“It appears I am bound to drink wine all day and night, then,” Parnard declared, folding his arms across his chest. “And then I must close all the shutters of my mind and act as if nobody is home.”
“That should not be difficult,” Belegos quipped.
“It is not like hiding from someone,” the Healer interrupted. “It is choosing not to acknowledge or answer someone talking to you. It is called Unwill. Parnard, you have to deliberately close your thoughts to yourself only. In our usual state of mind we all tend to be somewhat open, with looser boundaries. Our minds are not shouting out to each other, but anyone close, or anyone studied, can oft find a link. In Valinor, it is said to be the method of communication used by the Valar themselves, and by some of our kind, some of the time. But in this Middle-Earth there is much evil. We cannot be open and free with our thoughts. Since you have chosen not to speak with her, you must actively reject her.”
Parnard fell silent for a moment, thinking hard. “By my reckoning,” he eventually said, “the woman might have my armour in her keeping.”
“It will do her no good,” Estarfin said in Quenya.
“Armour?” Curumaito looked up, also speaking in Quenya. “Was this something personal to you?” he asked Parnard. The Wood-elf gave him a blank stare.
“He does not speak Quenya, Curumaito,” I explained. “Estarfin and I sometimes fall into our old ways, and speak the old tongue.”
“Ah,” the healer understood.
Estarfin frowned and shook his head. “The armour will do her kind no good. It was made for Parnard alone. It will protect no other.”
“It was wondrous armour,” Parnard lamented, the loss clearly paining him.
The healer frowned. “It would be good to have that armour back,” he said. “It has a hold on him that could be used. If the Sorceress has it in her possession, that is ill news. If another has it - well, it is still a point of weakness, I deem.”
I understood. Anything that held the heart could be used as a weapon. “We can defeat Zairaphel as long as she does not call on the Dark Lord,” I said. “Even so, I wonder if he would answer her paltry request for aid. Against the possibility of her making such a supplication, we have Tintallë.”
“We can but ever ask the Lady of the Stars,” Estarfin reminded us. And he was right. She would answer or not, as she deemed fit, but she would not sweep us aside.
Leaning forward, Curumaito laid his censer on the tiled mat in front of the fire. He poured a few drops of water from his water skin into it, broke and tore apart one of the herb bundles, then took a light from the fire to set the candle aflame. “This will fumigate the room with an odor she will find…unpleasant,” he explained. “It will be hard for her to maintain her focus.”
Parnard observed the proceedings with interest, though his fingers frequently went to his new adornment to caress the mithril pendant, and said, “It would be good to get that armour back.”
“Indeed, but right now I am planning on building a different sort of armour,” Curumaito kept us focused.
A thought occurred to me. “Orcs and Goblins are ill-affected if they touch anything we make, is that not correct?”
Estarfin nodded. “That has been my experience. Any elf-forged arrow or blade or shield seems to burn them, so they swiftly cast it aside. The weapon itself most often slays them first, though.”
“If elven-forged armaments burn the hands of darkness,” I ventured, “then would steel from the Blessed Realm not make it pure torment?”
Estarfin looked at me and raised a brow. He knew where I was heading. “Of course,” he said. “I have wondered if the reason you got your betrothal ring back was...”
“Because it contains Formenos steel?” I said, nodding with understanding. “Parnard, did you ever see her or Duzir touch your armour?”
His gaze grew distant as his mind drifted back to the dark days of captivity. He took a slow breath before answering. “I…I cannot say if she touched it, Cousin,” he spoke slowly, as if he were sifting through fragmented memories. “But Duzir did, and quick as lightning he grabbed it and bolted. I ne’er saw it again - except for the helm - the tall Southron man was utterly taken with it. He claimed it as his own special prize.”
“Ah!” Curumaito understood. “Our craftwork is too ‘hot’ for Goblins and orcs to touch without pain, yet the Secondborn seem unafflicted.”
“Unless they have chosen to follow the Dark Lord? And perhaps the same effect is felt by ill-spirited Dwarves?” I concluded.
“They can admire it, but not touch it, at least, not for very long. How ironic.”
“There is no doubt anything forged by Estarfin’s hand is of high quality, “ Belegos stated, deftly avoiding looking at the self-portrait of Estarfin hanging on the wall. “The best of our craftsmen, and the finest materials: who would not covet such? Yet if she knows she cannot touch or use the items, why does she want them?”
“To deprive me of my possessions, and to keep as a trophy, so she can brag to her friends,” Parnard answered with a heavy sigh.
