Character: Amal-Estel & OCs
Source: ‘...where the stars are starnge’
Disclaimer: Another bit of Tolkien’s world.
They’d travelled for many months; now his eyes appreciated the desert’s subtle shades: pale dawn golds, harsh ochre’s of high-sun, rich sepia sunsets. But what Amal-Estel loved most was the vast night skies, huge, endless with stars; so many times he had lain abed gazing up in awe, letting himself drift to sleep within their distant music.
Now they returned north, and the wheeling patterns recalled those his brothers had taught him. He’d found what he sought, and, reluctantly, his and the slave-warrior’s fighting prowess had been hired for southern gold; enough to weigh his pack... and free the slave.
Flickering yellow fires lit the camp; muted chatter surrounded them, Amal-Estel understood it well enough now. His guide busied over cooking-pans, while he sliced fresh meat. His knife’s amber hilt caught the fire-light, gleaming golden-yellow. The meat-trader paused, squatted beside him.
“Good knife, northern, very old...?”
“How much?” enquired the guide.
“I give good prices...”
The trader rose, offended.
Estel’s guide sighed, bowed low, “Excuse us, sir. Family piece... sentimental value...”
Mollified, he left.
“Still, you’ll get us killed!” she muttered.
As Estel slept, she hid Bombadil’s knife-hilt beneath yellow leather plaiting.