Responses to Reviewers

Alagaith Alagaerion looked at the reviews with a happy smile, then grinned at his companion.

"Have you read this one, Mordil? *kingmaker* says I fought well in the last chapter . . . . He wonders what I 'can do with proper weapons' when on my feet, and apparently, he would like to see a little demonstration of my skills . . . . Very well, that can be arranged! And thank you for your kind words, *kingmaker* . . . ." The one-eyed Noldor looked very pleased indeed . . . one might say too pleased, or so a certain archer thought.

Tanglinna silently read the review, then straightened and folded his arms over his chest, one brow raised. "Well, since I am determined to be the villain of this piece, perhaps we can arrange it so you can show your skills with the scimitar and sword against me." Suddenly a slow smile crosses his face. "But don't worry, Linlote, I would not do that to you. I would not want to embarrass you." The tall Silvan struggles then to keep his face expressionless, the veritable image of a unreadable Wood-Elf, but fails and begins to laugh. "You are quite right, *kingmaker*. Alagaith is very skilled with weapons and I know he far excels my meager skills in that department . . .with a sword anyway. But did you just agree that it is a small wonder that I am "a tad unhinged"? Hm?" He snorted slightly. "Kind words indeed, youngling!"

Alagaith smiled at Tanglinna. "Thanks for the undeserved praise, Mordil." Then, he chuckled. "But the number of people who quoted that 'slightly unhinged' bit is frightening . . . . *Hel*, for instance, calls you 'a slightly unhinged woodland elf with bad memories about the Noldor' . . . . Oh, that latter bit is definitely true!" The dark-haired Noldo sighs dramatically, raising his one eye to the heavens.

Tanglinna eyes him suspiciously. "Why are you being so nice? This is not entirely like you. I," he said and cleared his throat a bit before continuing, still watching the other elf. "I was a bit 'unhinged' at that moment . . .my apologies to *kingmaker* for picking on him about it . . . ." He frowned slightly then, his silver eyes perplexed. "Now, why am I being so nice?" He shook his head and turned to read *Hel*'s review. "Did you notice Linlote that she knows I was going to recapture you with no problem?" He grinned smugly, gazing back at the Noldo.

Alagaith inclined his head graciously. "In that case, she must know you well . . . . But she is not the only one who seems to be sure that you would be able to overpower me - *the evil witch queen* even thinks she knows the details!"

"*The evil witch queen* has even more creative ideas than . . . a certain author I know very well . . . not that I would ever tell the aforementioned author that, she IS unhinged at times and I would not wish to upset her. But I must say that Alagaith," he frowns a bit then shrugs, "is not nearly the fool I thought him at the time. I was a bit,"Tanglinna sighed and shook his 'sparkly silver head', "unhinged and not . . . thinking properly . . . . AND," shooting a look at a certain *Ubiquitous Pitt*, "boring?! No one has ever accused me of that before! It is a good thing that I like you, mel-nin, as no one else would get away with saying that about me. "

Alagaith grinned roguishly. "Oh yes . . . . And don't forget 'disturbed enough to be actively avoided'! That was very . . . friendly as well. Hm, but apparently, *Ubiquitous Pitt* likes me!" His grin widened, grey eye shining. "And she is right about Dragon and her love for a certain writer's works... 'Clever clever' indeed."

"Hm, clever? She likes you . . . quite a bit it seems, so that makes me question her cleverness." He smirks at the red-headed *Ubiquitous Pitt*.

Alagaith laughed in amusement. "Then you might appreciate *ember*'s wisdom instead! She seems to be very aware that slashing your fingers was not exactly the most brilliant idea I ever had in regard to possible consequences . . . ."

"No, it wasn't clever of you at all. Perhaps I was not the only "unhinged" one at that moment. Though *daw the minstrel* was quite glad when you were able to escape . . . if only for a time. A one-handed elf, hm? Now that is a bit scary."

"The one-handed Noldor in particular?" Alagaith countered with a wink. "Well "*Phoenix Flight* must know that you do not exactly approve of one-handed elves - the theory that you would have thought differently about my flight if you had known my hand was at stake is expressed in that review."

"Well, I did know about your hand . . . hm, is this some remark about what will happen in this chapter!?" Tanglinna glowered slightly at Alagaith. "I don't know how I mi-," he halted mid-sentence. "Hm. Anyway, *Dis Thrainsdotter*, Dorwinion is always good as is orcish brandy, though tea is also nice. Is it alright if I invite Alagaith to accompany me when I visit you?"

Alagaith shook his head in astonishment. "Mordil, you are impossible!" he whispered. "You cannot simply ask a lady to extend her invitation to me! And then - you do not know what she thinks about me . . . . If her opinion of me is close to *Kal the Magnificent's*, I hardly stand a chance of ever being invited . . . ."

"I think you are mistaken, Linlote. *Kal the Magnificent* feels very sorry for you! I am sure she would invite you to tea . . . if you brought Prince Legolas with you, of course." He smirked slightly at this. "Everyone would invite us both if we were accompanied by him. I believe that *mekareQ* has asked an excellent question. What DID Seven think your cutting my fingers?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"And why wouldn't I?"

"Very well, Mordil," Alagaith began reluctantly. "He thought it was the best thing I could do in that situation." He glances guiltily at the other elf.

"I see," Tanglinna answered slowly with a frown. "Well, he is right." His brows rose slightly, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. "You see, I do rock as *mekareQ* said so aptly." Then he grinned, knowing he sounded just like a peacock. "But in the future, you should take *Lutris*'s advice: learn better than to make me furious. She is quite wise really."

"I will not cut your fingers again . . . . Not because I fear your terrible wrath," the Noldo thief said with a grin, "but because it was 'very nasty' to cut your fingers, even if it was useful - *Miss Aranel* is quite right! And small wonder she sympathizes with you, as her own fingers were not quite undamaged either... I hope she has gotten rid of the band- aids again by now!"

"I am sure she has recovered. It has taken entirely too long for this chapter to be completed," the archer said with a pointed look at the authoresses, who in turn look at the elves just as pointedly. "Um, well, yes . . . . It must be rather trying to be a nursing student. That is quite admirable of her. *Legolasluva* likes us both. And that is very nice of her. I know you can be somewhat hard to like," he said with a grin, "and I can be even more impossible. Or perhaps the word is irrepressible as *JastaElf* calls us. I hope you enjoyed your time at the opera with the king, lend-nin."

Alagaith grinned impishly. "Oh, and she is furious with me for hurting her 'dear Tanglinna' . . . . That is good to know, if I ever have to blackmail her . . . ."

Tanglinna turned to regard the thief and wondered why he wanted to add blackmailer to his list of questionable occupations. "Why would you wish to blackmail her?"

Alagaith cocked his head a little to one side. "Well, Mordil . . . for the same reason I might wish to blackmail you!" He grinned then turned away as Tanglinna's cheeks redden, and the Silvan muttered something about not ever having done anything that he could be blackmailed for. Alagaith merely smiled at this.

