Once again, Alagaith places a pile of reviews on the table in front of Tanglinna.

"Look at these, Mordil! kingmaker has a special request this time - he asks for an 'autographed copy of "Tanglinna's Art of Cursing"'. Giving the Master Archer a look of mock reproach, he adds, almost sounding hurt, but hiding a grin, "And you never even told me you had written a book!"

Tanglinna shoots a scathing glance at the Noldo, then smiles and tips his head. "Didn't I tell you? I am the utmost authority on cursing, my dear, Linlote. Surely you have discovered that by now! I shall indeed send you a copy of my book on cursing, kingmaker, inscribed and autographed especially for you. And yes, elvish curses are much more melodious than those in French, regardless of what Merovingian says. The best curses are those in Quenya...very beautiful, though if you want something to sound particularly foul then you must use Orcish or Dwarvish."

The expert's advice makes Alagaith chuckle. "That opinion only proves that you don't know *all* Quenyan curses, my dear Mordil . . . ." he remarks. "But then, I should not say such things, since kingmaker claims that you do not get enough respect anyway!" Admittedly, this thoughtful remark would sound a lot more serene if Alagaith refrained from grinning.

"Obviously I do not! It is bad enough that I can admit my failings, but to have others keep pointing them out. . . ." Tanglinna replies, glaring at the troublesome one-eyed thief. "Some of us do garner no respect at all. Look at what kingmaker did to poor Haldir in that last story of his! His poor hair! I do sympathize with that!" This is accompanied by a second glare, and the Master Archer's elegant hand moves to his hair, which is still intact . . . for the present.

Alagaith frowns a bit. "We need not talk about elven hair being cut off just now, do we? We had better change the subject! Look at this!" He suddenly laughs "Ptath has 'interesting' plans for us - apparently, it would be 'most interesting' if you became my prisoner . . . . Well, I have to agree, Ptath - that would be 'interesting' indeed!"

"No, we will not discuss authors who like to cut the hair off their captive elves. . . ." Tanglinna agrees. Glancing at Alagaith, he continues: "I don't believe I shall become you prisoner, Linlote, and I don't think that Thranduil would be too overly pleased if that were to happen . . . at least I should hope not! Regardless of how funny you seem to think it would be. I fear that we had an "interesting" time anyway . . . . Unfortunately. . . . As Phoenix Flight says, 'the plot thickens'. Hmph! At every turn it seems!" This discovery does not seem to please the valiant archer; he folds his arms over his chest, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Alagaith grins again. "Oh, yes, we have finally 'gotten ourselves into trouble', as Hel remarks - as if I had not been in trouble before! But this is an interesting question - would you have let me escape if you had noticed the cam-tehta earlier?" Turning to Tanglinna, he raises an eyebrow.

"You have to ask?" Tanglinna retorts, raising one brow in return; but then, he grins. "Hel has also raised an interesting point. Just WHY did you confront Thranduil that way? Surely you were taught better manners than that!"

The more or less well-mannered Noldo laughs. "That was hardly a question of manners . . . JastaElf says that I 'mustn't mock' Thranduil - but Thranduil should also remember that he mustn't mock me, either, even though he is king . . . ."

"Hm . . . .I suspect he wouldn't view it quite that way, my dear Linlote." Tanglinna - doubtlessly not only an authority on cursing, but also on stubborn kings - informs him. "You have probably heard that Wood-elves are rather dangerous and not quite as wise as you Noldor are and Thranduil may be a Sinda, but is a Wood-elf at heart. It is not wise to rouse his wrath." Dismal as this admonition may sound, it does not keep him from laughing. "He certainly didn't expect to see such disrespect from someone like you, I fear. Tree says to tell JastaElf that she should visit the southern end of Delaware some day. It is much nicer 'south of the Canal'." He frowns a bit. "Hm . . .my manners were decidedly lacking as well", he admits, hanging his head. "I am very sorry that I wasn't nicer to your belongings, Linlote." He keeps his head down, else the slight mischievous gleam in his eyes might show. "I have been thoroughly chastened, it seems", he adds and hopes that he is hiding the slight smirk on his face as well. 'It seems that Lutris thinks you were brave to confront Thranduil in that bold manner."

"Rather stupid than brave, I fear." Alagaith confesses, shaking his head a little. "But apparently, Lutris also liked my thoughts about Alagant . . . .So did Miss Aranel, it seems! And she is very right - being separated from him under those circumstances was not pleasant at all."

Tanglinna smiles slightly at this. "Yes, it must be most difficult to sleep without that sweet elfling at your side. Miss Aranel is rather astute really. We, meaning the majority of us, do have the tendency to not see criminals as real people with feelings and needs and dreams like the rest of us. Perhaps there is a lesson in that, eh, my Skulking Cutpurse?" He grins at Alagaith, who smiles a bit in return.

"Perhaps - but, thankfully, you are not 'the majority of us'." he replies. "The evil witch queen is right - I should be grateful, for, yes, you did 'a lot more than just stop the teasing of a few elflings'." With a sudden grin, he continues: "And I am also grateful that less torture than this worthy reviewer suspects was involved in what happened!"

