Continued from Manhandled, Folly and Fury, Sword and Stone, Black Ice, Deep Thoughts, The Speech, Expectations, An Unprofitable Servant
With each new bottle of Dorwinion Red opened, Parnard would grab Sogadan’s hand and wring it heartily, and tell him how much he missed him, and his delicious wine. After the third bottle, he informed the vintner that he was a "sweet soul," and a "dear heart," who would always have his utmost respect and esteem, and he was so very tremendously, exceedingly glad that he had returned to Imladris, that he would not be leaving it for a very long while. When the fourth bottle was drained to the dregs, Parnard grabbed the wine-merchant’s hand, and giving it a firm squeeze, suddenly announced that he would remain in the Hall of Fire beside his side, “Fer alway an’ evermore, bes’ fren’,” he drawled, breathing moist, winey fumes in poor Sogadan’s face.
The fires died down; it grew very late, and most everyone else had departed. A warden stepped forward, and placing a hand upon his good arm, kindly asked Parnard if he needed help finding the door again, or guidance to his room. The skinny elf shook him off in peevish intoxication, and railed incoherently about "being touched," (this meant more than he realized!) before staggering towards the exit, looking very much like a sailor walking across a deck of a ship during a tempest, though he had never been on a boat, and therefore had no ‘sea legs.’ But he only crashed into one pillar in the courtyard this time, and throwing open the doors of the Last Homely House, Parnard took a deep breath, straightened his clothing, screwed up his face in determination, and boldly flinging a foot over the marble threshold set out for his destination, which was a few paces away.
His place underneath the porch was dry and dark, but most importantly, it was close, and Parnard would not have to navigate the bridges and winding roads to the guest houses, and risk getting lost on the way, always an embarrassment for him (and an ongoing jest among the wardens), or worse, plunging headlong into the loud-flowing Bruinen. Parnard crawled through the jasmine and clematis, and snuggled cozily down into his leafy bed, his jumbled, wine-sodden thoughts promptly plummeting into the murky pool of his dreams.
Earlier in the day he met with Rainith, newly-appointed Caun of the House of Vanimar. She was surprised to see him, pleasantly, he thought. She noticed his injured arm, and so he had to explain what happened. He told of his rescue in the mountains by Lord Veryacano, and his impressions of the grave Hammer-Lord:
“He has power, strength and honor. He has control over people, and is a ruler of the most powerful in these lands,” Parnard told her, looking nervously over his shoulder. He could not believe it when Rainith laughed! Laughed!
She should not laugh, he warned her. Lord Veryacano can reveal deeply hidden things. He knows what is in the dark; his bright eyes reveal secrets and overturn stones in the shadows. They can read hearts and minds - they read his, and did not like what was written there; it made him wroth.
“My words displeased him and now I am reviled," he cried. "All of his men hold me in contempt: I endured much ridicule and abuse from those proud folk, and kept silent, even when one tried to kill me in his unbridled rage. I have been crushed by the Hammers! How miserable I am!”
Rainith seemed skeptical, and Parnard did not think she believed him at all when he told her of the menacing warrior Estarfin: how he threatened him, and picked him up by his collar, as a whirlwind might pick up a hut made of sticks, and cast it down on some mountain or valley.
“I live inside that flimsy hut,” Parnard told her, waving his arm around excitedly in the air. “Were the foundation sound, I might rely on the permanence of the building, though rains descend, the floods come, and the winds blow and beat on that house. But because this house is a poor one, only made of mud and sticks, it is easily dashed to pieces and broken! But alas!” he wailed. “I have no tools to make it stronger.”
“You should think things over a bit more, and see if they really were as you remember,” Rainith advised, and peering closer at him, asked if the healer had looked at his broken arm, and might have given him strong pain medicine. This made Parnard angry, but his rash indignation dissolved in a sea of gratitude when she graciously offered to help him. She gave him an exquisite little Quenya primer, but cautioned that the ancient tongue was mightily difficult to learn; she could not teach Parnard, for it was beyond her understanding and attention, and she had only mastered basic words.
“I will learn it. I can learn many things,” Parnard replied, speaking more and more rapidly. “No matter now difficult they may be! I will also learn the art of war, and read of the great battles of the Eldar days, and discover where the Enemy is now, and find out what supply lines are available, and then I will seek the best route to get to Lórien from Imladris -”
“We already know all of this,” Rainith interrupted. She advised him to seek out the Master Condir, a scholar of tactics who resided in the valley. As she was telling Parnard where to find this elf, to his sheer amazement, the Lord Anglachelm strode up, looking resplendent in his rich blue and white mail. He fixed his gaze on Parnard with a very strange expression, and though this look might have made others uneasy and uncomfortable, Parnard was absolutely delighted to see the noble lord of his household again. His heart leapt with jubilation, and as if on eagle's wings, soared high above the narrow reaches of his troubled thought when his lord invited him to share a glass of wine in the Hall of Fire.