*Erestor*," he began, "my insufferable author and I have one thing in common - we usually admit to our crimes, and therefore, Dragon is a bit partial about having me recognized as *her* crime . . . . A considerable lack of humility, but that is how it is."

"You are quite a crime, my dear Linlote." Tanglinna winked at him and chuckled, though he is still wondered if he ever has done something that he could be blackmailed for. "Tree can take no credit whatever for you, I fear. Though this leads to an interesting suggestion by *Phoenix23531*. Would our readers know who was whom if they didn't write Alagaith's POV or Tanglinna's POV on top of every section? Hm . . . that is something to consider. Tree has already taken care of that, as you will see. She also truly seems to want to know more of your history. I suppose she thinks you are quite fascinating. You shall have to comply, you realize. As for dear *ember*," Tanglinna smiled fondly at her, "yes, he is in trouble, mel-nin. Unfortunately, we will both be in a bit of trouble before this tale is over."

"And that, Venyatuima, may be part of the answer to your question 'how those two ever managed to become friends'," Alagaith said with a smile.

"Who said that we did?" Tanglinna asked, lifting one brow. "That is indeed the story, and quite a story it is as you will see very soon now. But what is this? *amlugwen* must be Galadriel in disguise! How did she know that I missed . . . .that I . . . " The Silvan frowned slightly, folding his arms over his chest. "I was merely in . . . in a hurry and I missed the cam-tehta! Who told you that? Was it that orc with you?" He glanced suspiciously at *amlugwen*'s orc.

Alagaith cocked his head a little. "That is possible . . . . Speaking of orcs, Seven will be happy that *amlugwen* asked about him . . . . But . . . . " He suddenly looks very troubled and pointed to the last review. "Tanglinna . . . . Are you sure that this was not written by *someone* in disguise as well?"

The archer leaned toward the screen and read Katharine's review. His jaw sagged a bit and he glanced at Alagaith in some dismay. "You don't suppose it is, do you? I mean . . . no, it must just be Katharine . . . but . . . but . . . ." He smiled warily. "Um, dear Kate, if that is you, and I sincerely hope it is . . . well . . . ." He glanced at Alagaith once more, eyes wide. "Well, I will send her a strand of hair . . . or three, and if she gets them then we will know it is her and not . . . well . . .*someone* else."

Alagaith nodded, equally wary. "This is a good plan . . . a really good plan . . . . But what are we to do if it is not her?" He gave Tanglinna a worried look. "Will you promise me not to venture out into a certain part of Mirkwood alone until we are certain?"

Tanglinna paled visibly. "I won't leave the house!" he mutterd. "Um, Kate? If that is you, I will sing the Ten Little Squirrels song for you." He smiles at the screen, still looking a little ill. "Please be Kate and not . . . him . . . ."

Alagaith briefly clasped Tanglinna's shoulder. "We can only hope . . . . But for now, we should continue with the tale before we get too . . . . engrossed in sweet memories." His smile turned sarcastic now.

Tanglinna spluttered at this remark, then glowers at Alagaith, shaking his hand from his shoulder. "Don't touch me!" he hisses, recalling that the memories were anything but sweet.

Alagaith withdraws apologetically. "Sorry . . . . That was very thoughtless of me!"

Tanglinna straightens his tunic and shrugs. "I think we are getting ahead of ourselves here. He hasn't made it into this story yet. I am sorry I snapped at you . . . it is only that . . .well . . . he makes me . . . nervous." Tanglinna frowned a bit, trying not to shudder at the thought of the mysterious 'he'. "Yes, we should proceed with this chapter." Slowly a smirk comes over his lips. "You do look nice in blue though." He raises his brows and then started to laugh.

Alagaith laughed as well. "Don't tell them too much, Mordil - on with the story now before this chatty Silvan ruins it all!"

"Um, Linlote. You do owe Tree something for not typing the word "loved" instead of "laughed", for you did not say "laughed" but "loved". I believe that he is starting to get to you," the smirking Silvan remarked enigmatically. "Seems you might ruin it all. . . ."

Chapter 3 - Which Begins Before a Great and Good King and Ends at the Bottom of a Hole

It was my own fault for sending those younglings for help - as if I would use the word 'help'! I didn't need 'help'. He was just a wretched thief, after all! And yet, somehow, by the time that Noldo was finally brought before Arasceleg - who has the authority to make such decisions about prisoners - Thranduil was there, his silver armor flashing in the autumnal sunlight, a speculative look on his face. For a moment I thought I saw a flash of concern, but I might have been mistaken. I saw his eyes sweep over me appraisingly; my appearance was admittedly not at its best, and one dark golden brow rose slightly before he turned to regard the thief . . . whose appearance was somewhat worse than mine.

I had leapt upon him, knocking us both to the rather unforgiving ground, this one-eyed thief taking the brunt of our fall. We rolled to an awkward stop against a rock outcropping, at which point I drew Don Gwaedh and, grabbing a handful of his dark hair, yanked his head up, easing the point of the dagger against his throat.

"Don't - do - that - again," I rasped out, feeling a bit out of breath - we had hit the ground fairly hard, and I was glad that it was *only* those younglings that had seen this somewhat . . . undignified scene, for they were too afraid of "Master Tanglinna" to tell of our ungraceful tumble over the terrain . . . or so I sincerely hoped.

With aid from the young warriors, I managed to tie the rogue's hands, muttering curses under my breath the entire time -not all of them directed at our prisoner; some were leveled at myself - my fingers stinging and aching, soaking the borrowed bowstring with my blood. The young elf that was gracious enough - and had enough presence of mind -offered his string to me as mine was lying somewhere behind us on the ground where I had dropped it . . . when he pushed me down . . . when he cut my fingers . . . .

Growling, I yanked him to his feet, never loosening my grip on his arm. I told the other staring youngling, who look full of fear and confusion, to keep an arrow trained on him and to shoot him if he tried anything.

I hoped the Noldo wouldn't try to do something foolish as I doubted this young warrior of ours would be able to shoot him, even to wound him. Shooting a spider or a goblin is one thing, but shooting another elf . . . that is not so easy, especially if the only target is his back.

As we started toward the camp, my bow-hand clasped firmly about his right bicep, I stared down at my bleeding fingers. He had cut them purposefully knowing it would be hard for me to use my bow. He is no fool, this Noldo. No, I had been the fool when I underestimated him. He was desperate and would use desperate measures to gain his freedom. I would not be caught off guard again.

~*~*~*~*~*

It was over. I had had my one chance to escape, and I had not used it wisely. We are always tempted to explain away our failures, and of course, I could blame the malevolent powers of fate, who had apparently chosen to conspire against me that day, or claim that something I could not have foreseen by any means stopped my flight, but that would be nothing but a convenient lie. What had happened had been my fault.

Perhaps, there had been a shred of bad luck in it, for while I had been lying flat on the ground, the rocks that had been the destination I had headed for later had been to our right and, consequently, on my blind side, as my captor had obviously meant the order to lie down with my face to the ground quite literally. Due to this, I had not been able to study the terrain across which my flight had led in advance, but that was a rather lame excuse and sounded so even to me - I should have done so much earlier, when I had made my way towards that promising brooch. Underestimating my opponent and naked fear had done the rest - so, in a way, it was just punishment that I found myself tightly bound with a bowstring and bruised all over after a very short time.

