Danel was braiding her hair, singing a song about Thargelion of old, when a banging of pots and slamming of cabinets came from downstairs.
"Cook? Parnard? Is that one of you?" Danel called out. No sooner were the words out of her mouth when she heard a clatter of pans falling on the floor. She swiftly made her way to the kitchen. Parnard was standing by the kitchen table, hands and shirt stained red. Every cabinet door was open with pots and pans strewn across the counters and floor. Dishes, knives, and towels were scattered all over.
"You are working bright and early, my friend," said Danel.
"I must ere the meat spoils," said Parnard, hurriedly sopping up blood from the counter with a rag.
"I can cook, Parnard, but mostly after the fashion of my own folk. This is all a new experience for me: I shall observe."
Parnard took up a pitcher of cold water and poured it into a bowl. "Be careful where you step. Do not sully your dress."
"Is there anything I can aid you with....though I do not wish to interfere?"
"No, Lady, no…though I thank you."
Danel nodded, then suddenly burst into song again, this time singing about sharp knives and swords.
"That reminds me of a cooking song!" said Parnard, after she finished.
"Is it one about knives?"
"It starts out with a knife. Would you like to hear it?"
"Of course…would you teach it to me perhaps? My songs are mostly about crushing allies of Morgoth."
"The songs of the Greenwood are a little different than that," Parnard said, not quite understanding who she was referencing, but pleased to oblige. He began to sing,
Take a knife and make it sharp
Cut up all reserve the heart
It is a tough old bit of meat
Best pickled for at least a week
Covered in a wooden tub
Then roasted with a spicy rub
Wash the rest in water cold
Then drain into a strainer bowl
Slice and cut and mince so fine
Soak it in a salty brine
Hold on just now!
You're not done yet!
There is something more you cannot forget!
Think hard on it
What are we missing?
A elven special spicy dressing!
Leaves of sage and savory
Parsley dried and rosemary
Honey oil red vinegar
Mixed into a large clay jar
Pepper black and salt snow white
Lend to it a zesty bite
Do not use a heavy hand
Or not enough or it be bland
It must sit a least a week
To instill the flavors deep
"And that is only the first part of it! It is very long, and just one of many songs we sing about cooking meat," said Parnard.
The sounds of the wood-elf’s song pleased Danel but yet she sighed. Singing about parsley and rosemary rather than breaking bones and smashing skulls is a tender pleasure. "It is a merry song," she told him. "My songs are all quite different. Marching songs, I suppose they are."
"Marching songs? I know a few of those."
"We can sing those later, when I bring in what weaponry we have here."
Parnard brushed hair out of his eyes before turning his attention back to the task at hand. "I need a large bowl or tub. Where is the cook?"
"You have not seen her yet? I asked her to be here early to give you assistance."
At that moment the door opened and into the room walked a tall elf lady with mousy brown hair pulled back in a severe bun. Over her shoulders hung two large wicker baskets filled with parcels and sacks. Cold steel gray eyes scanned the kitchen. Pots and pans were scattered across the floor. Blood dripped from the counters and spattered the walls. Standing beside her mistress was a skinny elf with a vacant expression on his face holding a large mortar and pestle.
"Ah, there you are, Filignil," said Danel. "Have you met Parnard yet?"
Filignil frowned as she heard the name. "No, I have not, Lady."
"I am Parnard. Parnard of the Greenwood," he said. "Are you certain we have not met? You seem so familiar to me but I cannot place your face." Putting the pestle down, he wiped his hands on his shirt.
"Filignil of Lindon, also cook in this place," she said, looking unimpressed as she eyed the state of her kitchen.
"Well met!" he said with a light laugh.
Ignoring Parnard, she turned to Danel. "Lady, what woudst thou have me attend next? I have prepared herbs for the meal but also cleaning materials for this Estarfin." She emphasized the name with more than a hint of distaste.
Danel raised an eyebrow. "Filignil, though you are much valued and loved in this house, you will speak of Estarfin with more respect."
"I know about him. My noble sister worked as a housekeeper for him, back in Imladris," Filignil said.
"Estarfin had a housekeeper? I cannot believe that!" interjected Parnard. Estarfin’s rooms in Rivendell were a shambles: furniture lay broken in pieces; piles of weapons were heaped up on the torn carpets; holes were smashed into the walls; and everything inside was covered in a thick layer of plaster dust. There was not even a safe place to put one’s feet to floor. It was a wonder that the roof had not caved in.
"Lady, I know thou art most fond of him but he will trash thy house and, at any excuse, he will tear up thy furnishings and put his sword through my books and whatnots. He was terrible," said Filgnil, the corners of her mouth twisting down in a bitter frown.
"I know he can..."trash" the place but he does not make a habit of it," Danel told her.
"Only when he has been carousing," Parnard chimed in, thinking of the feasts the Hammers used to have that would usually end in blows and broken furniture. He shook his head, as if in pleasant reminiscing, and smiled to himself.
"See what I mean!" said Filignil, throwing her hands up in the air. She addressed Parnard next: "So you were with him in Imladris. I thought I recognised the name."
"I will have you know I am Estarfin’s good friend! I know I have seen your face before - in the Hall of Fire, perchance?" Parnard rubbed his chin, thinking hard and smearing blood across his face as he tried to recollect where he met such a sour, cold, and disagreeable maiden.
"Hall of Fire!" Filignil snorted out the name. "What would I do in such a place? ‘Tis my sister’s domain. I am of Lindon. And before that, I was a respected servant of Prince Celegorm." Filignil frowned even deeper and tightened her lips together as if she were sucking on a bitter lemon.
