I returned to the Valley to find the Last Homely House almost the same as it was when I left it, with the trees around waving mournfully in the rising east wind, a promise of the end of my Lord Anglachelm. As I stood in the Hall of Fire gazing up at the gold-spangled drapes, soft melancholic music drifted on the air - the plaintive strains of Lord Veryacano’s lute. I could not stay; I feared I would lose mastery of myself, and begin weeping like a woman in front of my Lords, and that would be unseemly. I made a hasty bow and fled from the House to hide my grief. By the falls of the Bruinen I sat and stared at the water. Now the wind is changed, and we fly away again from the Valley like autumn leaves on a swift gale. The Lord Veryacano swore to return to the southern lands with a force strong enough to tear apart the very mountains searching for the lost Tûr of Bar-en-Vanimar. I was fain to hurry away with him while yet there was time – roused with a rage that thirsts for blood, for the loss of my lord pressed heavy upon my heart. I would have strangled all of the treacherous Men with my bare hands, if it would have availed aught in my lord’s behalf. But the echoes of Lord Veryacano’s fiery words have died in my ears, and now my heart bleeds for poor Lord Anglachelm.
At first, I thought Lord Veryacano was amiss not to pursue those cowards who stole away from the battlefield, and the foul fiend who bore away that which we hold so dear; but his soldiers were spent with toil and stress of fighting, and he had to carefully weigh the balance, and think of the safety of the whole. It was a difficult choice for the Hammer Lord. Yet failing pursuit, why did Lord Veryacano not send forth runners to seek for traces of the men, before the trail grew cold? Why did he not do this, and decide to return to the Valley at once, bearing our Lord’s personal effects? Parnard fingered Anglachelm’s signet ring thoughtfully, turning it around and around on his thin finger. Because Lord Veryacano knew such action was useless, he realized. The Lord Anglachelm has been taken to a place where they cannot follow: he is lost to us forever!
He covered his eyes with his hands, and lowering his head, let the bitter tears fall, and thought he was the most miserable of elves. Truly did I know what my Lord loves and praises. Truly did I spend spent night and day planning to do what my Lord commands. Truly...I did not have the honour and happiness of rendering my duty and service to him for very long. We will never find him! - and Lord Veryacano knows this, but he will not admit of it. He was the Tûr’s bodyguard, after all, and he failed in his duty to protect our Tûr. So instead, he rides not to search for Lord Anglachelm, but to seek vengeance.
Such is the depravity and corruption of Men, Parnard reflected, they who are naturally cruel and oppressive, and they hate us and taint us with their presence. It is they that are worthy to be hated of the world. We should not bear such affront, such treachery, without swift vengeance. Yet I will not recompense their evil. What good does it do to rail and meditate revenge upon the Dun-men? Our victory over that brutish folk will be unhappy and inglorious. We will destroy them, but more will pop up in their place, for Men breed like rabbits. One finds them everywhere, and they seem to have the secret of multiplying themselves in twelve places at once, to beggar the land with their presence. No, we will never see the end of revenge, for always will there be Men to trouble and plague us. Cutting them down will bring our swords little honour, nor will any butchery calm and sweeten raw tempers. I will not have Men poison my spirit any more then they have already. I am sick of Men and fruitless endeavours, and I need not study revenge upon the wicked ones, slaves to the Shadow, to honour my Lord's memory. Neither will it return him back to us.
Some of the House might say, so long as we strive against them, there are good hopes; I would say to them that hunting Men down is a sickness unto death, a task that wastes our power, and when a task is undertaken, it is expected to have some end or purpose. This task is not easy, and dangerous too, for by doing it, we squander our resources, and stretch our dwindling strength even further, by risking all to destroy a world full of wicked Men. And for what good end? Perhaps the House will run off many leagues, and then they may come to find some trace or rumour of Lord Anglachelm's passing, which will help them discover his fate. But I do not need to skim the surface of the world to know it!
I know this to be true, and wonder why the others do not see it as I do? If it will not help bring Lord Anglachelm back, and more of us are like to perish by it, then where is the good? The booming words of Lord Veryacano echoed through his mind and made him tremble. It ill becomes a soldier to grow faint at heart when dangers thicken, but I am not a soldier, nor ever was. Well, if I am reckoned a meek coward for seeing how things lie truly, and not wishing to speed headlong chasing after rabbits and shadows, so be it. I would rather be right than respected.
But telling himself this did not bring him any comfort.
