Estarfin pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the dark room. He slammed it shut behind him, blocking out the light flowing from the candelabras in the hallway. He took a deep swig from the bottle that he carried in his gauntleted hand, hardly even tasting the fine wine that it contained. As he moved through the dark room his heavy boots sent trays and bottles skidding across the floor, the sound of breaking glass not slowing his advance. Estarfin reached the thick velvet curtain and pulled it open, allowing the bright starlight to illuminate the room. He rested his head gently against the glass, trying to marshal the thoughts that ran through his head. He pushed the window open, and took a deep breath of the sweet night air. He could hear the sounds of flowing water, and far off the sweet voices of the Elves singing praises to Varda Elentári. He looked up at the stars, and sank slowly to his knees. The tales that his father had once told him came back to him; tales that his father's grandfather had spoken in the peace of Aman, long before Estarfin had been born. He smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, imagining that he was newly awoken at Cuiviénen, washed clean of his past. The starlight upon his face, and the sounds of music and of water in his ears. He sighed, and murmured to himself "To Cuiviénen there is no returning."
He took another drink from the bottle that he carried as the flood of memories threatened to overwhelm him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, but visions of Menegroth, of the Havens of Sirion flashed through his mind. The fair, pale faces stained red by the light of the fires, the screams, the cries for mercy. Letting out a small groan of pain, he pulled himself back to his feet using the curtain. He drank deeply from the bottle, keeping it tipped until all of the wine was gone, hoping to block out the past. The empty bottle sagged in his hand as he tried to fight off the waves of melancholy that threatened to overwhelm him. Death, defeat, betrayal. All hope was lost for the world, the strength of the Noldor spent. Who know could stand against the darkness? Men? Anger flared in his heart as the cause of his grief came suddenly back into focus. Danel! That fool who would trust in Men. Estarfin shook his head in disgust, thinking of the way that she had greeted the stranger in the Hall of Fire. She was a Noldo, did she have no pride at all? What was it that she had said? Estarfin stood at the window trying to remember. That Caranthir himself had trusted in Men?
The empty bottle shattered against a wall as Estarfin threw it in a rage, remembering how Caranthir had been repaid for his trust in Men; the Late Comers, the betrayers and accursed. He remembered well the Nírnaeth Arnoediad: Elves, Dwarves and Men standing united against their blackest foe, hope within their hearts. Their dreams came to naught but ashes and ruin, the betrayal of Men the cause. How could he have anything but hatred for Men in his heart? Eyes on the heavens, Estarfin repeated to himself the Oath that he swore so long ago. He would never forgive Men, and his vengeance would follow them unto the worlds ending.
