On Rare Occasions

by TreeHugger

Sequel toThe Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse. Things haved changed for Alagaith, but his past threatens his new life in Mirkwood when a group of elves from Rivendell arrive. UPDATED! Coauthored with DragonoftheNorth! COMPLETED!

1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: We don't own the world or certain of its inhabitants. They are the property of the Tolkien Estate and were created by the Great Master. Other personages we do own...or they own us; we have not yet decided which.

On Rare Occasions by Dragon-of-the-north and TreeHugger

Chapter 1 – Decisive Duels

The sword I held was a good blade, light and supple, forged not for war or for serious fights, but meant to be used in mock duels, fancy displays of skill and grace that I had taken part in often in another time, another life, under the vaults of a cave palace, before a golden-haired king and his court.

This was something I knew well, even something I had always excelled at, and I tried to draw some measure of comfort from the notion that this was a familiar situation. It was, yet it was not; for this was not Nargothrond, but Mirkwood, and Thranduil Oropherion, not Finrod or Orodreth, had taken a seat on the dais now, watching me like some woodland animal waiting for the right moment to attack its prey.

No, this was not what I knew, or rather what I had known in better days, before the long, dark night of my current undesirable existence had begun. It did not help to know that I would not fight for the sheer enjoyment of it, for the honour of winning or for a dainty wreath of flowers from the lady Finduilas' hands – my own hand was at stake, and more than that, my freedom, my future, my fate...

This might actually have been an incentive, forcing me to use all knowledge of swordsmanship I possessed to impress the king and to win over the other spectators who were entering the throne room of Gladaran Thamas one by one now, and had this been all, I would have been sure of myself and my ability to move this fine blade swiftly and with deadly precision.

But the second sword, long and elegant and so very similar to the one I had chosen, was not held by just any opponent. Neither would I have to face Gwindor, Eliant, my father or any other of the excellent swordsmen I had known at Nargothrond who would have anticipated this lovely dance of blades, nor a random warrior of the woodland realm ready to do anything not to let a filthy thief, a repeat offender, a mere nothing win.

Standing a few steps away from me, awkwardly clutching the weapon that was not his chosen one, but had been forced into his reluctant hand by a malevolent king, was Tanglinna, not looking like a silver peacock at all at this point, but about as uncomfortable with our current situation as I felt.

"No...second thoughts, Alagaerion?" a polite, yet sarcastic voice enquired from the height of the throne; the smile accompanying the question was as pleased as enigmatic, going very well with the image of a self-assured ruler who would not disclose whatever plans he was making, but only move us like the pieces in one of the board games Alagant so loved to play. Alagant... It was decidedly not a good thing to think about my son just now! "No, my king," I answered, inclining my head a little in a most humble gesture that allowed me to evade the king's gaze; I did not want him to read in my face that I did doubt whether I had done the right thing. I had been aware that coming to Mirkwood in the hope of being able to start a new life was bold, and I had expected distrust, severe punishment, even refusal – but how could I have foreseen that I would be asked to fight against a friend, a good friend even?

Perhaps I managed to hide these thoughts; perhaps not, but I could not know this, for even if the king could read me, which I was not sure of, I certainly did not know how to interpret his unchanging smile that would not even leave his face when his gaze shifted to the doorway, acknowledging the presence of his queen and his children who entered the room now, Firithiel swiftly moving to sit by her husband's side, her eyes coldly studying Tanglinna and me.

Unlike her children, who seated themselves as well now, looking somewhat bemused at best, the queen did seem to have at least a vague idea of what was happening; she bent to whisper something to her husband, whose smile only widened. "All will be told momentarily, my lady. We are merely awaiting the others," he said, a negligent wave of his hand accompanying those words, as if he was enjoying his game far too much. It did not please me to see that he played it even against his own wife; I would have to be very careful.

Alas, I could not even hope to find an ally against him; the queen did not seem to be one of those kind and gentle ladies who will easily pity even the worst villains. Although she was visibly displeased by her husband's secrecy, her eyes narrowed as she gazed at me again, probably only too well aware who and what I was. Tales of the wicked one-eyed thief who had been caught stealing on the battlefield had certainly reached her, and she obviously disapproved of what I had done.... And 'disapproved' may be yet too gentle a word! Admittedly, this would not have surprised me quite that much had I already known then that the captain whose cloak I had tried to steal had been a good friend of hers, to say the very least.

An either somewhat insane or very malicious king, a cold, displeased queen, further witnesses who would not look upon the allegedly repentant robber of the dead more kindly than their rulers, who set the example, did.... Things could hardly get any worse, and for a moment, I felt tempted to tell them that I would not fight this duel, but then, my eye came to rest upon Tanglinna again. I could not spoil all the efforts he had made by giving up now! Had I not told myself often enough that there was still hope... or at least something like hope? I only had to believe it, and then all would be well....

However, there was not much hope in regard to Tanglinna's swordsmanship, or so it would seem. He was fiddling with his weapon now, gripping the handle a bit too tightly, as if he planned to balance his lack of experience with a blade with sheer strength. I could have told him that this would not work, not with these delicate swords, but I was not sure if we were supposed to exchange any words before the fight, and so, I kept my mouth shut.

Tanglinna's gaze met mine, though. The brave smile he attempted was not entirely convincing; the desperate sigh accompanying it was far more heartfelt and genuine. In a way, his situation was worse than mine indeed.

I had little more than a hand to lose and was but a stranger to these Wood- elves; Mordil, in turn, was at home here, and his livelihood, the respect he enjoyed, all happiness that he could still find in a life apart from that those he had loved most which had been taken depended on the king's benevolence. There was more at stake for him than for me, even if it could have seemed otherwise.

I tried to return his smile, but his eyes had already moved away again to rest upon the blade in his hand, the weapon he would have to raise against me at his king's behest.... His grip around the handle was still painfully tight, almost clumsy, and I wondered if I could demonstrate to him how to hold it properly without being too obvious. I would have to give him some sign once he looked up again and did not stare at his sword any more as if it were a foul enemy....

I was momentarily distracted by the arrival of Ecthelhador, who had been sent away by the king earlier and entered the room followed by four other elves now. Two of them were clad like warriors and obviously engaged in a muffled conversation that they only interrupted to greet their king and queen. The remaining two – yet another warrior and a lady of almost regal bearing – managed to hold my attention for a longer moment; some things were very remarkable about them. It was not only that they resembled each other like close relatives, mother and son, perhaps, and that they were dressed in matching shades of pale violet as if to emphasize these similarity of looks. They were not random Wood-elven courtiers; had the shape of their fair faces not been enough to let me suspect anything, the cut of their garments would have told me that they were Noldorin elves.

