The wood-elf Parnard had hardly ceased speaking when Estarfin urged his warhorse Gilastor forward, and Swan-Hoof followed closely out of the stable, both horses made excited by the Noldo’s fierce temper. They made their way down the hill, when suddenly in their path stepped Danel, and planted herself in the middle of the road.
“Why are you doing this?” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “I asked her to teach music to Parnard. Have I not said the fault is mine? You do not believe me.”
“She was the cause of this,” said Estarfin, a wild light blazing from his eyes.
“Ride me down, then,” she told him.
Estarfin shrugged, shaking his head, heedless of anything said to him. Mighty Gilastor stamped his hooves with impatience. Little black Swan-Hoof, reflecting the warhorse’s mood, whinnied with anticipation and tossed her head. Ready, the horses told the elves. Estarfin easily maneuvered around Danel and spurred Gilastor off to a gallop.
Parnard sighed and drew his hood low over his face, thinking he might as well look the part of the rogue he was playing. “I will watch over him, lady,” he said to Danel.
“You have already lost sight of him,” she told him, turning away.
Peeking out from his hood, Parnard saw it was true; Gilastor set off with greater speed than was usual for such a large and heavy horse. “Go on -” he started to say, but Swan-Hoof, not needing any command, spurs, reins, or bit, shot off like a dart, and away she went down the narrow lane, her hooves clattering on the uneven stones. She was swift-footed, like the rider she bore, and wise for a horse, having stabled in Rivendell; she knew her master’s mind as she had attentively listened to the elves' conversation.
Across the open countryside Swan-Hoof galloped, over the hillocks and under trees, when Parnard glimpsed a tiny black point that grew slowly upon the dark thread of the road winding ahead. The horse’s nostrils flared; she gathered up her hooves under her and sprang forward in a great burst of speed. It was not very long before they caught up to Gilastor, for he halted on the road, riderless and cropping the fresh grass.
Parnard knocked his hood back and brushed hair out of his eyes. A broad field dotted with scrubby hard-needled bushes lay on his left, and to his right a steep embankment rose up, black against the starry sky. On the embankment stood a lone tree, and underneath it Estarfin lurked, half-concealed, his back facing him. “Estarfin!” he called to him, his heart sinking as he saw a flash of steel and heard the unmistakable sound of metal cleaving through bone. He was too late! “Did you find her,” he cried, hastening forward.
Estarfin pulled the headless body close to look. “I do not think so,” he said, uncertain.
It was not the minstrel. It was not even a woman!
“A fine night for riding,” Parnard said, looking away from the gruesome sight to sadly stare at the moon. “Shall we press on, find the mortal, and make her pay for her presumptiveness?”
“Would that solve things, do you think?” Estarfin said after a long pause.
“Would it? There are many Men in the world…and she is only one meager Woman,” Parnard answered quietly.
“Yet this discord was her fault, was it not?”
“It was indeed,” Parnard found himself saying. How lucky for the minstrel that Estarfin rode off in the wrong direction, away from Celondim, where she had been traveling. “Ever do Men sow discord in the world,” he said, “but all shall stay away from us! And if any do not, we shall slay them swiftly.” And as if to give proof to his words, Parnard announced that he was ready for them, and stood with his sword held high, as if daring any Men to come at him, making all outward appearances that he was content to stand there, forever if necessary, and wait.
"If she were here, I would not hesitate. But perhaps it is not wise to chase after a spectre in the darkness, when we do not even know where she went,” said Estarfin, shaking his head. Calling Gilastor over, he spoke to the horse in Quenya. “Was this the wrong path to take, my friend?” Gilastor stamped his hoof. The stallion thought it was, else he would have overtaken her on the road.
“Where shall we go? I am no tracker of mortals,” said Parnard. “Belegos, now - he might track her down.” This was quite a useless speculation, he well knew, as Belegos was far away, and the scout would never have assisted Estarfin with this shameful task. What counsel would Belegos give to entreat Estarfin to abandon his search?
“Perhaps we should return. This is a bitter night; I would not see it soured further,” Estarfin said, as if in answer to his thoughts.
To which Parnard replied, “Very wise words, friend Estarfin. We shall return home before sunup.”
When they arrived back at the great hall, Estarfin was in a euphoric mood; he laughed happily when offered wine, then bathed his bloody gauntlets in a reflecting pool in the antechamber, frightening the fish and turning the waters red.
“Now sit, lord, and rest yourself. Oh, good evening, Danel. You see that we have returned," Parnard said.
