“When he awakens, he is going to pelt me with a hundred thousand questions, I just know it,” Parnard fretted, staring blankly into space. The topic of conversation was the brigand Naraal’s little social call to Númenstáya. For the past few days Parnard was terrifying himself– imagining Estarfin dissecting every single word during the interrogation, and worried that his own brain, in self-defense, would freeze up so that he would not be able to recollect the necessary details.
“I know not what he wishes to do,” Danel told him again, “but I do know that he wants to work out any doubts he has, so all is as it was. He has not spoken ill to you these past few days?”
“No, on the contrary, he has been disturbingly pleasant since the wedding. He even said he was happy!” Parnard rubbed his temples in agony. “But how long, how long, must I endure this show of politeness before he cracks his knuckles and demands that I explain my actions?”
Danel blushed, her gaze dropping for a moment. “He finally has a home, Parnard. And a family. I dare say he is the happiest he has ever been in his life and there is simply no room left in him for anger at the moment. He feels things deeply, even if he hides it behind a mask. The real tragedy here is that the two people he loves and trusts the most are the very ones who hurt him. He will not demand satisfaction, and swords at dawn, but he may ask for understanding.”
“Well then, he shall have it, every last crumb of my understanding.”
“In truth, he understands why we were reluctant to tell him of Naraal. He told me his first instinct was to ride out and slay the Corsair.”
“And that leaves no time for a civilized chat! Granted, one of my commanding officers back in the Greenwood told me that a soldier without killing instinct is a ‘dead duck’ –but neither a dead Corsair, nor a dead duck, can locate stolen armour.”
Danel raised her hand in a placating gesture. “Estarfin actually admitted as much, though it chafes him that the rogue was so bold as to trespass in Númenstáya. You can set your mind at ease–he would readily craft you a new suit of armour, of course.”
“But it will not be made of Formenos steel, will it?”
“No, it is unlikely he could get any more. There is a trace amount in my betrothal ring, but not enough for armour.”
“Not even enough for a rivet!” Parnard sighed. He took a generous sip of wine, brooding over the glass. After a moment of solemn reflection, his mood shifted entirely. “It would be foolish of Naraal to ever show his face here again. Just let him try! I wager he would not dare.”
Danel nodded slowly, her voice dropping to a calm, comforting murmur. “Help yourself to the roast chicken, Cousin. It is cold, but still succulent.”
Between bites of chicken he said, “These men care for nothing but their own desires.”
“Their spirits are small, shriveled things,” she agreed. “One cannot reason with them.” Did he still think it was wise to track the men down and wrest the armour from them? Both she and Estarfin had tried to persuade him otherwise. It was not that they were afraid, far from it. They told him, initially, that they would help recover his armour, and once they learned of its whereabouts in Umbar and Gondor, they still agreed to help, although with great reluctance.
“However,” Danel continued, thinking out loud, “I do not like waiting here for news of your stolen armour from the Sea-robbers. The Noldor way is to take the battle to the enemy.”
The sudden click of the latch made both elves turn their heads as the door swung open. “Marawendi, here you are, just in time for lunch.”
“Not Marawendi, Lord Parnard,” the newcomer replied, stepping into the room with a look of mild amusement. “I am Miruviel, as you no doubt remember.”
Danel smiled, looking her up and down. “You resemble Marawendi perfectly, you know. Right down to the identical blue ribbon in your hair.”
The maiden formerly known as Marawendi laughed merrily.
“I should have mentioned it before, Cousin,” said Parnard, wiping grease from his fingers on a cloth. “Marawendi has taken it into her head to go by another name, after hearing your pet names at the wedding ceremony. She has adopted a Quenya name for herself, in true Noldor fashion.”
“As is her right.”
“But how will I explain it to her great-uncle?”
“Tell him that we Noldor renamed her according to our tongue.”
“Oh, that is good, very good! You are so clever.”
“Names are special. One never loses their father or mother-name, but one may also choose a name for herself. It is a very pretty name. Sit down, Miruviel, and tell us why you chose it.”
The maiden’s face coloured pink, and sitting down quickly, she said, “High Lord Parnard was carrying a cake on his head and wobbling it so much that I told him to put it down at once, as gently as a newborn lamb.”
“He sometimes needs such instruction.”
Parnard frowned. “It was about to rain and I would not see her hard work ruined. She was saying a great many things, all the way down the path. I just stared straight ahead like a soldier marching into arrowfire and ran even faster.”
“He nearly knocked the top layer off as he passed underneath the door lintel! Yet somehow he set it down on the table without any misadventure. And as I was telling him how lucky he was that he did not ruin my cake, he told me to fetch wine and began singing the silliest of songs."
She suddenly found the embroidery on her apron intensely fascinating, smoothing the fabric over her knees as she confessed, “It made me laugh so that I forgot my irritation. And I told him that I shall ever after be known as the ‘Wine-Maiden.’” She peeked at Parnard through her lashes with a shy smile. “Then he called me Miruviel, and I liked it so much…”
“I know only a few words of Quenya,” admitted Parnard with a sheepish grin, “‘wine’, and ‘maiden’, and ‘go away’, but I cannot think of a more fitting name.”
“It is a very fitting name,” Danel agreed. “As long as it is her choice, it is fine. Henceforth, this household shall address you as Miruviel. My true name is Carnifindë, but I chose ‘Danel’ in memory of a cousin who taught me much, before he was slain. He called me ‘Mirdanel’—a lady smith of gems, and his name was Celebrimbor.”
“Never heard of the fellow, but I must say, ‘Miruviel’ has a much nicer ring to it,” Parnard laughed. Raising his glass with a flourish, he announced, “To Miruviel—the most sparkling maid on both sides of the mountains!”
