“Greetings, Estarfin! You are just in time for the start of the feast,” said Parnard, bowing carefully so that his antlers did not fall off. These had been tied to an old steel helm that he found in a cupboard, and when he put it on, it took him back to the days when laughing Wood-Elves roamed underneath the forest’s misty eaves wearing such garb.
“That is today?”
“Why, I - well, it must be! At least I hope it is; I have been preparing for days. If it is not today, then I shall feel mighty foolish, mighty foolish indeed.”
“Forgive me. The days pass swifter than I thought,” replied Estarfin, and taking up the offered wineskin had a taste. “It is good,” he said, and passed the wineskin back.
Filignil came up dressed in a pale gray silk dress and apron, and greeted them, giving Parnard an odd look. “Are you ready for the feast, young lady?” Parnard said to her with an arch laugh, and thinking she needed a little wine to soften her temperament, offered her the wineskin, too.
“No thank you. I am keeping an eye on the food and drink.”
“Why? Will it walk away? Ha ha!”
“It will surely disappear with you nearby, Parnard. So…about this helm: what are you supposed to be? Not Oromë, I hope?” she asked.
Then Danel walked up and greeted them, Parnard failing to see her because the helm, being overly large, had slipped over his eyes and almost obscured his vision, but he heard her lilting greeting, and bowed towards the sound of her voice. She was wearing a close-fitting scarlet kirtle and her copper hair was coiled low upon the nape of her neck. By this time Estarfin was feeling self-conscious in the presence of such finely-dressed company (excluding Parnard and his helm) and hastily brushed dust from his clothing. “Well, I am glad to see that I cannot recognize you,” Danel said to Parnard, grinning in jest. He pulled the helm off and grinned back at her. “Now that is better, Cousin.”
“It is better: now I can drink wine without my antlers falling off,” he said, and lifting up the wineskin Parnard took a long draught to make up for lost time. Then the elves sat down at the table by the little lake and in joyfulness they began to feast, delighting in this dish and that.
“How can you feast without an eating knife,” Parnard said to Estarfin in amused perplexity, watching him squash bread around a slice of roasted venison to contain the juices.
“Bread will have to do.”
“Why not make yourself one? Put some jewels on it: that is the thing now, I hear.” His own eating knife was unadorned plain steel but serviceable, and despite being of dwarven-make it was one of his most prized and frequently used possessions, kept safely secured by a leather thong sewed to the inside of his boot, unless he was eating.
“You must excuse my appearance. I have been busy with forging daggers. It is why the feast surprised me, for I lost track of time in the task. I brought them to show you both, not realising what day it was.” Estarfin motioned towards the small bag he had been carrying, and at the behest of the elves he untied the bundle to expose four long daggers of similar design, but each one a different hue of steel. The weapons glinted cold underneath the bright starlight. “The halflings wish to arm themselves. It is wise, I think.”
The elves leaned over the table and admired the daggers. “None could have better weapons. That did not take very long! Why, you could arm an entire army of halflings in a trice,” said Parnard.
“Lord Celegorm always said an attack is the best defense when threatened in any way, not that it is any of my concern,” said Filignil in her abrupt manner, “but I am glad to see that you are aiding them.”
Estarfin quickly covered the daggers and stowed them away again, saying, “Tonight is not a night for such things.” Then the elves began to eat and drink in earnest, and were made even merrier than they were before, as the wine was of the best quality and of a sort that made elven hearts sing. They made many toasts: first drinking to the autumn-time, then to a safe journey to the Greenwood, then to the bountiful harvest and the hard-toiling farmers who made such bounty possible, and finally to the departed summer and the coming wintertime.
“The stars are in the water!” said Parnard in delight. The lake had never seemed so beautiful. The moon was bright, big and golden, and the swordsman Menelvagor was making his slow climb to his winter zenith: only the icy blue star of his foot could be seen over the tree branches.
“Tintallë graces us tonight. What do you think? Shall we swim in the stars?” Danel smiled at them.
“If it is a tradition of your people,” Estarfin said to Parnard, picking at a crust, “I would not refuse.”
