Daegond looked up. The grey overcast was visible from where he sat, in the main inner courtyard of Elrond’s house.
He always wondered why this last homely house had a roof after all. If they are to leave the alley without one, just to keep the fountain refreshed in every rain, why on earth they bothered themselves to stack shingles on elsewhere? It was getting water from all sides.
But there were too many inconsistencies to think there before water. There were too much stupidity. Too much disloyalty by ones who were proudly serving their oaths one day, were the same ones leaving the kin for “war” next day. War they were saying but they were following their sweethearts, not really a genuine lordly cause or a conventional wisdom of war. Daegond pitied them. And kept sharpening his spear. Every move of his speartip on the coarse stone caused a disturbing, hissing noise by friction. It was soothing in every way for himself. Thinking of your former friends and allies and sharpening your blade. What was peace anyways other than a brief respite to sharpen your weapon?
Spear was a tool he liked too. Apart from his usual decency in battle to keep the enemy at bay thrice the length of his arm, it also had a side effect of putting meal on a table time to time. You could spearfish with it or impale a boar with it if it was your good day. And it was about to be his. For a Boar hunt was coming, Daegond himself was leading a group of hunters deep into trollshaws for a hunt.
Previous weeks he had lived through times of difficulty. It was both difficult and hard to endure for himself and for his kin. For meat was in sharp decline within the house. Lettuces and leeks were commonplace while ham and bacon retreated into Sunday mornings if it was a lucky moment. Someone had to do something to help this Valar forsaken valley to put a decent meal to every elf’s plate. Lately some of them were raising their vegetarian concerns about avoiding meat for a more virtuous diet and lifestyle. Daegond was avoiding them. Otherwise a punch could have been unavoidable. Then an exile could not be avoided easily. Enough elves were in exile already anyways in his idea.
He sharpened his speartip to razor sharp grade and attached it back to his pole. It wasn’t a glamorous spear really. But it was forged in a hurry to do its job. And its job was to pierce skin and flesh. He imagined it in the boar’s belly. He nodded since that was going to happen that day. Then suddenly he imagined it stuck between Thendryt’s ribs while he was groaning for one last insult. This made him look miles away for a moment. Only later he shook his head several times only to hear footsteps. Turning his head to the source of noise, he saw a messenger running.
-“Hey you! Where do you think you are going?” Daegond asked in a nasty tone.
-“I um a.. a have a dispatch to be delivered sergeant!” the messenger replied.
-“Who sent it?”
-“Lord Ambassador Parnard!”
-“Reeeallly? And to whom?”
The messenger looked at the envelope to be sure -“to Lord Anglachelm”
“-Give it to me!” he ordered.
“-But sarg…”
“-AND GET LOST!”
The messenger fled.
Daegond looked at the envelope longingly. It wasn’t a secret that the Lord Ambassador was stepping down as Lady Tingruviel was replacing him. Lady Danel was to be the new Pillar lady in his place. Parnard wasn’t only stepping down, he was leaving the valley at earliest convenience for mirkwood. In order to get married… Sweethearts he thought. Heavier than hammer steel these days.
Then he noticed the the label on the envelope and tilted his head. It was written by easily recognizable pattern of Parnard. His hand was seldom lifting to give a break to the letters until the ink runs out, like if he was in a hurry.
Then he thought about the trial, his advocating of hammerites, Parnard’s inability to understand the concept of battle. Or to use a weapon. Or to see the righteous side in a discussion. “A diplomat he might have been but not a wise one in the end” he thought. Daegond kept thinking as he evaluated the envelope in his hand. Patted it to his palm and looked above again to see the grey overcast. Then he suddenly picked a graphite stick he was using to mark tiles outside. And quickly drew a sketch on the envelope with it. Then rose on his feet, left his spear on the bench and went to Lord Anglachelm’s chamber. He knocked three times. A bright, “come in” answered his knock.
“-My lord!” saluted Daegond.
“-What is it?” replied Anglachelm ignorantly. He wasn’t clearly enjoying Sergeant hound in person, but lately he was seldom seeing a necessity to hide it. Perhaps he missed bacon too.
“-A letter to you my lord, from Lord Parnard. Possibly his last to you officially” Daegond said. He knew he hit a nerve since Parnard was dear to Anglachelm. Moreso than anyone else who were now going to a hasty war with their sweethearts.
“-Leave it on the table, you can leave too. Thanks”
“-My lord!” Daegond saluted as he closed the door silently as possible. He then went to his bench, grabbed his spear and exited the building to join with the hunter band.
Anglachelm finished his writing and after a brief pause, reached to Parnard’s letter. Looked at the envelope and his eyes grew… They grew… they became round and big with shock as he has seen the sketch that was made:
