By the time Alcarinquë the Glorious* had ascended to the zenith of the velvet-indigo sky, its steady, cream-colored radiance burning like a beacon, piercing the dense web of stars that the Elves named the Burning Bridge**, Parnard glided up to the manor house. Through the windowpane he saw Filignil sitting in the kitchen alone, at work polishing several silver candlesticks with a rag dipped in a mixture of vinegar and wood ash.
“The perimeter is secured,” he announced, breezing inside with a grand, sweeping wave of his hand. “There is naught to report except the weeds have grown prodigiously high on the side of the road, and the dust has settled upon them so as it appears that the road has been recently traveled, although it has not, at least from what I can tell; and the rains have eaten away at the side where it narrows, so that a waggon might tumble over into the ditch if the driver is not careful. I have seen such a thing happen before, once, long ago, in the Greenwood.”
Filignil looked up, and without ceasing for a moment her polishing, said, “That is well, Lord Parnard. Folk here are mostly busy this eve.”
He caught sight of Danel descending the stairs, her cheeks radiant with a joyous glow, her long shining red hair pinned up and secured with two shell hair combs, one lock loose and curling over her fair shoulder like a coiled fox’s tail. “Yes,” she said, an odd little smile on her lips. “We have some plans afoot.”
“Plans? What sort of plans?” He smoothed his dark hair back, it being wind-blown from his ride around Númenstáya.
“Cooking, of course,” replied Filignil. “I sent Marawendi out to collect eggs. She is excited about the party.”
“But did we not decide to have any more parties, until Midsummer?” There had been a great deal of discussion amongst the elves regarding how to keep the household costs down, else there would not be enough coin to keep them living in the manner they were accustomed, and all of the elves (except Parnard) thought it best to reduce the amount of wine served during meal-times. A good deal of wine was necessary to float his cork-like temperament above the heavy currents of the serious dinnertime conversations of the Noldor.
“‘Tis not just any party,” said Danel, “but the wedding-feast. Midsummer is but a week away, you know.”
Parnard brightened. The high feast day was approaching sooner than he realized, yet the nagging concern of Danel’s unfinished wedding dress hung in the back of his mind. There was so much embroidery work left to do on it, and he had lost track of time, that he worried it would not be ready.
“All is well, but we have matters to speak of,” she said.
Filignil took her mistress’ hint. “I will make myself scarce. Lots to do. But I will be about, if wanted.” Bowing to Danel, she hastened away with the candlesticks tucked underneath her arms.
“She was in a rush when she caught sight of me, Cousin,” Danel said as she threaded her arm through his. They stepped outside and strolled a short distance down the side path that led towards the garden, treading lightly around the ferns and primroses.
Before he could ask what concerned her, Danel said, “Parnard, all is…better than it was. Well, I should first tell you that I spoke with Estarfin last night, and he understands.”
“Oh? That is good news.”
“We hurt him. He admitted that it did.”
He looked up from the thick clump of vibrant green shamrocks he had been admiring. “What?”
“He said, ‘All I ask of you is honesty'. But Estarfin saw that I suffered too. And he is relieved we understand each other better.”
The Wood-elf stood in nonplussed silence, his gaze unfocused while he processed this information, and coming up short, nodded feebly, and silently hoped that the Nolde would expound upon what she meant, and at the same time not say what he feared. He decided against asking any more questions or saying anything at all, and was as still as a bird sensing an approaching storm.
“Cousin, I think you should speak with him also. He said he understands why you want your armour. I told him we would never deliberately hurt him in any way. He was angry because we did not trust him enough to tell him about Naraal.” She smiled, paying no heed to the blood draining from her companion’s face, and continued, “He would rather slay the man than allow him to live, even if it meant losing any hope of ever regaining your armour again, in truth. But in the end, he said we were probably right, and now that he knows, he will help where he can.”
She went and dropped the spice jar right in Estarfin’s lap! Parnard gritted his teeth in frustration, before blurting out in a high-pitched voice, “Of course we’re probably right! But there is help, Cousin, and then there is help! What one thinks is helpful - well!” he cried out, and mixing up his proverbs said, “You know what they say about paving roads with gravy -”
Danel burst into laughter. She was far too busy floating on a cloud to notice his perturbation. What’s a little teeth grinding to the Noldor, who endure more than the long, bitter ages of exile and the weight of a thousand sorrowful songs?
“ - they become very, very slippery!”
“Yes, we both know what he can be like. But, you see, he understood when I told him it would be like slaying someone who knew where a Silmaril was kept.”
“Why would you ever want to do that?” Aggressive jewelry, that’s what those things were: fiery globes, too artful for the place, that could burn your hands just for touching, dangerous and deadly for some. That is what comes from bottling up the starlight.
