Vinyalonde

Veryacano refused to allow him a turn at watch, and when Parnard protested, he appeared surprised at his dissent, and told him that he should be glad of the rest. Uncertain if this was thoughtful regard, or a show of bad faith in his ability, Parnard said nothing in reply, but strongly suspected it was the latter – the Hammer Lord was not known for benevolence.

Tonight I sit sleepless, and look into the night about me, dark, terrible things lurk there, and often the dread comes over me, that I feel my reason is overpowered, and my senses are bewildered. Abandoned to evil spirits, we are, we who followed because duty demanded it, because we swore to serve. How can we believe that our well-doing has availed anything? All our labors have met with failure, all good for nothing. We only seem to fill up every place with our trouble and strife. Behold the works of the proud Noldor!

Parnard ran on, keenly alive to the new sights and smells of this new land – on and on, chanting an ancient song under his breath, in time to his paces.

Sing the joys of vagabonding,

All that’s beautiful travels far.

Elves have an inexhaustible stock of songs and ballads, but this air was rude and simple, consisting of only a few notes. It was one of the songs sung in the Greenwood when he was young. He had not thought of it for years. Why now did he remember it, singing it to himself?

Even the moon colored pearl

The Ranger Baradír pulled out a stack of maps from a dusty shelf and smoothed them out on the table before him. “This is one of our best, drawn only a decade ago. It completely renders all the lands and roads of Rhovanion, in proper scale, and includes both major and minor settlements, all clearly labeled." Parnard gave it a cursory glance, munching on a cheese wheel stuck on the end of his eating-knife.

Parnard lay in a half-dream, his thoughts back in Imladris, beside the warmth of the fires. Earlier that day, the elves reached a ruined dwelling, roofless, its timbers brittle, charred. Yet another farmstead, burned down to the foundations. Even in this vast wilderness, hundreds of miles from any elvish settlement, those savages had found them, and had cut them down a few feet from their doorstep. Gnawed bones lay scattered around. When the scent of slaughter is wafted on the breezes, bands of hungry Wargs hasten from every side to the feast.

The fairest gift of strength is clemency

If the weak offend;

So kindly do not punish me

For having the fault of a friend.

When an ambassador leaves a court in a hurry, there is much talk, especially when this news comes following the tragic event of the ambassador’s lord falling into the hands of the enemy. It was now clear to most everyone in the Valley that Parnard had objected to the plans of the Lord Veryacano, for he had declared often, publically and privately, that it was a most reckless act of desperation that ought to have been reconsidered, but alas!

“I hope you did not forget to bring me some cakes, to comfort me for waiting for my dinner till I am half starved."

In the morning I rose, and went to the Hall of Fire to dine with Sogadan.

My Lord,