The two elves went on, weaving in and out among the trees, Parnard running along and Danel following behind, being slower of pace. Across streams and open glades he led her, until they reached a clearing fringed by beeches, trees beloved by elves, for the trunks were tall, smooth, and straight, and glimmered silver under moonlight. “This is a fair place - and there are no Men here, either," observed Parnard, stopping suddenly.
Danel furrowed her brow and looked at him. “Estarfin has already slain all of them, I fear. What think you?”
“I think we must be wary. That halfling said there were not that many Men travelling through this land. Any we find could be journeying to the fortress, and if we kill them, they will surely be missed by their comrades, who will be put on the alert, and then we lose any advantage of surprise.”
“Hmm. My heart tells me there is more to this than simple robbers. Men do not usually band together unless there is something greater than petty thievery to be gained by it,” said Danel.
"Acquiring gold occupies much of their thought. Some bandit lord, perhaps, leads them united in villainy?"
“Maybe so," replied Danel. "Or such a one who can control them, through greed or fear.”
"And if we do encounter any Men, how will we know their purpose?”
Danel merely shrugged and said, “Let us continue to look."
The elves moved noiselessly through the moonlit beechwood glade. Grey wolves, a common nuisance to the travellers in the region, were howling nearby. A faint path led between two large stones, crossed many times by paw prints. Surely no one had passed this way for a very long time? Hurrying ahead, Parnard followed the winding track into a dry gully and pointed at a body lying near the edge of the path.
“Well spotted, my friend! How helpful of the wolves,” said Danel, coming up to look. “Thankfully there is not much damage to the clothing, save that trouser leg torn off."
Parnard made a cry of disgust as he turned the half-devoured corpse over and hurriedly began to strip clothing off as fast as he could manage while holding one hand over his nose.
“He is - was - almost as tall as one of us,” Danel said, stooping down to help him. The evil task finished, Parnard scrambled away a short distance to gulp in fresh air. “We must look for others. Here, drink a little to refresh yourself.”
Parnard took the wineskin and stared at her. “Others!”
“Yes. We must find longer breeches and a shirt for Estarfin that will not tear apart on his shoulders.”
“We are not raiding a wardrobe. Finding this was a lucky chance,” Parnard said, motioning at the corpse.
“Then let us see if our luck holds and we can find another."
Danel’s voice had that familiar edge to it. “Very well!" said Parnard in grim resignation, and handed back the wineskin. The track sloped into a shadowy ravine. He crept closer, whispering over his shoulder, "The wolves are snarling. They are afraid now, but will become over-bold and attack us if we edge closer to their den.” Instantly he leaped forward into the dark and Danel heard a fierce growling mingled with wild yelps of pain, then silence. She ran down in time to see Parnard wiping his bloodied sword on the fur of a large grey wolf. Several more dead wolves lay twitching and bleeding around his feet.
"You are so swift! We might call you Parnard, Wolf's Bane."
"I hope not.” There was a pile of gnawed bones nearby, and a little further away lay a shapeless mass. As he gazed upon it he realised what it was.
“I have no love for Men, but this one met a grisly end. He was not very tall, was he?” Danel said, moving closer and softly nudging the shape with her boot. “Is that a cloak?”
“Yes, and it might just reach Estarfin’s knees. A few holes do not matter," Parnard said, gingerly pulling it free. He took up a stick and began poking in the bone pile, finding a broken clay pipe, the sole of a shoe, some frayed hempen rope, several rusty bits of metal, a tarnished brass ring, and, buried underneath the leaf mould, a layer of tattered, flattened fabric. He prodded at it, saying darkly, “Some of this might do, if it is nightfall, and raining, and the men’s eyesight is bad, and our luck continues to hold."
“We must rinse everything clean in the river," Danel said.
Parnard's expression was dubious but he picked up the rags without complaint. When he reached the top of the ravine, it occurred to him that he should say a few words before quitting the dreadful place. Turning around, he made a propitiating gesture with his hand, and said, “We thank those that died here. May your spirits never wander aimlessly and haunt the streams, scaring the fish away; may you leave straight away, if you have not departed already, and go wherever it is that Men go when they die. We have taken vengeance upon the wolves, and, in turn, we take your cast-off clothes as payment.” He leaned close to Danel and murmured in her ear, "Despite the dead no longer having any need for clothing, it is still a fair trade, I think.”