Tanglinna laughs at this remark. "Don't you think we suffered enough though? I think the evil witch queen should take pity on us two helpless elves!" He chuckles delightedly before he goes on: "She needs to get together with Uglash. She could give him some pointers!" Stating this, he winks at the evil witch queen. "It seems, Linlote", he proceeds, "that kingmaker isn't the only one to think that you might make an interesting lawyer. Kal the Magnificent thinks rather like you do, it would appear. 'Loop-holes and getting around things'. But what on earth does she mean she was bleeding all over the carpet?" A look of concern enters his face.

Alagaith looks somewhat worried as well. "Perhaps Uglash paid her a visit?" he suggests. "I do not hope so! But in any case, she must have recovered, at least a little, if she can invite us to have tea with her! And she wants us to bring Legolas and Glorfindel and Nifgelir and his most unfortunate comrade. That will be an interesting tea party! Speaking of that - Venyatuima invites us as well, and so does Dis Thrainsdotter! If I had known that telling a simple story gets you so many invitations, I would not have had so many difficulties in making a living these past few ages... It is truly amazing!"

"It is indeed!" Tanglinna agrees. "How very kind of them! But then as LeggoMyLegolas40 said, our story is great! I suppose that is because we are 'fascinating' as daw the minstrel calls us." He smiles a bit peacockily. "Or stubborn, as Lutris calls me. Or touching as she calls you. Or perhaps it is because I am 'misunderstood' as mekareQ points out or vindictive as she calls you. Yes, Linlote. You must be kind to me!" He grins rather cheekily.

Alagaith laughs "I will try to be kind to you, then. But that might not please Phoenix23531 whose 'darker side delighted in the discomfiture of all characters'. And apparently, you are expected to take revenge for all those highly inappropriate smirks you received from everybody! So, what do you plan, Mordil?"

The archer frowns a bit, then looks entirely too innocent and perplexed. "Why do people think that I would plot revenge for the slights heaped upon my person? I am the nicest elf that anyone could want to meet. Thoughts of revenge never enter my head at all." He blinks so innocently that this statement simply must convince everybody. "'Poor elfie' is quite an accurate description indeed, WeaselyTwinsLover1112. And since you asked so innocently if you could kiss my fingers...you may." With this, he grins triumphantly at Linlote and is rewarded with an unnerving Noldorin smile.

"You are very lucky, Mordil", the thief says. "But then, you have to suffer so very much in this chapter that you deserve some hugs and kisses of the more harmless sort for being so very brave!" He winks at Tanglinna, who glowers slightly at this.

"Exactly what are you implying?" he enquires. "No, do not tell me. I don't want to know. It seems that you and I will have to work all those lovely invitations into our schedule, Linlote. And we will bring the Dorwinion, Dis Thrainsdotter. I am sure that Thranduil won't mind sparing a bottle or two . . . or three." This assumption is accompanied by a highly suspicious grin.

Alagaith shakes his head once again. "And you dare call *me* a 'skulking cutpurse'!" he mutters.

"I was going to ask him . . . after the fact," Tanglinna replies with a chuckle.

"A brilliant plan indeed," Alagaith scoffs. "You realize that it is hardly surprising that you have found yourself in Thranduil's dungeons for more than one time? If you go ahead with your Dorwinion plan, I shall have to do the reviewer responses all alone next time, since you will be down there yet again!

But on with the story now."

Chapter 4 - In A Hole In The Ground There Lived A . . . Trio Of Goblins ? ? ?

It might have been preferable if the moment of stunned silence I mentioned had lasted a little longer. Admittedly, lying still and waiting for a miracle to happen would not have saved us either, but what Tanglinna did made things even worse. At first, he did not even talk; he was probably too flustered to realize that coordinating our actions a little would have been quite the only chance to end our predicament. To be honest, I must admit that I did not say a word either; but then, I was caught between the stone floor and a wriggling and kicking archer who tried to get rid of the rope tying us to one other, and that may explain why I lacked the breath to speak.

After a short while, the troublesome elf on me - I had not expected him to be that heavy, but how should I have known, or why should I even have thought about it? - apparently reached the conclusion that his efforts would not get him anywhere. We were hopelessly entangled in the rope.

He seemed to think hard for a moment and finally met my gaze, a thing we had avoided until then, both uncomfortable with the forced closeness our fall had brought about. "You must let go of my right arm!" he hissed.

I almost laughed at this request. I could not simply 'let go' of his arm, since I did not actually hold it; by some strange joke of fate, it had only found its way behind and, given our current position, under me, so that we lay in an involuntary embrace that could not simply be ended - I was pressed to the ground by Tanglinna's weight and lay on his arm in turn while the rope prevented us from moving apart at will.

"We could try to get up, at least . . . ." I suggested, unsure whether we would manage to get to our feet at all; it would have taken a good deal of coordination and strength of will to do so, but disentangling the rope might have been easier if we had been standing.

This brilliant plan provoked a derisive snort from the archer. "Simply turn left!" he ordered.

I did try to turn left indeed, but was quickly stopped by Tanglinna's yell: "Left, I said! Can you not even tell left from right? Valar! Why does that even surprise me?"

"Be more precise the next time and tell me if you mean 'left' from your or from my position!" I snapped back. "But that should not surprise me, either . . . . Phrasing things clearly is apparently not the forte of you Wood-elves!"

For a single moment, I was very grateful for our peculiar situation; if Tanglinna had been able to move, he would certainly have tried to throttle me. Like this, however, he could only glare, and so he did.

"Your common sense should have told you that I meant 'left' from my position!" he finally growled. "Now turn!"