Curumaito’s eyes were bright with a newfound hope. “Do you still have anything, a sword or a knife, forged by Estarfin?”
“I made his sword, Angnassë, from Dwarven-steel, not Noldorin,” said Estarfin.
“Nothing else?”
I coughed as the pungent smell of the burning herbs took my breath away. It was not unpleasant, but it was strong. Belegos nodded at me. “Perhaps distill it into a perfume to wear?” I shook my head, but he had a good point.
“The finest steel is oft restless,” Curumaito explained, a mysterious smile gracing his face. “It chooses its own path, not the hand that holds it.”
“Would my sword be suitable?” I offered Sarphir, another of Estarfin’s creations, and one that had served me most well. Shamefully I realized that I had forgotten about Valinor-forged Urussë that now rested in honour in our armoury, but Curumaito’s next words made such a thought irrelevant.
“No, it would not. It must be something intended for Parnard, and Parnard alone.”
“Does the type of steel matter?” asked Belegos. He was no smith, but knew the virtues of different metals, yet the metal alone did not determine the quality of the weapon.
“Is there any elvish steel here?” Curumaito asked Estarfin. “Just enough to make a small dagger? Something that could be made in mere hours?”
Estarfin looked questioningly at me, then at Parnard.
“Surely the maker’s will is the most important aspect of creation,” I said. “A weaponsmith must know what the metal wishes to become.” It was an observation Estarfin had once told me, and an approach that I sought in my own crafting.
“It is but part of it,” Estarfin confirmed, now sitting on the edge of his chair as the ideas put forward took form in his thoughts. I knew him well enough. He would be eager to make his contribution, to be at the forge again.
Curumaito nodded. “I am a healer, not a smith, but even I know any weapon or shield is a combination of the quality of the material, the skill of the smith, and the will and vision set into it. As a defence, Formenos steel would be best, of course.”
“Alas, there is next to none left in these lands,” Estarfin frowned.
“Yes, it is exceedingly rare these days,” I said.
Parnard looked more forlorn than ever. “My armour was made of Formenos steel,” he murmured.
“It was forged not only from Formenos ore, but an amalgam with mithril and Noldorin steel,” Estarfin informed him.
I looked at Estarfin, nigh broken-hearted at what I was about to suggest. “There is Formenos steel in my betrothal ring.” It was only a tiny amount.
Estarfin’s sea-grey eyes darkened. It was almost as if I had asked him to destroy a Silmaril. “I will not break it,” he flatly refused. I should not have suggested it. My ring was made from Formenos steel, silver, elven-steel and small diamond shards, but it was also crafted from his heart. That was something I would never break.
“Of course, meldanya. I do not ever intend to break my vow to you.”
“Absolutely not,” Parnard declared, his voice firm. “We need no Formenos steel when we have mithril! That metal is all but blessed by the Valar, is it not? Why, that greedy dwarf wanted three ingots from you, Cousin, for the return of your betrothal ring, and you said you have them already.”
Curumaito coughed politely to interrupt. “A knife would do, smaller than a dagger and easy to have on you at all times. Do you have enough mithril for that?”
“Three bars of mithril should be more than enough for the blade of a dagger,” I said to Estarfin, my face still burning with shame at my earlier suggestion.
He nodded and regarded me kindly. He understood. We would both give our utmost to aid Parnard, but that sign of his promise to me, as with the mithril band he wore on the index finger of his right hand, was not intended for anything else.
“I shall bring the bars to the forge when we finish here,” I told him.
“What if Duzir turns up?” Parnard asked, a worried expression on his face. “Will I have to give him my new dagger?”
I smiled. “Nay, Cousin, I can melt down more ingots from a few lesser wanted ornaments. The worst Duzir will find is that he must wait an extra day for it.”
Estarfin shook his head. “The worst he will find is my spear through his chest, and whatever he has as a heart.”
So it was settled!
“Parnard wears the mithril Valacirca around his neck, and knows Tintallë watches him. He will soon have a mithril knife, made for him alone, and I shall look into a small distillation of the herbal deterrent, and bring more herbs with us when we ‘summon’ her to confrontation.” Curumaito looked calm enough as he ticked off what was required. The rest of us were a little less reassured, I believed.
“I will face her, but I have no enchantments,” Belegos pointed out.
“Your courage will be enough, Belegos,” said the healer, and rising to his feet, gazed down at me. “Is there anything you can add to the new ‘armour’, Mirdanel? A ring perhaps, that can serve as a shield?”
