CALL OF FREEDOM
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the places mentioned in this fiction. I do, however own many of the cast; you'll easily be able to tell which ones once you start reading. Squirrel and Celrin, for example, are mine, as are all the princes apart from Legolas. Obviously. The plot is also mine. Please do not take it, for whatever reasons you may have.
A/N: It's taken me so long to get this story started! I mean, honestly! I was bitten by the Plot Bunny for this piece a couple of months ago. I suppose, I wanted to get Princes of Mirkwood finished first though, so I didn't get too much going on. This piece is set quite a few years after that one was. This is not, I repeat, NOT an evil!Thranduil fiction. He loves his sons dearly, and would rather die a thousand painful deaths than have one of them die. Due to certain events though - see Princes Of Mirkwood - he has become over-protective and dreads loosing the princes a second time around.
I don't think there are many new characters. The princes are all regulars, so are Culkemen and Silnan, and the three novices are introduced in Finishing The Tapestry. Also, a huge thanks to all the people I used as guinea pigs to test out various ideas. I think that's about it, so. . . happy reading! Please leave a review when you've finished!
CHAPTER 1 ~ That Cooped Up Feeling
The golden haired prince of Mirkwood was lying sprawled across his bed, his head tipped back over the edge. He stared at his three, older brothers with a blank, bored expression. No noise was echoing in the large space; no songs or instruments playing, no conversation, nothing. In short, the three lounging princes were bored out of their minds.
At last, Legolas twisted on to his front, almost falling off the bed as he did so, and propped himself up on to his elbows. His loose hair flopped over his shoulders, gently tickling the backs of his hands.
"Where are Oroweth and Astaler?" he asked the oldest of the assembled brothers; Nuryävié. The prince shrugged his shoulders and rested his chin on his knees in a very un-princely manner.
"Oroweth is with adar somewhere, discussing. . . something. He did tell me, but I am afraid I was not listening to him at the time. I think Astaler will be with his novices, down at the training grounds." Nilwethion replied where Nuryävié had just shrugged. Leaning his back against the dark, wooden desk, the prince stretched his long legs out and sighed with boredom. In between Nuryävié and Nilwethion, Thellind was lying sprawled out on his front, his chin resting in his pale hands. His eyes seemed to be glazed over with boredom.
Looking down at the three of them from his vantage point on the bed, Legolas gave a frustrated growl and flopped, letting his arms dangle and his head drop.
"If I do not have anything to do soon, I will go mad!" moaned Nuryävié, his fair voice full of despair.
"We could. . ." Nilwethion sat up and craned his neck, his bright eyes flickering around the room in the hope that he would find something. He failed his quest and slumped against the desk again.
For a few minutes, the princes sat there in silence, their eyes glazing over one by one. At last, from where his face was buried in the silky bed sheets and thick quilt, Legolas made a muffled announcement.
"I wish adar would let us leave this Valar forsaken place! He is being far too over protective! I wish that he would let us run around in the forest again, and go wherever we please!"
"I do not blame him for being like this," sighed Nuryävié. Beside him, Thellind nodded in agreement, his eyes loosing a little of their glazed look as the suggestion of conversation promised to begin getting interesting. Legolas raised his head and glared at his brother.
"It happened years ago, Nuryävié. The orcs have been driven back! There are none roaming this part of the forest any more!"
At this point, Nilwethion joined the debate.
"Try telling adar that."
"You know full well we have already tried many times, Nilwethion."
The short conversation faded away, and Thellind wriggled uncomfortably, his muscles aching from having lain on the floor so long. His mossy green tunic crumpled under his shifting weight, causing already crinkled lines to cross over and twist around. The silent prince began idly running his slender fingers through his hair, tugging at the occasional knot. With every passing moment, the silence grew heavier and heavier, pressing down on the four bored princes like a lead weight attempting to drown them. At last, the large door was pushed open and Oroweth slipped through the gap. His brothers looked up expectantly, their faces brightening visibly at the thought of news.
The black haired prince glided over to them and slipped down on to the bed beside Legolas. His dark green tunic was, as always, crease free and looking as though he had only just put it on, even though he had been wearing it all day. In the flickering, white candle light which lit up the room, his eyes twinkled wearily as he blinked owlishly.