“It is not a tradition. We swim wherever the waters are clear and whenever we wish.”
“Your Forest River is dangerous,” Danel said. “When we drew near it we saw animals lost in sleep.”
“No birds sing in the trees beside the black waters of that narrow channel,” said Parnard with sadness. Once again, the conversation had shifted towards dark topics on a night meant for revelry. Making a hasty excuse, he ran up the hill to the hall, soon returning with a large covered tureen that he set down on the tablecloth, pushing other dishes aside to make room. The cover was removed and a large cloud of steam billowed out, rich and savory smelling. Taking up a wooden spoon he began the ladling out, giving Danel and Filignil smaller portions, “as befits a lady” he told them. “Now, Estarfin, you may be pleased to know that we found some of that herb in that book of plants you showed us, and cooked it in this.”
Estarfin looked interested. “It was growing in a bog?”
“Yes, a marshy place wherein turtles crawl among reeds and mosses.”
“So this is the tripe,” said Danel, tilting the bowl to scrutinize its contents.
“Yes, Cousin. This is something that we of the Greenwood enjoy, when we have the rare chance to get it.”
“It smells…wholesome,” observed Estarfin, and tasted a spoonful. Parnard was already slurping up the glistening morsels with relish. Danel looked hesitant, but when Parnard nodded towards her spoon, she duly followed suit, thankful that he did not give her a very large amount. A long silence ensued as the elves chewed and chewed the tripe.
“You like it, I know!” said Parnard at last. “I was very careful with the washing. It took three days.”
“What an interesting texture,” Danel said.
“You finished yours already! There is plenty here to go around,” Parnard said to Filignil, who was fumbling with something under the table. Parnard quickly portioned out more.
She shook her head firmly at him. “No. That was plenty enough for me.”
“Very well,” said Parnard, and taking up her plate ate her second helping.
Estarfin swallowed it down with some difficulty but had another spoonful. “Can it be salted down for travelling?”
“It will not keep, Estarfin friend.”
“What a pity,” voiced Danel as convincingly as she could. “We will just have to take plain salt pork.”
“Alas, yes! That is why we must eat it all now.”
“What if it was mixed with fat and berries,” suggested Estarfin.
“Hmm! That might work - I could make some for our journey. What a wonderful idea! Surely you are the wisest of us all, Estarfin!” Parnard said, and went back to eating.
Danel reached into her pocket and gave each elf a small parcel wrapped in orange cloth. “I have a small gift for each of you. These came from a trading ship off Harland. Do not drink it, Cousin,” Danel said quickly, seeing Parnard had already torn off the cloth.
"Of course I will not drink it. I know very well what it is,” laughed Parnard as he recognized the green bottle of bath oil that Filignil had shown him a few days earlier.
“Orange for Estarfin, oakmoss and thyme for Filignil, and violet leaf and iris for you.”
Estarfin rubbed a little of the oil between his fingertips, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Do you think steel could be imbued with a scent whilst forging?”
“Maybe,” said Danel, “if it was infused into it, like a virtue, but heat might evaporate the oil and lessen the odour. An infusion may be different.”
“Yet it is a scent not stronger when it is in the air, rather than when infused in oil?”
“It is. Fragrance can be infused and bound to cloth or leather, but these materials have different properties than metal. I wonder if metal can absorb scent, somehow, on another scale?”
“Make the metal remember the scent! Beat it until it learns the essence,” said Parnard, not understanding anything having to do with metallurgy, but liking the idea of scented swords very much.
“I have found that metal cannot be taught to learn; it can only be what it was meant to be,” Estarfin said.
When they had their fill of food and drink, the elves arose from the table, and stripping off their shoes and clothing began to wade into the water. “Is it cold?” Estarfin asked, shivering in his thin tunic, and stepping reluctantly into the water.
“Look at the stars above and in the water,” said Danel, trying to distract him from any discomfort.
“Winter is nearly here, that much is clear.” He set his teeth together as he waded into the water up to his neck.