This was what I saw, but what caught my interest first was rather what I heard the lady say, more precisely, not what she said, but which language she used. She spoke Quenya, but not just any Quenya, not the dry language of learned, bored and boring loremasters, but not the forced Quenya of proud Noldor unwilling to admit that they knew Sindarin better, either.

Hers was a beautiful language, the ripple of water in an exquisitely crafted fountain, fluent and natural, yet gently tamed by culture and put to good use, the pure, clear Quenya of fair Tirion, the language my mother had spoken and enjoyed to speak before an untimely death had taken her from me when I had still been an elfling.

I fought down a smile of odd nostalgia and decided to see the unknown lady's presence as a good sign, especially as she was just remarking something I could only agree with: "And how very quaint to choose Tanglinna for this fight! That Silvan is not a swordsman at all!"

Then, piercing grey eyes moved to survey me, and I risked tipping my head at the lady, who did not respond, but seemed pleased enough to have been thus acknowledged before she looked away again.

Gazing back at Tanglinna, I was glad to find that he was looking at me, although he was frowning a little; I hoped that this was only a sign of his general unease and did not signify that I had done anything wrong in greeting the Noldorin lady!

Remembering what I had wanted to do, I glanced at his hand rather pointedly, shaking my head slightly enough to let it pass for an unconscious movement if anybody else noticed it and trying to demonstrate how he should hold his sword. I dared not be too obvious. The two warrior elves who had entered the throne room with Ecthelhador and the Noldor were studying us with interest, and I would have loved to understand the whispered remarks they were exchanging; but they knew how to keep their voices low.

For a moment, I feared that my subtle hints failed to reach their intended recipient; Tanglinna frowned yet again, but then – finally! – he seemed to realize what I was trying to point out to him. It cost him a visible struggle to relax his grip on the hilt a little, but he nodded and smiled his thanks to me.

I tried to return his smile, making mine one of encouragement and confidence, but I fear I failed quite miserably. It was not only that entirely too much depended on this duel's outcome; I also feared the fight itself.

There is an old saying that what it takes to bring down a master swordsman is an opponent who has never held a blade before, and while this statement may be an exaggeration, it does contain at least one truth. An ill-trained swordsman can be a difficult opponent for an experienced one, especially in such a mock fight, because he is utterly unpredictable. How should one follow the rules if one does not know them? I did not really fear to lose this fight; but being unable to guess what Mordil would do next also meant that I was likely to wound him unintentionally if I predicted his next move incorrectly – and I did not want to wound him. Accursed king!

It did not exactly help that I saw Mordil's hand tighten around his sword once more as soon as he turned his eyes away from me. He was as uncomfortable with the situation as I, and this did not bode well at all!

This knowledge made waiting for the inevitable quite trying; thus, I was grateful when the king motioned for the newcomers to sit and turned to address the 'witnesses', as he had named them.

"I apologize for the disruption of your evening, but something of import has come to my attention and it needs resolving. I shall first refresh your memory about the tale Tanglinna told us when he returned after the battle at Erebor...."

He did so, his voice not devoid of irony, as if he wished to show that he doubted the truth of what he related succinctly now without making the effort of phrasing the misgivings he certainly had.

"...and now," he finally concluded, gesturing at me, "that very same thief has told me that he wishes to remain here in our realm, become an honest elf once more. I decided that since we were told of his prowess with a blade" – he glanced at the two warriors I had remarked earlier, and I wondered if they were the ones meant to judge my skill - "that in order to prove his sincerity he must best one of my warriors; not my best warriors as I think that would be an impossible task."

I refrained from pointing out that I had never heard of an invincible sword master in the service of the Wood-elf-king; it might have sounded the slightest bit presumptuous, and I certainly did not wish to anger Thranduil.... Not now, anyway.

Smiling at the aforementioned warriors – so were they the best his realm had to offer? – the king went on: "Tanglinna was chosen because he and this thief supposedly became fast friends over a bottle of Orcish brandy...that was it, wasn't it? Alagaerion here must prove his sincerity and his skill if I am to consider his request."

The queen did not seem to be overly pleased at this pronouncement, and while she was obviously too wise and too well-versed in the old game of politics, the look with which her eyes touched me, briefly lingering before they moved on to her husband, was slightly unsettling.

By the way, it was an interesting collection of eyes that was to be found in this room, many of them grey, as elven eyes tend to be, not only differing in shape and shade, but most obviously in their expression; there was hostility next to curiosity and pity next to fell amusement... But regardless of colour, form, beauty and emotion, all those eyes had one thing in common; they were pairs of eyes, except for the one I could not see, my single one.

The involuntary symbolism of this could have made me laugh. Even in this, I stood out and did not fit, even in this, I was not a proper elf any more, but some strange, disfigured creature. Accordingly, the king's words about our 'becoming fast friends' sounded as approving as they might have sounded if Tanglinna had brought a stray cave troll to Mirkwood.

I glanced at Mordil apologetically, hoping that he understood that I had never meant to do this to him by coming here.

Tanglinna's own gaze was hard to read at that moment; his eyes briefly flitted to the doorway and the warriors guarding it, as if he wished to point out something I could have told him anyway. There was no escape for us, and even if we had managed to flee, what should have become of him?

Returning to Mirkwood without me once again would have gotten him into more terrible trouble than ever, and coming with me to lead the life I had led until now would not have been a pleasant thing, either, especially considering how very difficult it had seemed to him to get even two ridiculous bottles of brandy out of a goblin lair.... It would have taken a lot of time to turn him into a good thief!

Fortunately, the king's voice interrupted my idle speculations about what sort of outlaw my dear Mordil would have made.

I greeted the king's Sword Masters politely, receiving at least a nod in return, and I knew they were studying me even now, noting my posture, the way I held my weapon – and that I was assessing them in turn.

One of them was a tall Sinda, clad in grey, brown hair caught in an austere braid, whose eyes clearly said 'Accursed Noldo! And a thief, at that!' when they came to rest upon my face; I fear my eye answered 'Haughty Sinda, hit over the head a bit too much by some son of Feanor, hm?' when I met his gaze. In response to that, his hand moved to touch the hilt of the magnificent sword he was carrying on his belt. It appeared to be a heavy weapon, approximately as long as the Noldorin blades I preferred, but a bit broader; I could have sworn that this valiant Sword Master would have chosen a battle axe over any bow or spear if no sword had been available to him.

Perhaps I would have been spared having to fight against Mordil if I had put just a little more provocation into my glance then, as this Sinda looked only too ready to teach the wicked Noldorin invader some manners. I would not have been averse to duelling him; he seemed like a proper opponent, sure of his skills and eager to fight.