Estarfin regarded me curiously, then asked, “Can you harness stars in a gem? I know you have great skill, but is it possible to capture the starlight itself?”
“I am not Feanaro, nor even Celebrimbor, meldanya. Yet there are techniques I know that can capture certain light. Once I tried to contain the sky-fire. It was one of my best works.”
“Do you still have it?”
I nodded at him, a small smile touching my lips. It was in the secret vault in the Hall. “Yes. The brigands never found it. Fire and light, bound together in crystal. I shall have to resize it to fit Parnard, though.”
Fire and light and mithril knife,
Guarded by Tintallë to end all strife.
Scarcely had I thought these words when a burst of power, raw energy, flowed through me. Eager with action and fueled by purpose, I desired nothing more than to start resizing that ring.
“One final matter, though I hesitate to mention it…”
The four of us turned to face Curumaito.
“Armed though you shall be, I would not have you step into this fight alone, Parnard. If acceptable, another shall also defend you.”
“Whom do you suggest?” I asked, a feeling arising that I already knew of whom he spoke.
“Do you still have the keepsake of your Prince, the ring that we used to bring your grandmother back from the doors of Lord Námo?”
“I gifted it to Estarfin,” I replied, with a sinking feeling. I had asked him earlier to find it, as it had helped greatly in healing before.
“You may have the ring, if it will help Parnard,” Estarfin said to the healer. “Know that I will do all I can to assist.”
“Good,” Curumaito nodded, his expression softening with appreciation. “But the ring is not for me. It is yours to wield, Son of Thargelion, when you stand between your friend and any manifestation this Sorceress may use. She is undoubtedly strong of will…and may be able to call upon others of her Order. But then think how the Sorceress would fare against Prince Caranthir.” He smiled, well knowing what force of will it would take to stand against any of our Princes.
“But I am not he,” Estarfin protested.
“Neither are you weak of will,” I said, walking over to stand by his side. “This stone was made by Caranthir himself, who poured some of his own strength of will into it.” I understood what the healer was asking, and I had seen the effect of using the stone before. “You are the strongest of us, Estarfin, even without that gem. And Belegos and I shall guard you.”
Estarfin looked deep into my eyes. He would always trust me, and knew I would not speak so without good reason.
Should you be in any danger, I shall strike her with all that I am, with all my skills, and Belegos will loose mithril-tipped arrows at her. We stand together, I told him in thought.
He blinked and inclined his head. He could hear me at times, when he wanted. I knew.
“Yes. In this matter, and in every other attack upon him, I will stand as Parnard’s shield,” he said.
“Then we are done with our planning,” Curumaito smiled. “The hour has grown late, so I suggest everyone take as much rest as they can. Drink no wine to cloud your minds tonight,” he declared with a wink, “except for Parnard, who may cloud his mind with as much wine as his heart desires!” Parnard beamed and gave an enthusiastic nod. “We shall meet tomorrow, when Anor’s flame sets, in the Temple of Tintallë in Celondim. I shall meet you there. Be not afraid.” He paused, as if reconsidering his words, and added, “You are not folk to fear anything lightly. But it is important that all stand strong. Do not bring Barahirn, or any other young elves, for they lack the necessary experience to cope with such darkness.”
He emptied the censer into the fire, and placed it, loosely wrapped in a strip of cloth, inside his satchel. “Remember who and what you are, and evil will flee.”
We each bowed low to him in turn. As for myself, I was feeling far more hope and focus since this business began. He left, speaking a few words of encouragement with Filignil on his way out, then she closed the door behind him. “Dinner is set out, if any of you hunger,” she called up the stairs. “I hope all went well.”
Belegos was not hungry, and said he would seek his bed and a good rest. He was not daunted at all. “The sooner she is driven away, the better. My fingers itch to loosen the string, but mithril arrows? Do we even have any? They are not usually found in my quiver.”
Estarfin quickly offered, “I can make a few mithril tips. It will not take long, but you should speak with a fletcher in Duillond to have your arrows properly balanced.”
“Will they be ready by tomorrow morning?”
“Indeed. I shall bring them to you.”
Belegos nodded. “Then I shall ride to Duilond, and meet you in Celondim.” He bowed and left us, and went to seek his rest.
And so it was, early the following day, three of us rode to the heart of the town, where the Temple of Tintallë lay. It was already a blessed place for Estarfin and I, as we had spent quite some time together there in the first days at Numenstaya. We knew we had strong reserves of hope to draw upon. We knew we had each other.
