Disclaimer: #1 No, I did not write the Simarillion. Tolkien did that.

#2 Furthermore, I only post this story for my sister and a friend.

Chapter 2

Part 3

Later that morning, as Linwë sat helping Elindoras piece her cloak together, there came the same sharp rap on the door.

Elindoras and Linwë met each other's eyes, both dreading to see if Mablung had decided to comply. If he hadn't, well . . .

The knock was repeated.

"Come in," Elindoras said.

She could barely keep her jaw from dropping as Mablung slouched back into his place in their doorway. He had on a fresh change of clothes, true—(though they were terribly worn and even more tattered than the first) but his hair or face had not been touched, and he hadn't even bothered to clean the mud off his boots.

"Mablung!" Linwë exclaimed.

"Yes, my lady?" he said, looking up at her with the sort of mild surprise Elindoras expected to find on the face of a cow in Oromë's herd of wild kine.

"Do you happen to recall the instructions my sister and I gave you, regarding your, ahem, personal appearance?"

He wrinkled his forehead.

"Why yes, it seems I do recall you saying something about that."

"It was only this morning, Mablung," Linwë said, her voice dangerous. "Have you forgotten already?"

"I said I recalled it, my lady."

"Apparently you did not feel inclined to act on it?"

"I changed my clothes."

"I applaud you. But could you not have taken a shower?"

"A shower?" He stared at her.

"A bath, then," Linwë said impatiently. "Or at least washed your face."

"A waste of water," Mablung replied languidly. "It would only get dirty again."

"That is the point of taking a bath," Linwë fairly spat. "You take one when you need it, and when you get dirty again, well—you take another one."

"And you desperately need one right now," Elindoras added. "Has that ever occurred to you?"

Mablung rolled his eyes slightly. "Not really. I have better things to do."

"I had a feeling. Your wretched appearance tells all. Or have you ever felt the urge to comb your hair?"

He raised his eyebrows at her biting sarcasm and stirred, but made no move to defend himself or continue the argument.

"Come sister," Elindoras said wearily. "Scribe, stay here, or you shall wish you had."

They started down the hall.

"What do you want?" Linwë demanded, as Mablung began to follow them.

"I'm your body guard." A wicked grin spread itself slowly across his face. "Have you forgotten already?"

King Thingol was not busy, and Elindoras and Linwë were allowed an audience with him almost immediately.

"My lord," Linwë began, as she and Elindoras knelt before Thingol. "I am sure you distinctly recall promising yesterday that our bodyguard would improve his appearance." She motioned to Mablung, who although he had no wall to lean again, stood sagging with his hands crossed on the hilt of his sword.

King Thingol scanned Mablung, a hint of humor in his eyes.

"Is this true, Mablung?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Why did you not improve your appearance before returning to the ladies?"

"I didn't want to."

A titter ran among the servants and guards present at this reply. King Thingol's eyes darkened.

"You will stand up straight and speak with respect while addressing your king."

Mablung pulled himself up for a moment, then slumped back into his usual position.

"Yes, my lord."

Thingol leaned back and drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne.

"Now Mablung, that is not a good excuse. I am most displeased to hear that you are offending my guests. Look around you, look at my guards."

All of the guards stiffened and drew themselves up even further as Mablung obligingly took a few bored glances over his shoulder.

"I demand that they stay tidy and stand at attention when they are in my presence," Thingol continued. "Should I expect no less from you, Mablung, my Chief of Guards?"

Mablung did not reply, and as it was a slightly rhetorical question, Thingol did not challenge his silence.

"Do you know how I punish my guards whenever they show untidiness or disrespect in my presence?"

"No, my lord."

"Then I shall tell you. For any breach of obedience, from a slightly rusty scabbard to a moment's delay in carrying out my orders, they receive fifty lashes." Thingol narrowed his eyes. " Do you want fifty lashes, Mablung?"

"Not particularly, my lord," Mablung replied without interest.

"Then see you keep yourself respectable in the presence of the ladies. Elindoras and Linwë, notify me if you have further complaints."

The two maidens bowed.

"Guards, you may escort them out," Thingol added, waving a hand to his guards who jumped forward as if they had been struck. "See how quickly my guards move when I give them commands, Mablung? You will show the same promptness in the service of my guests, or you will wish you had."

"Yes, my lord," Mablung replied dutifully.

When Elindoras and Linwë returned to their apartments, Mablung slumped back against the doorpost. To Elindoras's relief, the scribe had not budged from his stool. She and Linwë bent back over her cloak. It was nearly pieced, and soon they could begin the long, dull process of sewing it together.

Elindoras glanced up at Mablung. He stood motionless, staring at the knots in the wood of the other doorpost moodily. She certainly hoped Thingol's threats would convince him to improve his appearance, for Elindoras strongly disliked the idea of turning him over to the King for his promised fifty lashes.

"Mablung," she began, handing Linwë a pin. She was not sure why she spoke, except she had some vague idea that perhaps persuasion would work where force had failed. "Forgive my idle questions, but how did you lose your finger?"

"Which finger?"