This difficult manoeuvre was never executed for it was then that we heard the voices. I believe it was only then that we fully realized that we had not fallen into some natural cave, although the fact that caves of that kind usually do not have a well-swept, even stone floor should have warned us earlier.

The voices were drawing nearer quickly, and I soon realized that their owners were conversing in Eastern Orcish - and had obviously noticed our arrival in this place.

"It cannot have been an animal, not even a large spider", the first voice stated when the two speakers were close enough for me to understand their words. "I am sure I heard voices!"

"Voices!" the second voice repeated with a good deal of derision. "Nothing bright enough to speak would come crashing down into the hole like this!"

"It is well hidden if you come walking downhill, so if they were inattentive enough, they may have missed it."

"And I tell you 'they' are nothing but a rock that was loosened or a frightened deer fleeing from hunting elves."

The voices were very near now, and suddenly, there was silence, followed by astonished laughter.

Turning my head towards the noise with an effort, I saw two goblins, clad like prosperous merchants, who had stopped dead at the somewhat unusual sight that presented itself to them.

"Now look at this, Uglash", the first goblin, clad in dark brown and wearing his hair in an austere knot, finally said, shaking his head in bewilderment, "frightened deer indeed! Who would do us that special sort of favour?"

"Those charming elves themselves, I believe!" Uglash, taller than his companion and wearing sombre green robes, replied after studying us with what I mistook for sheer amusement at that time.

But then, I was mistaken in many ways, for as soon as I had heard the name of 'Uglash', I had come to the conclusion that we did not have to fear much, for without ever having met either of them before, I believed I knew who these goblins were.

'Uglash' was not an especially common name, probably because it translated to 'trout', and the number of people who decide to name their child after a slippery fish or after their favourite sort of dinner is rather limited even among orcs, regardless of what we elves like to believe about them.

To be precise, there was only one Uglash I had ever heard about, and what I knew about him let me hope the best, for he was one of three shrewd goblin merchants who more or less dominated the brandy trade in this area and were also rumoured to engage less laudable activities, such as Dorwinion smuggling, without ever having been caught committing an actual crime.

I have said 'the brandy trade', not 'the brandy trade among goblins', and the statement is to be understood in the general manner this distinction indicates indeed. We like to assume that the different races do not have many dealings with each other, especially if orcs and elves are concerned, and it is true indeed that a noble orc-lord would not buy from an elven merchant or that a highborn elven warrior would be loath to become the customer of an orcish trader; but it is equally true that the two aforementioned merchants would not hesitate to buy from each other if it was in their interest and as long as there was an intermediary of an innocuous race, a human or a dwarf, for example, and if it was not for decorum, they could probably do without an intermediary of that sort.

But do not worry - I am not going to bore you for a long time with whatever scant insight into the customs of honest merchants I have! The only thing I wish to point out is that merchants - or mercenaries, or beggars, or thieves - in brief, all those who travel, meet many strangers and are more concerned with the contents of their purse than with honour and righteousness, are less prejudiced than the high and mighty lords, the noble warriors in their service and the poor peasants who know little more about those strange races dwelling afar than what they have been told by somewhat biased grandparents.

Therefore, the discovery of who these goblins probably were did please me; talking to them and convincing them that we were harmless would be easier than persuading a group of orc warriors to let us go. or so I thought.

Uglash's companion shook his head again. "What a strange accident!" he remarked. "I wonder how they have done that."

I was about to open my mouth and explain the whole matter to him, planning to ask them politely to remove the rope (and, please, my bonds as well) when the arrival of a third goblin stopped me; taking into account that I lacked certain information at that point and might have acted somewhat rashly, this was probably a very good thing.

This third goblin was quite a sight to behold, and I admit that, for a moment, I must have stared at him rather blankly, unsure what to make of him.

Where to start? There were, of course, his clothes - and what clothes they were! It was not only that, in regard to their cut, they were not exactly typical of what the goblins of these parts considered fashionable. That strange melange of goblin taste, elven style and a whimsical individualism could still have been explicable, but combined with the expensive materials, the colours - black and dark red brightened by flashes of white where a silken shirt's cuffs and collar showed - the lavish embroidery on cloak and sleeves and the jewelled cloak clasp that looked as if it was worth half a village gave this goblin such an air of flamboyance that it was hard to tell whether to be impressed or to find him slightly ridiculous.

I was almost inclined to favour the latter opinion, for in addition to the aforementioned indescribably clothing, our new acquaintance also used some sort of flowery perfume, and I did not really want to know with what kind of scented oil he had treated his hair with.

But the most remarkable thing about this goblin was that he stared at Tanglinna as if he had never seen an elf before.

Once upon a time in the greenwood realm of Thranduil Oropherion there was the most perfect day that one could imagine, and..

THIS WAS NOT IT!

What had I done? What vile, heinous act had I committed that I was being punished in this manner? Even the most unforgivable criminal would be treated with more mercy than this!

Lying bruised and battered at the bottom of some hole, inextricably bound to this . . . this . . . this Noldo, who did not even look overly distressed by our most precarious situation . . .and then the sound of voices . . . voices that were speaking some form of . . . Orcish. Of course, it would be Orcish. Why should it have been anything but Orcish? Perfect!

I stared down at the Noldo, wondering if perhaps he had hit his head too hard when we landed and had lost what wits he had. He had turned his head toward the voices, and I did the same, twisting slightly to glance over my shoulder - we were in a most uncomfortable position. I knew what I would see: goblins or orcs, armed to the teeth and that would be the end of it . . . if we were fortunate. If we weren't . . .well, they would not take me without a fight!

