The door swung upon and Parnard strode into the room. He was dressed more formally this day, in flowing robes dyed a blue so deep that it was almost black, wearing a delicate silver diadem that glinted on his brow.
“What might be the date?” he asked, pushing aside a stack of papers.
The returned wanderer looked out of the window. Having arrived to the Valley only that morning, he was conscious of his appearance, rough and weather-stained. His feet hurt, his muscles were fatigued from the long ride, and as he noted the comfortable furniture and wood-fire crackling in friendly fashion on the hearth, he could not help but answer the question with irritation.
“Ah, yes: the fifth week of the third month, the showery dismal melancholy month. The month of returnings and of departings,” drawled Parnard carelessly.
Culufinnel suspected that he was being baited, and watched silently as the Lord Ambassador took up his embroidery hoop and plied needle and thread with the skilful freedom of an expert. On the fabric cavorted strange animals with huge eyes under a canopy of leaves outlined in golden thread.
“I while away time with such occupations,” he announced to no one in particular as he fastidiously knotted a tiny loop of thread on a long silver needle. Fixing his gaze on Culufinnel’s face, his voice took on a low waspish growl.
“Your purpose was to delve the nature of Belethoriel’s errand, in which design you were strictly instructed. And though you did accept this task, the last communication you sent was a brief message of little relevance, instead of telling me of your journey, and using the opportunity for sharing serious and insightful information. Did you not think it within your interest to inform the Lord Ambassador of your doings?” Not waiting for an answer, Parnard continued, “These Noldor, who by their courage endeavor to defend their lands, and bring home those who have fallen under the yoke of the Enemy, have once more proven their worth. Accordingly, these others have met with a much better reception, and given assurances that they may be confided in, and given great responsibilities within the House. It is well for you that Belethoriel was successful in his mission!
I have heard my friend Laurelindo say that you caused a disturbance, and you were nothing but trouble, and – in short, sir, you were yourself. What shall be done now? I had hoped to offer you a command, but now I see that you are not fit to have command of a parcel of hogs. Yet if I had it in my power, I would see the matter dropped, as Laurelindo desires, though he told me that he wrote a letter to Lord Anglachelm of your conduct, wishing to lay everything out before him, as is right and proper.
Now, I am not well-versed in meting out punishments, and it is not my place to add up all your misdeeds and assign a value to them, but it seems to me that the total is a tremendous sum! I do not know what our lordship will do, and it may be that Lord Anglachelm never received Laurelindo’s letter: such messages are often lost, if not forgotten entirely. It may be that nothing will be done. I assure you, it will afford me the greatest displeasure to hear testimony to the chaotic and unstable manner in which you have managed the duties placed under your charge, and, if you are called to answer for them, I hope that your report to our Lordship will triumphantly vindicate you (as it should) from the complaints which have been preferred against you. That you have acquired a bad name by your conduct is certain, but never fear, our lordship is just and generous-minded, and punishment will only be resorted to only when it is absolutely necessary. It may be that you are commanded to remain within the Valley, but do not think this will render your duties light and negligible! I might remind you, brother, how I did not rest safe within the fortress of Thangúlhad, but threw myself into the breach, and when the smoke of battle receded, and we were again free from the accursed presence of the orcs, I turned my attention to the care of those brave elves who shed their blood in our defence, who, maimed and broken, were born to the doors of the Healer.”
Culufinnel paused in the action of running his fingers through his dusty, uncombed hair and stared at him incredulously.
Ignoring the look, Parnard continued, “I do not recount these things to brag; I would wish for you to know them, in case you might have forgotten: there are folk in the household, who know of them, and therefore know me better than you, and trust my word over yours! So you must understand that if you are found guilty, and if others of the House wish to see you punished severely, then I shall have no choice but to stand aside –“
“I shall take my chances,” spat Culufinnel.
“Very well,” said Parnard, looking surprised and a little less dignified at the vehement response. “There is nothing more to be said; you must therefore accept your fate, if you appear before our lordship in the judgment-seat, to the contemplation of which I shall dismiss you.” And he gave him a look which bid him leave the room; but Culufinnel stood his ground, folding his arms, and keeping his eyes fixed on his brother.
“If that be your law, I have nothing to say against it,” he snarled, before stalking out of the room and slamming the door so hard that a large anthology of literary theory fell off its shelf and landed with an echoing thud on the polished floor.
Parnard focused his attention back to his embroidery, upon the spot of light where the rays of the sun would touch the trees into flame, thinking that if his brother had just a little more common sense, if he were just a little more intelligent, if he were a little less prideful and not so ready to take offense, if he were only a little more genial-minded, in a word, just a little more sane, then he would not have slipped into such grave errors, and Parnard would not have had to withdraw his patronage.
