After grieving some time at the place where Aearlinn was buried, Parnard lifted his head, and taking Marawendi by the hand, walked down a path to a small house beside a crystal-clear lake. Beside the house was a small stone gazebo of the whitest marble, its top and sides hanging thick with a canopy of pink roses and white jasmine, their flowers just opening from the rising sun, that provided a sweet-smelling and delightful shade during the hottest hours of the afternoon. Stepping lightly across the lawn, Parnard opened the front door to reveal a sunny room within, its white-washed plaster walls tinted with cool green shadows from many herbs growing in pots and wicker baskets. Leading Marawendi to an armchair, he sat her down, drawing up a low cushioned footstool to place underneath her slippered feet, then poured out a glass of wine and a cup of milk, and handing the latter article to her, bade her drink it.
She was beautiful, thought he, and still very young, and no doubt would prove dexterous at doing all manner of skilful things with her clever and slender fingers, which was well, as they had much work to do to repair the damage wreaked by the men’s attack upon Numenstaya. As Parnard drank wine and admired the elf-maid, he assured himself that it was impossible to find a servant who could better serve the two Noldor Danel and Estarfin (save himself because he was so sophisticated, educated and better-mannered); and glancing several times at her tiny feet, decided that he could not have found such a comely, dainty, and modest maiden even if he stayed away from home in the Greenwood ten times longer than he had, and then he finally got around to the topic of discussion.
“We must do something with that old dress of yours,” he said, and smilingly observed that he would be pleased to see it tossed to the rag pile.
Marawendi started, colouring high, too embarrassed to say anything.
“Ah, do not fret! I will fashion a better one for you,” he said, rubbing his hands in delight, “something suitable for Marawendi, Apprentice of Danel of Thargelion! But first let me tell you a little about these Noldor who have kindly taken you in as one of their own, so that you may better understand your place in their world, and not blindly fumble your way through it falling into pit holes, as I once did. They are the proudest, fiercest of heart Elves you will ever meet, with high passions and tempers changeable as the weather, quick to wrath and slow to forgive; they have long memories, and are lovers of sources of heat and fire such as the blazing forge and the crucible-pot; you must know what is commonly said of red-heads, and your mistress is true to that maxim, and possesses a fiery temper to match her glorious crown of blazing red tresses - of which Estarfin is mighty fond, I might add, for I have seen him a-combing it for hours and hours with the greatest of joy and contentment” (here Marawendi blushed anew), “and he wears red and oftentimes somber black too, whilst I wear whatever colour I please when the fancy strikes me, but I think I shall not wear so much green because I have grown bored of it. And as I find green mighty dull, I implore that you not wrap yourself in it; otherwise you may wear what you wish – only not red, nor black, either.”
Marawendi nodded, trying to keep up with the rapid conversation as best she could.
“And so, my little flower,” continued Parnard (for so he had taken to calling her ever since they stepped out of dark Moria, not noticing how it made her blush), “what colour dress would you like?” Not waiting for an answer, he brought out an old frayed measuring tape, and bidding Marawendi stand upon the footstool with her arms held out at her sides, snugged the tape around her lengths and curves, jotting down figures on a slip of paper with a piece of charcoal.
“Blue,” she managed to say.
“Very well! Blue it shall be. In the meantime, wear what you have, as it cannot be helped, but until you have your new dress, I ask that you remain here,” said Parnard, who wished not only to keep her safe from marauding Men, but to present her in the best light possible to their elven neighbors, and not as a raw bumpkin lass of the Greenwood. And continuing on in this vein of thought, he began to instruct her in various ways of comportment around high folk, such as how to properly curtsey, and then he laid out a full tableware setting, explaining when to use what cutlery during a feast, and how not to pick it up if it was dropped on the floor, but to pass it off as nothing happened. “And if ever the conversation turns down an unknown path,” he said, “always smile; do not interrupt the speaker with questions; if one must nod a little, do it and look attentive, and serious too, because the Noldor are serious-minded Elves that brook no foolishness.” Many were the helpful tips Parnard gave to Marawendi, and he would have offered far more, had not the day been wearing on, and he needed to buy cloth and silver thread from the market. Before he left, he handed her a small brass key, and instructed her to lock the door behind him, and to let no unknown person enter.
