The eagle batted its golden eye and looked accusingly at him, as if it was Parnard's fault that it was so cold, and he was so far from the Valley, and so tired from roaming all night searching for him.
His left hand wavered in the air in front of the sharp beak as his right hand crept forward to remove the small scroll tied to its leg.
"Confounded bird!" he cried out, as the eagle nipped at him again and again, and struck him full in the face with its wing.
"Is there a problem, Ambassador?" said Lilleduil. He grabbed and thrust the flapping bird at her without a word.
To Parnard's amazement, the eagle did not flail and screech, but seemed to want its head petted. Lilleduil crooned and soothed the bird until its neck feathers settled again, and it stopped hissing when he drew closer. He snatched up the message and retreated a safe distance from the bird’s talons.
“Lord Ambassador Parnard hmm hmm hmm,” he read aloud. Then he gasped, and stood in silence for a few seconds, then read it again. The message was clear. “What terrible news this is! Themodir lies dead in the Valley!” he cried in a loud voice.
Several Hammers’ heads turned to face him, their faces ashy pale and their grey eyes flashing.
Almost everyone began talking at once - not Annunghil, who was too shocked and confused to do much but stammer out, “How!” And Fingolrin was moving aimlessly back and forth.
“Oh, think of Manadhlaer!” said Yrill.
“Poor Manadhlaer! I must go to see her,” said Lilleduil, still petting the eagle. Parnard bowed his head. Of course! As if this news was not bad enough, there was his betrothed bride to consider.
It required a little longer for Ráolor to understand what was said. A deep, unsettled fire burned in his eyes as he leapt to his feet in sudden realization.
Turmagor hastened up, wondering the reason for their distress, and was immediately informed by his comrades. He drew in a deep breath, his face set in hard, grim lines.
Someone began to play a harp, probably with the idea of soothing the raw Hammer temper with music’s sweet sound. Invariably the opposite effect was achieved. Every now and again, someone would burst out with a sob and a harsh cry for vengeance against the goblins. Weapons clattered against shields. The music seemed to fan the flames into a conflagration, as Parnard told Sogadan later.
The Lord Ambassador folded his skinny arms across his skinny chest and listened to the wild talk. It required little imagination to see what it was they all wished to do. Ráolor wanted to leave at once, return to the caves, and kill the rest of the goblins. Do not leave so hastily, they told him. Our orders are to remain here, Turmagor said, and he talked of Rog of Gondolin long ago. Remember King Oropher, Parnard cautioned. Ráolor finally relented, and said he would wait to pay his debt to the goblins. He would not be able to pay them all, thought Parnard, but he said nothing.
After an hour, he wisely decided to let the fire die out of its own accord, and sneaked off to his tent. Only Ráolor was still talking about wreaking revenge as he closed his eyes. He had enough to think about; morning would come soon enough. With first light, he would be setting out from icy Vindurhal, and returning to the Valley with Lilleduil of the Warband. What would he say to Manadhlaer?