"What news?" begged Legolas, eagerly pushing himself up in to a cross legged position. He stared at his brother with wide, blue eyes and bit his lower lip with anticipation. Anything to quench such dire boredom was welcomed. The heir to Mirkwood's crown had the full attention of his four siblings.
"Apparently, animal traps have been found in the forest a few miles in to the forest, away to the south west. Adar suspects mortal poachers; Dwarves or Men, he is not sure which. It is unlikely to be the woodmen, they keep away from us. . ." Oroweth was stopped mid flow by his brother cutting across him.
"What is to be done about it?" asked Nilwethion. Instead of becoming annoyed at the rude interruption, Oroweth just pursed his lips and answered the question.
"Adar is picking a few warriors to go and find out who is setting the traps, and then to capture them and bring them back here for questioning."
An eager, dangerous glint sparked up in the corner of Legolas' eye and a hopeful grin lit up his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oroweth stopped him with a worried shake of his head.
"Do not even think it, little Greenleaf. Adar will never let you go." Legolas stopped smiling and his happy face drooped in to caged misery. He hung his head sadly, making Oroweth squirm and feel terrible. To hide this, the prince carried on talking.
"I think that there are about twenty of them going on the search. . ." again, the unfortunate prince was cut off mid flow. This time it was Nuryävié who spoke, voicing his question.
"Who is leading them?"
Oroweth thought for a moment, suddenly aware of being closely watched by four sets of piercing, bright eyes. Each pair glittered in the candle light like sun on the waves. For one who had spent so much time in the company of the owners of the eyes, Oroweth was still disconcerted by the stares. Although he was not aware of it, he gave such looks to others and had the power to make them feel just as uncomfortable as he was at the moment.
"Captain Culkemen, I think adar said."
He shut his eyes tightly to avoid the triumphant expressions playing on his brothers faces. He knew his brothers more than well enough to know exactly what was coming. The different reactions to such an important piece of news were, so far as Oroweth was concerned, obvious. First, Legolas would suggest twisting Culkemen around his little finger and persuading her to let them tag along without asking Thranduil. . .
"We must tell her that adar has allowed us to go at last!" whispered Legolas, his voice bursting with excitement and a longing to be free of the fatherly love ensnaring him like a bird in a cage, "She will be easy to convince! You all know how motherly she feels towards us! Ever since the journey back from Imladris she has had a soft spot for us born from pity!"
. . . And then Nuryävié would half heartedly argue about not using people. . .
"Are you sure, Legolas?" asked Nuryävié, a second or two after Legolas' idea had sunk in. The prince frowned slightly. "Adar has always taught us that it is wrong to manipulate people in such a way, after all."
. . . And then Nilwethion would make sure that his views were heard. Joining Legolas' side, of course. It was rare for the two to disagree on such a subject. . .
"She will not mind, silly. You know as well as we do that Culkemen would surely love to have us under her wing again!" A mischievous twinkle like a star plucked from the heavens twinkled in the eye of the young prince.
. . . And then, as always was the case these days, Nuryävié would give in and go along with the plan. . .
Nuryavie sighed in the manner of one defeated in a harsh battle. A small smile then pushed up the corners of his mouth and he nodded. "Very well, we must go and find the gallant captain as soon as possible."
The prince stood up to leave, brushing down his leaf green, soft cotton tunic and his off-white leggings. . .
. . . Then Thellind will put up a protest and try to persuade them not to go along with the plan. Silent, as always, using those big, irresistible eyes of his. . .
As Oroweth had mentally predicted, Thellind immediately sat bolt upright and stared at the three of his brothers who were about to make an escape attempt. His large, blue eyes shone sadly, small, possibly fake tears welling up in their corners. His lower lip trembled slightly and the silent prince clenched his dainty fingers on the rug as he shook his head vigorously. Although he hated being so cooped up, he had a very soft heart and hated the thought of Thranduil being distraught when he found them missing.
Legolas averted his eyes, scared that he would become fall in to the trap he so often fell in to; being persuaded against something by his elder brother. This time, he was determined to sneak out of the underground palace that kept him so bitterly confined, proving to the king that none of the princes needed to be wrapped up in cotton wool and that they could, in fact, look after themselves.
"Not this time, Thellind. Will you not come with us, though?"
With shock, Thellind shook his head again, his hair whipping through the air with each twist of the neck. He folded his arms resolutely, just to prove his point.
