It was the gloaming time, the time of half-light when day settled into night. A reddish hue colored the western horizon as the birds quieted, tucking beaks into wings to sleep while restive frogs began their nocturnal chorus of lusty croaking. The gloaming time was much beloved by the Elves, who awoke under starlight in Cuiviénen, and the starlight, the first light of Middle-Earth, has ever stirred deep emotions in the hearts of those that still lingered on its shores.
The irresistible gloaming hour brought Parnard the Wood-elf outside the bounds of the Noldor’s homestead of Númenstáya again. If Yrill or Filignil saw him ride out, and asked where he went, he would tell them he was “securing the perimeter.” He had picked up this phrase during his brief stint as a soldier of Mirkwood and liked it very much. The three words were official and orderly, ambitious and enterprising. He would use this excuse to great success, telling it to any who challenged him about stealing away from camp. Then he would find a quiet place below a break in the tree canopy where he could watch the stars shine in reverent silence.
Here in the Ered Luin, he would never ride very far, just outside the edges of Númenstáya to enjoy the seabreezes that blew far inland from the Gulf of Lune, and when the gloaming hour was complete, and his heart full, he would turn around, and ride back home again.
From his hiding place in the bush the corsair crouched, studying the lone figure on horseback that appeared on the crest of the hill above. In the fading light he saw a slender youth, dark of hair, a long dagger strapped to his belt, who watched the darkening sky. It was the High Lord himself! He hurriedly pulled a rope from his haversack, tying its ends to branches. Disguising his voice he yelled, “Help! I am drowning!” in his best Sindarin, and threw a rock into the nearby river with a splash.
Parnard whirled around and galloped towards the commotion, heading straight for the rope stretched across the narrow path leading to the river. Swan-Hoof spotting it reared back, startled. While her rider was not unhorsed, the man leaped up and grabbed the horse’s headstall.
“High Lord Parnard! I mean you no harm,” he said, as he struggled to control the horse. The Wood-elf righted himself on Swan-Hoof’s back, laying his hand on his dagger as the man pushed back his hood to reveal his face.
“Captain Naraal,” Parnard cried out in dismay.
“Commander now, if you please.”
“Commander? Commander of what?”
“Commander of the King’s Navy,” he answered. “But I am far from sea at present, and would have a word or two with you, as much to your benefit as mine. It is evident that I am alone. I have no desire to fight you or to harm anyone. Rather, I am here to ask after a debt owed: strictly business.”
“So, you have come a-calling for the mithril Danel promised.”
“I have.” He released his grip from the headstall.
Parnard slid off Swan-Hoof’s back so that he could stare Naraal dead in the eye. It was then that he realized he had not brought his sword and he had made a second grave mistake by dismounting from his horse, and ruining any height advantage he had over the man. Yet the corsair was relaxed, as if he had nothing to hide; his hands, instead of resting upon the hilts of his twin cutlasses, dangled limply at his sides. His gaze was unwavering, and a faint smirk played upon his lips as the Wood-elf appraised him. The corsair seemed to be speaking the truth. Naraal shifted his weight on one foot, slowly hooking his thumbs into his broad belt. “Does she ever mention me?” he said.
Parnard made a snort of contempt. “Do not concern yourself about Danel, covetous mortal. Are you feeling guilty for demanding two ingots of mithril for her stolen betrothal ring, as you should, villainous miscreant?”
“Hardly. I acted as guarantor in the deal, you know. And that is no way to talk to the person who helped you escape.”
This declaration of fact had the effect of a bucketful of cold water dashed into the elf’s face. Swiftly his thoughts travelled back to the stuffy house in Cardolan. The front door was left ajar. It never crossed his mind that Naraal simply allowed him to leave. Did he owe this man a debt for his freedom?
“I see that you recall my timely assistance. I like to help elves. Some might say it’s a bad habit of mine. I helped Danel, too. When she sashayed up to Dufus the Dwarf, bold as brass, and called out for Estarfin’s help, the lout mumbled back from the hole he fell into…” Unable to suppress his mirth, he broke off in laughter. “Where would you all be,” he sniggered, “if not for me?”
The Wood-elf gave him a disgusted, irritated look. “Why must you wander down this twisted lane of memory?”
“Because I want you to understand that I am not your enemy. I am not your friend, either, but I am not your enemy.”
