Before entering the woods, Parnard had, with no small amount of reluctance, admonished Estarfin and Danel to not do anything that would draw the attention of the guards, thinking to prevent tidings of his arrival from spreading before he had opportunity to speak to Captain Brethenel. Not only did Parnard wish to keep his affairs as private as possible from the insular and isolated Woodland Folk because he felt they knew too much about him already, but because of a growing apprehension that once they learned exactly who he was, the gates would be closed to him, and he would be turned away like a beggar from the doors of Felegoth.
While his two friends seemed to be paying attention to his careful instructions, by the end of the conversation, Parnard was unsure. Estarfin said nothing at all when he had finished explaining what they should and should not do, once they were within the confines of the Greenwood. That was not so unusual, Parnard reminded himself; Estarfin tended to fall into gloomy brooding moods. Once again, the clouds were gathering again over the restless sea that was his spirit, but it would again be calmed and placid when the clouds had blown away, and Estarfin had rested and partaken of a good meal, two or three bottles of strong red wine, a hot bath, and a soft bed: who would not be weary after journeying many a hundred miles, by his reckoning, without any of these things?
So with a quickened step Parnard led his friends towards the ancient home of his kindred, and by dusk they reached the Forest Gate, with its familiar arch opening and the dim path behind, labyrinthe-like and wending around the old moss-covered trees. No cordial welcome did they receive from the guards, for the Mirkwood elves were suspicious of strangers, and, irritated and abashed by their curtness, Parnard thought that it would be the end of the Age before they learned how to give a proper courteous welcome to visitors. Yet Estarfin and Danel did not seem to notice, and he brightened once he realized that the guards did not recognize him in the slightest, nor did they demand to know his name, once he stated his purpose.
“We hail from Imladris; I have an important message for Captain Brethenel,” Parnard told them, turning up his nose and adopting a commanding tone of voice and affecting such a lordly bearing, that the guards assumed that he must be a high-blooded noble of the Golodhrim, and dared not ask any questions. This assumption was bolstered once they learned that the tall, broad-shouldered, grim-faced Estarfin was his bodyguard and the red-headed, proud-eyed lady was his cousin, not misrepresentations of the truth: Parnard’s spirit being too pure, and his tongue too unpracticed, to produce falsehoods to anyone, be it Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Hobbit. He demanded that they be allowed to pass through the gate at once, and hoped the guard did not venture to disobey. The guards glanced at each other, uncertain what to do, then Danel said,
“We are sorry we are on an urgent mission, or it would be pleasing to speak for a while,” and she smiled prettily at them. She was even more proud in comportment than Parnard, and her blue-gray eyes sparkled like hoarfrost under cold moonlight.
The guard-in-charge relented. “Hurry and go; do not wander from the path; we shall report this to our Captain,” he told them.
“Captains, Captains, and more Captains…” Parnard muttered to himself, and remarked how Estarfin tripped over a hidden tree root as soon as they stepped foot into the wood, never an auspicious sign for a journey!
They led their horses in, walking single-file along the path as they feared their horses would stumble in the dark, and it was not long before they began to hear faint stirring under the trees. Danel and Estarfin readied their swords. “It is almost as dark as I remember, but we are not in the darkest part of the Wood just yet,” said Parnard. Here and there, moonbeams pierced through the interlacing branches high above, and glimmered on the fir and hemlock needles dripping with dew. He stopped on the path and stood transfixed, breathing in the cool air redolent of damp moss and leaf mould.
“Things are moving out there,” Estarfin was watching the shadows underneath the trees. “Eyes are watching us from the darkness.”
“Wolves…at the least,” said Danel.
Parnard followed their gaze. “Black wolves stalk ‘round these parts during the evening-tide; their sense of smell is very keen.”
“Do the trees ever move?” asked Estarfin. “I have heard of such things.”
“When they are at unrest do they move. They may be on the move now, like great herds of wild wandering kine,” replied the Wood-Elf, his voice sounding thin and muffled in the dark. The trees were leaning closer, listening to every word, and were crowding out the air.
Danel sighed. “The trees here do not seem happy."
“Perhaps they have hidden the path before us, and have created a new trail to lead travellers astray,” Estarfin suggested.
“The trees? Leading folk astray?” Parnard glanced around. They had never led him wrong before. How oppressive the woods felt! “Black-hearted, wicked trees they would be!" he cried. "If any are hereabouts, ‘tis my duty to report it to the King’s Guard.”
“A few are corrupted, are they not?”
“Rotten to the core, yes.” The idea that they had tarried overlong flitted through his mind. “We must move from this place!” Parnard said, squaring his shoulders and striding down the path again, leaving Swan-Hoof behind to follow the other horses. He walked even faster, more eager than ever to come in sight of Felegoth.
As he hastened down the dimly-lit path, checking every now and again for the distinctive shoulder-high carved post stones set deep into the earth - tuitalcar, Parnard called them, because they looked much like the sprouts of a certain green vegetable* that he was very fond of eating, he said over his shoulder, “It is not far now." Once or twice, as he leaped and threaded his way over the stones and roots, he stopped to listen, but there was no owl hooting in the trees, no wind rustling the sere and withered leaves, no water gurgling over the rocks of the Forest River. Then he rounded a corner, and almost at his feet lay a large broken piece of wood - part of an overturned cart - and beside it, resting on the forest floor, a ghostly hand protruded from a cobweb. Parnard came to a sudden stop, whirled around, and realized he was alone in the noiseless dark. The blood ran cold in his veins as he reflected that he must have strayed from the Forest Path. But no! There was one of the post stones ahead!
He bolted away like a flash of fire, and soon found Estarfin and Danel at the place where he had left them, staring up at a small patch of stars that peeked out between the trees, and told them what he had found. They began to ask questions that he could not answer: he did not know if the hand belonged to an Elf or not, or if whoever lay there was alive or dead; everything was covered in spiderwebs, but he saw no spiders and the spiders of Mirkwood do not leave live prey behind.
“Then we must hurry and see for ourselves,” said Danel, and swords drawn, the two Noldor rushed down the path, Parnard chasing after them.
*: i.e., asparagus