Alas, before he could make a move that might have let him incur the king's wrath as well, his companion, a raven-haired Silvan, placed a hand on his arm, and its light touch seemed to be enough of a reminder that we were not in a Laketown inn or in the wild, but in Thranduil's throne room.

This second Sword Master was half a head smaller than his Sindarin counterpart, nimble and graceful, and armed with the short, light sword developed from the knives commonly used by the Silvans, a weapon most fit for fighting on limited space in the woods and finishing the work the bows had begun. His clothing was of a certain rustic elegance, the involuntarily amusing Wilderland version of something great and flamboyant he must have seen in Rivendell, Mithlond or some great city of men, or, more likely, right in Mirkwood on a foreign ambassador. If he had travelled farther in his life, the imitation would have been more convincing.

He studied me with an odd mixture of aversion and pity, and I almost regretted having exchanged Gurshak's lovely garments for my current sober attire; if I had looked a little more impressive, this second judge might have been a bit more favourable.

The king had watched this scene with eyes that missed little and gave away nothing.

"Remember my stipulations," he now said in a voice low with warning. "Do you have anything you wish to say before you begin, Alagaerion?"

To be honest – yes, I would have liked to say a lot, but none of it would have been wise and appropriate, so I replied: "No, my king. That is -" Interrupting myself, I turned to look at Tanglinna and tipped my head. "Master Tanglinna, I apologize for the inconvenience my unexpected arrival here has caused you."

Tanglinna looked a bit stunned by my apology, and I wished I could have been less formal both in words and gestures. Finally, he shook his head. "I am sorry that this inconvenience has been caused to you," he replied, his gaze shifting away.

But not even this last exchange could move the king who looked slightly bemused, at best, and now waved his hand. "Pray, begin then."

And so it began indeed. I bowed to the king and his family most formally before I turned to salute Mordil with my blade, giving him a grim smile; there was no way out of this except for going through it bravely, so that was what we would do.

Tanglinna barely acknowledged his king and queen, but raised his sword to me, trying to return my smile without much success. He was muttering something that I could barely hear to himself: "It is like holding a bird...a bird...a bird...."

For a moment, I failed to understand what he meant, but when I saw him loosen his grip on the sword hilt a little as he moved a couple of steps away from me, taking a quite decent defensive stance, I could imagine what was going on in his mind; he was probably busy recalling some sword fighting lesson long ago, someone telling him that he should hold his weapon gently like a delicate woodland bird that would be hurt if he closed his fist around it too tightly.... Poor bird and poor peacock!

I would have liked to throw my sword away or at least to join Tanglinna in muttering the curses that had replaced his litany about the bird by now, but my will hardly counted here; so, with one last nod at my unfortunate friend, I attacked, but not in all earnest.

These blades were meant to be used in light and playful duels, so these first tentative moves, meant to test my opponent's skill and to allow him to get used to my way of wielding a sword, went very well with it.

Tanglinna did manage to parry the attack, quite well even, and I almost hoped that I had underestimated him greatly – but that was before he launched his own attack. To be honest, the blow he dealt might actually have worked if he had been holding a heavy war blade, but gripping this fancy weapon with two hands and using it in a style more suited to a broadaxe was not a good idea at all!

I settled for a very simple riposte after this, something even someone who was not entirely aware of the difference between a battlefield and a royal court would be able to dodge.

To my immense relief, Tanglinna did so, but there was uncertainty, even anxiety, in his face, and for a moment, he just stood there, a mere few steps away from me, doing nothing, but suddenly, with a shrug and a grin, as if he had discovered a dimension of horrible absurdity in this whole scene that had eluded him before, he lunged forward again before anybody could accuse us of holding back, and our blades moved together again.

"They should have given him a bow!" I heard the Sindarin Sword Master remark, his voice filled with fell amusement. "That would have ended this silliness sooner!"

He was very right, although he could not know that even I would have preferred being shot full of arrows to chasing a desperate Master Archer who clutched his sword as if his very life depended on holding on to it around the room, ignoring a dozen of opportunities to end this duel in a more decisive way, but simply not managing to wrench the blade from his grip. It might have been easier to disarm him if I had wounded him but a little, and he would doubtlessly have survived a bruised wrist or a slight gash on his arm – but I did not want to hurt him, not even a little. He was a friend now, and the moment short weeks ago when it had seemed excusable, even necessary to me to cut his fingers was very far away.

So this ridiculous, if dangerous, dance had to continue, and I was prepared to hear the king or his Sword Masters tell me that they knew well that I was not obeying Thranduil's order and that my hand and my slim chance to find mercy were invariably forfeit. They could not believe that I was simply a very mediocre swordsman; the amount of well-controlled footwork that was necessary to get around skewering my poor Mordil was probably hard to overlook.

There was no way to get out of this even halfway elegantly without causing harm I did not want to cause, and I suspected that it would ultimately be a question of who would tire first... But that decision would take some more time.

Again, the blades clashed and were drawn apart, just one more beat in the rhythm of this perverse song that was meant to continue against our will, too shrill and dissonant to leave any hope of a vaguely harmonious ending.

What possessed me to alter the tune a bit then, to try a mean feint, I do not know. Perhaps I hoped that Mordil would realize what I was doing the very last moment and would have to readjust his grip on the sword, offering me the split second necessary to disarm him, or maybe my mind was weary and sick of this game and made me do what I would have done had this been just any fight against any opponent.

All I remember clearly is that Tanglinna fell for the feint too well, so well that it became impossible to pretend that I had not seen I had succeeded, so well that there was no excuse for not letting my blade continue its way straight into his unprotected flesh – and of course, I stopped the sword in mid-air before it came even remotely close enough to him to do even the slightest damage.

My friend and opponent stared at me in disbelief, slowly lowering his weapon when he realized that I was not going to continue the duel; he knew as well as I that my violation of the king's one condition had ruined everything. I tried to smile at him and hoped he understood that there were more important things than my hand – still holding the sword's hilt now, but probably to be found under a blade very soon – or even a chance to lead a good and honest life. Perhaps we would be able to meet secretly somewhere from time to time, in Laketown, or in the depths of the forest where neither cruel kings nor troublesome goblins were to be found?

But Tanglinna's gaze flitted away and over to the king who held up a hand now, a brow raised in an odd mixture of reprimand, nonchalance and fell amusement. "Alagaerion, what was that? I told you that you must not hold yourself back, and yet this appears to be what you just did?" He glanced at his Sword Masters who nodded in agreement.

I had expected Thranduil to say just this, and he was right indeed; yet, the way he said it, even with a hint of feigned astonishment, as if he, who had gleefully reiterated the fact that Tanglinna and I had become 'good friends', had not known all along that it would come to this, angered me even more than his insane decision to let us fight had done.

