Estarfin

The night air outside the scholar’s archive in Duillond was cool and the starshine glimmered down upon the worn stone pavers. Parnard stared at the stars. He had already changed into his red dressing-gown lined with white satin, worn over his sword belt. The scabbard of Steel-Thorn, having nowhere to go, flared straight backward from the slitted vent of the gown like a metallic tail, and added a careless swagger to his ensemble. 

The path was clear of other travellers. The night was still and slightly warm, Tintalle’s stars shone clear and bright. It was no hardship for Estarfin and I to ride down to Celondim. We left our horses at the stables, and walked along the river front. There were only a handful of folk even there. 

We did not see Parnard for the next two days either. It could sometimes be like him to withdraw from company, especially if he was working on something, some article of his dress being the most common. But he had withdrawn after our exchange of words concerning his stolen armour. Was he still angry with us? If such was the case it would be better to attempt more understanding rather than let a coldness descend. 

We did not see nor hear from Parnard the following day. I was not totally surprised. We both knew we had disappointed him, but we could not do as he wished, and help him find his stolen armour in Gondor. 

Having ridden with urgent speed from Celondim, the elf dismounted before his horse could even come to a halt.

“I thought you were concerned before we reached Angmar, cousin?” I questioned Parnard. 

“I was concerned for those Halflings; those men threatened to tear them to pieces if we did not lay down our weapons.”