It was not a game, Raolor told him.
Folly, that is what it is.
Parnard looked up from his papers and stared out the window, half-expecting to see the fierce Noldo tripping on a loose stone, a strip of cloth around his eyes, his hands groping as he sought his way through the Valley paths as he fulfilled his latest "challenge."
Dolthafaer told him of Raolor's archery challenge in the mountains, and Parnard later learned of the duel with Lord Veryacano during one of his Order's feasts.
And now Raolor has issued another. Why? What was the reason for it?
"A grudge he holds against me," Undomion said, yet he would speak no more of it. Better this than a duel to the death. Unsurprisingly, he said he would respect the terms of the challenge. Parnard yawned. He believed Undomion had the easier task: sitting on a bench for a week in the Hall of Fire listening to the fire. It could be worse. It could be cold, lonely. Why, Undomion could toast some bread and cheese if he got hungry. Maybe he could even make some soup for everyone to eat! Sitting and listening and eating was not difficult - just as long as he was not bored to death. Perhaps the fire would start talking to him.
Parnard laughed to himself.
Undomion said he would keep this strange vigil, and then Raolor disappeared from the Hall, most likely to find a blindfold. He would wear it night and day for a week, and not use any guide nor help.
Both said they would respect the challenge.
It ought to end with something practical, thought Parnard, since it was not a game, but a very serious matter indeed, at least to these two. Is this how they spent their time? Parnard shuffled through another stack of papers before dragging his quill over them and signing at the bottom. There! Good record-keeping, now that was an excellent means of boredom that he was glad to put aside.
Smirking Undomion, may weary boredom be with you and envelop you on your hard chair.
Dark-eyed Raolor, issuer of challenges, may you not fall into the river and have your pride, or your life, swept away.
Norliriel seemed rather worried about that happening. She worried too much lately in his opinion; her mood had greatly changed since Themodir's death. It was one of the worst evils from the ill-fated expedition to the Hithaeglir, and she suffered from guilt and worry for both Manadhlaer and Lord Anglachelm. She was crying again the other day and he hardly knew what to say to her. If she is to be free of guilt of the past, he thought, she must look ahead. Winter was quickly approaching and they had much to prepare.