With more of a grand gesture than might have been necessary, I cast away my sword and watched it skitter across the stone floor until it hit the dais and came to rest before it. It felt oddly liberating to be rid of this cursed piece of metal that had not been put to good use here, and was I not free to do and say whatever pleased me now?

I would lose a hand and be confined in a cell for long months anyway; telling the king what he deserved to be told could hardly make my sentence more terrible, and letting him know that I did not approve of him and his fiendish delight in playing with us was well worth having to brave the wrath of some prison guards.... Not that I would not regret boldness later – but now, it seemed very appropriate.

"My king, I refuse to continue this farce!"

It would not have surprised me if Thranduil had answered this affront by having me dragged to the dungeons at once; instead, he lifted a brow yet again and enquired with an unnerving semblance of patient benevolence: "Whatever do you mean?" If he meant to provoke me further, he succeeded perfectly well.

He could be glad that I had dropped the blade already. I could not remember when I had last felt this angry with anybody; it might well have been back at the Fens of Serech when an orc had tried to stab my father from behind and I had fully realized for the first time that my beloved adar was not invulnerable, a thing I had known in my mind, of course, without really acknowledging it in my heart that had still been filled with the last innocence of youth then. Sometimes, childhood chooses the wrong moment to end. It had been the orc's bad luck that this unpleasant realization had come to me with a jolt while he had been in reach of my sword – and it was the king's bad luck that I had little to lose.

With some effort, I managed to convert my urge to slap him across his arrogant face in front of his retainers into a mere cold glare, replying: "I will admit that it is your good right to test both my skills and my sincerity, my king, and that you may choose whatever trial seems appropriate to you - but this is nothing but a farce. If you wish to punish your Master Archer for his outstanding decency and kindness, you should at least have the good taste not to use me as your executioner."

These words apparently impressed Mordil much more than the king; he looked aghast and shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, be it to tell me what a terrible fool I was or to beg the king not to take me too seriously.

In any case, he did not get very far, for the king interrupted him before he had even halfway begun. "So, you think that this was a farce and nothing more? You think that I chose Tanglinna as the one to pit you against as a punishment for him?" he asked, regarding me closely, but rather with interest than with great wrath. "What you do not understand, Alagaerion, is that I have learned more about you during this 'farce' than you can know."

More than I could know? That was unlikely; he had certainly realized what a fool I was, completely misjudging both the king and the situation, and that was all that was to realize here!

Why had I believed that this was some sort of cruel farce or even a test of my sword fighting skills? It should have been obvious to me from the very beginning that my mere ability to wield a blade more or less well was not what would make Thranduil decide if I could be allowed to stay in his realm, and had I been less frightened and worried, it would have been obvious to me.... I almost believed I could here my father's voice, chuckling a little and commenting: 'Stupid elfling! You realize this now?' Now indeed, after this gruesome duel that I could have ended much earlier....

So all the king could surmise about me was probably that I was particularly stupid at times, but at least sincere in calling his Master Archer my friend.

Feeling very defeated and very foolish, I finally bowed my head. "I apologize for my harsh words."

Thranduil's face was impassive yet again. "Apology accepted. Now tell me, Alagaerion. Do you think you deserve to have your hand struck from your body for your crimes?"

The king's voice was very calm, almost indifferent, and for one moment, I dared hope that this was just another trial, a question asked mainly to learn how repentant I truly was, not an unchangeable verdict, but then, I saw Tanglinna's shoulders slump, and I knew I had dared hope for too much. He knew the king better than I did; if he did not believe that this would end well, it would not.

If this was to be my punishment, then, there was nothing left than to go through it and this preliminary game of question and answer with as much dignity as I had left after the most unfortunate beginning of my conversation with the king.

The question allowed various answers, that much was certain, but Thranduil would hardly expect me to improvise a philosophical discourse on the appropriateness of elven legislation on theft, and pointing out that my personal opinion might differ from what law prescribed in this respect would have been very unwise. So, I merely inclined my head once again and replied: "I do, my king."

If the king approved of my answer, he chose not to show it, but only enquired: "And is it still your intent to come here, to begin an 'honest life'?"

Perhaps this was a ceremonious and complicated way of informing me that my plea was as good as granted; if not so, it was the most insane question that I had been asked until then. What did Thranduil expect, that I would tell him that I had just changed my mind, but that I would gladly let them hack off my hand anyway? Valar! This king could be trying!

But losing my temper with him once was enough for one day. "It is."

Again, the king glanced at the two Sword Masters, who nodded slightly at this wordless question and had at least the grace to look impressed with what they had seen. However, their judgement did not seem to be the only one that counted, for the king's gaze slid to the Noldorin lady, who gave a nod as well – and smiled, a pleased and kind smile, quite obviously not meant for Thranduil, who quickly turned away again to look at me once more.

"I want you to understand something, Alagaerion", he said, and I could not help thinking that I would have preferred him not to use my father's name with such an amount of condescension. "IF I accept your request and welcome you into my realm then I do not wish to ever hear of anything questionable about you from hence forth. Is that understood?"

"It is understood, my king," I gravely assured him, but I was relaxing a little; it sounded as if he was going to let me stay, albeit I had insulted him for a second time.

Yet, even though I had already suspected that much, my heart sang with joy at the confirmation of my hopeful thoughts. "Then...I believe that we will allow you to stay," the king replied, placing one hand over that of his wife who did not look quite content with this new development, "but do not think that you will go unpunished." His eyes travelled to his Sword Masters for one last wordless exchange before he continued: "I will allow you to keep your hand, for I believe that Thinruth and Vardamar will find you useful...after you are released from the dungeons."

I could have laughed and wept with joy, and it was very hard to suppress the happy smile that threatened to come to my face. They would let me keep my hand.... They would let me keep my hand, and I would be allowed to stay, and all would be well! Spending some time in the dungeons would not be too unbearable, and later, I could fetch Alagant, and things would be as they were supposed to be... It had suddenly become a most beautiful day.

I bowed to the king. "This generosity is most undeserved, my king - I do thank you." But at the same time, I dared to glance sideways at Mordil, hoping to see the overwhelming happiness I felt mirrored on his face.

"It is undeserved, Alagaerion, but I am a merciful king and on rare occasion I show it to those I deem worthy of my mercy." Thranduil stated, and I had to concede that he knew very well how to turn this into a demonstration of the qualities a good ruler is supposed to exhibit. I should have felt less amused that his grip on the queen's hand tightened while he spoke, but all was bright and good and kind now, and I pushed all worry that the queen's opinion on the matter might prove to be an obstacle at some point aside.

