It was still late in winter. Far off, on the horizon, a veil of mist hung over the marshes of the Greyflood. Here and there, a beam of sunlight shone through a rift in the leaden clouds, and gleamed pale and cold on the distant tiled roofs of Herne, with its neat gardens walled in by stacked stones running like grey ribbons across the fields of Cardolan. A few diminutive sheep wandered about and the soft lowing of cattle was heard.
At the crossroads just north of the village the elves saw the Captain of Celondim waiting for them. He signaled to Parnard to come forward. As he approached with slow, hesitant steps, looking disheveled and a little worn, wearing a long shirt of mail that was several sizes too large, he waved. He seemed hale enough, and uninjured.
What Culufinnel was dreading to see was a new look in his eyes, but seeing it not as he came closer was profoundly relieved, and after greeting him said, “I would like to keep this simple, for time is swiftly passing. I need you to tell me everything that happened.”
Parnard thought for a few moments, and replied, “There is little I can tell that you do not know already.”
He saw how Culufinnel frowned at hearing his answer, so lowering his voice so that it would not be overheard by Estarfin said, “I will have you know that several of the enemy became besotted with Danel, love-sick, you know, which just goes to show how perilous it is to keep company with Men, especially when the wine gets in them.”
“You speak only of the men. What about the women?"
“Ugh! They were like two horrible rotten peas in a pod. One of them tried to get her claws in me with sweet talk, but I shook off that lioness, and stuck her with a knife.” Parnard flung his hair back and stood tall and proud. “Then I burst my bonds and escaped! No man, nor woman, can hold the High Lord for very long!”
“Why must you persist in calling yourself by that made-up title? It has brought you nothing but ill fortune. You should take a lesson from this experience and ask yourself if it is worth the cost. Now focus those brains of yours, Parnard! Did you hear of their plans, what lay in store in Umbar? It could be valuable information.”
“Er - no,” he replied, making a sheepish smile. “I suppose I should have paid closer attention. Now that you mention it, you have got me wondering. Whatever did they want from me, I would like to know!”
Culufinnel gazed at his brother with a look of amazement. Could it be that he had no idea of the twisted purpose the Sorceresses planned? Parnard was artless as a child, and his words were without guile of any sort; if he ever married, which seemed doubtful, then he might have an inkling of what was wanted. “Never mind that,” he brusquely told him, feeling a sudden reluctance to explain the sordid details of the Umbarrim's thwarted plan to instill the longevity of the Elves into their bloodline, and frowned even harder. Then Parnard, believing his brother had become very annoyed with his inadequate report, said in a high-pitched voice with which he sometimes spoke when rattled,
“I forget what I was saying to you just now, so I shall begin anew. Danel and I were waylaid, grievously assaulted and taken captive, and all our possessions were taken. It was the last thing in the world that I expected; I know nothing about these Men or their evil purposes, only that they were a clamouring multitude that dwindled because of their incessant brawling, but what else can one expect from a band of robbers and cutthroats? It seems quite a commonplace circumstance that Men kill one another, and we should not make too much of a fuss about it, but let them do as they will - as long as they stay far, far away from our lands, and not cause any real trouble.”
“What nonsense! Parnard, do you really mean to tell me that you do not consider this latest adventure of yours ‘real trouble’?”
“Why, of course I do! I could tear myself into little bits, I feel so enraged. Adventures are not very profitable, are they? However, it consoles me to think that the outcome could have been much, much worse, if not for you, and Estarfin, and Yrill - wait! Where are you going?”
Culufinnel led him to his horse, Cloud-born, where he stopped and unbuckled the bundle that he had carried from the burning house in Angmar. When he unrolled the sword from its leather wrapping Parnard crept closer, breathing rapidly, the morning light soft on his eager face.
“Steel-Thorn!” he cried.
His brother held the sword out to him, but before he released it from his grip, sternly admonished him, “This is the second time you have lost it. See to it that there is no third. ‘Once a mistake, twice an error, thrice is nowhere to count.’”
Parnard hung his head, abashed, but his silence was only momentary, for as soon as Steel-Thorn was back in his hand, he whisked the sword from its engraved scabbard to delight in its bright blade, and crowed out, “There are not many Steel-Thorns in the world! Would that there were, would that there were!”
“There is only one Parnard, and thank the stars for that.” And his brother shook his head, but what for, he did not know himself, unless it was for effect. He cleared his throat. “Here our paths split, for I must hasten back to Celondim. Soon I shall call upon you, to see that you are staying out of trouble, ‘real’ or otherwise,” and making his good-byes to the other elves left, perfectly satisfied with the result of his mission.