I did not offer any resistance when my captor - by the way, he knew some curses that even I had never come across before! - dragged me to my feet and led me towards the elven camp, not only because he had ordered some scared youngling to shoot me if I tried to escape. The bowstring felt solid enough, and if I had not even been a match for one of their warriors, I would not be able to get past several of them, not now, after my first escape attempt had made them vigilant. Thinking about escape would have been a waste of time; I had to find a way of making the best of this situation - while knowing very well that even the best would be rather unpleasant, but still less horrible than the worst.

I would not deny my guilt; I knew I would not be able to come up with a believable, yet harmless, explanation for the presence of the silver elm leaf in my pocket, so disputing the matter would have been slightly ridiculous. My hand was forfeit that much was certain. I had to be careful and compliant now to make sure that the damage would be limited to that; the theft could not be undone, but perhaps, I could think of some explanation that would justify my attacking the archer - wounding an unsuspecting elf was not exactly a minor offence, so I had to find some sort of excuse, or I would lose more than just a hand . . . . My head, maybe. This prospect did not put me in the right state of mind to make cunning plans, so I made an effort to concentrate on the one thing that was of utmost importance - I had to make my captors believe that I was alone. If they had any reason to suspect that there was a whole group of outlaws around, they would almost certainly search for them, and I did not want to imagine the result.

I would admit my guilt, I would tell them I was alone if they asked - and only if they asked! - and I would be composed, calm and meek . . . . Repeating this over and over in my head made walking towards the camp, and towards imprisonment, somewhat easier, as it kept me from thinking too much.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Perhaps Thranduil was correct. . . I must indeed be getting old - though what that means for an elf, I do not know -for when I handed the thief over to Arasceleg and he ordered the Noldo bound with ropes sturdier than the bowstring I had used, something that escaped my notice- much to my chagrin - did not escape his.

I heard a hiss of surprise from Arasceleg, whom I have known since I came to Greenwood with Oropher, and he turned to me, his green eyes narrowed.

"Cam-tehta," he murmured, thrusting the thief's wrist out so I too could see the telltale mark that marred his pale flesh. I stared at the mark, so very visible where the too short sleeve had been pulled up to bare the right wrist. He did bear the cam-tehta; he was already a branded thief. My eyes flicked upward to the Noldo's face. His features were quite impassive and I wondered just how he must be feeling. He knew what the judgment would be, probably only too well. It would appear that some people never learn from their past mistakes. His thieving ways had brought about this loss of his hand, or they would - it was only a matter of time, for that was indeed the punishment for being caught at this crime a second time. And I had missed it. This did not please me.

It pleased me even less when a low, smooth-as-silk, and oh-so- sarcastic voice whispered from behind me, "Are you certain that you are awake, Tanglinna? Or are you getting old as the doddering ancients of the Men do? You must be if you failed to see that."

I turned my head slightly to see Thranduil standing at shoulder. He seemed in a good mood this cold morning, if a bit subdued. It is never easy to lose your people in battle, and he felt every fled life deeply. I decided that I would allow him his fun at my expense, but I could not quite stop the sneer that twisted my lips, and was rewarded with a quiet chuckle as he strode past me to confront the thief.

Arasceleg had the Noldo's pockets searched, and his meager possessions were thrust into my hands by a grinning Nifgelir, whose bright eyes were sparkling with glee to see his Master Archer caught in a moment of laxity. I had taught this youngling the ways of the bow and this is how he repaid me! I glared at him, and was filled with satisfaction when his eyes widened and his gaze dropped to the ground uncomfortably. Feeling mildly vindicated in this at least, I looked at the objects in my hands, but then opened the pouch at my waist and dropped them in. I knew that they, my friends and comrades, would not let me forget the moment of carelessness that had overtaken me when I had captured this thief. So be it.

Another youngling came to stand at my side with fresh bandages and a small vial of salve in his slender hands. Nestadren the healer had obviously sent him to take care of my abused fingers. Grudgingly I wiped them across my tunic, frowning at the flow of fresh blood that this brought, and a murmured, "Don't do that please, Master Tanglinna. Your tunic is dirty and it might infect your fingers." I sighed, deciding that it wouldn't do to offend the one who had come to help me, so I meekly held out my right hand and allowed him to do his duty as Thranduil confronted the prisoner.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was never very fortunate to be noticed by some important commander; if such a worthy elf decided to give an actually very unimportant case his special attention, it could quickly turn into an example of how justice should be dealt according to the commander in question, and the noble desire to demonstrate righteousness and effectiveness hardly ever led to lenience. A king, however, was a thousand times worse than a mere high-ranking captain; if I was not very lucky - and I seldom was - I would be used to show how Mirkwood's ruler punished the wicked, and nobody would have any objections if I lost more than just a hand in the process. I was a stranger to them, simply a thief, not someone with a name and a face and a story to tell. I would have to be very careful - if anything could be saved at all, caution and modesty were more likely to help me than a bold defence. So my resolution to be the very model of a rueful and repentant thief was actually very firm.

I still blame the king for what happened.

It did not even start well. The king studied me in what he must have considered as a most kingly and dignified manner. I could have told this proud Sinda in his flamboyant armour that he did not even come close to Orodreth at his most regal, but for obvious reasons, I refrained from pointing this out to him.

"The case seems obvious", he finally started, "so I wonder what you have to say in your favour, thief."

"In which regard?" I asked - not meaning this as a defiant question, as I must state, but simply hoping that my noble interlocutor would choose to specify an accusation. I was ready to admit that I had stolen - but I would not incur the risk of confessing to more crimes than they accused me of by simply making a speech and hoping for the best now. I remembered far too late that using an honorific to address the king might not have been entirely wrong in this situation; perhaps this lack of a title was what incited him to misinterpret my words a little.

"Getting fresh, is he?" he asked, his face turned towards the captain who inclined his head ever so slightly with an unbearable kind of amused and assenting smile on his handsome features. Addressing me again, the good and wise king went on, his voice far too ironic for my taste: "But perhaps, I am misjudging you, and you simply need some further explanation just in order to understand what I demand of you?"

This provoked some muffled laughter from the warriors standing nearby and a half-hidden sneer from the captain; the king was apparently enjoying himself. All of this was already bad enough, for if they were having fun at my expense, and to this extent, although the bleak prospect I was facing should have left little room for laughter, I could hardly hope that anything I said or did would be of much use. Yet, I would have remained calm for prudence's sake - even if I could not make things any better, I could certainly make them worse - had not one warrior standing some steps away been bold enough to remark: "That may be more necessary than my king assumes - if that petty thief had enough brains to understand such a request, he would also be wise enough not to rob the dead, but since he obviously is not . . . ."

The king had the bad sense to laugh at this, and this settled the matter. I fear what I did next did prove that their lack of appreciation for my wisdom was entirely too justified, and had I taken the time to think about it, I would have known that letting hurt pride get the better of me then and there was the most stupid thing I could do, for casting aside common sense, caution, and civility had gotten me into trouble more than one time.