"Thank you, Thranduil." This was Tanglinna, sounding quite incredulous, but undeniable pleased with the outcome of this. He turned to grin at me with relief, and had we not been before the king's throne and serious, poised old warriors, we would doubtlessly have embraced and danced about like very happy elflings.

But neither the time nor the place were very appropriate for such spontaneous displays of joy, and so we contented ourselves with exchanging a smile.

As for the others present, they did not look too dissatisfied with the course the events had taken, not counting the queen.

The king, in turn, seemed to feel very good about his decision; as he stood and held out his arm for his wife to lead her out of the throne room, he nodded to Ecthelhador. "Please escort Tanglinna back to his cell and find a suitable one for Alagaerion as well." He gave us what could pass for a reassuring smile, and I was glad to know that Oropherion did not allow me to stay only grudgingly, even though I could not quite forgive him that he still refused to recognize that I had a given name.

"Welcome to Mirkwood, Linlote!" Mordil hurriedly said with a broad smile, probably regretting as much as I that we would not have any time to talk or celebrate now.

"Thank you," I replied, returning the smile and meaning to thank him for everything that he had done for me ever since we had first met on the battlefield by the Lonely Mountain.

Like this, my lovely new life began, and it should have made me very suspicious even then that it started with being locked up in a narrow, gloomy cell in Thranduil's dungeons.

I believe Ecthelhador, captain of the guards, is a frustrated minstrel. Whenever he was on duty, he made a point to visit me, singing the creative little ditty he had composed and entitled "The Duel of the One-eyed Thief and the Silver Archer".

"Clinking, clashing, Swords a-flashing, Blades a silver flow. The one-eyed thief with wondrous skill Did bring the silver archer low."

It grew rather tiresome after the fiftieth hearing or so. And yet...it was true, much to my everlasting chagrin.

I had plenty of time after the duel, sitting in my rather drear cell, to contemplate my poor skill with a sword. Admittedly, this was not always so. Riwmegor had taught me well, even if there had been a great deal of animosity on both sides that often showed itself in anger and harsh words, and occasionally he would slash my arms or wrists. "Reminders that you must not let your guard down, you great Silvan idiot!" I had not enjoyed those lessons, though I had learned something from them, never knowing that I would actually need to use this skill. I was an archer and any martial duty would be performed behind a longbow, not a sword.

But at Dagorlad, I had gladly taken up my sword, the sword made for me by my troublesome father-in-law, who had died trying to protect my Celair and our child when I had not been there to do so. Only too gladly had I wielded Celair-Dagnir with a soul-sickening resolve and fell glee; I had used it with a rage burning in me, an unholy anger at the losses I had suffered, losses that I could even now on occasion admit that I had not entirely recovered from. I had not been my self entirely during those long years spent fighting in Gorthaur the Cruel's black, forsaken land. When at last we had what passed for victory and journeyed home once more, I had put my sword away, tucked in the bottom of a trunk filled with nothing but shattered memories of a life that I could no longer have. For I had found that, though anointed with the blood of my enemies, the grief and guilt still existed; all the death that had been my path for so long had not assuaged the anguish in my heart. I had learned something in Dagorlad, my sword in hand... and it was not a pleasant lesson.

With a bow, you need never look in the eyes of the one you have slain. With a sword, it is different. You became entwined in a dance of death with your opponent, regardless of how long the engagement lasted, several heart-stopping moments or a mere heartbeat. They were your enemies, you knew nothing of them, and yet in their eyes were the mirrored emotions that tore at your own soul: hatred, rage, fear, confusion, pain. All was seen in their eyes before they died in a fountain-like spray of blood.

There were footfalls in the hall, slow, unhurried, one might say leisurely. They were accompanied by a low, playful humming. Ah...it was Ecthelhador the Silver-Tongued-Not-A-Minstrel of Mirkwood. I sighed, wondering what he could possibly want now. I had already heard his glorious song once today when he brought me breakfast. It was not time for another meal, which meant.... I did not know what it meant.

There was a noise at the door - no doubt he was peering into the dimness, maybe studying the wall across from him, which held my Great Work. It had been finished for some time now, having added the duel, which crept around onto the adjacent wall. Alagaith looked every inch a swordsman, elegant and dashing. Me...I looked, well, the Silver Peacock looked decidedly un- peacocky for a change. I had ceased adding little things here and there, for it had reached the point where one more star here, 0ne more leaf there, one more silver blur of blades would have been too much. It was done. Yet...this adjacent wall was growing into a rather dark corner, the paintings done there all in black, greys and reds as my thoughts deteriorated as was inevitable after a battle and the loss of so much life.

Battles I had seen aplenty, and each time these shadowed beings born of my own regrets would come stealing in like phantoms to catch me unaware. My first battle I had faced only one opponent, and while I may have appeared to be the victor, he took more from me than I had from him. I had merely ended his physical life, but he had set me on the pathway that would be my life, a life I did not want, one filled with grief and guilt over my shortcomings and failures and then the struggles I set upon myself to assure that I would not fail anyone ever again, an impossibility it seemed. It had taught me many things...things I would rather not know of. Many of life's lessons are hard.

Each time I had faced battle and death, whether it was at Doriath, the Havens at Sirion, Dagorlad, and now Erebor, the clinging darkness that ate at my soul would surface anew. This was why Thranduil had decided I should escort Alagaith to Gladaran Thamas after I had captured him. He wanted to allow me a respite from the sights and sounds, the emotions that filled every battle and its aftermath, that took me back to that road I no longer wished to travel but could not avoid. All that was wounded and vulnerable in me surfaced at this time – a vulnerability that few ever were witness to, or one that I even liked to confess to myself.... Thranduil knew me too well.

And so, it appeared, did Ecthelhador. Why else sing his one song over and over if not annoy the Master Archer from his morose mood? I smiled into the darkness before exhaling loudly, knowing he could hear me.

"Yes, Ecthelhador?" I called, not moving from where I sat, huddled in the far corner where he could not see me. I wondered if he bore news of Alagaith. I had not spoken to nor seen him since the duel, and on occasion Ecthelhador would tell me how he fared. Still, I would have liked to have spoken to Linlote face to face. It was not the best way to begin one's new life – seated in a lonely cell with no friendly face or visitors that he knew – no visitors of any sort except the infuriating Ecthelhador, guard captain extraordinaire. I could not go to him to offer encouragement or conversation...I was in the same situation as he was.

"What is it?" I asked in a slightly sharper tone as my query had gone unanswered.

"It is a nice, bright morning, Master Archer," he said at last.