You may imagine my surprise when I first caught sight of them. They were not dressed as they were supposed to be! No weapons of any sort were in sight, no daggers, swords, pikes, clubs, whips, no vicious spiked armor . . . nothing! Their clothing was. . . they looked like the wealthy merchants of Dale! I could not prevent my astonishment from showing as they stared down at us.

Though they dressed in a manner I had never thought of goblins dressing in, giving them an air of civility that I would not have thought to give goblins credit for, I still did not like the look in the tall ones' eyes at all. They may dress like they were sophisticated traders or merchants, but they were goblins beneath those fancy robes, and it showed all too clearly in that one's eyes. It was a look of sheer fell amusement.

A shudder passed through me as the smaller one spoke, for the tone in that one's voice was all the evidence I needed to know what our fate would be. And though I could not understand most of what was said - my knowledge of the Orcish tongue being mostly confined to curses and the like - I could tell by their gazes and the inflection of the words that our time here wasn't going to be short or even relatively painless . . . . I hazarded a glance at the Noldo to see if he had regained his wits. He had not. He looked . . . calm . . . *too* calm, I would almost say he looked relieved. How could that be? He must truly have had his brains rattled beyond repair. I felt a pang of guilt about that for I doubted these goblins would spare him the torture I was sure was to come merely because he was addle-pated.

But then . . . .

There is a saying that just when you think things cannot get any worse, they do. I am here to testify that this saying is, unfortunately, most true.

Two goblins were bad enough, though I thought that given a chance we, well *I* -since the poor Noldo would be of no help with his head injured as it was - could easily overcome them. I knew that they would take my bow and my sword, as those two weapons were obvious to see and to get at, but to take my dagger they would have to unbind us, and well . . . I would take advantage of those few precious seconds to act. Don Gwaedh was well acquainted with the taste of goblin blood and a few more drops would be spilled on the floor before they knew what was happening, giving us the chance to flee. To where would we flee? I had no idea, but that seemed that least of our worries at the moment.

That was when things got worse . . . .

It is here that I must confess, rather shamefully and reluctantly, that I . . . I panicked. Do not think me cowardly for I am not normally overcome with such ill befitting emotions as this and certainly not in life- threatening situations. If it had merely been a third goblin joining the merry little party, what happened next would have been quite different. Three are not much worse than two. But it was not merely a 'third goblin' that joined the first two. It was . . . 'Him' . . . .

I had heard the nearly silent footfalls on the stone, and thought that yes, more goblins. Not surprising really, that only meant that I would have to be quicker to act before any more showed up. Then the somewhat overpowering scent of perfume filled the chamber announcing the third one's arrival. It was this scent, rather pleasant but cloying, that sent the first trickle of dread down my spine. I had smelled this before and there was only one person that I associated with it . . . . 'Him' . . . . Gurshak . . . .

And then he was there, the light from the lamps glistening in his long dark hair. Lamps. . . . I had failed to see them before though they lined the hallway that we had landed in, for this was no mere hole in the ground but an underground dwelling with smoothly hewn walls and floors. Would that it had been a mere hole in the ground!

If I had any doubts as to his identity, they would have been completely eradicated when he stared down at us. He appeared as surprised as his companions at what he saw, but then that all too familiar look came over his face, and *I* suddenly realized just *what* he saw and my face reddened with sheer embarrassment and discomfiture. I turned to gaze at the Noldo lying beneath me. He no longer looked quite as relieved as he had, merely . . . confused.

Then Gurshak spoke.

"Are m-my eyes deceiving m-me?" he asked in Westron, eyes gleaming intently as he moved a hesitant step closer much to my horror. It was indeed 'him' for there was no mistaking the eager voice with the slight stutter, which became more pronounced when he grew . . . excited.

My expression must have shown my distress for Alagaith, that most unfortunate Noldo thief, stared up at me, brows knit in curiosity and I couldn't help but think that he looked like *I* was the one with rattled brains.

I could not breathe properly and surely Alagaith could feel the rapid, laboured pace of my heart, which accelerated to a nigh impossible rate when the goblin dressed in impeccable, villainous colours came to stand over us. I did not want to see the look on Gurshak's face!

"Oh," he whispered, well, he moaned if I care to be completely accurate in my description of the noise he produced as he knelt swiftly and gracefully beside us, causing me to glance over at him once more. "I-I do not b-believe this," he continued, still in Westron and I wondered if he did it for my benefit. Did he really remember that my Orcish left much to be desired? His voice, a carefully modulated one - if he had been an elf I would have said elegant - was filled with too much delight and wonder as was his roving gaze.

I could no longer look at Gurshak and found myself staring at Alagaith once more. I knew by his perplexed expression that my fear was making itself known to him at last. My entire being was tensed with dread anticipation and it was a struggle not to fight hopelessly with that cursed rope that held up in such a helpless position. I knew soon that I would feel Gurshak's hand on me. If he touched me - ! Valar! An involuntary shudder swept through me and Alagaith's brows rose in question.

"Oh, yes! Oh, yes!" Gurshak murmured having noticed my slight movement, then directed his attention to his companions. "D-do you know w- who this is?" he asked them. "D-do you?"