"It is most gracious of you to offer further explanation", I replied, "and it speaks highly of you that you are willing to admit that your demand was not too clearly phrased indeed. Go forth and explain."

The captain stirred as if to take a step towards me, but the king's uplifted hand stopped him. Thranduil Oropherion would brook no intervention now; a miserable Noldo scoundrel was no match for him, and he would prove it - or so he thought.

"If you dare to speak so boldly", he calmly said, pretending that such an insignificant quip could not insult or even anger a high and mighty king, "I am certainly mistaken when assuming that this brooch" - he pointed to the silver elm leaf that the captain was still holding - "found its way into your pocket by simple theft?"

"I stole it from its dead owner," I answered.

This ready confession was apparently not what the king had expected. Raising a brow, he surveyed me for a moment. "No heartrending story behind this to excuse your crime?" he enquired. "Will you not tell me that you are the father of three hungry elflings and finally had to steal because you lost house and wife in an orc-raid and could not think of another way of sustaining your family? I believe that is what is usually said in such cases."

This time, their laughter almost hurt. What did they know of need and hopelessness, and what did this king know? I could have told him that I was the father of one hungry elfling, but mentioning Alagant - who was hopefully safe and far away from any wood-elves now! - would not have been very wise for many reasons and might have led to having to mention the others as well, as I did not wish to create the impression that I had left my child on his own somewhere near a battlefield . . . . So I simply replied: "There is no excuse."

I was aware that I did not sound exactly remorseful, and so was the king. "Very well", he curtly said, apparently intent on getting over with this not exactly pleasant conversation quickly, "do you also admit to taking the cloak?"

"I do."

"To resisting arrest and wounding one of my warriors in the process?"

It was then that I realized that, perhaps, not all hope of getting out of this mess again with only one hand, but with my head still where it belonged, was lost. "No."

I had surprised the king again; he had not expected this development after I had shown myself so compliant.

Before he had recovered from his astonishment, I went on: "I do admit that I wounded one of your warriors, but I was merely defending myself, and with good reason. There was no actual arrest. This warrior" - I sent a mildly accusing glance in his direction - "did not mention with any word that he was arresting me in the name of his king and under suspicion of a crime. He only asked who I was and then ordered me to lie down with my face to the ground, without precisely stating his intentions. I was not under the impression that this was a regular arrest or an arrest at all, but had to treat this as an attack on my person, especially since an arrow was aimed at me all the time. You must understand that, fearing for my very life, I did not have the leisure to enquire about his plans - so I chose to defend myself in the most promising way possible, and that is hardly a crime."

There was silence for a moment; then, the king gave a highly derisive snort. "This is ridiculous!" he exclaimed. "You are not seriously telling me that you did not see a connection between your crime - a crime you admit to have committed! - and your arrest, even though you were still busy stealing when this warrior found you?"

"You are in no position to prove the contrary", I replied.

The king was not pleased that I was right; glowering at me, he snapped: "Your explanation is ridiculous and against all probability."

"Yet you cannot disprove it", I restated, enjoying this one small triumph - doubtlessly the last before utter defeat would follow! - and barely able to keep myself from smirking at him.

~*~*~*~*~*

Thinking back to that morning, I was still amazed by how bold and brash this Noldo was. He was also lucky that Thranduil didn't have him gagged for the insolence and disrespect that he showed only too blatantly. It seemed there was only one thing to be done. Erebor was no place for this prisoner so he was to be shepherded to Mirkwood as quickly as possible with an escort of seven elves. I had the somewhat dubious pleasure of leading this expedition.

Thranduil, who was not pleased with our prisoner any more than I was, had followed me to where I readied my few possessions for the journey home. As I was strapping Celair-Dagnir to my waist, he stood silently behind me. I know the thief's words had irritated him for he was not used to such ill handling, certainly not by someone not an intimate of his and one who was merely joking.

"What do you make of him, Tanglinna?" he asked, watching as I threw some food into my pack. "Do you think you can make it back to the Hall without killing him?"

"I cannot guarantee that, hir-nin," I said in jest. No, I would not kill him; I would never again kill another elf unless some dire circumstance presented itself. "He is rude," I continued yanking the ties on the pack shut. "He is desperate. He is. . . a Noldo." This last summed up my feelings quite well, for the word was spoken with distaste and sarcasm.

Thranduil chuckled at this, plucking up a slim leather tube that had slipped from my bedroll. Tucked inside it was a picture of Celair my wife. I carried it with me always.

"Need I remind you," he began, handing me the tube, "that your lady- wife was a Noldo, as was your mother."

"It is not the same, hir-nin," I muttered, holding the curl of leather in my hand for a moment before slipping it into my tunic. I slung the pack over my shoulder, shrugging it into a comfortable position and looked at him, daring him to gainsay me.

He chuckled again, the blue eyes bright and filled with mischief.

"Keep a close watch on him," he cautioned, only half teasing. "You don't want to go rolling about on the ground among the rocks again." Listening to him laugh, I walked away to find my little group of elves and our prisoner. "If he tries to speak to me as he did to you," I called back to him, "he will be lacking a tongue to speak in his defense at his trial."

I didn't mean that either, though I did glare fiercely at him as we started out, his hands bound tightly behind him with a long rope that ended in the hands of a young warrior named Laebrui.

Actual arrest. . . indeed!

Hours later as the sun disappeared in a blaze of crimson glory before us,we continued our westward trek toward Mirkwood. The journey thus far had not been unpleasant, though my companions were a bit merciless in their jesting with the prisoner. He seemed docile enough and surprisingly quiet after his impetuous words when standing before the king. But he had seemed docile enough when I had caught him lifting Lalven's cloak. These young warriors had thought they could jest with me about missing the cam-tehta. They were wrong.

They told our ignorant prisoner that he would be lucky to merely loose his hand, for after his 'discussion' with the king he would likely be spider-fodder. They then went into great detail about the spiders' eating habits, discussing at length about how their prey was poisoned, wrapped in clinging webbing, left to dangle for hours slowly starving to death at times if forgotten for too long. I glanced at the prisoner, noting that he looked none too happy just now. I certainly would not be happy with this situation. Finally I barked at those young whelps to shut up or else they would find themselves fed to the spiders by me personally. I think they believed that I might actually do this, so they fell silent and we walked beneath the darkening sky until I decided that it was time to make camp.

While the prisoner was made to sit upon the ground, guarded by Laebrui, who watched him like a hawk, the others began to cook a meal for us. I sent a couple of them into the night to do a perimeter check. Some of the goblins had fled in this direction during the battle, no doubt returning to their homes in or near Mirkwood, and I didn't wish to take any chances.

I settled on the ground not too far from them, and pulled open the small pouch containing the things found in the prisoner's pockets. I admit I was curious about him. He looked half-starved and his clothing was ill fitting; and yet he had spoken to Thranduil with a measure of contempt and an air of superiority that I found perplexing as much as maddening. He was an oddity this Alagaith Alagaerion. Yes, I recalled his name.