“Come to the waterfall,” called out Parnard. He had been sitting on a rock watching Estarfin’s slow submersion with growing impatience. “If you move about you will not be cold! You are floating as still as a lilypad!”
“I thought the stars would warm your spirit, but we can swim back to the riverbank instead,” Danel said to Estarfin.
“It is a beautiful night, but clear skies are c-c-cold skies,” Estarfin said through chattering teeth, and swimming over to Parnard’s rock pulled himself out of the water.
“A fair place but now the stars are fading,” said the Wood-elf, and dove back into the water to swim underneath the cascading torrent, sleek as an otter.
“We Noldor are not as natural in water as you, Cousin, and we prefer fire to ice,” Danel said to him when he emerged.
“You want practice, that is all, but if you wish for fire we can return home.”
Estarfin immediately began swimming back to the riverbank. Filignil had fallen asleep while floating on her back in the water, so taking her by the arm Parnard towed her along until she was roused. They returned to the hall wet and shivering, where they dried off and sat before the hearth wrapped snugly in soft blankets. Filignil produced a bottle of what she called fortified wine, that is, wine that had been repeatedly distilled until it was many times more potent than ordinary table wine. This was measured out and given to each elf as if she were dosing them with medicine. “It is warming. Do not gulp it down,” she told them.
Parnard took a cautious sip. “How interesting!” he said, smacking his lips and finding it to his liking. He took another longer sip. It reminded him of the contents of a flask that he once found in the southern Greenwood on a bitterly cold winter’s day, when he went fishing for river trout. Estarfin drank down his glass in a gulp, and coughing a little, declared it strong but smooth. Following his elder’s example, Parnard tipped the remainder of his glass down his throat and soon felt a pleasant tingling glow spreading from his belly to all parts of him.
“Ware, Cousin. It is strong drink.” Danel said, grinning back at him. With meticulous care Filignil poured more brandy into the elves' empty glasses.
“It is warming,” Estarfin agreed. “I do not like the cold.”
“No? Then I am sorry that our path takes us there, but we will have furs and fire, and perhaps some of this,” Parnard said, admiring the amber-hued liquid before tossing it down his throat again and stretching out on the blanket to bask in the fire's warmth. "Sing a song for us, Estarfin," he beseeched.
The Noldo thought a moment, then began singing in a deep, clear voice:
The sun shines bright, and the corn grows high
And the clouds are gathering in the sky.
Winter comes soon
So reap before the seasons roll.
Reap the harvest and gather the corn,
Hunt the deer and build the store,
For the clouds are gathering in the sky.
Estarfin smiled to himself as he remembered the ancient harvest song, and all the elves clapped in joyful approval when he finished and praised both singer and song highly.
“Now I can call the feasting complete, at least for a short while,” said Parnard. It was a very brief pause in the festivities, because as soon as he said this, Filignil brought a plate of delicious confections, and the elves continued to eat and drink until, heavy with food and wine, and with his heart as equally full, Parnard passed into that elvish state when dreams and reality blend into one, and he fell fast asleep.
Danel and Estarfin sat up talking for some time. “Did you enjoy the evening, apart from the cold?” she asked him.
Estarfin nodded. "It has been a fine night. I have always hated the cold; little equals the warmth of a warm summer’s night. Snow is fine when wrapped in furs and leather, but not whilst walking barefoot through a storm.” He sat up, wrapping the blanket even tighter around himself before reaching for the bottle of fortified wine. He looked somewhat confused, then a slow smile spread across his face. “To oranges!” he declared all of a sudden, and drained his glass. Danel had drawn a small comb from a pocket and was looking up at him with big hopeful eyes. He made a small frown, then chuckled softly to himself, poured more wine into their glasses, and turned his back to her.
“My hair is also wild,” Danel remarked, gently drawing the comb through the tangle of dark hair. As she combed she spoke of times long past, his mother and father, the forge in Thargelion, past feasts, and his soldiering under Prince Caranthir. Through it all Estarfin sat in melancholic silence until he fell fast asleep with his head cradled in Danel’s lap: and so ended the first night of the Autumn Festival.
