The Ambassador inquired whether there would be any objection to his communicating with the prisoner. There was not. Mirdoron and Mallenhadh seemed to think nothing important would likely result, and that the skinny, mild-mannered elf seemed harmless. They waved him aside.
"I should prefer to speak to him alone, in more comfortable surroundings - perhaps the Hall of Fire? No? Well, have it your way, then." Parnard smiled affably.
Estarfin was a strong, large, powerfully built elf, lying on a cot dwarfed by his size. The room in which he, and the sword, had been pitched was much like his mood and soot-covered clothing. The contrast between the two elves could not be greater. Parnard glanced over at Estarfin. His was a face of stone, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep. Estarfin’s hands clenched tightly around the sword, blood squeezing out from between the fingers, and dripped down the red leather scabbard.
“Lord Estarfin?” he called out to him, cheerfully.
Estarfin raised his head at the familiar voice, and nodded a curt greeting to him. “I have made the sword, as Lord Veryacano asked,” he said. “But these others will not let me deliver it to him!” Estarfin added, frowning and looking with glittering eyes at his guards.
“Is that so?” replied Parnard, not sure of what to say, and turned back to the two observing wardens. “What is this all about?” he asked.
“He forced others out of the forges, and kept them from their work for five days,” they told him.
Oh, these elves are so intolerably industrious, thought Parnard, but he smiled at them in his mild-mannered, affable way, and said, “I am not a permanent resident of the Valley, and do not know you respectable folk. Let me introduce myself properly. I am Parnard, son of Teludar, of the Greenwood, now Ambassador of the House Vanimar.” He flashed the sapphire signet ring of Lord Anglachelm before their faces as proof, should they need it. “Is that how he has misbehaved? I see. Lord Estarfin is not the best at explaining himself, and he is often misunderstood by those who do not know him very well. He is a soldier and a craftsman, after all, not a conversationalist! I am surprised a proceeding as this should give you so much offence, and make so much noise as I perceive it has done. Some people,” he said, his face taking on a serious cast, “might be displeased at hearing of this treatment of the persons and property of the House of Vanimar. Is it your especial custom to restrain Lord Elrond’s guests thusly? But I suppose I need not say any more in defense of the circumstance, for it is not my place: that burden is laid squarely at your feet. How very sad it is that Lord Estarfin must be persecuted for performing the obligations of his Lord Veryacano’s commands, and fulfilling the duties of service! Are all loyal soldiers in this place treated so? To think how Lords Veryacano and Elrond will be very much shocked; and think it strange to detain a good soldier, and talented craftsman, charged with no crime, seemingly for the benefit of venting ill feelings -" Parnard shook his head, making little disgruntled murmuring sounds in his throat.
“He had no right to take over the forge!” Mirdoron repeated.
“No right at all!” agreed Mallenhadh.
“And do you have a right to hold Lord Estarfin here, against his will, for this perceived offence? Has Lord Elrond been notified? I have heard nothing on the matter, if you did. Why was the Ambassador not informed?”
The wardens shuffled and murmured amongst each other. It was their duty to enforce the law, not interpret it. Sensing their uncertainty, Parnard seized his chance.
“It is possible that certain minds may have been misgoverned by sudden resentment, and possibly by misreports of Lord Estarfin, which, I assure you, are nothing more than slanderous gossip: if so, second thoughts may put a stop to their abuse of him. But I think this may be an issue for Lord Anglachelm, and, as his most steadfast servant, I am obliged to tell him all the details of this grim circumstance, and how his property, and his follower, is kept by dubious methods. Lord Estarfin may have to remain here, for now, but I shall not go away empty-handed, for what would I tell my Lord Veryacano? If you will keep the sword, the cost you will pay out of your own pocket, right now. I regret that I cannot take your word on credit, not knowing you good people.” Parnard smiled cautiously, less affably this time, and receiving no response, gently pried the sword from Estarfin’s fingers. Bracing it against his thigh, he pulled the heavy blade from its scabbard, with a little grunt, and examined it closely. Parnard gasped. “What a beautiful thing, Lord Estarfin! Just look at those perfectly round bezels – I have never seen rounder - the craftsmanship is exquisite in every way – O!” he cried out, as if he cut himself with the keen edge. “Is that real mithril?” he screeched. “This must have cost a tremendous sum to fabricate! An exceedingly vast fortune - more money than I could ever imagine!” Parnard smiled again at the wardens, a thin and oily smile. “I hope you have very deep pockets, very deep.”
His last words to the elves as he carried away the sword were, “I wish the folk involved in this untoward incident will take some care to check their tempers, and use this opportunity to edify their ignorance of others a little better. If they are unreproved for their behavior, I shall be very much surprised.”
