Once again Parnard the Wood-elf followed where the Noldor led, bound by that ineffable pull he had always believed would guide him toward a great destiny. He had been bustling around all day, and was now securing his bedroll to his pack. Inside was a blanket, his shell sewing kit, a quartern loaf of bread, a comb, and several changes of linen. He had also packed a pair of soft deerskin slippers for lounging by the campfire, a neatly folded oilcloth in case of downpours, and a pouch of fishing gear filled with horsehair lines, bone hooks, and colorful feather lures. As Parnard packed he hummed a cheerful tune and Danel smiled; noticing her presence, he gave a low bow.
She inclined her head, the sunlight catching the fiery crown of her tresses, making them glow as red-orange as the late-autumn guelder rose. “Is Miruviel settled?" she asked. "I have told Fearanë to keep an eye on her."
"I have told Miruviel where we are going, and why."
"Very well," she said, a slight frown crossing her face. "I suspect she does not like you–or any of us–leaving."
"Of course not,” Parnard laughed. “Why would she like it?"
"Miruviel is afraid to join us. As she should be." It was only a little lie, a necessary one.
"Even if she wished to come with us, I would never allow it.”
"But we are such good company," Danel teased.
He grinned. "Indeed, we are, Cousin!"
Danel adjusted the heavy pack on her shoulders. "I have plenty of provender, as well as a few medicinal herbs.”
“Now we only wait for Estarfin," Parnard said, looking down the path. Suddenly, he slapped his forehead. "Oh—I forgot my cloak! I shall return forthwith."
While he was gone, Danel looked out over the landscape, the little lake with its carved gazebo and the bridge with its climbing vine, its blossoms unfaded, despite the lateness of the season. The air smelled musky-sweet–a mixture of fallen leaves and woodsmoke. "We cannot permit the young ones to venture into dangerous lands yet," she mused to herself.
The Wood-elf rushed back. "I am sorry that it took so long," he said breathlessly. "The cloak was underneath a great many other things." He shook the crumpled woolen cloak to fluff up its fur-trimmed collar, inspecting it carefully for signs of moth damage.
"It is fine," Danel said absentmindedly, still gazing at the water.
Parnard greeted Estarfin with another low bow as the tall warrior approached. After his curt nod of acknowledgment, Danel smiled at her husband, though her eyes betrayed a touch of sadness at the reality of their departure.
"Are you ready to travel?" she asked him.
Estarfin walked a slow circle around them, eyeing their gear. Having been robbed of his proper armor, Parnard wore no breastplate, only a quilted leather vest over his soft velvet doublet: scanty protection against a brigand’s blade or an orc’s arrow. At least he wore a pair of scuffed pauldrons. "Indeed," he murmured.
Danel smiled at her husband. "I find I am sorrowful to depart; the moon and stars will grace the lake this evening. I am reminded of all we have here." She adjusted her cloak against the rising breeze. Estarfin checked the strap on one of Parnard's pauldrons, tightening it slightly.
"There is but one matter left to resolve," announced the Wood-elf.
Estarfin frowned slightly, his hand dropping from Parnard's shoulder. "What is it?"
Danel looked uneasily at Parnard. At certain times his mind was like an open book, lacking the discipline to veil his shifting thoughts, but not today. "Which is that?" she asked, before his topmost thought was laid bare, and she believed she understood. Ah—he is thinking of the path we must take.
"Do you see that boat lying beside the road?"
"The small, leaf-shaped thing?"
"I took it across the river to Duillond when I sought out the scholars' advice, to test its seaworthiness. We shall be traveling upriver, you know.”
"It may prove difficult to carry...will we need two horses?"
"What an excellent idea!" he exclaimed, ignoring the doubtful expressions of the Noldor. "We shall take it with us. It could come in handy."
“That is true–we will be traveling across the waters of the Baranduin,” she said. Estarfin's frown deepened. "But not for long," she quickly pointed out.
"Oh, it will not be any trouble, Estarfin friend," Parnard insisted, turning to the gloomy warrior. "Light as a feather it is, for I wove it myself out of bulrushes. I gathered the thickest stalks from the quiet bend of the river, dried them under the sun of Úrui*, and bound them up with wire grass. She draws only a few inches of water and is as tight as one of King Thranduil’s casks. You will see–she glides over the river like a swan!”
Danel looked at Estarfin, trying to gauge his thoughts, as well as his patience. "It is a very small boat," she admitted.
"I have no issue with carrying it–yet getting into it?” he said, and frowned deeper as he imagined stepping into such a flimsy watercraft. The image was grim; he loathed the prospect of being plunged into an icy cold river.
"Only one, perhaps two may sit within it,” Parnard cautioned. "They must be light for the Featherlight—for that is what I shall call it from this day forward.”
"Parnard or I shall test its reeds, meldanya," Danel said, meeting Estarfin’s gaze with a knowing look.
