden barracks that would be their winter quarters.

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It was Ondomirë who bought the first round for the table. The server had grown so used to seeing them there a number of days a week that he only nodded as the Elf raised his hand to call him over. He knew what it would be – a flagon of the deep red wine from Edhellond. Had the ship’s captain ordered, he would bring the golden ale; for the one named Hénsirë, the spear-captain, the ale dark as night. The server swallowed a laugh as he thought of the third Elf. Geldion, he recalled. He was the smart one of the bunch, in the server’s estimation. By the time the other three had ordered rounds for their fellows and all had partaken, their thirsts were slaked enough that Geldion need order no more.

‘First time I’ve seen Lord Elrond at the docks to meet the ship,’ said Hénsirë raising his glass to the others. He threw the comment casually out onto the table, his own feelings masked as he looked from man to Elves.

Alcarfalon shrugged it off for the most part. ‘Seemed a nice enough fellow,’ he offered. ‘I’m sure he must be quite busy and all . . . with the preparations for your . . . excursion.’ He took a sip of his wine and grinned at Ondomirë. ‘Good! For wine, that is.’

‘Yes, he’s busy, I suppose,’ said Hénsirë. ‘But I have to say we’re much busier than he right now,’ he went on, nodding toward Geldion and Ondomirë. ‘Wouldn’t you say so? What with organizing the troops under our command, their captains, the supplies they need, keeping their skills honed . . . it can be quite a large headache.’

‘Quite true,’ smiled Ondomirë in agreement. ‘It rivals, at time, the headache one gets from spending too much time at The Pin enjoying the fruits of the vine and the grain.’ He drained his glass and poured another. ‘I, for one, will be quite glad when the snows thaw and we set out for the eastern regions. How about you, my friend?’ he asked, topping off Geldion’s drink.