Continued from Manhandled, Folly and Fury, Sword and Stone
It was a snowstorm such as never seen in all that land for many years, though Parnard did not know this. He shivered by the fire and fixed his gaze upon Estarfin. The sleet was still falling, and grew ever thicker around his motionless feet, freezing his heavy boots solid to the stones. His coarse black hair was covered with snow crystals. It looked encrusted with fine, shimmering jewels, and reminded Parnard of the black tarn in the Greenwood that he had once looked into. Black within black were its mysterious waters, but in early winter, they were covered with a filmy layer of ice which hid the befoulment: woe to the unwary traveler who stepped upon it!
Black and frozen is this Noldo: his heart is black and his spirit icy-cold, just like that foul and treacherous tarn, Parnard thought. He drew out the flask of Miruvor, which Estarfin had given him, and took another sip, delighting in the tingling warmth it imparted throughout his body. He thought Estarfin would probably like some, but he did not offer him any: Parnard’s anger held him fast and would not permit it. Estarfin ought not to have given him such hard usage. If he wishes to stand in the freezing winds, away from the fire, that is his choice: I will not ask that brute to sit beside me, and risk being hoisted up in the air again for my invitation. He curled his legs underneath the tattered cloak, and made himself as comfortable as possible. He would bide his time, and in the meanwhile, enjoy watching the ice and snow fall thicker and thicker upon the Noldo’s head.
He was not sure how long he lay on the cold ground. At one point, he drifted off into a restless dream, and snapped awake with a start. The fire was still burning brightly; someone had stoked it recently, and had thrown a few more logs on top. Estarfin was still maintaining his lonely vigil. The Hammers had not returned. Parnard lazily wondered where Nirhen was. Frozen solid in a snowbank, perhaps. Well, those who launch forth on the oceans of this world know not what storms they will meet! He laughed wildly and hugged himself in joy, forgetting his broken arm in his gloating, and made a sharp gasp of pain.
Estarfin had been ignoring Parnard’s odd, screechy laughter, but quickly turned as he heard him cry out. Covering the distance between them in a few great strides, he dropped to one knee, laying his spear and shield on the stone floor hurriedly. “Let me see,” he said gruffly, trying to pull Parnard’s arm gently away from his body, so as not to injure him further.
“Touch me not, contentious Noldo!” yelled Parnard, greatly alarmed. The Noldo’s gigantic boot was resting on top of his sword, preventing him from drawing it forth!
“Hold still!” Estarfin said in a voice of strained patience as Parnard squirmed and tried to snatch his arm away. Estarfin’s face drew itself into a grim, tight mask, and the veiled fury in his steely grey eyes made Parnard shrink back. He pressed himself hard against the ground in frozen panic, unable to move. Estarfin examined the binding around Parnard’s arm and tightened the sling around his neck so that his arm lay snugly against his chest and would not move around so much. Satisfied that he had done no further harm, Estarfin stood up, looking down at the miserable injured Elf. Sighing and unclasping his thick fur cloak, he dropped it into Parnard's lap. Gesturing at his arm, Estarfin said, "This has been a harsh lesson for you. Ensure you only need to learn it once." Without another word Estarfin turned, picking up his weapons and strode back to the edge of the stairs, staring into the night.
Parnard clutched the cloak tightly, his thin frame shaking. Does he think this injury sought out by me? Is evil fortune not miserable enough, without making excuses for it? Perhaps all those who are innocently injured should be led to judgment first, and then receive treatment. He snorted, and threw the furry cloak over his head, not wishing to look any more at this Noldo.