"Oroweth, will you come?" asked Legolas, looking next towards the thoughtful figure sitting on the bed. His reply, again, was a simple shake of the head.
"Nay, little Greenleaf. If I go as well, think how much adar will worry. Thellind will not be able to tell him where you are; he has not spoken a word for years and is unlikely to start again now. Astaler will not have the faintest idea where you have gone, unless you bump in to him as you leave, which is very unlikely, and if you leave a note without a messenger to deliver it, adar will never find it until he has emptied all his warriors in to the forest to find you and return you back home, safe and sound. If I stay here, however, I can persuade him not to send anybody after you. Besides. . . think what would happen if his most trusted advisor left his side."
As the words of the last sentence embedded themselves in Legolas' head, the prince grinned and shook his head at Oroweth. The latter smirked back, a merry twinkle in his eye.
"You will find Culkemen by the gates, if I am not very much mistaken," he said, and then, as the three escapees were fleeing the chamber, he added in a whisper; "Good luck to the three of you."
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Sometime later, a young novice poked his head around a smooth, stone corner near the gates of the cavernous palace. Making sure that the coast was clear, he slid around the corner, keeping as close to the wall as could, his pale face flickering in and out of the inconstant candle light. With another quick check to make sure he was alone, he turned around and beckoned to somebody behind him with a long, skinny arm. Almost instantly, two more novices appeared behind him, moving swiftly and scanning their surroundings with bright, clear eyes.
The novice in front took a couple of slow, careful steps forward in to the light. As the glow from the torches hanging in their brackets on the wall settled for a few moments, the novices face became clearer, revealing a quite feminine beauty. Long, dark eyelashes flicked every time the elf blinked his pretty blue eyes, and not a single blemish marked his skin. Over his back was slung a small bow; the type the novices were given to train with, and in his thin belt a white knife was resting snugly in its sheath.
"Squirrel, can you see anyone?" hissed one of the novices. Her long hair had been pulled back in to a loose plait which ran down her back; a few stray strands were already beginning to pull loose. In her right hand was clutched a small dagger, identical to the one in the belt of the novice named Squirrel.
"No - the cost is clear," came the quiet reply. The trio, constantly looking around suspiciously in case they were seen and caught, scurried down the narrow side passage until they came to a crossroads in the tunnel.
"Can you see anyone?" asked the third novice - a young boy about the same age as Squirrel. This was Celrin. A mischievous youth with black hair, deep brown eyes and a light hearted, non-serious approach to everything he ever did. Again, Squirrel replied with a 'no'. This time, however, the question from his companion had distracted the youth so his scouting eyes had missed three figures that were striding down the corridor to his left.
Just as the unfortunate elf stepped in to the corridor, the mysterious warrior stepped towards the same spot. Resultantly, the two crashed in to each other and fell to the floor. Squirrel blinked, dazed, as his two companions slunk back in to the shadows nervously, waiting with baited breath to see the outcome.
The warrior in the long cloak with a pack on his back was helped to his feet by an equally hidden companion, and the third member of the party picked up Squirrel, who rubbed his forehead mournfully after cracking it against the grey, stone wall when he fell. He bit his lip anxiously, and made a small, apologetic bow.
"I apologise, sir. I am afraid I did not see you, for knocking in to you."
The young novice cursed himself silently as he listened to the nervous stutter in his sadly small voice. He hung his head. To his great and everlasting surprise, the warriors laughed.
Sensing that they were not in any great trouble, Celrin and the other novice, Caranthon, crept forwards out from the shadows. Nervously and still a little shocked, Squirrel stared at the three warriors with the shadowed faces hidden under green hoods. They were now watching the three young novices with equal fascination. At last, the tallest one spoke.
"Now what are three novices like yourselves doing wandering the corridors near the gate at this late hour? Armed for battle as if for battle as well, I see. I hope you are not planning to do something silly like sneaking out to the forest to kill a few spiders." His words were greeted with light laughter from his two companions, but the three novices looked at each other with uncertainty, their cheeks tinted with a red, wine-like colour.
"No sir, we would never try hunting spiders unless we had Master Astaler or Master Luinorn!" This time, one of the hooded warriors tilted his head as if with interest.
"You like Master Astaler?"