He did not have many things in his possession: flint, a small wooden case of needles for mending, a square of cloth, a small embroidered purse with a few copper coins. I was surprised for the embroidery was very skillful done, but then I realized that he must have stolen it from someone and I snorted, laying it on the ground before me with the other things. There was a lovely bone comb with delicate carvings that seemed more the thing a lady would carry. Stolen again, no doubt. The last thing was a toy warg carved of wood. I frowned at this, not quite knowing what to make of it, and lay it aside also. There was also the dagger, a small one, probably his only weapon. He had probably meant to steal a larger one at the battlefield.

One weapon, a handkerchief, needles, flint, a stolen purse with little money, a lady's fancy comb, and a warg carving . . . he was indeed an enigma. I turned to look over at him. He was being remarkably quiet and I wondered if these young elves with their foolish, joking words had silenced him. Being a spider's dinner would not be a pleasant prospect.

I ordered Laebrui to feed him as I would not risk loosing his hands, but when I glanced over at them midway through my own meal I could hear the quiet words Laebrui was saying to him, and the others, listening also, were snickering. Frowning I stood and moved to stand behind the young twit. The prisoner saw me, but Laebrui did not. I cleared my throat and he turned, startled. The others had fallen silent, knowing that I had reached the end of my patience with them and their idle chatter. Laebrui looked guiltily up at me, and had the grace to look embarrassed.

"You have had enough fun. Now stay your wagging tongue or you may find that you no longer keep it in your mouth."

The young elf nodded, and when I told him to go, he meekly handed me the rope that was bound to the prisoner and slouched away to join the others, who didn't say anything, knowing that if they did, and I heard them, they would be just as sorry as he was.

I studied the Noldo for a moment, waiting for him to say something. He didn't, so I fed him in silence thinking that he must have been famished for it had been a hard forced journey, one that we wanted over quickly. Not that this Noldo wouldn't mind if it stretched into more days than the two or three it would take us. I almost felt sorry for him. I squeezed my fingers together, willing them to painfulness. I was slightly bemused to find that the stinging pain had subsided already. Shaking my head, I moved away from him and picked up his things, put them back into the pouch and then into my pack. Tomorrow was another long day of travel, so I set up the watches for the night, giving the last one before dawn to myself then settled on the ground, after making certain that one of the younglings on watch loaned his to the thief. It wouldn't do to freeze him to death before we reached the Hall.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had spent the entire day trying to figure out at what pace I had to walk in order to avoid being shoved forward roughly or being yanked back by the rope they had tied me to. According an almost ridiculous importance to these little things and focusing completely on them had kept me from losing myself in dark thoughts. I had even been almost grateful for the fact that I was bruised all over; the pain, while bearable, was sufficient to make me very aware of every movement I made and prevented me from thinking entirely too much.

While my efforts to find the right pace had been useful for occupying my wayward mind at least for some time, they had not had any effect whatsoever in regard to the warriors guarding me. At the beginning, I had dared hope that they would simply leave me in comparative peace if I did not offer too much resistance, but I had been mistaken.

There had been rather tasteless jesting going on all day, whether to punish me for my escape attempt and for my lack of respect towards their king or because they simply wanted to know what it would take to break me, I did not know. Perhaps their desire to hurt me was not even that great and they were only a little silly and thoughtless because they were glad that they could leave the dread battlefield and return home early, but I almost suspected that there was another reason for their rather inconsiderate behaviour.

If there is one thing that can make people enjoy tormenting someone helpless a little - whether said helpless person has provoked that sort of treatment or not, and I had maybe done so - it is the sweet taste of the wee bit of power deriving from being in the superior position, if only for some time. Taunting and mocking someone seems like such a harmless way towards this lovely feeling, since it does not leave any outward marks and yet provokes such amusing effects.

I would not have been surprised if this had been behind the young wood-elves' cruel little game. They had just emerged from a battle - perhaps even the first important one they had ever taken part in - more or less unscathed and doubtlessly felt like heroes, and yet, they were reminded quite mercilessly that they were there to obey and to show respect to their leader.

He - by ill chance, the very same archer who had arrested me in the first place - was clearly not the sort of commander who knew to humor his subordinates. His reaction when someone mentioned the fact that he had apparently missed the cam-tehta on my wrist until the captain had discovered it was positively stupid, that is, exactly of the sort that would have invited further jesting had he not been in a position of authority, but an stern and unbending authority defended with entirely too many glares and threats. They certainly respected him, but it was a respect mixed with something bordering on fear. This observation did not please me.

Truth to tell, nothing about this Tanglinna did please me too much, especially not the way he treated my possessions when we had stopped for the night and he had the leisure to contemplate what had been taken from my pockets. Although - or perhaps because - I was not exactly rich and did not own anything overly valuable in the material sense, I was foolishly attached to the few things I had, and especially to those I considered important enough to carry them in my pockets all the time.

The good and righteous archer was very lucky that I was in no position to teach him some manners when he flung my purse to the ground with a dismissive snort after having looked at it with some curiosity for a moment. Agreed, I knew well enough that the thread I had used could have been of better quality, but nobody, not even that arrogant Silvan, could claim that the embroidery itself was less than neat and very tasteful, not even to mention that it had taken me countless hours to complete the work.

If I had already been offended by this display of contempt, his disrespect for those two treasures dearest to me was almost painful to watch, though I was secretly glad that he did not give the comb too much attention; a name - the name of that comb's former owner - was daintily carved into the curves of one of the delicate vines decorating it, and I did not want him to spot it. People are remarkably curious about written things of all kinds, and he would most certainly have asked a question I did not want him to ask. As for my feelings when he simply cast aside the little carved warg with a frown, I would prefer not to describe them at all.

But what had I expected? After the way our first encounter had gone, he had no reason to be overly pleased with me, and my. . . conversation with the king - not even to mention that I had used the opportunity to accuse him of having made a grave mistake - could not have endeared me to him overly much, either. True enough, he had intervened to stop the young warriors from going too far now and then, but I was not foolish enough to assume that he had been moved by compassion for me; he was careful not to give me another reason to justify an escape attempt now, that, combined, perhaps, with customary dutifulness, was all.

He left my possessions lying on the ground all the time through dinner, and I did not like that, either; even if the things I had carried with me seemed like worthless stuff to him, they were dear to me, and I did not want anybody to step on them out of carelessness or to spite me. At least, they were generous with the food; it was almost a waste that they fed me so well if they really meant to put me to death sooner or later, but I was not going to tell them that I could exist on less.

The night was worse than the day had been; I hardly slept, but lay awake, gazing up into the silent sky and finding little comfort in contemplating the stars.

The warriors on watch were, of course, convinced they knew the reason for my wakefulness, and so word that fear kept me awake was passed on from watch to watch with jokes even worse than those I had been forced to listen to during the day; they knew very well that their leader was resting now and could not order them to stop. So they dwelt on the subject, and apparently, it was terribly amusing for them to tell each other in countless variations what a wretched coward I was.

Afraid and worried I was indeed, but I could have laughed at these simple-minded wood-elves for assuming that my own fate scared me so. Having to expect the loss of a hand was frightening, of course, and so was the prospect of dying a shameful death, although I was not sure yet how serious they were about the spiders . . . .