“Though Danel regained her ring, she owes the dwarf a fortune in mithril for it. He stole my armour: we should call it a draw.”
“That was not a term of the bargain that was struck, surely you know that, High Lord? Does the Lady have the mithril ready? Because if she does not, she will have to owe me.” He grinned.
Understandably disliking the idea, and with the uncertainty of whether Danel even possessed the mithril weighing on him, Parnard hesitantly offered, “If she lacks it, what will you accept in trade?”
“Her favor - and to speak with her again.” Naraal raised a hand before he could protest. “Oh, I know; it is a hopeless request. She would rather have a clod for a husband, when she could have me.”
“Were you lurking in these woods, waiting to catch a glimpse of her?”
“When I want something, I get it. I caught you unawares, didn’t I? But I am not someone who takes a person against their will. What do you take me for, some common brigand?” Naraal made another lopsided grin. “You are to leave the mithril outside the gate, buried underneath the second rock on the left, and we will consider the matter complete. But it’s funny that you mention your armour…”
Parnard’s eyes brightened. “Yes? What about it?”
“The marvelous, well-crafted set? Light as a leaf, hard as granite? That armour?” Naraal chuckled. He enjoyed stringing along the elf: it was like holding a toy over a child, just out of reach.
“Was it squirreled away to the City of the Corsairs? Tell me.”
“I do not know exactly. But I will find out.”
“Why would you help me?”
“I told you why. I am not your enemy. I helped you before, didn’t I? But I can only do what I can do. If it has already been sold, it may be beyond my reach.”
“Find out what you can and I will tell such a tale to Danel that she will think of you with gratitude for helping me escape that wicked woman. No one knows how you assisted me, because I never said a word about it.”
“Are you joking? Would you speak well of me to Danel? I am not fool enough to think she will ever look upon me with favor.”
“She might,” Parnard said, adopting a coaxing smile which almost failed to hide his doubt, “as she has a kindly and generous spirit.”
Narral rubbed his jaw, remembering the hard slap Danel gave him when he dared lean in to steal a kiss. He remembered her silky red hair, how it seemed to glow like molten copper in the firelight. “Perhaps. If there is any good news about your armour, you’ll hear about it. As for other tidings, Zairaphel has not stopped thinking about you, High Lord. She resides now in Umbar Baharbêl, with many stalwart servants about her: do not even think to seek her out, or it will spell your doom.”
“She is far away, but not far enough for my liking. But your concern is misplaced. She cannot harm me.”
“I don’t know about that. She is elsewhere occupied, so her idea of reclaiming you is far from her thoughts - for the meanwhile.” The corsair sighed deeply. “No, she will never forget her pipe dream of owning an elven lord.”
Parnard drew back in repugnance, and after a short silence asked, “What about that other woman, the one with the big, black, jungle cat?”
“My sister Khahaynd, you mean. I know where she hides.”
“You said you would kill her. You said she would not get far. Did she elude you?”
“I told you that when I want something, I get it. My sister is weakened, having lost most of her skills when the Dark Lord’s favour departed. For him there are no second chances. When I find the time, I shall kill her at my leisure.”
“Men have strange hearts.”
“Strange? Maybe. You Elves seem to have your quirks, too. But enough talk. I will be as glad to see the end of this paltry matter of mithril as you.” He made a deep bow. “Until we meet again, High Lord Parnard.”
“Farewell, 'Commander' Naraal.”
Now it was the elf’s turn to spy upon the man and survey his progress across the vale. For a moment Parnard was tempted to follow and see where he went. How he makes the brushwood crackle! he thought. Next comes the nasty leap across the boulder to the opposite riverbank - surely he will not try it? But the long-legged man made it easily, with room to spare, then reached the summit of the hill and was out of view.
A barred iron fence, twelve feet high with sharp spikes along the top, is what they needed to fence in Númenstáya. He would explain to Estarfin why it was necessary. Then the Noldo would ask him why he did not kill Naraal outright, and why he was waylaid - again! and probably a hundred thousand other questions; and once it was learned that he forgot to equip his sword, the sword that Estarfin had crafted especially for him, he would think him a fool! Then Estarfin would rush to don his shield and spear and ride out hot-blooded, searching for the man, and likely get himself into all kinds of trouble.
No, Parnard decided, it would not do to mention the corsair’s visit to anyone but Danel, at least, not until his armour was found.