On safer ground, the three novices nodded. They were not lying, either. Astaler was easier on them than Luinorn had been, giving them more freedom to show their individuality and not scolding them so harshly if they made a mistake. In this way, although all the novices respected Luinorn, they had grown to trust Astaler and held a deeper loyalty to him.
"You still have not answered my brothers other question," spoke the smallest of the three warriors, "so I find myself all the more interested in you. What is it you are doing?"
This time, Caranthon babbled the answer out. It was not as though it was a secret.
"We have to get through the main gates without asking for permission, sir. When we get through the gates, we have to go and find Master Astaler at our training grounds so he knows that we have done it. If we get there within the time limit, Master Astaler. . . well, nobody knows what Master Astaler does then, sir, because nobody has managed to get that far yet. We were doing really well, until Squirrel bumped in to you, sir."
"I would not have done, if Celrin had not distracted me," muttered the unfortunate novice under his breath. This was the cause for more laughter from the tall warriors.
"It would seem to me, little one, that you and your friends have done better by meeting us than you would do if you had not. You would not have got through the main gates because the guards there are quite aware that there are novices trying to escape. That is where we can help you. Pull your hoods over your faces and follow us. Here, take this." The speaker swung his pack in to Squirrel's hands, and the novice looked at it in shock. He then looked up at the warrior with his blue eyes wide open.
"You are helping us get through the gates?"
"Of course we are, little one. Hurry up, we have to get to Culkemen and the others before nightfall! Oh, and hide the bows. Only novices use those bows - you would be caught instantly."
With their hoods pulled over their heads and their small bows hidden out of sight, the three youngsters scurried after the elder Elves, astounded at the sudden and unexpected turn of luck that had crossed their paths. After a moment of deep thought, Caranthon asked a question which had been niggling her.
"Sir, when you become a warrior, do you not have to speak of the Captains as 'Captain?'"
With a smile and a flash of cheeky eyes, glittering in the light of the fiery torchlight that flickered happily from the walls, one of the warriors - Caranthon could not tell which, as they all looked the same with hoods and cloaks - turned around and winked at her.
"Nay, little one. Only when you become a prince."
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the places mentioned in this fiction. I do, however own many of the cast; you'll easily be able to tell which ones once you start reading. Squirrel and Celrin, for example, are mine, as are all the princes apart from Legolas. Obviously. The plot is also mine. Please do not take it, for whatever reasons you may have.
A/N: It's taken me so long to get this story started! I mean, honestly! I was bitten by the Plot Bunny for this piece a couple of months ago. I suppose, I wanted to get Princes of Mirkwood finished first though, so I didn't get too much going on. This piece is set quite a few years after that one was. This is not, I repeat, NOT an evil!Thranduil fiction. He loves his sons dearly, and would rather die a thousand painful deaths than have one of them die. Due to certain events though - see Princes Of Mirkwood - he has become over-protective and dreads loosing the princes a second time around.
I don't think there are many new characters. The princes are all regulars, so are Culkemen and Silnan, and the three novices are introduced in Finishing The Tapestry. Also, a huge thanks to all the people I used as guinea pigs to test out various ideas. I think that's about it, so. . . happy reading! Please leave a review when you've finished!
CHAPTER 1 ~ That Cooped Up Feeling
The golden haired prince of Mirkwood was lying sprawled across his bed, his head tipped back over the edge. He stared at his three, older brothers with a blank, bored expression. No noise was echoing in the large space; no songs or instruments playing, no conversation, nothing. In short, the three lounging princes were bored out of their minds.
At last, Legolas twisted on to his front, almost falling off the bed as he did so, and propped himself up on to his elbows. His loose hair flopped over his shoulders, gently tickling the backs of his hands.
"Where are Oroweth and Astaler?" he asked the oldest of the assembled brothers; Nuryävié. The prince shrugged his shoulders and rested his chin on his knees in a very un-princely manner.
"Oroweth is with adar somewhere, discussing. . . something. He did tell me, but I am afraid I was not listening to him at the time. I think Astaler will be with his novices, down at the training grounds." Nilwethion replied where Nuryävié had just shrugged. Leaning his back against the dark, wooden desk, the prince stretched his long legs out and sighed with boredom. In between Nuryävié and Nilwethion, Thellind was lying sprawled out on his front, his chin resting in his pale hands. His eyes seemed to be glazed over with boredom.