Elindoras and Linwë glanced at him curiously. For the first time they noticed he was, indeed, missing several fingers.

"Three, to be exact," Mablung said, sensing their gaze. "Various, ahem, circumstances."

"Indeed. Would you mind sharing any of them?" Elindoras asked.

Mablung shrugged. "Anything for a lady. Thingol ordered this one cut off . . ." he began nonchalantly, but paused when Elindoras choked.

"You said Thingol ordered that one cut off?" she asked, unable to believe what she had heard.

"Why yes. A severe case of disrespect, he claimed."

"I can well imagine him giving you the fifty lashes then," Linwë muttered, and though her comment was most likely meant for only Elindoras, Mablung caught it.

"Oh no, ladies. He wouldn't want to seriously cripple me."

"So he just cuts off your fingers?" Linwë asked sarcastically.

"Well, ladies," Mablung said apologetically. "First he was going to brand me—but I told him I'd leave his services for good if he did that. Then was going to cut off my hand. But in the end, he decided it'd better be a finger so that I could still hold my sword. He can't afford to lose me as a warrior. I'm much too valuable."

"Valuable," Elindoras laughed. "Forgive me, Mablung, but I just cannot see you as being valuable."

Mablung smiled, for some reasons appearing more flattered than offended.

"Perhaps not, my ladies, but I assure you I have hidden talents."

"They are very well hidden," Linwë assured him. "What about your other finger?"

"Oh, you don't want to know about that one. It isn't a story for delicate ladies."

"Really? You must have had an exciting life. But go ahead and tell us. We aren't delicate."

"Oh, this one. Well, I got in an, ahem, little fight."

"With who?"

"Oh, some friends of mine, or," he coughed. "Acquaintances. A little knife-fight in a tavern, you might say."

Elindoras and Linwë traded a horrified glance.

"Yes, a very interesting life," Linwë agreed dryly. "Have any other interesting things to share?"

Looking into his face more carefully, Elindoras saw what she had missed before under the coating of grime. A long scar started at the top of his left cheek and ran all the way to his chin.

Mablung noticed her close scrutiny and grinned. He settled back against the doorpost.

"A long story, my ladies."

"Well, we've got all the time in the world," Elindoras said.

Mablung shrugged. "About that. To begin: I was going on a little tromp in the woods, a little expedition for King Thingol, you might say, out in the wastelands. A couple friends of mine were along for the exercise. Wolves had been shadowing us, and for several days we could see their dark shadows slinking along through the trees. We built fires every night to frighten them off. But they were growing bolder, and hungrier. They had stampeded the horses a few days before—that's why we were on foot.

"One night they finally attacked our camp. They killed both of my companions. Blood was everywhere . . ."

"I don't want to hear the details, Mablung," Elindoras said. "Just get on with the story."

He looked at her with a hint of a smile.

"I thought you weren't delicate."

"How about 'anything for a lady?" Linwë reminded him.

"Very well. My companions were all dead, and how they screamed as the wolves closed in on them! But never mind . . . I made it to the trees. Killed a couple wolves on the way, and got this scar, too," he traced it reflectively. "Spent about three days up in that tree if I remember correctly. Longest days of my life."

"I can well imagine," Elindoras said with a shudder.

"Did they kill you?" the scribe quavered.

Elindoras and Linwë glanced over at him, and saw that he was white and trembling. He stared at Mablung slack-jawed.

"It's rather obvious they didn't," Linwë said coldly. "Now close your mouth. You have no idea how idiotic you look with it hanging open."

The scribe shut his mouth with a gulp.

"Well," Mablung settled back luxuriously. "I sure thought they were going to kill me. I lashed myself to a branch with my belt to keep from falling, so I did get a little sleep. It rained some, and I managed to catch it in my cloak. But that was about it. Those wolves sat around, looking up at my with their teeth gleaming and yellow eyes shining up at me in the darkness . . ."

He paused as the scribe gave a frightened yelp.

"How did you ever get down?" Elindoras asked, feeling a grudging interest in Mablung's story.

"Orcs came along."

"Really? Did they help you down and tell you to run along home?"

"You're too witty, my lady," Mablung retorted. "They did chase away the wolves, but they took me as their prisoner. I spent another three or four days in their company. That was fun. But as a result, their company has lost all its appeal to me. At least what appeal it had to start with."

"I'm surprised they didn't kill you," Linwë said.

"Yes, they generally don't take prisoners. I don't know why they kept me alive, perhaps because I gave them good sport. But the point is, they did, and I broke loose one night. Fortunately I stumbled upon a company of other elves, who got me back to Doriath. I wasn't in much of a state to shift for myself."

"You haven't had a dull life, have you?"

"No, King Thingol sees to that. I haven't become Captain of the Guards for lounging around Doriath. I've been on more missions for him than I can count. But it would take days to tell about them all."

Later that evening, as Elindoras and Linwë settled themselves in their beds, Linwë said, "I suppose we've come to know Mablung better, anyway."

"Yes, I was trying to understand him," Elindoras returned with a laugh. "I don't know how well we succeeded, but I have a feeling tomorrow some things will be different."