Solstice Drabbles by Idrils Scribe

The war-staff’s knob was a sculpture. Whorls of coloured glass twisted around themselves inside, electric blue, bright green and magenta. The bludgeon appeared to thrum with arcane power beneath Caranthir’s hands as he set the fascinating thing down on the gold-inlaid surface of Azaghâl’s desk.

“A special weapon indeed. I sense it has power.”

“Aye. It inspires hope.” The King of Belegost took pride in his craftsmen’s achievements.

“I would have liked to see you wield it, friend. A pity we shall not take the field together.”

Azaghâl smiled. “Ulfang and his folk have need of Elvish guidance. We Dwarves know how battles are waged.”

This room was old, breathtakingly old.

Elrond cast a concerned eye on the sun spannings its arc from afternoon to starless midnight across the summer skies of Tol Himling. He need not fear darkness on this midsummer night, but the temperature would drop precipitously nonetheless. He was wary of whatever unknown creatures now called home the subterranean labyrinth that remained of Maedhros’ great keep.

His lonely expedition was highly perilous, but he needed to be sure. As of last winter Elrond no longer had a brother. He needed to know whether he might still have a father, somewhere down there.

Chapter End Notes

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