Erestor opened his eyes, wondering what had happened. His head hurt and he could not move his hands…

Opened his eyes? But they would have been open when he went to sleep last night, the nictitating membrane that protected his sight from dust and dirt while he slept should have slid into place as he entered reverie…

Except he didn't remember entering reverie, instead, he had allowed Glorfindel to persuade him to drink a beaker of wine from a bottle in his saddlebags…

Outside the headache, he could hear voices, the sound of men, and he held still and listened, translated.

'You took the wrong ones, you fools! I said the same looking ones…'

'They are same! Same hair, same height…'

'No! The other two dark ones…' Whoever was speaking broke off. 'We can use this one here, he's got the right face for it. But not the other.'

Erestor froze. The man could only mean Lindir, was he prisoner, too? And why? Then the rest of the men's words filtered through as he made sense of the translation... Oh.

Of them all, why did it have to be Lindir?

'But Himself wanted two!'

'Well, he'll just have to share, then! We can't go back; that big one will be awake soon…'

What shall we do with this one? Kill him?'

'No – too risky. Himself wants as little fuss as possible. If he's still out, carry him back to the camp and leave him so he can untie himself with a bit of effort.'

'But I don't understand…!'

'Who said you have to understand, fool?' a sigh, louder; they were forgetting the need to keep their voices down. 'It's this. Herself wants to sell us out to this new king. The king has an elf-wife. Himself wants a present for his sister's bed; just for a night, a toy for her natal day. But if it's known that an elf has been... inconvenienced by Herself, what chances her plans go through then?'

'Oh.' Silence. 'But why not kill the other one?'

'Because if a dead elf is traced back to Himself, or to us, then we'll probably have a war on our hands, not just an incident. And when Elf and his friends wake up, they'll be proper cross at the treatment and Herself has even less chance to sell us out. Come on. Check the bindings on the pretty one and then bring the flask.'

Erestor remembered to keep his eyes closed and to make himself loll and sag against the unpleasant human hands that pulled at him. His head was tipped back and liquid – a heavy, bitter wine – poured into his mouth. Although he coughed and spluttered and began to struggle, he swallowed enough of it that the blackness fell over him once more.

His next awakening was, if anything, more uncomfortable than before. There was the sound of someone swearing nearby, in Sindarin, which was reassuring, but didn't help his headache any. He couldn't prevent a groan.

Instantly, the swearing stopped.

'Erestor, you're awake? Are you well?' Glorfindel's voice asked.

'Hardly. You?'

'I feel as if a company of Rohirrim are riding through my head! And my hands are bound…'

'Mine, also.'

'Head? Or hands?'

'Both. Are the twins here?'

'Yes, I can see them, but they're unconscious… I hope they're unconscious… Is Lindir with you?'

Erestor sighed. 'No, he's been taken… I woke up and heard them talking… they were after the twins…'

'What? Why?'

'Why do you think?' Erestor tried to work himself into a sitting position, groaning again as his head began to thump and thud worse than ever. 'They decided they didn't want me.'

'I'd laugh if it didn't hurt so much just to talk… and if Lindir was with us. Come on, get yourself over here and put those long fingers of yours to work on these ropes.'

It was easier for Erestor to shuffle over on his knees than to get to his feet and stagger over to where Glorfindel was bound against a tree.

'I think they left my weapons – what kind of men are these? Fools?'

'There was never any intention to kill or rob us, my friend,' Erestor replied. 'I think they are cleverer than you realise. We were meant to survive, and to find our friend gone, and to be so outraged that we protest to the High King – whose elven wife has been noted – and he will reject the alliance with the fiefdom…'

Glorfindel growled.

'Indeed, so. Come, take comfort from the fact that they want us to behave in a certain way; this is why they have bound my hands in front of my body and have left a knife conveniently at your side…'

It took him a few minutes to cut through the ropes binding Glorfindel to the tree, but still, it was done, and the golden-haired warrior rubbed at his hands and arms before taking the knife and releasing Erestor's hands.

'Ai, what did they do to us, Erestor?'

'Drugged the wine you brought from the inn, I think…'

'I brought no wine; I thought the twins had put it in and I simply found it…'

'I am sure I would have known, had they done so. But certainly, when they brought me back to you, they poured something like that down my throat. Perhaps the Briotani put it in your pack.' He rubbed his wrists. 'Look to the twins, can you? I'll bring water.'

When Erestor got back with the waterskin, the twins were coming round, Glorfindel talking to them reassuringly.

'What happened?' Elrohir asked, a hand going to his head.

'Yes; and where is Lindir?'

'We do not know where Lindir is. But we're going to find out,' Glorfindel said. 'Once we're able, we're going back to High Inn; the innkeeper seemed very keen for us to stay another night – I'm sure he knows something…'

It was starting to get light by the time they were ready to set out back up the trail, and day had fully broken when the reined in at High Inn once more. Glorfindel yelled in execrable Westron until a pot boy appeared, flinched and fled and returned presently with the innkeeper grumbling at his side.

'Very well, and what can I…?' He started when he saw who it was, and began to smile until he noted the extra, empty horse and the expression on Glorfindel's face. 'Gentle lords, let my boy take your horses and come in to the house. And tell – where is your friend?'

'Glorfindel!' Erestor snapped as the golden-haired elf began to growl. 'Let me deal with this. Indoors is best.'

He dismounted and nodded to the innkeeper. 'Breakfast for four, and a few moments of your time.'

'Gentle lords, I bade you stay; I wanted you to stay, the innkeeper protested. 'I would have lost money to get you to stay!'

Erestor sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. The conversation was still taking place in Westron as Glorfindel had protested that Erestor's knowledge of the native language was the one slim advantage they currently had.

'You did, it is true. But you did not say why…'

'How might I do so? You are strangers, passing through once or twice – the Briotani are here all weeks… My head it likes to be attached to my shoulders, gentle lords!'

'But I am a very ungentle lord,' Glorfindel snarled. 'And your head can only be removed from your shoulders once while your fingers can be removed from your hand at least ten times…'

'Glorfindel, enough!' Erestor said sharply. 'Forgive him, master innkeeper – we are indeed worried for our friend. Where would he be? Where would these Briotani take him?'

'How can I know? I am but a humble innkeeper and I try not to hear too much of the Briotani's talk…'

'What about this?' Glorfindel pulled a wine bottle out from his pack. 'It's one of your bottles, is it not?'

'I… wine bottles look the same the world over, but, yes, it may be…'

'We found this in our baggage amongst the provisions we ordered from you. Thinking it a mistake, or a gift, we drank and woke to find we had been drugged and our friend gone…'

'But you live! You are unharmed, and that is good, yes?'

'Yes… but we must find our friend. Where should we start to look?'

The innkeeper sighed. 'I cannot say. But if you go to the Lady who Leads, she may know. Or she may be able to help you… but it is her natal day, soon, and there is the council meeting that day, to make sure we join the realm of the High King. It will be hard to get near her, and if the Briotani see you…'

'Do not worry about that. Where should we go?'

'Main Town. The Council Chambers are in the market square, and the house of the lady is nearby. But, gentle lords…'

'We will take our old rooms for the day and we will rest and recover from the drugged wine. And then we will leave. And not storm or Briotani will stop us!'