Relief washed over Estarfin and his frown faded. "Of course."
“Cousin, what if you were to ride inside the Featherlight, balanced atop of Iavas? We could put a few cushions in it–it could be quite comfortable,” suggested Parnard.
Estarfin stared at him. "How…?" His eyes narrowed as he tried, and failed, to visualize what he was proposing.
"Rope," he answered.
Danel raised an eyebrow. "I shall ride Pelorian and lead Iavas," she insisted, shutting down any further discussion of her perching in what looked like a wicker basket tied to a horse. “Does that suit you, Cousin?" Her blue-grey eyes danced with a suppressed amusement, daring him to say anything more.
"It suits me very well, very well! Since we have the luxury of a spare horse, that is exactly what we should do.” Parnard pulled a crumpled roll of parchment from the inside of his jerkin. "I have a map, too.”
The Noldor leaned in to look.
“You might recall Aegladros the scout: he was taking his ease in Duillond, and I struck up a conversation with him. He told me about the brigands’ fort—the one that Culufinnel mentioned–and sketched this map for me on the spot. Pretty good, eh? I think he has some talent for drawing. Then I went into the archive and spoke with the scholars..." he continued, his voice trailing off.
Danel nodded again, waiting patiently.
"Well…it made me—wonder…”
"Wonder what, Cousin?"
"If it would be better to leave things alone, and be at peace.” He darted a nervous glance at the Noldor.
Estarfin furrowed his brow. "Are we at peace?" he asked, his voice grim.
Not with Corsairs skulking around, stealing folks’ property, Parnard thought, a fresh spark of indignation kindling in his heart. Getting thoroughly thrashed by a gang of filthy brigands was one thing–and it wasn’t even the first time–but sailing away with his armor of Formenos steel? That was unforgivable!
The chestplate was as light as a linen shirt. Unlike any other armor he had worn, he hardly felt the burden of wearing it at all. And when the brigands struck it, it didn’t clank like common iron; it rang with a pure tone, clean and high, unmarred. The sound belonged to another place, another time, in a faraway green land…
Yet, even as he grumbled to himself, the words of the grey ladies of the archive echoed in his ears, cooling his anger. "Those scholars...they reminded me of something," Parnard said, his words slowing as he tried to articulate the gnawing doubt in his heart. "You have scarce begun your life together. Perhaps it is unfair of Culufinnel to ask that you spy upon villains in the deep woods. It seems…unfair.”
"You are unsure, perhaps," Danel said gently. "But is it unfair? No."
Estarfin simply shrugged. After several moments he said, "The walls can wait, Parnard. We have time for this.” Though his words were few, his tone was implacable.
The import of this scouting party is greater than I realized, the Wood-elf thought. Reports of a brigand band coming and going mysteriously from a deep wood near Númenstáya surely lit a fire under Estarfin. But Aegladros said there were many men and their fort was the size of a small village. Parnard knew all too well that the Noldor cared nothing for unfavorable odds, though they sometimes bit off more than they could chew. It was up to him, once again, to guide the Noldor safely through their peril.
"I shall have Tiri fly ahead," Danel announced. "He will let us know if there are problems." Raising a gloved hand she whistled lightly to the raven who was perched in a nearby tree preening its wings.
The elves watched it flap off into the sky, quickly disappearing behind a ridge. “How will the bird know there is trouble?" Parnard asked.
Danel folded her arms across her chest. "How does any creature know trouble? He will spy overhead, and if he sights hidden men or orcs, he will alert us.”
Estarfin adjusted his heavy cuirass, the leather buckles creaking against his chest. "We are ready, then?”
"I am ready, but I am concerned for Parnard." Danel sensed his unquietness; there was more bothering him than he admitted, some misgiving he would not confess.
"No, no, I am ready," he protested. As proof he gamely threw his fur-trimmed cloak over one shoulder in a grand gesture.
As they moved to the stables, Estarfin called out to his mare, Norlomë. Dusk Runner she was named, for her fleetness of foot. She trotted over gracefully, and he patted her neck. "A fine night my friend. Shall we away?" he whispered in Quenya.
Parnard hopped lightly onto the back of his small black mare. Estarfin smiled to himself as he caught sight of the tassels merrily swinging from Swan-Hoof's headstall. Danel’s steed Pelorian followed close behind Norlomë, while the packhorse Iavas—eventually burdened with the reed boat—brought up the rear.
"Across Arassien's heath, to the forest beyond! To spy the brigands' fort we ride!" Parnard shouted. Estarfin’s charger reared on its haunches in a sudden, powerful flourish. Caught up in the excitement, Swan-Hoof pranced wildly, sending the small tassels into a frantic dance.
"A good banner to ride under," Danel murmured, looking up at the clear skies. "Watch over us, Lady of the Stars."
*: the month of August