I heard one of them chuckle and say something in Orcish, which I did not understand. Then he said a name, a name I knew and had heard before, a name that Gurshak had called me the last time I had encountered him, the name he had given to me so very long ago. I moaned, an involuntary sound of fear and hopelessness, one that communicated my present feelings too well, for Alagaith stared up at me oddly and whispered, "What is it?" His gaze wandered over my shoulder to where Gurshak knelt.

"Yes," the goblin said in a sensual tone, and then it happened. He touched me - I felt his hand rest on my head, a gentle caress that brushed over my hair and then slid slowly down my braid, which was tangled in the rope. "My s-s-silver-haired lovely," he sighed, bending closer.

His hand came to rest on the small of my back and he seemed to hesitate. Chuckling slightly, he released me from his touch, only to capture my face in one hand, turning my head so I had to look at him. His thumb moved over my lower lip in an intimate manner and I tried to bite him though he seemed to anticipate this and he evaded my teeth quite skilfully. His companions laughed at this display, though Gurshak only looked even more eager.

"I d-don't want to s-spoil it w-with haste," he said quietly, smiling in a way that made me wish Don Gwaedh was in my hand. I would have shown him haste!

"Wh-who is your l-lovely friend?" he asked, his hand moving to touch Alagaith's face gently, brushing a dishevelled lock of hair from the Noldo's face. "H-he is a n- new one, is he n- not? H-how l-lovely you l- look together! M-much better than any f- female!"

The other goblins were laughing now, shaking their heads in what had to be amusement as Gurshak stood. He moved to speak with them in their own tongue and I stared down at Alagaith, wondering what I could say, wondering *if* I could say anything or had my voice vanished in my terror? Then it dawned on me. Before someone had always come after me . . . someone had always known that something had befallen me! But now! Oropher was not here! Celair was not here!

No one knew where we were! No one!

My eyes became unfocused as I stared at the floor beneath his shoulder. No one would come after us anytime soon. How long before they knew that something had gone wrong and they began a search? One day? More?! And even if they realized that we weren't returning behind them, how would they ever discover that hole we had fallen down!?

I began to tremble, much to the amusement of the goblins, who had come to stand over to us. What were they doing!? I swung my head toward Gurshak to see that he was watching us intently, one hand playing with the lace at one of his sleeves. He smiled at me, slowly licking his lips.

"No," I groaned, once again engaged in a futile fight with our bonds. "No!"

There was going to be no getting out this, not this time! None! By the time anyone found us - if they found us! - it would be too late! Too late!

It was then that my thoughts fragmented into many tiny, incoherent pieces. The great Master Archer of Mirkwood panicked.

Fight! We had to fight them!

Flee! We had to flee them!

Fight! Flee! Fight! Flee!

Oh, very well! My thoughts consisted of those two words - fight and flee - and naught else.

We were done for . . . .

It did not take our somewhat uncomfortable, but absurdly amusing situation more than a few moments to turn into a veritable nightmare.

I had considered the third goblin as somewhat odd from the very beginning, but in my innocence, I had believed that he was simply vain, even ridiculous . . . . I had not seen him as a menace, and it took me some time to realize the full extent of the danger we were in, even though this goblin behaved very strangely, muttering, stuttering, and casting indescribable glances at Tanglinna . . . .

"D-do you know w-who this is?" he finally asked his companions. "D-do you?"

"We are not acquainted with that elf, Gurshak", Uglash replied with a chuckle, and the name he used to address his friend confirmed that they were the merchants I had heard about indeed. "But judging by your apparent joy, we can guess! Would this be the wondrous elf about whom you have told us so much - your dear Daurshul?"

"Yes . . ." Gurshak replied.

If I had still harboured some hopeful doubts when these words had been exchanged - although the name daur shul, 'moonlike hair', used to describe the poor archer, who moaned as if in distress now and would not answer to my whispered question, should have been telling enough - they quickly vanished during the following instants. The smiles, the touches, the strange gleam to the goblin's eyes - all of this told me that something was very wrong, and Tanglinna's obvious fear let me suspect that he had come to the same conclusion even earlier than I.

Until then, I had not been sure how to describe the state of mind Gurshak was in, but the moment his hand touched my face, I could not deny any longer that it seemed like lust, lust without love, a frightening, selfish sort of desire. And what was he saying? "H-how l-lovely you l-look together! M-much better than any f- female!"

Slowly, my confusion gave way to a dreadful suspicion. with my unfortunate captor. But . . . . this could not be happening! He could not be lusting after the annoying archer, could he? Granted, there were men choosing other men over women in love, and there were also people who cared very little if the object of their desire returned their affections even in the slightest degree. However, in order to experience some sort of lust for another being, a certain outward beauty of this other being should be given for the beholder, and this could not be the case. I would not say that the unfortunate archer was ugly; he was actually quite a handsome elf, the emphasis being on elf - while Gurshak was quite obviously a goblin.

You may not understand what I wish to express; we are used to describing elves as more or less beautiful and orcs as rather disgusting, so used to this, in fact, that we fail to understand that an orc would never share our opinion in these matters. I had talked about this with Seven long ago, when we had still been in the process of forming something like a friendship. One rainy night, not long after I had met him and Strongsword, we had found shelter in the house of an orcish smith that my new companions had apparently known for some time. At first, they had had a very hard time convincing him that I would not bite, but when some hours had passed, he and his family had admitted that I was actually a harmless elf (as if I could not have told them that in advance!). Nevertheless, I had overheard the smith's wife say to her husband in a low and rather disgusted voice: "It . . . he . . . may be rather docile indeed, as they assured us - but I can hardly bear to look upon that creature!"