"Well, what is that to Estarfin! Or to me!" declared Parnard. Then Danel told him that she came highly recommended, and Prince Celegorm was very particular with how his game was prepared because he killed most of it himself.
"And my sister wrote to me that she had an even worse employer than that messy and uncombed lout Estarfin: Parnard of the whiny voice!" said Filignil.
"Parnard of the - what!" cried out Parnard, his voice rising a little higher than he liked.
"‘Lout!’" exclaimed Danel. "Filignil, you tread on very thin ice. I will dismiss you if I hear aught from your lips again."
"That Losshell! My old housekeeper at Imladris: that is who you look like!" said Parnard, finally recognizing the family resemblance.
Filignil walked over to stand in front of Parnard and drew herself up to her full height. She was at least half a head taller. "‘That Losshell’ is my noble sister."
Parnard’s thoughts flitted back quickly to the uncanny strength of Losshell’s rug-beating arm. "Oh. She made very good currant cake," he murmured, looking up at Filignil, a bit overawed.
Filignil nodded at Danel. "I shall speak no further of the tangled-hair one, save you could do better, Lady." She looked back at Parnard and balled her hands up in fists. "Who makes a good currant cake?" she demanded to know.
"Why, your sister," said Parnard, blinking rapidly. Was it rude of him to say that? She seemed to be drawing herself up like a snake, ready to strike.
"If I get a hint that you have insulted Lord Estarfin, you will be dismissed from here, servant of Celegorm or no. Our prince would have respect from all…well not Thingol, nor the sons of Finarfin, but everyone else," Danel told her.
"I will follow your instructions, Lady, because of who you are, but be warned, you take a risk here with these two."
"I will have you know something else, Filignil!" burst out Parnard.
Filignil turned swiftly back to him, cold grey eyes flashing. "Yes?" she snapped.
"I - I need a large wooden tub," said Parnard in a faint voice. "Do you know where I can find one?"
Danel whispered in his ear, "I apologise for her behaviour, Parnard. If she is out of order with you or Estarfin, please tell me."
"If she is out of order, Estarfin will let her know!" said Parnard, loud enough for Filignil to hear it. This observation rallied him enough so that he added, "I, however, do not hit ladies," and made a contemptuous toss of his hair, knocking it back into his eyes.
"I am trained in sword and bow, and that to the highest level," Filignil informed him. "From what I heard, Estarfin is -" Filignil saw Danel’s eyes flash a sudden warning. "I will say no more. Now dost thou wish me to clean or cook?" she asked.
"If you besmirch his honour anymore, I will take up the sword myself. I am most deeply disappointed, Filignil," said Danel. “I understand you are repeating things your sister has written to you? Now you will cease this disparaging of those I care for: is that understood?”
Filignil looked at Parnard like she was sucking on lemons again but nodded once. He shook his head in amazement. What an unpromising start! If they were to harmonize he must try a new tactic. “I am certain that once you are used to us, Filignil, we shall all be quite happy,” he said. A little buttering up of the lemon sauce is just what was needed.
Filignil glanced suspiciously at him. “We shall see.”
“Oh now, now! Do not scowl like that. I shall clean up after myself here. I can be pretty handy, you know," said Parnard with a grin.
"And I shall clean the room for Lord Estarfin myself," Danel told her. "If he takes to carousing, he will have me to answer to. Now to work?"
"Yes, to work. We all have our work to do, let us get to it. The sooner we get to it, the sooner it is done," said Parnard, and forced out a merry whistle.
But Filignil did not get to work right away, much to Parnard’s dismay, choosing instead to loom over him and ask if the food had all been to his liking so far.
"Oh yes, Filignil. That roast chicken was some of the best I have ever had! Are we eating roast chicken tonight?"
Filignil looked unmoved by the compliment but said, "We can have roast chicken if thou wishes for it. And a junket with berries and a hot spice sauce." Then she informed Parnard and Danel that she had been growing some small red peppers from rare seeds that were brought from eastern lands. "‘Tis like eating flames," she said. "Not all can cope with such heat. It is what true Noldor eat."
"I have heard tales of these ruby red fire fruits," said Parnard, his curiosity piqued. "Perhaps we shall eat some at our Midsummer’s feast!"
"I will make the sauce extra hot for Estarfin."
"If this is what you Noldor eat, do it! He is a fiery one, so he must eat extra hot fire. Ha ha!" laughed Parnard. Filignil almost smiled at that, he could swear it. Then he noticed Danel giving him one of her warning glances. A little abashed, he went back to grinding spices. "Well I shall not pepper up this spice mix too hot; that is not how we eat it in the Greenwood," he sniffed.
"I shall leave the cleaning materials here, so thou dost not have to search," said Filignil. "Summon me if I can be of aid."
“Why, Filignil! You are just as practical as your sister, if not more so,” Parnard commented, glad to hear that she was leaving the kitchen.
In response Filignil screwed up her face as hard as she could at him and pursed her lips together so tightly that Parnard drew back a step. "I think she likes me," he said with a nervous laugh as soon as she was out of earshot.
"Do not tell Estarfin about this. Tangle-head and Whiny-voice!" Danel said, shaking her head. "She was trying to insult you both to my face. She thinks to spare me bad company when nothing can be further from the truth."
"Whiny voice! Do I really have a whiny voice?"
"Nay, Parnard, no more than Estarfin has untidy hair," she said.
"But Estarfin’s hair is often mussed," remarked Parnard.
Realizing too late what a bad comparison she made, Danel excused herself quickly to clean the great room in preparation for Estarfin.
