At the same time, Dimcoire sat in his cell, thinking of his dear Alcalatawen. He hoped she wouldn't do anything rash that might get her killed.

With the sack over his head, he could see nothing, so he simply sat, alone with his thoughts. There wasn't much else he could do-It was the end for him. Tomorrow, he would be put to death in front of his comrades, his friends, and family. In front of Alcalatawen. It was this last part that disturbed him most. He didn't want Alcalatawen to see him like that. He hoped that she would remember him. He hoped she would move on. His door swung open with an impatient groan, and heavy footsteps fell, stopping somewhere in the centre of the room.

"Are you proud, Dimcoire?" A haughty voice spat. It was clearly Nuinmellon, no question.

"Proud? What do you mean?" Dimcoire asked.

"Proud of your wife."

"What about Alcalatawen?"

"She has chosen to die with you."

"What?" Dimcoire asked, alarmed.

"I offered her freedom if she would denounce you. She refused. Now both of you will DIE. Pleasant dreams soldier-tomorrow is a big day." Nuinmellon laughed hollowly. The heavy footsteps exited the cell, and the heavy door slammed shut. Dimcoire was now alone, leaning against the cold, hard wall of his cell.

"Alcalatawen-No."