Not exactly flattered by this remark, I had mentioned it to Seven later, when we had been alone. "Do you think it was because of my eye?" I had asked, painfully aware once again that the place where my right eye should have been was covered by a cumbersome and not even very clean piece of cloth; I had not possessed a proper eye patch then, not until I had taken one on a battlefield a few weeks later.

Seven had surveyed me with some pity. "No . . . ." he had replied. "At least not only." And, with an apologetic smile, he had added: "No offence meant, One-Eye, but . . . you are an elf, even a rather typical one, if I may say so . . . . And who could find a creature with tousled mud-coloured hair, an eye like a puddle on a rainy day and a skin like fresh goat's cheese terribly pleasant to look upon?"

And, hurt pride aside, I must admit that this is still one of the most accurate descriptions of my appearance that I have ever come across.

Having strayed far enough from the actual story by relating this little memory, I hope to have shown one thing, at least - a normal orc or goblin (for Seven, who had lived with elves long enough now to decide that they had, at least, "their own kind of beauty", did not count) would never call any elf especially good-looking or even 'lovely', as Gurshak had done repeatedly now. He could not be quite serious about considering Tanglinna as overly handsome - but apparently, he was.

Even if I accepted this as well - and I did have some difficulty to concede that it was as much as *imaginable* that a male goblin showed such appreciation for the looks of a male elf - the matter remained most peculiar. If I interpreted Gurshak's actions correctly - and I swear I wished that I did not, but what other explanation could there be for these ardent glances and words of foul passion? - he hoped to . . . to establish some sort of very close and intimate relationship between himself and this poor wood-elf, but how could he even have thought of that? Even if that special sort of closeness had not been morally and legally binding - and it was, orcs, like elves, marrying once in their lives and not taking matters of love too lightly - it was more than apparent that Tanglinna was more than unwilling to be approached in such a manner, and who could blame him for that?

This was when my mind balked at accepting any of this as real and actually happening - for what even halfway sane goblin would . . . . ? I did not pursue that line of thought, but only repeated to myself, over and over, that *such things did not happen*, that even in Morgoth's mines, where the most heinous crimes had been committed and where cruelties and torments of the worst kind had been used to force the captive elves into obedience, such a thing had not taken place as far as I knew . . . . But perhaps this goblin was not sane?

He could not be sane. "H-how l-lovely you l-look together!" he had said . . . . Even if it was, perhaps, possible that this misguided goblin felt strangely attracted to the Mirkwood archer lying on me, no sane being of any kind would have drawn any enjoyment of *this* kind from the sight of two battered elves lying on top of each other against their will!
The only thing that was remotely reassuring was that the other two goblins were laughing and shaking their heads now; could this, perhaps, indicate that my impression of Gurshak was wrong, that all of this was not real, but only a very tasteless joke, or an attempt to scare us so much that we would not dare to offer resistance?

But then, they should have been able to see that the prospect of having to suffer Gurshak's attentions would make us desperate enough to fight madly, and why should they have been joking? The first thing that would have come to my mind if two strangers had fallen into the hallway of my house - that is, if I had had a house - would not have been exchanging pleasantries with them . . . .

"Enough fun for now, Slasher", the goblin who, I surmised, must be Thrakush, the third of the well-known trio of merchants, now said with a chuckle, obviously addressing Gurshak, and I could not help wondering how he had ended up with so strange a nickname. Had he been a warrior once, renowned for his skill with a blade?

"Yes, enough for now", Uglash chimed in, "there will be enough time to do anything you wish later . . . . They will not run away."

"W-we could m-make them c-comfortable in m-my bedroom", Gurshak suggested; so it had not been a strange joke. "They m-might like that, and I h-have t-to make s-sure they did not hurt themselves t-too b-badly in their f-fall . . . . They m-might need s-some s-salve for their b-bruises, I c-could . . . ."

"Not now", Uglash said, his smile pleasant enough, but his voice firm nonetheless. "In these troubled times, it would be dangerous to invite two somewhat reluctant elves to be our guests . . . . I would prefer to put them in some safe place now, at least until we know something about the outcome of Bolg's campaign . . . . The delivery of wine from Laketown has not arrived yet, after all, although it was due three days ago, and before we know what has become of those barrels, it is certainly not the right time for merrymaking and forgetting about the world. But, actually, the salve is not a bad idea. . . . Go and prepare some! Thrakush and I shall deal with those elves - you could send over the servants so that they can help us with them."

"I d-do not think I w-want my s-silver-haired l-lovely to stay in that place for t-too long", Gurshak slowly answered, with such an emphasis on 'that place' that I started wondering if what we were in for now would cure me of the notion that our situation could not possibly get any worse, "he w-will not l-like that, and I w-would like him t-to b-be at ease!"

"Oh, I am sure he will find it very exciting", Uglash said with a little smile that appeared most unpleasant and cruel to me, and moved closer to us, as did his companions. "And later, given that you manage to convince these elves of your. . . . good intentions, we can think about a different sort of accommodation. . . . Who knows? Perhaps, he will even be grateful to be 'rescued' by you and will wish to express a certain . . . . gratitude?"

