The day had been an exceptionally busy one. The Autumn Feast was drawing very close. Then there were preparations for the winter months in general, and then, the Lady had told her that she, Lord Estarfin and Master Parnard would all be heading for Mirkwood shortly. How long they would be away for was uncertain.
It was enough to do if Filignil had a couple of well-trained staff at her disposal. But she did not!
Oh, Barahirn helped where he could, but he was master of Horses and Hounds, and had little free time himself. She made up her mind then. Next time she was in Celondim she would see if she could find help to employ. Someone to aid with preparation and tidying up after meals. Someone who would help in the kitchen garden, and with cleaning out the fish pond. Filignil even thought then she would pay whoever she found out of her own pocket, so urgent was her need.
And there were still two spare rooms in the houses at Numenstaya, along with a guest room. The successful candidate would need to work hard, but would have considerable comforts.
Of course once the Lady had left for Mirkwood, all would fall back into an organized routine. She could finish winter preparations, and make plans for the spring. All would be calm again, until they returned. The only thing that still confounded her was, how was she to do her duty if Danel was away? Two duties it would become, and she really needed someone most capable to leave behind. Of course she could abandon her main charge. As if! She had grown to have considerable regard for Estarfin’s abilities, but silently delegating her duty to him was not the same.
Filignil twisted a wayward strand of dark brown hair around her finger. She disliked anything being out of place, her own hair no exception. Had she met her match with this small household?
She laughed aloud. It mattered not. She had her orders still, and would find a way to continue carrying them out. And besides, although it was not required of her, she was growing just a little fond of them all.
The Lady Danel was different from her expectations from afar. A slightly gentler manner perhaps, a little less ‘perfect ’in her knowledge and understanding. Not quite the arrogant and willful nis she had expected? The Lady could be difficult, there was no doubt of that. She could be proud, she could be fey. Yet she was also approachable, and would listen to others. And because of that, the Housekeeper had found she was growing in a friendship more than the traditional ‘Mistress and servant’ role. She was not merely duty bound, but she actually wanted the best for the Lady from Thargelion.
Then there was the Lord Estarfin. He was a challenge, but in no way unpleasant. Filignil had a suspicion he could have been far more temperamental in ages...maybe even months past, but as she watched him doing his best to adapt to life in Numenstaya rather than Imladris, her patience with him grew. She watched the developing ‘dance’ between he and the Lady with interest, and tried to drop in small, suitable advice to Danel. Not that she had a wealth of experience with neri herself. But she stood far enough away to see the efforts he made that perhaps Danel sometimes overlooked. Besides that, there was also that something she recognised about Estarfin that made her suspicious he was in certain ways like herself?
And then there was Parnard. Ah, how that wood elf had made her task easier. Parnard was the one her sister had warned her of the most, yet she found him one of the most amiable folk she had met. There was no standing on ceremony with Parnard, though he had the manners and etiquette of a courtier when he wished. He was funny, that even her solemnity had given way, and she had laughed at his jokes and his antics like a mere hundred year old. Yes. She liked Parnard. She hoped most strongly the quest to Mirkwood would see him happily reunited with his love.
Moving on from her musing, Filignil put pots and jars back in the pantry, the spiced fruit and berry fillings she had been making were placed on the shelves until needed. Fresh herbs she had infused in oil for dressings could be stored until needed, but she re-checked she had all she needed. In fact the longer they all stood, the better they would taste.
Casting an eye over the large pile of wooden boxes that graced much of the floor outside the corridor that led from the kitchen to Estarfin’s Hall, she sighed. They had all arrived that morning, conveniently after her Lady had ridden out with a plan to leave seasonal food for some of the Perianneth, with Estarfin and Parnard keeping her company. There was only herself, the trader and a young assistant to unload the wagon from Duillond; case after case of strong red wine. She suspected Parnard had some say in the ordering. There were many crates of food stuff to supplement that grown in the garden, a variety of cheeses and a couple of large hams.
And then there were the smaller boxes delivered just an hour later from Mithlond, from the trader ship that occasionally did business with Gondor. Filignil knew what was in those. She just wasn’t sure where to put them?
But that, she thought, was enough for now. It was time for her to take in some fresh air under the darkening sky.
So she took up her cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders, and left the hall just in time to see Barahirn leading Swan-hoof to the stables, and a bright-eyed Parnard leading a rather large calf to the shed at the end of the garden. She waited. She was in no mood to run after anyone for news, and soon enough Parnard would find her and a drink anyway.
She looked to the stars. Estarfin and Danel favoured Tintalie to call upon. She had nothing against the Lady of the Stars. Did not most Eldar revere her? But she had been raised to honour Orome to a certain extent. She always searched for the constellation Menelmacar, the Hunter in the sky. Not that she had ever had over–much time for any of the distant and condemning Valar. But that night she all but felt something different in the air. The balance was changing. If was as if the Valar had become even more distant than usual? She had felt that before, when Morgoth, or more latterly, Sauron, were on the ascent.
Then Parnard was walking back towards the house, looking most pleased with himself. He brought her back from her less than merry thoughts.
“Ah, Filignil! You saw the calf?” he asked.
She sent up a swift arrow image to the heavens, hoping Orome would hear.
‘Watch over these folk in the coming days, Great Hunter. Or give me the grace to act on your behalf.’ She watched the thought in flight a brief moment, then gave her attention to Parnard.
“A good size, Parnard. How did you acquire it?”
“One of the Halflings. He gave it to me.”
Filignil wasn’t totally sure she approved of the interactions with the Hobbits. They were not the proper business of the Eldar. “Indeed. It seems we are becoming quite friendly with that village now?”
