The elves rode out from their halls, heading east, for Parnard had told them of a place that would be ideal for their feast, a fair green place, remote, far away from the eyes of prying mortals, Men and Halflings alike. Their progress was slow, as the victuals were transported by pony cart. By the time they arrived at the feasting site, it was much later than Parnard would have liked, but the important thing was that all the baskets, parcels, and barrels were unbroken and intact, he told himself.
He led them south from the road, down a grassy slope, to the edge of a clear lake ringed with willow trees. Reeds waved in the cool night air, and the air was heady with the scent of many flowers. Parnard immediately began fashioning a wreath of willow twigs and leaves which he placed on his head. This first, and very important task complete, he turned his attention back to the pony cart.
“Let me help you, Filignil,” said Parnard to the dour cook, who was at that moment unloading it, and began rummaging through the contents of a large wicker basket.
“The roast chicken is in this basket,” said Filignil, holding it up. Parnard took it from her hands and set it down on a rug that Danel had spread out on the ground to serve as their tablecloth. Loaves of fine white bread, creamy soft cheese, and pork pies were also laid out. “Put the wine barrel on the grass,” Filignil instructed him. Instead, Parnard sat on the rug, tearing off a leg of chicken, and immediately started eating.
“Tell us more about your people’s festival, Parnard,” said Danel, settling her skirts about her as she sat.
“Oh, there is not that much to it. First we gather. Then we eat and drink. Then we do whatever we feel like doing!” He leaned back, as if to demonstrate that at that moment, he felt like lolling on the grass with a half-eaten chicken leg clutched in his hand.
“Singing? I do not have the best singing voice,” she said. “But if any other wishes - please go ahead.”
“If you wish to sing, do it! One thing we all must do, and that is make merry. For now, eat and drink, my friends, and enjoy the Midsummer stars…” As he was talking, and eating, Filignil heaved the barrel out of the cart and rolled it over to them.
“Dorwinion Red,” she told them. “I had it sent by my sister in Imladris.”
The wine barrel was tapped and gushed its ruby red contents into waiting cups. It is well known that Dorwinion Red is the richest, clearest, most delicious, and most intoxicating wine from the broad vineyards south of the Halls of Felgoth in Northern Mirkwood.
Filignil raised her cup first. “To Midsummer and new friends,” she said.
“And old friends,” added Danel.
“To Midsummer and new friends, and old friends, and the long evenings of star watching,” added Parnard. He turned to Estarfin. “It is a custom of my people to make toasts that build on all the toasts said. They can get very, very long, and as the night stretches out, harder and harder to remember!” Parnard smiled, merriment in his eyes and laughter in his heart. Of course there was no such silly custom, but the three Noldor did not know this.
“I can imagine,” said Danel.
Estarfin thought for a few moments, then said, “To the stars.”
Well! thought Parnard, so much for that jest. “To the stars!” he said. It was a good enough toast anyway.
Danel held her cup aloft. “Aye, to the stars,” she said.
The elves drank deeply. “It seems like real Dorwinion,” said Parnard, feeling merrier already. “That rascally Sogadan, one must be on his guard, unless he knows you well.” He laughed and began spearing food onto his eating knife. “We have no venison here, but venison can get awfully dull, day in and day out, not like chicken! Chicken is always a rare delight.”
Estarfin, who so far had been mostly silent that evening, cleared his throat and said, all of a sudden, “It seems strange to have such a merry feast with no music, perhaps we were spoiled in Imladris with so many fine tales and songs?”
This cast a little cloud upon Parnard’s soaring spirits. “Well - that is true, friend Estarfin; I was just thinking that myself.”
“I know a song that may be suitable, though I am no singer.”
“Then say it, do not sing it,” Parnard said, adjusting his leafy crown as it had slipped over one eye. Estarfin looked at him a moment, then cleared his throat again, and began singing.
When the world was young and fair
And the stars were bright and clear
There here was a land of wonder and of joy,
Wherein the elves did dwell.
It was the land of Beleriand
The realm of song and story
Where the trees and flowers grew in grace
And the rivers ran in glory.
There they faced the dark and evil
The shadow of the north
They fought with valour and with faith
And they proved their noble worth.
There they suffered loss and sorrow
And they wept for many a year
They saw their friends and kin fall
And they shed their blood and tear.
But they never lost their hope and joy
And they never ceased to love
They held onto their starry dreams
And they looked for help above.
They sang their songs of hope and joy
And they praised the stars on high
They remembered their ancient home
And they longed to see the sky.
They are the children of the stars
The heirs of Beleriand
They are the light of Middle Earth
The hope of every land.
The song over, Estarfin looked somewhat embarrassed and took a draught of wine.
Parnard sat back in surprise. He had never heard Estarfin sing before. “A fine song, a fine song,” he cried out, clapping his hands in delight.
Danel placed her hand on Estarfin’s for a moment. “A beautiful song,” she told him, looking sad.