This seemed to convince Gurshak; he studied us for a moment with an expression that I did not like at all, but finally, he retired with a last luscious smile at Tanglinna who was, again, fighting to get rid of the rope, the sole effect of his efforts consisting in adding a few bruises to my already battered body.

"Are you insane?" Thrakush hissed as soon as he was gone. "Don't encourage him! Don't you remember what happened the last time he invited an elf to stay, that most annoying Sinda you caught stealing apples in our orchard? That one stayed for three weeks, was noisy and untidy, drank our best wine and finally left with my favourite tunic, while - if I am not mistaken - nothing ever actually happened between the two of them, not counting Slasher's lovelorn sighs!"

"Nothing happened indeed", Uglash snorted, "and I am still sure that this elven twit cheated when we all played cards that one evening . . . . I should have broken his fingers when I had the chance! - But you know we have to indulge Gurshak now and then; he does not interfere with our pastimes, either, that you must admit! And then," - he laughed - "this is his 'silver-haired lovely', the love of his life! We can't deny him that little pleasure, can we?"

The rest of this scene is quickly told. The goblins had the sense to remove Tanglinna's bow and sword before they cut the rope binding him to me, and by the time they proceeded to do so, two servants - one of them muttering "Not again!" when he caught sight of us - had arrived and could be of some help. It seemed they all had expected some sort of opposition, so the archer's valiant attempt to use his dagger did not save us; he was soon disarmed, although that did not prevent him from fighting on as well as he could. I would have done so as well had I only been able to - but the Wood-elves knew how to tie a prisoner securely.

This detail did not escape Thrakush when he removed the rope, and although he and the others were soon busy restraining Tanglinna who was proving them how fierce and wild a Silvan elf could be indeed, he burst out laughing: "Look! That one is really bound! I wonder what strange games Gurshak's elves engaged in before they chose to visit us!"

Strange games? It took me a while to figure out what he meant by this, but the very moment I understood, I remembered another thing, something Gurshak had said shortly before, and apparently referring to me: ""H-he is a n- new one, is he n- not?"

A new one. . . . Strange games. . . .

I tried to look at Tanglinna, to find my hope that what I thought just now was not true confirmed in his face, but meeting the eyes of the kicking, biting, struggling creature that had been a dignified archer of Mirkwood not long ago was impossible. I tried to tell myself that his obvious fear and despair actually spoke in his favour, that 'Slasher' had probably only misunderstood something when those two had met earlier, just as he was misinterpreting our relationship now, but a last shadow of doubt would not vanish.

Very well - I was the prisoner of apparently somewhat demented goblins, I did not know whether I could trust my only companion, and even if we managed to escape, the best thing I could expect was to be taken to Mirkwood to be punished for my theft. Life was truly wonderful at times.

Life was truly wonderful at times . . . .

My grand plan to rescue us from the clutches of these most wretched goblins had failed . . . miserably . . . as I should have known it would . . . . They were not fools, and they had anticipated what I would do though. I did manage to scratch one of them before they wrestled Don Gwaedh from my grasp and I left a few bruises and bumps on the others, and myself since they were none too gentle with me at the time. But in the end, the result was inevitable: I was chained - wrists and ankles - to a cell wall, spitting curses in Quenya, Silvan, and Sindarin at those very goblins as I strained in the iron bonds. I threw in a few Orcish curses as well for good measure, which only seemed to amuse our captors even more, though one glared at me quite viciously. He was holding his arm for he was the one unfortunate enough to meet my dagger up close and personally.

The tall goblin laughed outright and came to stand before me, entirely too close as he leaned one hand against the wall near my head, not quite close enough that I could bite him, no, they had learned that lesson well. He grinned at me, reaching up to touch his swollen lips where I had smashed my head against his mouth during the struggle. Then he spoke to me in perfect Westron,

"Once old Slasher has had his fill of you, Daurshul, I think we will have a little 'conversation' about your charming Elvish manners . . . or lack of them. I believe even you could learn some decorum with the right form of . . . persuasion."

I glared at him, which only caused his smile to widen to most unpleasant proportions.

"I have some new . . . toys that I haven't had the pleasure of enjoying yet. You and your friend might get the honour of being the first to play with them. Won't that be fun?" His gaze flicked to Alagaith, who was being very quiet for some reason, but then the goblin grabbed my face, his fingers holding me caught in his bruising grip. He smiled at me once more, his eyes filled with black pleasure before he slammed my head into the wall, released me and turned to walk from the cell, closing the door behind him and speaking once more in his own language to his fellows. None of them looked particularly happy with me, not any more than I was with them. Whatever that tall one said though caused the others to laugh and gaze in at Alagaith and me before they vanished from sight.

I stood panting with pent up anger and frustration at my inability to do anything. There were few times in my life when I have not been the master of whatever situation I found myself in or at least had some measure of control over. Those few times that I had been totally helpless and unable to do anything to help myself or those I loved, things had gone wrong . . . sometimes tragically wrong. I growled, hitting my head against the wall once more for good measure before turning to contemplate the cold iron that bound my right wrist.

The band wasn't as tight as it could have been, and I thought perhaps, with any luck, I might be able to work myself free of it. I would undoubtedly lose some skin, but that seemed a small price to pay for our escape. I yanked down, twisting my already battered right hand and wrist painfully. At least that arm was no longer quite as numb as it had been when the goblins had freed us from that cursed rope. That lack of feeling had forced me to use my left hand to draw Don Gwaedh when I had made our desperate bid for freedom. It had cost me a few precious seconds that might have tipped the balance in our favor . . . .