Parnard smiled in a most relaxed manner. "We can get all sorts of things from them.”
Being even more unsure she approved of such words, Filignil found she was drawing her cheeks to make a ‘lemon sucking’ look, when Barahirn also returned from the stable. He bowed his head to Parnard. “Swan-hoof is settled with the others and eating her feed. I will take another look soon.”
The Stable Master turned to look down the road, past the lake.
Filignil knew what he was doing. It was not sensible nor ordered thinking on his part.
“Come indoors, Barahirn. Parnard and I shall be sampling some wine soon,” she encouraged.
“Not until they are returned, Mistress Filignil. I will attend to all the horses before I take rest.” He took up his vigil.
“What is he looking for?” asked Parnard.
“Lady Danel and Lord Estarfin.” she replied softly.”Barahirn still blames himself for Gilastor’s death. He will take exceptionally good care of all the other horses.”
Either Barahirn did not hear her, or he chose not to hear her. His eyes remained upon the road.
Parnard stepped closer and waved at him.
“Lord Parnard.” Barahirn bowed again.
“Lord Estarfin has assured him he was not at fault. But he seems not to listen.” Filignil said a little louder.
Barahirn remained with his eyes fixed on the road. “Do you know if they intend to return home this night, Lord Parnard?” he asked.
Parnard seemed to consider the question a moment, then replied. "They will return soon. Do not worry.”
Filignil knew to trust Parnard over such matters. He knew more of the Lady and Estarfin’s intent than any other at Numenstaya. She nodded to Barahirn. “It will be as Parnard says.”
With an audible sigh of relief, the stable master turned to the wood elf. “That being the case, can I be of any other help in the meantime?”
“Well…we do have a calf we need to slaughter. Would you care to aid in that?”
She watched as the younger elf gulped, turning just a little pale. “I have never slaughtered an animal before, but I shall do my best.”
That was enough. The gentle, most un-fiery Barahirn would be spared that task. Filignil rolled up the sleeves of her gown. “I take it this calf is for the tripe? Though we shall make use of all we can. I am fond of animals too, but I have done this many a time, swiftly and cleanly. If you want help, Parnard, I am the one.”
Parnard looked to her, admiring her forthrightness. “Oh, do you have a preferred way?”
She blinked. “Kill them swiftly and cleanly, of course.” she replied, as if there was no other way. “A very sharp knife to the throat is the usual method, no?”
Parnard nodded, though looked as if he may have had a different notion.
Filignil continued. “I take it the calf is for the making of tripe. Though we can make use of most of it."
"It is also for our larder, and possibly to take some with us on our journey to Imladris. We will not slaughter it tonight. The calf needs not to be fed for two days first.” Parnard made clear his thoughts.
Filignil nodded. She knew the procedure.
“It is pretty well fattened, thanks to the Hobbits, but no feeding now will make the washing of the tripe easier,” said the wood elf, only halting briefly, as he noted the young stable master looking a touch green.
“We shall do as you say, Parnard,” Filignil decided to change the direction of the talk until Barahirn was no longer with them. “We had a couple of carts arrive earlier, while you were away,” she announced, knowing the next words would doubtlessly interest her companion.
“The wines from Duillond?” he asked hopefully.
“Indeed, one hundred and forty-four crates of wine to be exact. They fill all of one side of my kitchen, and some are in the corridor to Lord Estarfin’s quarters.”
Parnard looked impressed. “A goodly number, and well selected. They cannot remain there, though.”
“Agreed. Barahirn and I moved many of them in from the cart; we shall be looking for assistance if we are to move them again.”
With a sigh and a nod, Parnard turned back to more general issues concerning deliveries. “And did the cheeses and vegetables arrive too?” he asked.
“Yes. Several crates of both. Are we feeding half of Celondim?”
“I hope not. We do not have enough stable room,” Barahirn looked back over his shoulder at them.
Filignil could not fault Barahirn for trying to do what he thought was his duty, but she need remind him that some things were not called for at Numenstaya.
“I shall be awake most of the night, Barahirn. I shall help tend to Norlome and Pelorian when they return. Unless you do not trust me?” There, the gauntlet was thrown.
As expected, Barahirn strenuously denied that he did not trust her. “I want to do my best, Mistress Filignil.”
“We know that. And you shall do your best in the morning when rested.”
Parnard nodded at the wisdom of her words, and made a light shooing motion.
With a frown, and then a sigh of resignation, the stablemaster bowed, and made off to take his rest.
“Now where were we?” Filignil picked up the discussion again. “We have food and wine to last us well into the new year. The larder is packed full of cheeses and eggs, we have more vegetables in boxes than I will ever know what to do with, there are oils and spices….”
“And herbs?” asked Parnard.
She nodded. “There are plenty of fresh herbs in the kitchen garden to be picked at need.”
“We shall make blood and herb sausages then,” Parnard said in excitement. “But we may still need to hunt for rabbits and pheasants. Perhaps Danel and Estarfin are hunting this night?”
With a slight chuckle, Filignil said, “Hunting leaves in their hair perhaps? Those two attract leaves and twigs as if there is no tomorrow. I shall likely get enough foliage for table decorations from them.”
Parnard smiled at the thought. “And where do you suggest we place the main table?”
Filignil pointed to Parnard’s house, on the edge of the small lake. “That would be a nice spot, overlooking the water. And we can swim there also if the night is clement.”
“Ohh, we shall have a feast worthy of King Thranduil,”
“Or of Prince Celegorm,” Filignil replied.