Looking down at the three of them from his vantage point on the bed, Legolas gave a frustrated growl and flopped, letting his arms dangle and his head drop.
"If I do not have anything to do soon, I will go mad!" moaned Nuryävié, his fair voice full of despair.
"We could. . ." Nilwethion sat up and craned his neck, his bright eyes flickering around the room in the hope that he would find something. He failed his quest and slumped against the desk again.
For a few minutes, the princes sat there in silence, their eyes glazing over one by one. At last, from where his face was buried in the silky bed sheets and thick quilt, Legolas made a muffled announcement.
"I wish adar would let us leave this Valar forsaken place! He is being far too over protective! I wish that he would let us run around in the forest again, and go wherever we please!"
"I do not blame him for being like this," sighed Nuryävié. Beside him, Thellind nodded in agreement, his eyes loosing a little of their glazed look as the suggestion of conversation promised to begin getting interesting. Legolas raised his head and glared at his brother.
"It happened years ago, Nuryävié. The orcs have been driven back! There are none roaming this part of the forest any more!"
At this point, Nilwethion joined the debate.
"Try telling adar that."
"You know full well we have already tried many times, Nilwethion."
The short conversation faded away, and Thellind wriggled uncomfortably, his muscles aching from having lain on the floor so long. His mossy green tunic crumpled under his shifting weight, causing already crinkled lines to cross over and twist around. The silent prince began idly running his slender fingers through his hair, tugging at the occasional knot. With every passing moment, the silence grew heavier and heavier, pressing down on the four bored princes like a lead weight attempting to drown them. At last, the large door was pushed open and Oroweth slipped through the gap. His brothers looked up expectantly, their faces brightening visibly at the thought of news.
The black haired prince glided over to them and slipped down on to the bed beside Legolas. His dark green tunic was, as always, crease free and looking as though he had only just put it on, even though he had been wearing it all day. In the flickering, white candle light which lit up the room, his eyes twinkled wearily as he blinked owlishly.
"What news?" begged Legolas, eagerly pushing himself up in to a cross legged position. He stared at his brother with wide, blue eyes and bit his lower lip with anticipation. Anything to quench such dire boredom was welcomed. The heir to Mirkwood's crown had the full attention of his four siblings.
"Apparently, animal traps have been found in the forest a few miles in to the forest, away to the south west. Adar suspects mortal poachers; Dwarves or Men, he is not sure which. It is unlikely to be the woodmen, they keep away from us. . ." Oroweth was stopped mid flow by his brother cutting across him.
"What is to be done about it?" asked Nilwethion. Instead of becoming annoyed at the rude interruption, Oroweth just pursed his lips and answered the question.
"Adar is picking a few warriors to go and find out who is setting the traps, and then to capture them and bring them back here for questioning."
An eager, dangerous glint sparked up in the corner of Legolas' eye and a hopeful grin lit up his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Oroweth stopped him with a worried shake of his head.
"Do not even think it, little Greenleaf. Adar will never let you go." Legolas stopped smiling and his happy face drooped in to caged misery. He hung his head sadly, making Oroweth squirm and feel terrible. To hide this, the prince carried on talking.
"I think that there are about twenty of them going on the search. . ." again, the unfortunate prince was cut off mid flow. This time it was Nuryävié who spoke, voicing his question.
"Who is leading them?"
Oroweth thought for a moment, suddenly aware of being closely watched by four sets of piercing, bright eyes. Each pair glittered in the candle light like sun on the waves. For one who had spent so much time in the company of the owners of the eyes, Oroweth was still disconcerted by the stares. Although he was not aware of it, he gave such looks to others and had the power to make them feel just as uncomfortable as he was at the moment.
"Captain Culkemen, I think adar said."
He shut his eyes tightly to avoid the triumphant expressions playing on his brothers faces. He knew his brothers more than well enough to know exactly what was coming. The different reactions to such an important piece of news were, so far as Oroweth was concerned, obvious. First, Legolas would suggest twisting Culkemen around his little finger and persuading her to let them tag along without asking Thranduil. . .
"We must tell her that adar has allowed us to go at last!" whispered Legolas, his voice bursting with excitement and a longing to be free of the fatherly love ensnaring him like a bird in a cage, "She will be easy to convince! You all know how motherly she feels towards us! Ever since the journey back from Imladris she has had a soft spot for us born from pity!"
