[Anguirel]

“Every reasonable man is afraid when he goes to war. But going to war with these people... I don’t know which I would fear more, the enemy or these people around me,” Fastarr had concluded decisively.

Lachrandir allowed the words to hang in the air forsome moments, but it was quite obvious that he intended to reply to them. His brows had creased and his eyes were filled with a deep fire; the very stamp of disapproval lay on his face.

"Master Fastarr," he said at last, "there are some Elves at the court from which I come who would take your words as proof of all the weakness of Men; that we should never have accepted your tribes into our lands; that you are a feckless race given to squabbling amongst yourselves.

"I do not myself believe such ill of your kind," Lachrandir continued with a wry smile, "and I remember that the Elves, too, have had their bitter feuds and divisions. But such arguments are still the material Morgoth's agents love to use."

The Elven envoy looked Fastarr squarely and determinedly in the eye. "Your peoples must unite, whatever misgivings, or else become vassals of Orcs. These are difficult times, and no one can be allowed the luxury of infighting. As I speak older and worse quarrels than yours with the Ulfings are being dealt with; the Sons of Feanor have even sent a messenger to Doriath. Men must likewise muster and fight together."

The Elf shrugged. "If you would still rather hurry North, I am sure it can be arranged. But truth be told, I think you Borrim would be of great help here. I have seen the rifts between the sons of Ulfang, and the muster may be slow work; I would be gratified, as would my lord, if you stayed to help arrange it."