I could almost hear him grin as he said this. He was delighting in this trivial observation of the weather. It was not much of anything, rather like asking, "How are you?" – nothing indeed, except to a prisoner who had not seen the sun in a blue sky except by staring at the one he had painted on the stone wall opposite him, a mere mimicry of the original – flawed and merely... paint. It had no warmth, no light....

I sneered into the dark, even as I thanked the Valar for letting Ecthelhador arrive when he did. This would be a much more pleasant diversion than listening to the bleak thoughts that rattled in my mind like dry bones.

"I am glad to hear it," I called sarcastically, shifting my position slightly. "If it is so 'nice and bright,' then why are you down here where it is never 'nice and bright,' but only gloomy and drear, and where one tends to brood and think wicked thoughts about certain captains that insist on telling one that it is a 'nice and bright' morning?"

Again, I knew he smiled. He enjoyed this as much as I did.

"So, you would like me to go away again, would you?" he asked cheerfully. "Mind you, I can leave at once.... I will simply explain to the king then that you refuse to see him in his study now, and I am sure that you will not be disturbed again for a very long time...."

I was amazed when he said this, and then even more amazed when he was moving away from the cell!

The king wanted to see me? Now?

I leapt to my feet, hastening to the small window and grasped the black iron bars and peering out, my face to the bars.

"Ecthelhador, please! What does he want?"

It was obviously not to set me free; Thranduil had never summoned me to his study for that before, and I doubted that he would want to start now. So what could it be? What trouble was there now? Had something transpired concerning Alagaith?

"Ah.... So you are not going to disobey another order, are you?"

Ecthelhador was there again, watching me, slowly sliding the heavy dark locks back from the door, their noise harsh in the sepulchral silence of these stone corridors and rooms. His eyes met mine, shining and as bright as the morning was outside undoubtedly. The key to my cell was held negligently in his fingers, and then he spun it about his forefinger before inserting it into the lock, whistling "The Duel Of The One-Eyed Thief And The Silver Archer". With great care he turned it and the tumblers clanked as they gave way one by one.

"Yes," he continued after slowly opening the door for me. "He wants to see you now; you should hurry."

Hurry? Hurry?! After his lingering performance with the cell door, not to mention his dawdling pace in arriving here, he dared to tell me that Thranduil wanted me there now?

"Do you know why he wants to see me?" I growled, glaring at him as I stepped past him into the hallway, the torchlight dancing over the stones. The air here was fresher than in the cell, which tended to be as dank and joyless as cells were reputed to be. You could almost smell the river where it flowed by the water-gate. It was the smell of freedom, but I scarcely noticed.

Ecthelhador shrugged, not at all impressed with my facial contortions that had always set the younglings scurrying to do what I had told them. He clearly did not care why I had been summoned, only that I had been.

"It might be about that Noldorin pest," he said at last, with a sly glance at me.

If he hoped for me to retort with harsh words, giving him fodder for more antagonistic banter, he was disappointed. This is what I had feared. Something had happened concerning Alagaith. Thranduil had repented of his decision to give my poor Linlote a chance - or Firithiel had changed his mind for him with her obvious unhappiness over said decision. She could be as stubborn as he was at times. And she was a female.... They did know how to spear someone with a look equally filled with disappointment and accusation, and then moved gracefully aside as the male they had skewered with such skill with this glance hastened to make things right again.

"Take me to him," I murmured, trying not to think at all...but...if something had changed, gone awry while I rotted down here in this cheerless, silent place...I would have to find a way to rectify it. The unfairness of this was nigh overwhelming!

I trailed after Ecthelhador, who seemed to take the "no talking to the prisoner" to heart now, for he said not another word, merely hummed his little ditty under his breath as we moved up the corridor.

My heart was hammering in my chest and I drew several deep breaths, trying to concentrate on them and not on the myriad worries that suddenly assaulted me, preying relentlessly on my mind. If I told myself all the stories of that pressed in my head, fearing that some of them might prove to be true, I would doubtless not be of any use in defending Alagaith to Thranduil.

It seemed that an age must have passed before we finally arrived at the carved door behind which lay Thranduil's study. I drew a couple more breaths, vowing to keep my temper in check regardless of what was said or what had been done.... Certainly he had not taken Alagaith out and chopped off his hand! Surely, they would have told me...wouldn't they? What if they had and then forced him to leave? Valar! No...Thranduil would not do that. It had to be something else....It had to be! No stories!

I stared up at the doors, gazing at the gracefully crafted beech trees with twining boughs that adorned them, and made myself count the squirrels and birds, and even the smallish stray spiders that were hidden in the branches. It was a somewhat playful carving considering that beyond it lay the room where Thranduil attended to the more tedious aspects of ruling a kingdom, but his children rejoiced over this door and its whimsical decorations. This was why Thranduil had told Tawarant specifically to carve this door in this manner.

"I want them to be entertained while waiting for me to finish in here," he had explained with a grin that day so long ago. "They must see something fun and exciting and ... cute."

I did not find the door overly fun, exciting, or cute though...not just now. How could I when I feared that Alagaith's fate lay on the other side of it?

My hand closed over the cold round door knob, its surface graved to look like a sun, the rays extending out and around behind it. I glanced once more back at Ecthelhador who shrugged, totally uncaring and walked away from me.

"When all was still within the Hall,

Upon a drear night it did befall,

When hushed was the sound of the lute,

Nor yet was heard song of silver flute,

The stranger did come striding in And then a wonder did begin.

Of shining heroes, I have none.

Of glowing eyes, he had but one.

Yet strong he was and swift and fleet,

And quite nimble upon his feet.

Flashing sword was in his hand;

He should face the best within our land."

I drew a breath then exhaled slowly, knocked once and pulled the door open before entering Thranduil's study.

The king was seated in a carved chair of some dark, exotic wood that matched the large desk behind which he sat. This furniture was reportedly made by orcs in some distant city in the East, but of course that was quite ridiculous. Orcs could craft nothing so elegant or beautiful.... Needless to say, I would not mention this to Alagaith for undoubtedly he would have gainsaid me. I know that his friend Seven must have been a rather extraordinary orc but, in general, they could not be quite as civilized as he was - nor as skilled in carving and crafting furniture. Why would orcs need chairs and desks? But no, I could not think of Alagaith now...or I might think of him with one hand and alone in the woods...begin eaten by a stray spider, unable to defend himself....

Valar! Be still!

I bowed gracefully to Thranduil as I stood in the doorway waiting for him to acknowledge me. He was bent over paperwork, wearisome but necessary part of the running of a realm. He appeared to be rather calm and not anxious for my presence in the least...yet Ecthelhador had said to hurry.... I frowned slightly, wondering if the good captain had been toying with me over the urgency of the king's summons. Obviously, he had.

