Not a trace was left of the scout that disappeared, except a few drops of blood on the snow.
A hasty answer was, therefore, required to this urgent message. Lord Ambassador Parnard leaned back in his chair and gazed up at the ceiling for several minutes before reading the message again. He liked to avoid hasty answers whenever he could: they often resulted in errors of judgment.
"Well, this is very bad news!" he said to the ceiling.
"Oh?" said his distracted and over-worked clerk Sorontar, looking up from his papers in a semi-dazed condition.
"It seems that the Northern outpost, the one overlooking the pass leading to the goblin caves, has more than once been attacked. And now there is talk of a huge wandering creature, and now this message of a missing scout who went out to follow its tracks. You know, Sorontar, war in the mountains is not like regular war. It is rather like hunting."
“Perhaps we should leave the hunting for the hunters," Sorontar said, not considering himself an authority on either subject, and having the good sense to know it.
“But I think we should not: how will we ever know the truth of these rumours? Our outposts may be in jeopardy this very moment! And our supplies may not reach them unescorted, and our people will suffer. And the dwarves, too. If the scout was ambushed and waylaid - that means the goblins are getting bolder -"
"Stirred up by Estarfin," Sorontar reminded him.
"Yes, yes," sighed Parnard. "If the outposts cannot be protected and the supplies failing, we must let Lord Veryacano know. Brasseniel offered to guide me to that place herself..."
Parnard had, by dint of luck and an talent for acquiring news, gained a very comfortable and tolerable position as Lord Ambassador which left him ample time to associate with some of the inhabitants of Rivendell who were fond of his conversation and felt friendly toward him. It was by this means he became acquainted with the lady whose charms had captivated him. She was, like himself, from the Greenwood, and, he guessed, about one hundred and fifty years old. She had the tiniest slippered feet.
Sorontar interrupted his reverie with a polite cough. "My lord, there is a certain amount of work here to do," he said, very timidly, "and there are not enough hands to do it."
"Ah, now, in that you are wrong! Norliriel is newly arrived to the House. If you have not met her, I am sure you will find her a pleasant fellow-worker. She is full of enthusiasm for her work, which gives fresh life to everything, I think! Already she has made great efforts with Estarfin, and has helped me understand a good deal of Quenya with the help of a picture-book. Our work is going on well - at least I hope it is! Is it not, Sorontar?" He sat up in his chair and looked anxiously at his favorite clerk.
"As well as can be expected under the circumstances," Sorontar answered truthfully.
The resigned tone in which the clerk spoke did little to cool the flames of Parnard’s heart; in fact, it made him think he had little to hope for by staying in the Valley and venturing nothing.
"Excellent to hear, excellent to hear! I will be very sorry to leave my work for a while, if I decide to go, but I shall leave it in pretty good order for you, though it is no easy matter to sort out Talkale's maps; I would not bother with them. However, while I serve Lord Anglachelm,” said Parnard, his eye fixed firmly upon the ceiling again, “I will do it actively, and to the very best of my abilities.”
Sorontar groaned and bent over his work. That was the always the problem, and it was one which seemed to cause four times the amount of paperwork.
Then Parnard stood up, more than ever resolved to do something to assist the people of a land he had grown to love. He threw on his cloak and said he would be in the Hall of Fire if anyone wished to find him.
