I lie down and look at the rest of the company around me, and I felt each one being alone with their own thoughts. Lord Veryacano had told us to watch over the massive camp of dunlendings warriors while he considered Parnard's idea of sending his falcon down. Lord Tindir and his wife Himwen I had met in Hall of Fire in Rivendell, having rather pleasant conversations. I should say that Tindir has rather become more quiet after the incident of him being pierced by the arrows of the enemy, but at least Himwen was still ever cheerful.
The looks of Estarfin had told me that he disagreed with my idea to render the dunlending unconscious without a battle. I was thinking of a herbal mix which could somehow be made into smoke or steam outside the camp, so we could enter without making much noise. But perhaps the timing for it is not now. So far Parnard's idea felt more convenient.
And what about Parnard? He had ran off my sight on the way marching here, which made me slightly upset. Veryacano had spoken something about corpses, and he was running around aimlessly with Laurelindo by his side as well, making it once again a great challenge to secure his back. At least the people who I have previously protected had been much less unpredictable, and most of the time. I can protect my Lords, but I cannot protect them from their very own whims.
He has continuously called me as ”cracket-eating varlet”, and I did not even like those biscuits all that much. I only wanted his opinion on them when I did not yet know that they were horse treats, since he seems to have an interest for food such as I, and wanted to make him comfortable. What happened next was unfortunate indeed, and yet he seems to blame me and the biscuits for it. And for what? He almost acts like I did it on purpose, but I was not in a league with the orc who shot him with arrows nor would I use such chance to get rid of him. Even the thought of such makes me shudder.
And does he even remember that he ate the boar meat I gave him earlier when we entered Dunland, with a good appetite? And now he rejects my cheese and eats the charred meat on the camp, as if it was much greater delicacy. I have thought about a way to make him stop calling me as a varlet and to eat his words, but it requires a certain moment for me to carry out such a plan, and alas, it's won't be on this rocky hilltop.
I close my eyes, and in the rest my mind wanders to the eaves of Lórien. The place where I was still more surely known personally by many. The place where I'm at least known to hold much value in promises. At least Veryacano has shown some trust in me, and that's a comfort of some measure.
But whatever may be, I would not easily abandon any quest before it's necessary, even if I was called as a ”varlet” all the time.
