The healers of Rivendell were especially skillful. Wanderers to the Valley found their stock of knowledge indispensable, and Parnard was no exception. Spurge was very good at making the swelling in his ankle subside, and as far as the injury from the bear-trap went, the good result was permanent, although the plant’s sap did not agree with him, making him hiccup, and induced a distressing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Unfortunately, the healers could do nothing to help his wrists, which were rather weak and spindly, in accordance with the rest of his frame, as Salabdúr had pointed out to him, after he had inspected him from head to foot. Parnard was almost six feet tall, not very tall, for an elf, and weighed slightly over nine stone.
"It is evident that your weakness stems from the lack of nourishing food when you were young, as this is the time during which such mischief is done in this way, and a person is very fortunate if mistakes of this kind do not leave a permanent mark. The natural result is scrawny limbs, want of vigor, and general feebleness.
"Eat a mixed diet of wholesome food, and take regular exercise, slowly at first, because you are obviously unaccustomed to it. And,” the officious healer added, making private note of Parnard’s sour expression, “if possible, keep a cheerful tone of mind, which (as observed by my learned friend Forgamthan) helps digestion more than is imagined.”
Parnard’s meals at Rivendell consisted principally of broiled chops, the tender parts of wild boar, roasted venison, fish or fowl, eggs, fruits and vegetables of all sorts, puddings and custards, all variety of stews and soups, cheeses, butter spread thickly on bread, compotes, jams, jellies, pastries, pies, confectioneries, and sweetmeats, washed down with large glasses of red wine.
Salabdúr found the Wood-elf’s constitution a particularly interesting subject. He had never seen a case in which a generous appetite, rich food, and sedentary activity did not result in putting on weight. The healer concluded that it must not be the quantity of food eaten that is important, but the quantity that is digested. Then he had tried several good remedies for worms on Parnard, but nothing seemed to help, and finally, he determined that strength, appetite and digestion are generally proportioned to each other, but not always so, in certain people. He did not understand the reason for it, but he suspected some remote cause in Parnard’s past. “The weakness of some of our number is corrected by the superiority of others,” he concluded, and so it must be.
The outlook for Parnard was anything but hopeful, as the healers agreed that no one could discover anything to treat. No longer did Parnard seek further help; he was determined to make the most of life as best he could, and newfound duties required his attention. Long hours spent ensconced in his chambers working on the accounts and papers of the House had made his scrawny muscles even weaker. He knew it, and he did not like it.
He picked up a little silver bell and rang it. Sorontar, Chief Clerk to the Ambassador, appeared quickly before him, paper and quill ready, as he sat a short distance away. The bell was entirely unnecessary, but Parnard liked to hear it. It was a very pretty little sound.
“It may be only to keep my hand in use,” he said, “but it occurred to me, Sorontar, that I am obliged to use all diligence in keeping and securing our lordship’s goods, as if they were my own. Goods are not at all the worse for sitting, but the guards can become very weak and flabby in the meanwhile. And what good is a weak and flabby guard? No good at all!"
“No good at all!” echoed Sorontar. He was not Parnard’s favorite (and chieftest) clerk for nothing. He did his work quietly at his desk in the corner, and agreed with Parnard on everything.
“Exactly so. Upon this principle, it follows that all of us might be obliged, in case of attack, to guard more than treasures, but our very lives. And although we have guards, we cannot always look to others for our security: there may come a time when there are no guards.” He paused and looked up at his clerk. “Do you follow me, Sorontar?
The clerk’s eyes glazed over in concentration, then his expression cleared. “Certainly, sir!” he said vehemently.
“Well,” the Lord Ambassador said, looking a little embarrassed, “this position I have is an important one and our lordship must have folk that he can depend on, and I do not feel like I am doing Lord Anglachelm justice. I am sure you will agree with me.”
Sorontar’s jaws wobbled. The poor fellow was not certain if he should agree or not. But his hesitation passed unnoticed, because his master did not wait for a reply, and told him to take down a letter.