“May the dead find more peace and light than they did in life,” she added.
They passed through the woods to the river's edge, and breaking the silence, Danel said, “I do think your reflexes are getting much sharper than they used to be."
“It is probably true for I have not drunk that much wine today!” Parnard sang out.
Danel smiled and began dunking and swirling the scavenged clothes in the water. “You are swift as a deer, but all your people must be from dwelling in perilous Mirkwood."
"I told you that I can foot it featly," Parnard said as he shook dirt from a filthy tunic. Why did she seem so surprised?
Indeed, his fleetness of foot was noted by his commanding officers when he was a young recruit of the Mirkwood army, and a few of the wiser captains had him serve as a message runner rather than in the skirmish lines. The officers would sometimes huddle together to discuss his training progress. One such conversation went thusly:
If we took bow training away from Private Parnard, would there be a problem?
Of course there would be a problem! Bow training is fundamental to our teaching and discipline - and the weapon itself, why, I do not need to tell you its importance.The bow is something he must learn. It is far more important than the long knife.
If we took the bow away from him, though, and we said, we are just going to let the training happen when he hits the battle -
Bad idea, sir, bad idea!
And why is it a bad idea? I want to hear what the others have to say.
This is what I heard: around the firing range at Echad Liniath they dug a trench to crouch out of harm’s way when he practised. I admit that I was a little - well, stunned to learn that something as basic as bow-firing exercises could prove so injurious.
Ha! You would not say that if you had seen him try to shoot today!
I am not surprised in the slightest. I was stationed at Golenost when he arrived, and let me tell you, from what I witnessed there, I have great concern with regard to his warrior spirit.
It is not enough?
Nay, on the contrary, it is too much! He becomes carried away in mind and runs hither and yon, despite orders, heedless of all peril, subjecting himself or others to accidents.
And so it happened that Parnard never learned how to effectively wield a bow, nor did he remain long in any fortress, garrison, or camp before being transferred again. After he left Mirkwood, there were many times during his lonely roams across Wilderland when it was necessary to run as fast as he could, away from the snapping fangs and clashing claws of fell beasts; while he may not have been a skillful archer, his feet never failed him.
"We must be swift," he explained to Danel. "Too many of our folk have fallen to the Enemy. Oftimes a direct attack is not the best strategy."
The lightly-armoured Mirkwood elves avoided open confrontation whenever possible, preferring to ambush or shoot from the trees with their bows. Wielding a bow demands poise, timing, and judgement, which can be in short supply on a chaotic battlefield. They do not count it shameful to withdraw from battle when outnumbered, rather than dying to no purpose as so many Wood-elves did during the War of the Last Alliance: King Oropher's terrible, terrible blunder at the end of the Second Age was never forgotten. However, the Mirkwood Elves do not call it a 'blunder' but an error of strategy. Some even say that Oropher disdained to follow the High King of the Noldor because he knew that the Mirkwood soldiers were ill-prepared for a pitched battle, and bravely chose to strike first; had the Noldor moved faster to protect his vanguard, King Oropher would not have perished, along with two-thirds of his army.
Throughout the Watchful Peace of the Third Age the Mirkwood Elves continued their routines of drill and line formation, realising that if they did not, and open war broke out anew, they risked surrendering their field command to other elves, outsiders, who had long mastered the art of warfare, which included the use of broadswords and heavy armour.
“I am sorry, Parnard. I - we - often speak as if we Noldor were the only ones who ever fought in battle,” Danel replied, wringing the scavenged cloak with difficulty.
“It is plain that you will ne'er become a renowned laundress. Your hands are too dainty and soft. Instead you must be my washing post - and a very comely post you are! Ha ha! Now hold this end tight.” Parnard twisted the cloak, letting it double up upon itself and draw him close to Danel. “It is something like a reel dance.”
“My thanks,” she said with a chuckle. “I look forward to donning a silk dress again and dancing at Midsummer.”
“Does Estarfin dance?"
“I do not know.”
“Then you must make him. And if he will not dance with you, he must content himself with watching us,” Parnard said, his eyes gleaming brighter.
She looked at him fondly. “Come, now. We must finish quickly and return before sunrise." As soon as their clothes-rinsing labours were complete, they hastened back to Estarfin, and after showing him what they had found, the three elves readied themselves to enact their plan of deception.
