A Hard Task

Talkale set down his thick stack of papers upon the teak writing desk, thumbing through them absently as he thought about the events of the evening. The names of various abodes of the Enemy flicked briefly before him as he thought of Parnard, that most dislikeable Elf that the Lady Rainith insists upon keeping at her side like an ill-tempered and poorly-trained hound. Yet she had asked him to treat Parnard with more kindness, and what choice did he have but to obey? Talkale scoffed to himself at the idea, for he was alone in the library at this late hour. He took a sip of wine from the crystal goblet that he carried, and then set it upon the desk next to the stack of papers. Looking at the glass, he felt a stab of annoyance at Sogadan, the vintner of the Hall. Why had he insisted upon Talkale leaving a coin as a deposit for the glass? Had he not seen Parnard himself carry numerous glasses from the Hall before? Had Sogadan placed a levy upon those as well? Perhaps the vintner did not trust him, as he was but recently arrived in the Valley.

Talkale pushed such annoyances from his mind, and sat slowly in the high backed chair by the desk, turning the brass valve on the oil lamp up to throw a brighter light across the leather-covered top. He opened the small drawer under the desk, and pulled out a sheet of crisp writing paper, a small pot of dark green ink, a battered ravens-feather quill and a small red candle of sealing wax. Laying the items carefully upon the desk, he took a moment to compose himself, and then began to write in an elegant script.

Dear Lord Elrond,

I hate to trouble you with news of such little importance, but I cannot stand idly by and accept wrongdoing, however well-intentioned it may be. As much as it pains me to report one of my own House, it appears as though I have been left with few other options. I have to lodge two complaints against my kinsman, Master Parnard, formerly of Mirkwood, now of the House Vanimar.

Parnard first earned my ire with his ill-treatment of delicate and precious documents from your own library. A list of the damaged tomes has been lodged with Forgamthan of course, and Lady Rainith has assured me that our most benevolent House will pay for any repairs that are required. As I am not petty by nature, I acquiesced to the Lady Rainith's request to allow the matter to be resolved quietly, without having to involve you.

The second incident that I have to report is of a much more alarming nature however, and it cannot be overlooked again, despite the Lady Rainith's protestations. This very evening, Parnard has broken the rules of your House, and has openly worn a blade within the Hall of Fire. When I confronted him about this, he did not appear contrite, but merely let forth a hail of nonsense to excuse himself. Such is to be expected from Parnard, especially when he is in such close proximity to strong drink it would seem. I am afraid to say that once again, the Lady Rainith made excuses for his behaviour, and would not take the blade from Parnard. Whilst I have nothing but respect for the Caun of my House, and the Lady of my own Order, I feel that I would be failing in my duty to you if I did not report this.

I would ask that you be lenient to Parnard however, if only for the Lady Rainith's sake. There is closeness between them, or at least there was at one time. Therefore please show clemency for his transgressions. Perhaps a short period of banishment, as opposed to exile from the Valley. Also, please look kindly upon the Lady Rainith in these matters. I judge her heart to be in the right place, and she shows wisdom in all that she does, save with her dealings with this ne'er-do-well.

Your Servant,

Talkale
House Vanimar
Order of the Pillar

Talkale looked over the letter, nodding slightly as he read it through. He waited for a few moments for the ink to dry, and then folded the sheet of paper into thirds. Opening the glass window of the oil lamp, he lifted the red candle and held it in the smoky flame for a few moments. Taking it and holding it over the letter, he let the candle burn and few drops of wax fall upon the paper. Then he blew out the candle, and pressed a ring into the wax before it dried, leaving the mark of a stylised ship upon a compass. Talkale opened the draw, and placed his writing supplies back inside, before standing and placing the letter in a pocket of his robe. He turned to walk from the library, but then stopped sharply and turned back. He turned the oil lamp down to its lowest setting, picked up the sheaf of papers, and the nearly-empty wine glass. Humming a faint tune to himself, he walked from the library with a light heart.