"Aran-hir, I am sorry," I began when Thranduil continued to write on the parchment stretched before him, "if I kept you waiting."

I resisted the urge to neaten my braid, for I had done that on the way here as well as I could, my fingers moving swiftly in my hair and tying it with a slim blue cord. My appearance was not appropriate for a meeting with the king, but since I had no other garments than the paint-stained ones I was wearing in my cell, nor even a comb to run through my rather messy hair, my slightly bedraggled appearance would have to suffice. I thought that perhaps if Thranduil were not in such a hurry then I could have managed to go to my little house across the river and make myself more presentable or even just find a bucket of clean water to wash my hands and face, but no.... Ecthelhador had said to hurry, and hurry I had...only to find the king was still rather busy with his paperwork, and not quite ready to deal with me.

My fingers plucked at the rather dirty tunic, one nail scrapping at a smear of red paint that stood our rather garishly on the sage green fabric. Really, I should be more careful when I am painting. Paint did not yield easily once it had set into the fabric.

The king glanced up then, quirking one brow at me, my hand dropping once more to my side.

"Apology accepted, Tanglinna," he said brusquely before returning to his paperwork and the only sound for quite sometime was the scratching of his quill on the parchment.

I studied him for a moment, but soon realized that he was indeed not ready to speak with me, and I would have to wait patiently for him to finish this business at hand.

You will be sorry for this, Ecthelhador, I sang in my head, the melody of which sounded entirely too much like his little ditty. I did not want that song running non-stop through my head as it had already too often, so I turned my attention to the tapestry behind Thranduil, crossing my arms behind my back and suppressing a sigh.

It was an exquisite piece of work, stitched by Thranduil's lady-mother Auriell. She had made it for Oropher back in our early days in Greenwood. It was of the legendary white stag that haunted these woods, ever beautiful - ever allusive. The stag was framed by two fir trees, their branches entwined over the animal's elegant snowy head; he stood surrounded by the native flowers of our forest fastness, a wreath of holly about his neck for Auriell had presented this as a gift one Yule.

"It will never be caught but by your skilled threads, my Lady Dawn," he had said with an affectionate smile at her. He always called her this: Lady Dawn. She was everything bright and beautiful to him, filling him with hope for what life could be here.

A faint smile touched my lips as I recalled those distant bygone days before the shadow had chased us ever northward, wreaking sorrow and loss in our midst. Auriell had smelled of lily-of-the-valley, those radiant little, snowy bells, bright reminders of new life and spring. I had first met her in a protected garden in Menegroth, surrounded by greenery and twinkling coloured lights. She had been dressed in green herself, the fabric shimmering as she knelt beside Oropher and myself, her belly swelling with their son before whom I stood even now. Her hands on my face had been soft and gentle, her voice as sweet as the larks' singing,

"Do you think it will be necessary to keep you confined in the dungeons any longer?"

I started, broken from my reverie by a voice that was definitely not like the singing of larks! I looked down to see Thranduil watching me appraisingly as he leaned back in his 'orc-carved' chair. I did not -thank the Valar - merely blurt out the first words that leapt into my mind.

"If you think it unnecessary to confine me any longer," I said trying to sound humble and repentant, for it would not do at all to anger him when I did not know exactly why I had been hastened here, "then I will thank you for it, hir-nin."

Thranduil gave a curt nod, not very impressed with my unaccustomed humility.

"Very well then - you will be free to go," he said, his sapphire-bright eyes never wavering from my face, though I fancied I saw a slight mark of disgust pass over his face as he took in my appearance.

I dropped my gaze, feeling a bit self-conscious. Why had Ecthelhador not let me tidy up a bit?!

"But," the king continued in a stern voice, his eyes growing cold as I lifted my eyes to his, "the matter that brought you to the dungeons in the first place is not entirely resolved yet."

Dread ran through me like a winter-iced stream at these words.

"What...what do you mean, hir-nin?" I asked quietly, praying that he was not going to say that Alagaith would have to leave Mirkwood after his imprisonment. More stories crowed in my mind, but I pushed them down, concentrating on my king and friend.

"You know what I mean, Tanglinna. I cannot keep that Noldo thief imprisoned forever, although it has been argued that exactly this would be a wise thing to do. Yet I cannot simply release that criminal either."

I frowned at this obvious pronouncement. A slight relief melted some of the chill that had settled in my heart. Alagaith was obviously still here in a cell.

"No," I began, "you...you cannot keep him imprisoned forever. But...tell me...why can you not release him after a time? I thought...not that I presume to know what your august majesty is thinking, but I thought...you were going to let Alagaith and his son live here."

Fear tightened once more about my heart. Though he had not said thus, I knew that Firithiel had made her views on this quite clear. The queen would have no love for Alagaith and undoubtedly could not see beyond the fact that he was a robber of the dead, a Noldorin thief with no honour and therefore no worth whatsoever.

"Is that not ...possible?" I finished, my voice barely above a whisper.

Thranduil was not looking at me then, but staring at a large mural painted on the wall behind me. I had painted it there for him many years before. The king was depicted – quite realistically this time – in his hunting leathers of rich green embroidered with flashing silver, his golden hair streaming behind him as he and his fellow hunters gave chase to a fleeing stag, not the mystical white one that would never be caught, but one of the many red ones that lived here in northern Mirkwood. The horses were eagerly leaping in its wake, manes flying, tails aloft in delight at this merry pursuit. Much as Tawarant had done with the door to the study, I had hidden several small woodland creatures in the towering trees that were wreathed in autumn's best and brightest colours. There were the black squirrels leaping in the trees' limbs, voles and mice hidden beneath the grasses and stands of palest mushrooms. A rabbit peered from the ferns, and myriad birds adorned the branches and the sky overhead. Even Thranduil's lean-limbed hounds cavorted through the trees, red tongues lolling.

I frowned slightly, thinking that this time the fleeing prey with eyes wide with the uncertainty of its future was not the stag depicted behind me, but Alagaith. He was at the king's mercy, and though Thranduil had indeed shown mercy to Alagaith, the situation was far from certain.

"The existence of that son complicates things further," Thranduil said suddenly. "One thief, bad enough, but two thieves?"

His eyes moved to me now, one eyebrow lifted in query, as he awaited my answer.

Anger now melted the rest of the fear, for he was deliberately provoking me. I knew that he was not doing this carelessly, and therefore, I drew several deep breaths, counting each one slowly, until I felt I could speak without sounding like a roaring Balrog spitting fire and death.

"Alagaith wishes to put that life behind him, hir-nin. He does not want that life for his son. Why do you think he came here? To steal away your carefully hoarded treasure?"

