(After : Another Guest: Another Problem. )
Gaerion looked from Estarfin to Parnard and back again, his expression bright. Then he laughed softly.
“You are capable and confident in your skills. You and she will make a fair home together.” He continued sipping appreciatively at his wine. For a fleeting instant I thought he was going to place his booted feet on the table.
“Barahirn has always wanted to learn from you, Estarfin.” I leaned forward in my chair, recalling several earlier encounters with our Stable Master, and his growing ability to confide in me. "I believe he will feel greatly honoured if you would ask him?”
“He will feel deeply honoured down to his very bones,” said Parnard. He liked the young ner, and was generally encouraging of him.
Then it was time for me to address my visitor. “Alright, Garion. I know you have been observing these two closely. Such is acceptable, as I know you have my good in mind. And theirs. But you already know from me, and from my letters to you, that they are the dearest to me. So no ‘playing games’ with them, Amanyar. They will prove challenging opponents should you try.”
“You should know,” interjected Parnard with a grin, “that Danel is most dear to us. Tell him, Estarfin!”
Estarfin sat back in his chair. He smiled in a polite way, though I could almost hear his thoughts. ‘Does not everything about us, about this dwelling place, cry out how highly she is valued?’ He had nothing to prove to Gaerion.
Gaerion nodded in realization. “Words are unnecessary amongst close folk. Now, do you plan on staying in Lindon, or do you return soon to Imladris?”
“We remain in Lindon, and make strong defense of our home. It may be that we return to Imladris from time to time, but unless Estarfin is recalled to duty by Lord Veryacano, here we shall stay. I go where he goes, though he does not ask this of me. I shall serve Hammer, as Pethroval* and healer, if they wish, or simply as a soldier.”
Gaerion raised both brows. “Lady?”
“Daughter of Thargelion, remember?” I knew he never liked me heading into battle with a heavy armoured unit. My fighting skills were not toe to toe slashing and hammering. But I had been raised among the defenders and warriors of Thargelion, and was far happier with them than a scouting unit, or sitting idly in safety.
He nodded, and drank again of his wine. “As if I could convince you to do otherwise, Carnifindë. But I wanted to see for myself. A touch reserved perhaps, but these are good folk.”
Parnard, reserved? Estarfin was never loquacious, but he said what he thought, when he thought. Was Gaerion seeing the same folk?
Estarfin opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better of it. We were all silent for a few minutes. It was almost uncomfortable. I had sat in silence with Gaerion many times in the past, and Estarfin and I were often silent together under the stars, and were most comfortable being so. But this was different. I found myself searching for comments to spark conversation.
“Are there no questions?” Gaerion eventually said.
“Questions?”
“You recall, Carnifindë, in most places where I encounter new folk, I am asked questions about Valinor. It is not every day that one comes across a remaining Amanyar, as you called me. ‘What is it like?’ ‘What is living with the Valar like?’ ‘How long do the slain Noldor rebels remain in the care of Lord Namo?’”
Estarfin looked up. I suspected that he was struggling to maintain his politeness. “Indeed,” he said, as if he wasn’t bothered in the slightest.
Gaerion straightened himself in his chair. “Carnifindë knows me well, but you and Parnard seem uninterested in the Blessed Lands?”
At this Parnard sat up straighter. “Should I be interested?” he asked.
“A Telar here…?” began Gaerion.
Parnard looked around. “Where?”
Gaerion slowly shook his head. “My mistake. You are not of my kin. This is a home of the Noldor, who are oft interested in such matters. But you are an Avari.”
Parnard paled and his eyes glinted with displeasure. “An Avari?’ he muttered.
“Gaerion, Parnard is a Wood-elf, one of the people of Lenwë,” I began, seeing Parnard’s expression. He was deeply insulted, but Gaerion was looking at Estarfin, and did not heed my words.
“Estarfin, do you bear me ill-will because of my blood? Because I am from Alqualondë and was present for the First Kinslaying?”
My blood chilled. Although addressing Parnard as one of the ‘Refusers’ to travel to Valinor was not meant as an insult, that bore some explaining to Parnard himself. Now my close friend Gaerion was digging a rather deep hole with my beloved. Although he spoke openly, implying no wrong nor offering a threat, it was not a wise topic to begin with a Kinslayer - not that Gaerion knew Estarfin as such.
“You are welcome here. You have nothing to fear,” Estarfin said flatly. He was polite, but there was an obvious implication in his words.
Parnard set his wineglass down on the polished table top with a clink.
“An Avari?” he emphasized, the cold, flinty light still in his eyes.
“I understand Alqualondë can be a challenging point, Estarfin. But you were not even born when my folk were slain, when I was thrown into the sea.”
I closed my eyes in horror. Gaerion had told me of what happened to him in that terrible struggle. I understood his pain, but also had ever found him open and careful around my people. Was he deliberately trying to provoke Estarfin?
“An Avari! Could I have heard that right?” Parnard leaned forward, perched on the very edge of his seat as he waited for a response. He had evidently missed the exchange between Gaerion and Estarfin.
Gaerion turned to face him, and in a calm, kindly tone replied, “Yes. You are of those people who remained when many took the Great Journey. Only the Vanyar clan went in totality to the West. Some of both the Second and Third clans remained - the refusers and the lingerers.”
Estarfin started sipping at his wine again. He smiled, but there was no warmth in his eyes. I watched him with growing concern, and for the first time ever in my long life I found myself wishing Gaerion would just depart.
Parnard lifted his chin and stared at the Sea-elf. “And what of it, if my folk chose to remain?”
Gaerion seemed oblivious to the problems he was causing. “‘What of it’-?” he said in surprise. “Merely, as a Refuser, it suggests you are likely to be little interested in Valinor.” He knew not that Parnard understood the word ‘Avari’ to mean a wild, uncultured sort of Elf, the lowliest and least of our kind, and to be called ‘Avari’ was a grave insult.
Estarfin, who had been listening closely, said, “Such a concept is beyond a simple Wood-elf? Is that correct?” The question hung in the air.
*Pethroval - Communicator with birds as messengers. Usually hawks, ravens or crows.