But what kept me awake was neither this fear for myself nor the uncomfortable position I lay in. Something important was missing; I had almost forgotten how to fall asleep without a warm little bundle snuggled against my left side, the side on which I still had an eye to watch over him. While sleeping next to Alagant could be slightly trying at times - he often ended up tangled in the blanket we should have been sharing all on his own some time during the night or decided that he was most comfortable in a position that involved using his father as a pillow - falling asleep without sensing him and knowing he was well was quite impossible.

While I was more than glad that Alagant had not been with me today, being separated from him without being certain that he was safe was hardly any better than having him here with me would have been, and I was certain that he was not any happier than I was about my absence, and the others would not be happy either.

The others. It was very late, and by now, they had to be certain that something had happened to me. My father would be pacing to and fro by now, pretending he did not wait for my return at all, but throwing furtive glances into the direction from which I could, perhaps, still appear; Half- Dead would fold his arms, wince a little when bending the left one that was a bit stiff, especially in the cold of the evening, and say: 'I do not wish to shatter your hopes, but pray do not delude yourself any further; he will not return any time soon.' Well-Armed would play with the end of a golden braid and make plans in silence; Seven, for his part, would be brooding (and probably sneezing and wiping his poor nose) for a long time before he would suddenly get up and declare that he was going to search for me, and while the others would try to restrain him, pointing out that it was far too dangerous especially for him to look for me now, that one of them could go instead or that it would be wiser to wait a little longer, Alagant would watch the scene with large worried eyes, understanding very well that something exceedingly bad had happened and sensing at the same time that the others were reluctant to tell him what exactly they suspected to be the cause of my prolonged absence.

They would tell him if he asked, though, and he would ask; the question was only who would explain things to him. I would have preferred Well-Armed's smooth diplomacy, Half-Dead's compassion or Seven's instinctive knowledge how to comfort and reassure to my father's notorious confusing honesty with being blunt and almost brutal at times by far, but at the same time, I knew well enough that they would let him do the talking, acknowledging his right to speak first in such an important matter, since he was Alagant's closest living relative except for me.

Alagant would be afraid and upset; I remembered only too well how unhappy he had been last winter when I had been wounded and probably much closer to finding myself in front of Mandos than I had wished to believe at that time . . . . But that had been a different sort of fear; he had been able to sit by my side, occasionally stroking my arm, and when I had been awake enough to do so, I had told him that all would be well again very soon. That had been better than utter uncertainty, uncertainty on both sides, for I could not know what had befallen him or the others either.

Even if all of them had returned safely to the place where we had last seen each other, many things could have happened; it was perfectly possible that the wood-elves had decided to search the outskirts of the battlefield for other thieves after they had caught me or that warriors returning from the pursuit of Bolg's fleeing goblins had found our hiding place by chance, not even to mention that one or more of my friends could have gotten into serious trouble when searching for me . . . .

Strange as it may sound, I did hope that they would not learn exactly where I had been taken; complete ignorance was quite the only thing that would deter them from any sort of rescue attempt, that, or the realization that there was not even the slightest hope of success. Suddenly, it seemed like a very good thing that my escort had chosen to travel so fast; as soon as I was safely locked up in a dungeon, they would probably be too wise to try anything, probably - I did not know for sure, but the time before we reached Mirkwood was definitely more dangerous. I could only pray that they would not try to ambush the warriors guarding me during the next days; a desperate attack of that kind would only have caused more harm. But surely Half-Dead and my father, who had both commanded warriors back at Nargothrond and knew how to estimate the enemy's strength, would be aware that three weary outlaws - for they simply could not leave Alagant alone, they could not! - would not stand a chance against these fine warriors of Mirkwood? It was really preferable to hope that they would not learn anything certain at all.

Thus, I passed the night in thought, and the following day pretty much like the first one, walking in silence, observing my captors and listening to their lovely descriptions of hungry spiders, for, of course, the repeated reprimands had only made the warriors more cautious instead of deterring them completely. At least, this way of spending a day was tiring enough to make me drift into a few hours of uneasy sleep the following night, and when I woke on the third day, I did not believe it would be so very different from the first ones.

Its first hours seemed to prove me right. The journey continued, as did the whispered taunts, even if they had become less frequent - less frequent, but not less wicked in the slightest, and this morning, they unfortunately found a way to provoke a reaction from me.

"It is said that those spiders like the eyes of their victims best", a young warrior answering to the name of Nimdir innocently remarked, only too aware that their feared Master Tanglinna was walking at the front of the group, his attention occupied with more important things than a jesting youngling, "they always eat them first, shortly after they poison their prey. Won't they be disappointed that there will only be one eye for them to enjoy this time, Laebrui?"

"Definitely", his companion called Laebrui replied, playfully jerking at the rope that held me and entirely too aware that I made an effort to stare straight ahead, "that is - if this thief really has only one eye. How can we know for sure?"

"You are right", Nimdir observed, and although he was walking on my right side and I did not bother to turn my head, I knew he was studying me thoughtfully now, "that eye patch could only be there to rouse some pity."

"We should make sure, just in case." Laebrui suggested.

"Don't even think of it!" The words were out ere I could think twice about them, and I knew I had made a mistake even before I had finished speaking.

"Ah", Nimdir remarked, "so the silent thief can still talk?"

"Amazing!" Laebrui agreed, yanking at the rope yet again, this time slowing me down effectively. "But this does not solve the original problem, does it?"

"No", the second warrior agreed, "but we shall just take a look and know whether our suspicion is right . . . ."

The next moment, I felt his fingers touching my cheek entirely too close to my eye patch and recoiled, almost knocking over Laebrui who had moved to stand in my way. The two of them laughed, delighted that their efforts to annoy me had been rewarded with more than silence, and I knew I had lost; this first success would incite them to pursue their silly plan, probably quite unaware what they were doing to me. There was a reason I wore that eye patch. . . or had worn it, for in the next moment, it was in Laebrui's hand. At least, they looked impressed enough by what they had uncovered, but that was small wonder . . . .

"You fools may wish to return that eye patch to its proper place right now," I said icily, fighting against my bonds in vain, not so much because I would have loved to strangle the two of them, but in order to lift a hand and cover the terrible scar from sight.

"And you may wish to ask for that favour a bit more politely, thief!" Nimdir answered with an entirely too cocky grin.

It was probably a very good thing that something interrupted our discussion just then.

~*~*~*~*~*

"What do you think you are doing?!" I barked, striding swiftly toward Laebrui and Nimdir, who started and turned to look at me with wide eyes, their fair faces flushed with surprise and guilt. "Well? That was not a rhetorical question and I expect an answer and quickly!"

These foolish, thoughtless younglings were most fortunate that our prisoner was bound securely or I might have let him throttle them for their insolent cruelty. They at least had the good graces to look ashamed of what they had done, but if they thought that this would soften my heart toward them, they were very wrong.

"The journey is nearly at an end, and I want no more of this! You, Laebrui will scout ahead. And no! You Nimdir will take rear guard. I don't want to see either of you near the prisoner again. I also do not wish to see you speaking alone together. Is that understood?"