I broke off my words abruptly, realizing that the Balrog still lurked in the shadows and had been about to say something that could prove disastrous. Why had I even mentioned his precious treasure? That was not something that he even allowed one to joke about...not usually any way, and yet I had ventured in that forbidden direction without realizing it!

An embarrassed flush coloured my cheeks as he studied me intently.

"Now, that is an interesting possibility...." He frowned slightly as he said this. "Actually, I had not thought of that before."

I saw one of his long elegant hands move to cover the gilded hilt of an exquisite little letter opener on his desk. It had been a gift from some dwarf-lord, whose name escaped me. I could have cursed myself for giving him ideas that only pleaded the case against Alagaith! But I had no time to make things worse, for he was speaking again.

"In any case, we cannot be sure what drove that thief here, and he cannot be trusted...yet."

I dropped my gaze to the stone floor at my feet, not really seeing the large, lovely carpet of green and silver that spread out from beneath the desk. I ground my teeth together, choking back all the words I could say but refused to.

"Will the time that he can be trusted ever come, hir-nin?" I hissed, slowly looking up to meet his gaze, my eyes blazing hotly. I had told him why Alagaith wanted to come here! Alagaith had told him as well! And yet...and yet...!

Thranduil smiled nonchalantly, a slight curving of his lip.

"We can only hope so!" he answered in a jaunty, teasing voice. "But before, I will not allow that thief to move freely in my realm...especially not as I have seen what he can do with a sword."

I suppose that this was a rather backward compliment about Alagaith's skill, but I hardly noticed.

"Then what do you propose is to be done? Hir-nin...please, do not dash the slim hope that you have given him by showing your great mercy thus far! I beg you! Do not take that from him! He has lost so much of what he has had in life that.... Please. There must be some solution that will satisfy you and ...the others, until you can learn that Alagaith is sincere in his dream of starting a new life here.... Don't destroy him...."

I hated begging like this, throwing myself at his feet as it were, but I was not doing it for myself...I would not have done it for myself. All I could think was that if Alagaith were to be sent away now, after having been given the thin silvery thread of hope, it might destroy him forever. To have this dream of something better taken away would not be easy to live with, and I knew he would not try to start a new life, an honest life, ever again. He would feel there was no use in trying. I knew what it felt like to lose your dream forever, and I did not wish that hopeless agonizing pain on anyone, certainly not on this elf that I now considered a very good friend, one whose welfare I truly cared for.

Thranduil stared at me in what appeared to be amazement. He opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, beckoning for me to sit in the chair placed near the desk.

"Stop this at once, Tanglinna," he said at long last, his expression almost kind.

But I would have none of it. I glared at the floor once more, or I would be glaring at him. I did not sit, but stood with my fists clenched helplessly at my sides. Once started, I would not be stop until I had an answer, finding myself carried along like a leaf tossed into a flowing river current.

"Stop what, Thranduil? Defending someone whom I trust my very life with? Stop making you uncomfortable because you have a decision to make and my words are not easing that any?"

Slowly, I glance up at him, wanting him to see the sincerity that shaped these words. If he could see past my desperate anger.

"I cannot believe that you would have given Alagaith such false hope. That is cruelty that I did not think you possessed! If you are going to tell me that he has no chance here, then be done with it!"

I wanted it ended! I wanted him to decide one way or another, no more playing at word games.... Yet...his face took on an inscrutability that would have impressed Arasceleg. My shoulders slumped.

"Passionate and touching," he said, the sarcasm biting into me and I feared I had indeed sentenced Alagaith to his life as a thief for all time, "as your words are, Tanglinna, you have not listened properly. I did not say that I was going to drive your precious 'friend' from this forest." The word 'friend' had been hissed with great derision and I felt my heart dying within me. Yet, what had he said? I found myself trying to see past the red haze of my anger that clouded my vision as he continued. "He may stay here, but in somewhat restricted freedom. And as you have brought me this thief, you will be his gaoler."

I could not speak for a time, but merely stared at him, trying to 'listen properly' to what he had said. He had said Alagaith may stay? He had said that? Happiness welled within me and threatened to rip my face in half with an ever-widening smile that threatened. Yet.... "What do you mean his 'gaoler'?" I asked, wondering exactly what this did mean. Was Linlote going to have to return to the dungeon every night? Surely not!

"Is that so hard to understand? You will make sure that this thief stays where he should be and does what he is supposed to do – he will be your responsibility as soon as he is released from the dungeons." A wry smile graced his lips then, eyes unreadable. "If it was not for that son of his, I would leave that duty to Ecthelhador – just keeping that thief in the dungeons and letting him out when it is necessary would be the easiest thing- But I can hardly make a mere elfling of twelve years a prisoner for months or years because his father has done wrong – so the thief will have to stay elsewhere, and as I would not burden any innocent with him, your house will be the place."

I took a few ragged breaths, hardly believing what had just transpired. Had I listened properly, or was I dreaming this entire episode back in my cell? No, I was not dreaming for I had moved one hand to pinch my opposite arm...not that I believed that pinching oneself would really prove anything at all. Thank the Valar! Alagaith was to be freed and was to come and stay with me! I could easily have stood there some minutes, pondering what had been said, happily repeating Thranduil's words over and over again in my mind, but that would not have been a good thing. Thranduil might change his mind in that space of time; it was best to hasten away from here.

"Thank you, Thranduil. I...I...." There were no words to adequately express what I was feeling at that moment. If I had tried, I would have failed to be eloquent and merely stammered rather confused bits of happiness and joy. "Thank you," I said, not even trying to find the correct words. "You will see...all will be...well." A grin did quirk my lips then, since those words had been used before in a rather odd situation and they had indeed proven true! They would prove true again in this case!

Thranduil smiled then, a genuine smile filled with affection.

"You may leave now, Master Archer," he said, waving a dismissing hand at me.

I knew he must still harbour doubts about this decision, but at least Alagaith was being given a true chance! A true chance!

I smiled at the king, bowed and backed from the room, my mind already on what I would tell Alagaith about what had transpired here, what things I would need to get since I lived alone and my home was not adequately stocked with food or bedding for more than one person. I mouthed "thank you" at Thranduil before closing the door behind me.

I did not leap for joy until I was at least 10 feet away from the study door, and this time it was not Ecthelhador who sang, but me. It was rather a nice song after all.

"Yet not the best with sword was he

'Twas chosen to face the thief, you see;

But arrow swift and bended bow

Was how he chose to down his foe.

Yet forth the silver archer stood

And tried to best the thief...if he could.

Clinking, clashing,

Blades a-flashing,

Swords a silver flow.

The one-eyed thief with wondrous skill

Did bring the silver archer low."

TBC