Danel stood in the doorway with an icy expression on her face. “You slew her,” she breathed, seeing blood smeared on Estarfin's cheek.
“No. We could not find her,” said Estarfin, casually sipping wine. “It was another of the brigands, I think.” He laughed harshly.
“I am sure he did not feel a thing,” Parnard said, and joined in with wild and screechy laughter.
“Then I hope your honour is satisfied,” she said, and went upstairs.
“Sometimes I do not understand Danel,” confided Estarfin.
Parnard settled back deep in his chair and lowered his chin in contemplation. “Well, well, she is an elf-maiden, after all. One cannot fathom their thoughts easily…” but before he could bestow his wisdom of the workings of elf-maiden hearts, Danel reappeared in the doorway holding a rucksack and her traveling cloak.
“You are ready for a journey from the look of it,” observed Parnard.
“As I told you before, you both may stay here as long as you wish. These houses are your home.”
“But where are you going?”
“To the coast. I will remain there for some time.”
“Why?” cried out Parnard. “Do not go!” He looked to Estarfin to say something, but the Noldo was staring at the fire with eyes half-lidded as sleep overcame him.
“Parnard, that woman knew not that she was offensive here,” said Danel. “It was dishonourably done.” Before she could say anything more, Parnard leaped out his chair, and taking her by the elbow steered her into the adjacent library.
“Do not go!” he whispered to Danel. “Estarfin was in a black mood, but he is calmer now. If you leave it will crush him. Why, why did you do it! I wish you had not done it for my sake!”
To his surprise, Danel began speaking in Silvan, a language that Estarfin did not understand. “She was wandering like some lost fawn, speaking of music, and offered to help when I said I had a friend who wanted to learn to play the flute," she said.
“I am grateful for your musical encouragement Danel,” replied Parnard in the woodland tongue, “even though it was a disaster. We did not ride very far; his wrath cooled after the brigand was put to death, but if you leave, what will he do next! Please, I beg of you, do not leave us!” and dropped to one knee in supplication.
“Stand up, Parnard. You have done naught to grieve me. But how can I respect myself if he trusts me so little?”
“You must try to earn his trust again,” he said, feeling as a personal authority on this subject, as he spoke from experience. “It is brittle and easily shattered, it seems, like one of your vases.” This made Danel smile a little and he could sense her resolve to leave faltering.
“But I never betrayed his trust,” she said.
“All is passed now and we sail on calmer waters, but if you leave, Estarfin will be vexed, vexed to the core. What will he do?"
“He cannot say this himself, can he?” she said with a sigh.
“No, his thoughts are all a-jumble; he told me himself. It is the old black rage that settles over his wits.”
“I thought we were making progress with muddled thoughts,” she sighed.
“And what of our promise to each other? We said we would be his guides. Are you going to leave him here with me!” Parnard said aloud, forgetting to whisper. They heard a sudden movement in the other room and anxiously poked their heads out to look. Estarfin had awoken in his chair with a jerk, and stretching his legs out on a table, was soon fast asleep again.
“Nay, I cannot do that. Let me try to make peace,” whispered Danel.
“Do not mention the Woman again,” Parnard whispered back.
Danel walked back into the room and laid a light hand on Estarfin’s shoulder. “Estarfin - lord?”
“Hmm?” he said, waking up and looking around with a yawn. “Has morning arrived already?”
“Aye, the stars are gone, I am afraid. I must beg you to forgive me. I wronged you, yet again.”
“No, it was a misunderstanding. You would never knowingly wrong me. The fault is mine.”
Danel shook her head, gently dabbing blood from his cheek with the hem of her sleeve. “I know that you seek to protect us and that sometimes this is not clear. No Man should ever be anywhere near this place.”
“'I would not knowingly dictate to you who you can and cannot invite to these halls, you know that? Yet some things are beyond my control, even now,” said Estarfin. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes again.
Danel returned to the library where Parnard sat at a table looking at maps of the surrounding lands. “He is sleeping now,” she told him.
“Shall I watch over him?”
“I will do that; go rest. You have been a help beyond measure,” she said, throwing her arms around him in a quick embrace.
Parnard made a little embarrassed laugh. “All I did was chase after him, lady,” he said, and took his leave. As he tiptoed out of the great hall, he could almost hear his friend Sogadan the vintner’s words echoing back to him as if he were still seated beside him in the Hall of Fire: Chasing after high company is always a risky business.