They nodded somewhat reluctantly, and Nimdir, looking shamefaced indeed, handed me the eye patch, his gaze on the ground, fair cheeks painted scarlet with embarrassment. Then they moved away, slowly and not looking at one another. I hoped they realized their mistake, but I wondered.

I drew a deep breath to steady myself; the anger that I felt was still washing over me in cold waves, partly at the careless, callous behaviour of those two younglings but mostly at myself for not curbing this behaviour before. Apologies never came easily to me, even when I know I am the one at fault, and I knew this apology would probably fall on deaf ears as well. Why should this Noldo believe that I was sorry for what had transpired? There was no reason why he should. My behaviour toward him had not exactly been felicitous. I drew another breath and looked up at him.

"May I replace this?" I asked in a low voice, my eyes touching but not lingering upon the scar that marred his face where he had lost his eye. His other eye was as dark as a storm cloud and held just as much potential violence. "Please allow me this."

He nodded curtly and I gently slipped the soft dark cloth back into place. I dropped my gaze uncomfortably. Elves do not scar easily, and I knew what he must be feeling if only to a certain extent.

Unbidden, my hand crept up to touch my chest. Even after all this time, I was still uncomfortable with my own scar that marked me from breastbone to groin. It was easy enough to hide it beneath clothing, unlike his which was accentuated by the cloth covering it, drawing one's attention to it immediately.

"I am sorry," I murmured, knowing that words would be inadequate, yet they were all I had to offer. I glanced slowly up at him. "There is no excuse for what they did. The blame is mine entirely. They will not trouble you again. This I promise. I wish . . . ." What did I wish? That I could undo it? Yes, but that was impossible. What is done is indeed done and no wish on my or anyone else's part could change it. Wish that I had never seen him? Yes, that as well. I wish I could have turned a blind eye to his thieving when I had a chance, but I had not. No, things would progress from here. "I am sorry," I finished, feeling very unsatisfied with what I had spoken, but not truly knowing how to offer more.

He would be my responsibility from now on, this I knew. I immediately gave orders and soon we were moving out, heading once more toward home. If we were fortunate we would be there very soon, and I admit that I was quite glad that the end of this tiresome and most troublesome journey was in sight.

We moved out at a brisk pace, as brisk as our prisoner would allow, being fettered by his bindings as he was. I knew he wasn't happy; indeed I could scarcely blame him . . . this Alagaith Alagaerion. I frowned as this flitted through my mind as he stumbled along before me, the rope held not too loosely in my hand. I did not want to think of him as a person with a name, a family, but I did. That was a mistake. If one can hold oneself distant from a situation, it is easier to handle the situation. I had lost a bit of the battle when I thought of him - only once, but once was enough - as a person. I should have set someone else to the task of replacing the eye patch; I had become to close to the personal aspect of this situation when I did this . . . when I felt pity and sympathy for him.

Muttering, I cursed him and his lost eye and the scar left behind. He was a thief, a robber of the dead. And, more importantly, he was a Noldo. I held this to me as we continued along, the scents of the forest reaching us: rich deep odours of moulds and leaves, grass and wildness. Yes, home. I smiled then, loosing myself in thoughts of our return. It is good to go home, to leave the war behind. Thranduil would be setting out very soon from Erebor if he hadn't departed already. We would have feasting then, with many toasts and remembrances to honour our fallen. It would be a time for sorrow, but also for great rejoicing as the dragon was dead and would trouble us no more.

We made good progress until Laebrui came running back, his face intense.

"Goblin tracks," he informed us, telling of the signs he had spotted just ahead. I quickly sent the others off - my first mistake - to track the goblins, hoping that they had not gone to ground yet. If they had, there would be no way to find them without wasting a great deal of time and energy - neither of which we had. Yet I did not want them to come upon us unaware, as our number was so small and with a bound prisoner to hamper us.

Then I made my second mistake. I decided to take another track, a round about way in hopes of avoiding any goblins while I guarded the prisoner. I pushed him before me as we made our way into the forest, my ears straining for any suspicious sounds. I knew the prisoner was not pleased with our accelerated pace, but I felt that the sooner we were away from here, where there were small rocky outcroppings, the buried reaches of the mountains where Thranduil's Hall lay, many miles away yet - too far to expect any aid - and too much tangled undergrowth. In short, there were too many places for the beasts to hide.

What happened next might have been - as he said - an accident. The ground was uneven and he was walking with his hands bound behind him up the incline, so it might have been through no fault that he stumbled and fell, nearly pulling me down with him. I did not believe this, for I felt that he was still too resentful toward us - and toward me in particular, I would guess - to not take any chance he could to trip me and hopefully make good an escape. He could easily succeed in this area, but I was more on guard than I had been on the battlefield. Needless to say, words were exchanged, rather heatedly. It put me in a wonderful mood . . . .

The second time it happened -yes, there was a second time - he pulled forward - quite deliberately - as he fell, and we went down, and down, and down, for the incline was more steeply slanted than I had first thought it. Of course, I had no reason before now to contemplate its angle of ascent - or perhaps I should say descent.

I should have let go of the rope, but I fear that my stubbornness won out and I gripped it all the more tightly. This only served to entangle me in the rope as we continued to bounce downward - rather painfully. There was not just a 'bit' of an incline as I had said, but too much of one for we were now rolling in an entirely uncontrolled manner; small rocks embedded in moss and grasses were bruising and battering us as we tumbled down the hill. It is nearly impossible to stop one's fall down such a hill, but I found myself trying to grasp at any object that presented itself. Nothing obliged and the next thing I knew we were falling - the rope had entangled us inextricably together - only now there was nothing beneath us! We were swallowed by sudden darkness and falling into the unknown. The ground had vanished and we were surrounded by chill air.

My one thought in this direst moment of unknown peril was,

~It is all his fault!! ~

~*~*~*~*~*

The archer did surprise me. It was not that he scolded those careless younglings - since they had acted against his explicit orders of stopping their jesting and taunting, that was what he had to do - and not even that he came close to showing something like pity for me once they were gone. No, those things did not surprise me - but the fact that he actually asked for my consent before he placed my eye patch where it belonged did, and even if I only answered him with a curt nod, his consideration did not fail to touch me a little.

Usually, a robber of the dead stops being a person as soon as he has been arrested for his atrocious crime. His captors will grudgingly admit that he is a living creature that needs to be fed, and on occasion, they may even decide that he deserves the privilege of being talked to instead of merely being shoved around, but they will never acknowledge that this disgusting creature is their equal in some respects. His right to be treated like an elf seems forfeit; small cruelties that would be frowned upon if anyone else was the target are suddenly allowed, and asking for the wicked thief's permission to do something that might be unpleasant to him is unnecessary, even ridiculous.

But Tanglinna did ask, and the same fingers that I had cut some days before replaced the eye patch as gently and respectfully as if they were not touching a mere prisoner who did not deserve much courtesy, but someone helpless who was entitled to be treated with kindness, a wounded fellow warrior, maybe.