. . . And then Nuryävié would half heartedly argue about not using people. . .
"Are you sure, Legolas?" asked Nuryävié, a second or two after Legolas' idea had sunk in. The prince frowned slightly. "Adar has always taught us that it is wrong to manipulate people in such a way, after all."
. . . And then Nilwethion would make sure that his views were heard. Joining Legolas' side, of course. It was rare for the two to disagree on such a subject. . .
"She will not mind, silly. You know as well as we do that Culkemen would surely love to have us under her wing again!" A mischievous twinkle like a star plucked from the heavens twinkled in the eye of the young prince.
. . . And then, as always was the case these days, Nuryävié would give in and go along with the plan. . .
Nuryavie sighed in the manner of one defeated in a harsh battle. A small smile then pushed up the corners of his mouth and he nodded. "Very well, we must go and find the gallant captain as soon as possible."
The prince stood up to leave, brushing down his leaf green, soft cotton tunic and his off-white leggings. . .
. . . Then Thellind will put up a protest and try to persuade them not to go along with the plan. Silent, as always, using those big, irresistible eyes of his. . .
As Oroweth had mentally predicted, Thellind immediately sat bolt upright and stared at the three of his brothers who were about to make an escape attempt. His large, blue eyes shone sadly, small, possibly fake tears welling up in their corners. His lower lip trembled slightly and the silent prince clenched his dainty fingers on the rug as he shook his head vigorously. Although he hated being so cooped up, he had a very soft heart and hated the thought of Thranduil being distraught when he found them missing.
Legolas averted his eyes, scared that he would become fall in to the trap he so often fell in to; being persuaded against something by his elder brother. This time, he was determined to sneak out of the underground palace that kept him so bitterly confined, proving to the king that none of the princes needed to be wrapped up in cotton wool and that they could, in fact, look after themselves.
"Not this time, Thellind. Will you not come with us, though?"
With shock, Thellind shook his head again, his hair whipping through the air with each twist of the neck. He folded his arms resolutely, just to prove his point.
"Oroweth, will you come?" asked Legolas, looking next towards the thoughtful figure sitting on the bed. His reply, again, was a simple shake of the head.
"Nay, little Greenleaf. If I go as well, think how much adar will worry. Thellind will not be able to tell him where you are; he has not spoken a word for years and is unlikely to start again now. Astaler will not have the faintest idea where you have gone, unless you bump in to him as you leave, which is very unlikely, and if you leave a note without a messenger to deliver it, adar will never find it until he has emptied all his warriors in to the forest to find you and return you back home, safe and sound. If I stay here, however, I can persuade him not to send anybody after you. Besides. . . think what would happen if his most trusted advisor left his side."
As the words of the last sentence embedded themselves in Legolas' head, the prince grinned and shook his head at Oroweth. The latter smirked back, a merry twinkle in his eye.
"You will find Culkemen by the gates, if I am not very much mistaken," he said, and then, as the three escapees were fleeing the chamber, he added in a whisper; "Good luck to the three of you."
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~**~**~**~**~**~~*~~*~~*~~*~~
Sometime later, a young novice poked his head around a smooth, stone corner near the gates of the cavernous palace. Making sure that the coast was clear, he slid around the corner, keeping as close to the wall as could, his pale face flickering in and out of the inconstant candle light. With another quick check to make sure he was alone, he turned around and beckoned to somebody behind him with a long, skinny arm. Almost instantly, two more novices appeared behind him, moving swiftly and scanning their surroundings with bright, clear eyes.
The novice in front took a couple of slow, careful steps forward in to the light. As the glow from the torches hanging in their brackets on the wall settled for a few moments, the novices face became clearer, revealing a quite feminine beauty. Long, dark eyelashes flicked every time the elf blinked his pretty blue eyes, and not a single blemish marked his skin. Over his back was slung a small bow; the type the novices were given to train with, and in his thin belt a white knife was resting snugly in its sheath.
"Squirrel, can you see anyone?" hissed one of the novices. Her long hair had been pulled back in to a loose plait which ran down her back; a few stray strands were already beginning to pull loose. In her right hand was clutched a small dagger, identical to the one in the belt of the novice named Squirrel.
