Arriving at his chambers, Parnard found Estarfin sitting in his usual place, a deep arm-chair, staring at the fire. The room was fitted up in a style of elegant splendour, containing many fine pictures and a gilt bird cage, empty of any occupant. Parnard had come home one day to find his twittering songbird dead, and he had not the heart to get another, nor could he bring himself to remove the golden cage. The room was now devoid of the stacks of books and maps: Losshell had, on the wise recommendation of Danel, taken them away for 'preservation' as she put it.
He greeted Estarfin cheerfully, and then pulled up a chair to the table.
"I have just come from market. Many were carrying loads in willow baskets, covered with cloth. Fish and whatnot. Very backbreaking work it seemed to me, but very strong were the bearers, and they did neither groan nor complain, which was, of course, very admirable.
Now have a bite to eat of something! Here is tender meat, and there are some small chickens under that dish - I have never seen such tiny little chickens! Losshell told me that while they may be small, they are tasty. Here is red pickle, and braised fennel, and - well, I am not sure what that is in brown sauce, but it smells wonderful! Will you not eat?" Parnard did not wait for a reply, heaping food on his plate, and began to eat with his usual gusto, every now and again pausing from shoveling forkfuls of food in his mouth to glance sharply at his houseguest.
"Ah, this wine is good! Very excellent. Estarfin, why do you still sit there? Come let us drink a cup together." He snapped a leg off the roasted quail and tore a greasy sliver of flesh with his teeth. Thinking Estarfin would be coaxed, if he would see how much he was enjoying his dinner, Parnard began to make murmuring sounds of delight, and exclaimed there was nothing better in the world than sharing a delicious meal with a friend, if the friend would please come to table. "Meal-times are times for sharing," he hinted.
Estarfin looked up from the fire. "At times perhaps, but I would be poor company tonight. My mind is on other things. Other places, other times, other people. There are many places to visit in a long memory." He smiled softly and turned back to watch the crackling flames.
Parnard gave up and took solace in his wine cup. Estarfin likes to have some quiet time to himself. Or perhaps he was tired, and had temporarily lost his enthusiasm for food and drink. Maybe. Parnard leaned back in his chair, his bright eyes half closed, and pondered the situation.
Verily have you inspired me with courage, Estarfin, and how I wish to go forward in the way of duty, knowing that any trouble would be handled with confidence. But now you are changed and the fires are dimmed. I remember when you would become inflamed with rage, and swear, and wildly rave at me - nothing would extinguish the fires in your heart but the blood of your enemies! How many and various your enemies, through the hatred of the Enemy and the corruption of Men. You could not kill them all.
They say that ‘tribulation worketh patience,’ and the fruit of patience is hope. Hope is the solace of a troubled heart.
But not everyone can suffer that which he would wish removed. And while it is considered noble to endure and forebear, despite ills and the blackest of sorrows, this proud, silent hardihood is not patience.
Not everyone is patient, Parnard reminded himself. Some folk murmur, fret, fear, despair, and even die, rather than be patient. And they frown upon others who do not do as they do. He shook his head, twirling the stem of his wineglass, a guilty look in his eyes.
But it is not right to only be gladful and rejoice in times of prosperity and happiness! If we only wait for these times, we may be waiting very long, and we will not have any joy to carry us through the midst of our troubles. And our lives would be full of moaning and complaining, toothgnashing, hair pulling, unworthy and faithless deeds. I think it a very bad way to live. Surely no evil can befall us in the Valley, and certainly there is no shadow in my dwelling?