For a moment, I felt ashamed; while it was of some comfort to see the two young fools' insolence amended by such thoughtfulness and tact, I felt I did not quite deserve it from him. I had slashed his fingers, and I had criticized, almost ridiculed, him in front of his king, thus hurting him twice for doing what had not been more than his duty when he had found me stealing from one of his fallen comrades - and yet, he was friendly now, although nobody would have blamed him if he had decided that some humiliation and anguish would serve the troublesome prisoner right.

I should have thanked him, but all words of gratitude died on my lips with sheer astonishment when he went on: "I am sorry."

Had he just apologized to me? He obviously had, and he rambled on rather uncomfortably for a few moments, apologizing yet again and even promising to make sure that those young warriors would not harass me again. Oddly enough, he sounded quite sincere. Perhaps I had misjudged him earlier when I had only noticed his obvious lack of diplomacy, his fierceness, his contempt for me.But he had not sounded contemptuous just now.

This gave me something to think about while we travelled on, entering the woods these elves called their home and probably already close to our destination. Strange as it may sound, I was almost grateful that the journey would be over soon. I was not exactly looking forward to the trial, the punishment that would follow and the long days I would spend imprisoned, but all of that was quite predictable, and nothing they could do to me would make me feel quite as helpless and humiliated as the thing Laebrui and Nimdir had done.

I could have laughed at my own silliness; no actual damage had been done to me, and losing a hand would certainly be worse in every sense. Yet, by removing the eye patch, those two fools had not only uncovered the scar of an old wound received in battle. Had it only been that, I might have been furious about their lack of respect, but their deed would not have hurt me quite as much.

But this scar was more than a grim souvenir of a battle long past. By ill chance, the day I had received that wound had also been the day that had forced me to become an outlaw, and just like the blow of an orcish scimitar had ruined a once more or less pleasing face, the other things that had happened that day had ruined the elf I had been until then. I could joke about the cam-tehta now and then, but about this scar, never.

Due to this, I was quite grateful that Tanglinna kept his promise. He had taken the rope that bound me, and although he held it in a firm grip, allowing me less freedom of movement than young Laebrui's playing with the rope had done, walking on like this, and in silence, was preferable to the young warriors' merciless jesting.

The archer did not remain as kind and compassionate as he had been for that one strange moment. A short time after we had resumed our journey, he was already muttering curses at me again, as if to make clear to me that momentary pity was not to be confused with lenience. Perhaps he suspected that I would try to take advantage of him if his benevolence prevailed, but if he did, he was misjudging me in turn - but admittedly, I had not given him reason to think too highly of me until now. Why should he have believed that his unexpected kindness had made me more compliant - at least for some time! - than all threats and harsh words could have done? I would not repay his sympathy with causing him more trouble than necessary, but, again, how should he have known? A thief - and least of all one who was not above stealing from the dead on the battlefield - had no honour, and consequently no sense of honour either, as simple as that.

We had already travelled for quite some time when the goblin tracks were discovered. Needless to say, my captors were not very pleased, but I was quite thrilled, though I tried not to show it. Foolish as such a thought may seem, I almost hoped that we would meet the goblins, and that the wood-elves would be outnumbered by them, for this could have been a chance to escape. If a fight occurred, and the goblins won it, I would probably be able to talk my way out of the situation. Being fluent in at least one dialect of Orcish can be very helpful at times, and even if all negotiations fail, the mere fact that an elf is able to use that language normally unknown to those of his kind is likely enough to spare the elf in question from being killed on the spot. If you do not believe me, imagine an orc addressing you in flawless Sindarin; the effect is very much the same if roles are reversed.

Alas, my precious hopes were shattered almost immediately. My archer was a cunning old warrior who would not take any risks, and what he did - sending the others after the goblins and leading me towards their king's Hall on a less dangerous, if more strenuous path, if a path it could be called - was the wisest thing he could do, but even if I understood this, I was not pleased, not only because the faint shred of hope had been reduced to nothing in a matter of minutes. It was not very agreeable to be pushed forward as if we were already running for our very lives and not simply making a detour to avoid meeting the goblins.

Perhaps I could have kept up with the pace Tanglinna seemed to expect if we had been on a flat stretch of land and in the open, but in the wooded, rocky hills we were in, I could only walk with some difficulty. Bound tightly as I was, it was hard to keep my balance all the time, so it was hardly surprising that I finally stumbled and fell when we were hurrying up a steep slope.

If I had assumed that even my captor would understand that no ill will had been involved, I had been very mistaken. Ere I had quite recovered from the fall, I was roughly yanked to my feet again and found myself face to face with a very enraged archer, a glare of blazing silver eyes piercing me to the core.

"I do not understand how someone so clumsy has managed to survive so long!" he snarled. "This was a rather sorry excuse for an escape attempt, Noldo! - Walk on now, or I shall make you."

Had I known him any better, I would have known that his own unease added a lot to his anger at that moment and made him a little unjust, but I was not aware of that; instead, I felt fairly angry myself.

After what had happened earlier that day, I had truly meant to be more or less compliant, and although being driven across rocks and tree roots, uphill and downhill, had been trying, I had not complained with a single word, but had shown as much good will as possible - only to be treated like this now? Oh, I believed to understand now what all his friendly words and great gestures hours ago had been about! We had not been all alone, after all - what I had mistaken for sincerity and kindness had, in fact, only been another stroke added to the carefully painted picture of the irreproachable, oh-so-admirable Master Archer who would not brook any disobedience, but would, of course, be generous and polite with a helpless prisoner if nothing was at stake, simply because it would add to his own glory.

"You do mistake this accident for an - escape attempt?" I snapped back, and, putting all disdain I could come up with into my next words, I added: "This shows that there is little or no room for thoughts besides all the conceit in the tiny brain of the silver peacock that you are!"

His eyes narrowed dangerously at this, and the next moment, I felt grabbed by the front of my tunic and pulled rather too close to my captor. "And what would a skulking cutpurse like yourself know of about having any thoughts in his own corrupted brain?" he asked, pushing me away again and almost tearing the fabric of the garment that had not been of the very best quality even when it had still been new. "Move!"

And move I did, taking a few quite innocent steps, but then falling again, well aware that he would not let go of the rope he held and consequently fall as well. I admit it was petty revenge, the silly, childish wish to see him on the ground as well, perhaps a few twigs caught in his perfect braid, and a few bruises added to his body to make him realize how uncomfortable the pace he made us travel at could actually be, but - I swear that I never intended to cause what actually happened.

We fell, not only to the ground, but down the incline in a frightening tumble that could not be stopped any more, and I expected us to crash into some tree or large rock at any time, but this did not happen. Down and down we went, meanwhile both helplessly entangled in the rope and tied together, bound to share whatever fate we were going to meet at the end of this fall - that suddenly did turn into a real fall straight down, for there was a crack in the hillside that neither of us had been aware of before, a deep crack, but not bottomless. We made a hard landing, and it still seems like a miracle to me that no bones were broken.

There was a long moment of stunned silence; then, I swore in Quenya. He had landed on top of me again, of course.

TBC