“I heard it in Imladris, although the singer was far greater than I. Beleriand was a fine land once,” said Estarfin.
“I miss it so,” murmured Filgnil.
Parnard looked at the mists turning pink over the lake. Was it already dawn! He frowned slightly. “I do not recall any gloominess at our Midsummer feasts,” he said, refilling his cup with more wine.
“Those were very good days in Beleriand - but we cannot live only in memory,” said Danel.
“Indeed, no,” agreed Estarfin. “But I wish you could have seen it, Parnard.”
“I wish I could have, too!” The wood-elf nodded his head with such force that his wreath of green leaves slipped over his eye again. He swallowed down more wine. “I think this wine tastes better than this one,” he said, looking at the two cups of Dorwinion Red in front of him. “Or is this one better than that one? Let me taste them again. More wine, Danel?” To his surprise, she suddenly caught him in a quick embrace.
“Nay, not for me, my friend,” she said. She drew out a small pouch from a pocket in her dress. “Here is something made from treasures brought out of long lost Beleriand. I have not been idle every evening, you know.” She handed the pouch to Parnard.
He opened it up and on his palm fell a pendant set in silver in a leaf-shaped design. The upper half of the leaf was peridot, the lower portion darker green beryl, a gem much esteemed by elves. He held it up to the light, admiring its sheen and luster.
“Please accept it. I made it for you.”
“But - why?”
“Why? Are you not a good friend and loyal companion? It will shine brighter under the stars than under the Sun. I bore in mind your folk love the stars as much as any.”
Parnard put the necklace on with a look of extreme satisfaction. “I thank you, Danel, for the excellently crafted jewel. It is too fine a gift,” he said, bowing his head.
Danel shook her head, then took out a small parcel carefully wrapped from another pocket, and presented it to Filignil. She looked up at her mistress, open mouthed, then tore it open to reveal a brooch. It was engraved with the 8-pointed Feänorian star and a small hawk.
“Is that your heraldry, Filignil?”
“Am I not the bird lady of the Feänorians?” she said, her stern face flushed with pleasure.
“You certainly make the best roast chicken of any of us,” said Danel.
“It is almost the best roast chicken I have ever had,” Parnard said. His remark went entirely unnoticed by Filignil, as she was so enthralled with her present, which was well for him.
“And for you, Estarfin,” said Danel, handing him another paper-wrapped parcel.
Estarfin nodded thanks and unwrapped it carefully. It held a ring, set with a fiery red ruby.
“A ring,” said Danel. “Like, and yet unlike the one lost in the Hithaeglir. Yet I fashioned it to be like the one our Prince gave his Captains. You should have been given such a ring by Caranthir, but forces conspired against it.”
“Our Prince was free to do as he would - but I thank you for this,” said Estarfin, smiling. “It reminds me a little of my father’s.”
“Indeed, your father, and mine, wore such rings. This will not focus your mood, but then I deem you are no longer in need of such dweomer. And the stone - it is from the ring I wore until we left Imladris. It belonged to Caranthir.”
Estarfin looked up sharply. “Indeed?”
“When I trained as a jewelsmith in Thargelion he wore this stone in a circlet. The ruby - it was crafted by Caranthir, for himself.”
“I would remind you that Caranthir held you in high esteem. As do I.” She blushed a little, noticing how pleased Estarfin seemed with his gift.
“I will seek to take better care of this than the last gift that you gave me,” said Estarfin, bowing his head in thanks.
“What is the ring made of,” said Parnard.
“Gold and mithril. As Estarfin treasures his supply of Formenos iron - I treasure what mithril I have left.”
The elves marveled to hear this. “A gift for a prince, indeed! That is rare enough these days,” they said.
Parnard whispered to Filignil asking who Caranthir was. She told him he was the brother of her Prince. So many Princes, thought Parnard, there seemed to be no end to them, or to Captains. “We are fortunate indeed to have your favor and friendship, Danel," he said. "Everything is excellent! I think the pork turned out very well, very well, Filignil. We have food enough for days. But alas! We have no music and no dancing…” he sighed wistfully and grew thoughtful.
“We should find a minstrel for the next feast,” suggested Estarfin.
“I do not know any minstrels,” said Parnard, slowly rising to his feet. He wanted to dance, and so he would, music or no music, alone if he must! He closed his eyes, imagining the strains of a lute; it was not difficult after drinking so much Dorwinion. His feet began tracing steps on the grass. Lightly he moved, turning this way and that, and then Danel was dancing with him. “Estarfin must dance too, but not with me, ha! ha! ha!”
She paused, holding a hesitating hand out to Estarfin. He arose and began to dance.
Parnard laughed again and winked at Filginel, and glided away with his cup to lean against the barrel of Dorwinion Red, where he remained for the rest of the morning, withstanding considerable quantities of that substance, his heart full and happy, and perfectly satisfied, until he fell asleep on the grass.