"No - the cost is clear," came the quiet reply. The trio, constantly looking around suspiciously in case they were seen and caught, scurried down the narrow side passage until they came to a crossroads in the tunnel.
"Can you see anyone?" asked the third novice - a young boy about the same age as Squirrel. This was Celrin. A mischievous youth with black hair, deep brown eyes and a light hearted, non-serious approach to everything he ever did. Again, Squirrel replied with a 'no'. This time, however, the question from his companion had distracted the youth so his scouting eyes had missed three figures that were striding down the corridor to his left.
Just as the unfortunate elf stepped in to the corridor, the mysterious warrior stepped towards the same spot. Resultantly, the two crashed in to each other and fell to the floor. Squirrel blinked, dazed, as his two companions slunk back in to the shadows nervously, waiting with baited breath to see the outcome.
The warrior in the long cloak with a pack on his back was helped to his feet by an equally hidden companion, and the third member of the party picked up Squirrel, who rubbed his forehead mournfully after cracking it against the grey, stone wall when he fell. He bit his lip anxiously, and made a small, apologetic bow.
"I apologise, sir. I am afraid I did not see you, for knocking in to you."
The young novice cursed himself silently as he listened to the nervous stutter in his sadly small voice. He hung his head. To his great and everlasting surprise, the warriors laughed.
Sensing that they were not in any great trouble, Celrin and the other novice, Caranthon, crept forwards out from the shadows. Nervously and still a little shocked, Squirrel stared at the three warriors with the shadowed faces hidden under green hoods. They were now watching the three young novices with equal fascination. At last, the tallest one spoke.
"Now what are three novices like yourselves doing wandering the corridors near the gate at this late hour? Armed for battle as if for battle as well, I see. I hope you are not planning to do something silly like sneaking out to the forest to kill a few spiders." His words were greeted with light laughter from his two companions, but the three novices looked at each other with uncertainty, their cheeks tinted with a red, wine-like colour.
"No sir, we would never try hunting spiders unless we had Master Astaler or Master Luinorn!" This time, one of the hooded warriors tilted his head as if with interest.
"You like Master Astaler?"
On safer ground, the three novices nodded. They were not lying, either. Astaler was easier on them than Luinorn had been, giving them more freedom to show their individuality and not scolding them so harshly if they made a mistake. In this way, although all the novices respected Luinorn, they had grown to trust Astaler and held a deeper loyalty to him.
"You still have not answered my brothers other question," spoke the smallest of the three warriors, "so I find myself all the more interested in you. What is it you are doing?"
This time, Caranthon babbled the answer out. It was not as though it was a secret.
"We have to get through the main gates without asking for permission, sir. When we get through the gates, we have to go and find Master Astaler at our training grounds so he knows that we have done it. If we get there within the time limit, Master Astaler. . . well, nobody knows what Master Astaler does then, sir, because nobody has managed to get that far yet. We were doing really well, until Squirrel bumped in to you, sir."
"I would not have done, if Celrin had not distracted me," muttered the unfortunate novice under his breath. This was the cause for more laughter from the tall warriors.
"It would seem to me, little one, that you and your friends have done better by meeting us than you would do if you had not. You would not have got through the main gates because the guards there are quite aware that there are novices trying to escape. That is where we can help you. Pull your hoods over your faces and follow us. Here, take this." The speaker swung his pack in to Squirrel's hands, and the novice looked at it in shock. He then looked up at the warrior with his blue eyes wide open.
"You are helping us get through the gates?"
"Of course we are, little one. Hurry up, we have to get to Culkemen and the others before nightfall! Oh, and hide the bows. Only novices use those bows - you would be caught instantly."
With their hoods pulled over their heads and their small bows hidden out of sight, the three youngsters scurried after the elder Elves, astounded at the sudden and unexpected turn of luck that had crossed their paths. After a moment of deep thought, Caranthon asked a question which had been niggling her.
"Sir, when you become a warrior, do you not have to speak of the Captains as 'Captain?'"
With a smile and a flash of cheeky eyes, glittering in the light of the fiery torchlight that flickered happily from the walls, one of the warriors - Caranthon could not tell which, as they all looked the same with hoods and cloaks - turned around and winked at her.
"Nay, little one. Only when you become a prince."