“We would not - but Estarfin might.” Her friend looked more confused than ever, so she explained, “If it was a man, and one who was involved in harming us -”
“As long as Estarfin is not angry with me, that is the important thing.”
“I am sorry, Cousin, but I cannot keep secrets from him. Although he was angry with me to start with…but he listened. There is no need to worry. He is far better now.’
So the dark warrior's volatile temper had cooled, perhaps. He thought of the shrine of Tintallë by the river’s mouth, beside the bridge the dawn’s light gleamed on the sword Estarfin held overhead. It was a betrayal, he knew it. He squinted. The punishment would be immediate and severe. This situation was a thousand times worse than when he called Estarfin a “meathead” to his face.
“But I think it would be best if you speak with him soon.”
“Oh?” he said in a small voice.
“Then you both will see there is peace.”
“If you think it best, Cousin…” He was too flummoxed to think of saying anything else.
“Now, did you wish to have some food and wine? Filignil made a three-tier strawberry cream cake. I believe there is some leftover cold roasted chicken in the larder, too,” she added, because she knew that tempting his palate was the only reliable way to lure him back to the house.
“Parnard?”
“Yes?”
“We can remain here, if you prefer?”
The Wood-elf shook his head and motioned for her to lead the way. And after he was served roast chicken and cheese with yeast rolls, followed by a plate of pickled fish and ripe green grapes, and lastly, the promised triple-decker strawberry cream cake, all washed down by several large bowls of wine, he was feeling more magnanimous of spirit, and forgot all about his earlier pique; as he ate and drank he considered his lot, and waxing philosophical, decided to throw himself upon Estarfin’s mercy, and, if that was wanting, Danel’s protection. Filignil, too, would invariably intervene on his behalf, and she was never one to be underestimated.
Then the chicken bones were discarded in the fire, the dishes cleared away, and the crumbs swept off the tablecloth with the little rush whisk broom. Danel leaned in, blue-gray eyes shining, and discussed her ideas for the wedding and what Estarfin wished. She informed Parnard that it would not be held by the reedy, willow-bordered lake, because it was too far a distance to cart food and drink. He agreed heartily with all the suggestions, thinking of the condition of the road and said it was no small matter to worry about “all the breakables”, on top of everything else.
“I thought to myself, where are the places most meaningful to us? Why, here, at Númenstáya! This is home, after all!” She seemed quite thrilled she thought of it.
“What an excellent idea! It is only a few short steps to the wine cellar; Filignil will be pleased. How easy it will be for her to manage.”
“Yes, but first we will ride to the Sanctuary of Tintallë at the coast, to ask Her to bear witness and bless us. I know that place has bittersweet memories for you, but it is for Her that we act.”
“You did say that Estarfin is not angry with me,” said Parnard. “Are you certain?”
“He shall not want to slay you. On that point I am certain.”
“I should hope not! I can see some punishment meted out, but that? That is too heavy-handed, even for Estarfin.”
“He was hurt that we did not trust him. What does that tell you?” She waited in vain for his reply, then answered her own question: “It means that he loves us, else it would not matter. We understand that, and I believe he does too. I told him...and I hope it was alright to do so...that you meant no ill by your action.”
“Of course I did not!” Parnard slumped back in his chair with a sigh. “I do not know, Cousin…Estarfin is a changeable elf…and you are soon to be wed; he might forgive you more easily than me.”
“Yes - and no. You are his closest friend now.”
“No, no, no. That will always remain Belegos.”
“I think in memory he will always see Belegos as a brother, but Belegos is rarely here. Do you know, he even said to me, ‘I can be difficult.’ And I nodded and said, ‘Not too difficult.’”
“He said that?”
“Yes. You see how his temper improves. He would never have said that a few years ago.”
“That may be so, but only plunk a man down in front of him, and then what course shall we steer?”
“True, there is much still to do concerning Men.”
“Much to-do, yes.”
“You remember what a dour and miserable ner he could be, always drinking, as if to numb his pain. I wanted to help him. Not heal him - he alone can do that, and I do not wish to change him, he is who he is. But I wanted him to know laughter and joy again. And of late he has told me he is happy.”
“Has he been happy since you told him about Naraal?”
“No, that was before. Yet I am sure that his happiness returns. This is his home, with us, with folk who care about him. Have you noticed how he learns and chooses to grow, and not hide away in his rooms with wine or seek out pointless strife? I will encourage that all I can. Parnard, he has had a hard and lonely life.”
“Perchance, in the fullness of time, his memory of things past shall fade away.”
“Maybe. Some of it, at least.”
“Enough for him to dwell in contentment.”
*: The planet Jupiter
**: The Milky Way