After a frustrating moment of struggle with the cold iron - I thought that perhaps if I bled enough, my skin would become so slippery that I could slide my hand free - I sighed, glaring at the unforgiving band and at my hand still firmly caught within its grasp.

~If only I were alone,~ I thought giving one more frustrated yank. ~If only it were merely myself I have to worry about! ~

But he was there as well, and under my charge - my protection.

I glanced guiltily at the unfortunate Noldo . . . at Alagaith and saw his eye slide away uncomfortably. What he must have thought of this situation, I could not begin to imagine. He was probably cursing the day he had ever laid eyes - well, his one eye - on me, the day I found him stealing Lalven's cloak . . . .

A cloak . . . a mere scrap of cloth that Lalven no longer had any use for and would not have begrudged this ragged Noldo thief. Lalven was much kinder than I.

Again, I wondered why I had not turned a blind eye to his thievery. Had it been all that terrible?

I studied his profile for he wouldn't meet my eyes at that time. My gaze moved to his clothing, noting how ragged and threadbare they were, how short his own cloak was. It looked almost as though most of it had been cut off at some point. He had *needed* that cloak - needed it! - not merely wanted it because it was a pretty thing. I swallowed as the pang of guilt and remorse grew stronger within my heart. I tugged once more on my bonds, which gave way not at all, and then I sagged dispiritedly.

"I . . .I am sorry," I began, wondering if this entire experience was some lesson in humility from the Valar.

Alagaith looked up at me then, his one eye filled with puzzlement, and I wondered again if he had hit his head too hard.

"*You* are sorry? I should be sorry," he said in a low voice. "Perhaps I am." His head bowed, and he looked as tired and defeated as I felt.

What did he have to be feeling sorry about? It was my fault entirely that we found ourselves in this most precarious and awful situation. I had been the one to decide to go another way, to force that trek up the hill. If I had thought things through more carefully, none of this would have happened. I was not used to anyone arguing with me when I claimed something was my fault; it was a rare occasion when I made this admission and no one had ever moved to gainsay me before.

"What do you possibly have to be sorry for?" I asked, my voice a bit sharp with astonishment. "None of this was your fault! If I hadn't been so utterly foolish, none of this would have happened!"

Exasperation filled me. First, at him for making me admit aloud that I had been less than wise in the decisions made that day, and for thinking that this was somehow his fault. But then my frustration was directed at myself. How *could* it be his fault? Any of it? If I had let him go when I had first seen him then none of this would have happened. It was my fault - entirely - from beginning to end. Oropher would have had my head for making such senseless decisions with no more than half a moment's thought - and rightly so.

I felt guilty once more. The poor thief had hit his head and that must be the explanation for his odd feelings. I should not have snapped at him like he was some wayward youngling twanging bowstrings. I was about to apologize again - Valar! How many times would I find myself apologizing to this Noldo?! - when he gazed up at me, cocking one dark brow.

"Excuse me," he said, "but . . . I caused us to fall into that hole . . . . Not your fault." Then he seemed to grin a bit, though I might have been mistaken. It was almost as though he were trying to reassure me about this . . . yes, I must have been mistaken. But before I could say anything to this, his look grew suspicious and he frowned at me, his grey eye filled with something I could not quite comprehend. "Or," he began again, slowly as if not certain he wished to voice this thought, "did you plan to go here when you led us this way?"

It was my turn to frown. What did he mean, 'did you plan to go here when you led us this way?' I had decided to climb the hill and take the higher ground back to the palace, indeed that had been my somewhat ill- conceived plan. Was that what he meant? Somehow, I thought not. What then *did* he mean?

Alagaith's brows rose and he looked decidedly . . . well, he looked quite . . . !

"What!?" I gasped, eyes widening as it dawned on me what he was implying about me. "You think I *wanted* to end up here?! Here?!" Anger and indignation surged inside me and all charitable thoughts had flown at his silent accusation. "Why would you think that? Do I look like I am enjoying myself?! Or is this what you think I do for fun -falling into goblin holes with unsuspecting elves, right into the lap of . . . of . . . ."

I felt my face redden with embarrassment and horror. How could he think that of me?! Of ME?! I shuddered, remembering Gurshak's caresses, the way he had looked at me. How could this Noldo think that this was what I wanted? How could he think that of me?

"I did not plan to go this way for. . . for . . .for that!"

I turned away from him then, feeling more hurt by his unspoken thought than I cared to acknowledge. What sort of beast did he think me if he believed I had deliberately planned to bring us here? I yanked and tugged on the bonds, trying to work my pain and frustration out on them. All I succeeded in doing was making my hands and wrists raw and tender. I sighed heavily, suddenly feeling so very exhausted and beaten. Nothing had gone as it should. Nothing . . . .

I turned to him, wanting him to know that whatever he thought of me, I would do everything I could, however I could, to spare him what was to come if we didn't manage to escape before Gurshak came back.

"Whatever happens, regardless of what you think of me," I began slowly, my voice sounding not at all like my own, even in my ears, "I won't let them harm you if it is within my power. I swear this on my life."

I have seldom allowed anyone to see me in such an unguarded moment as I did then for I no longer had the strength to hide what I was feeling. I know that he would see my fear, my disappointment in myself that I had not prevented this from happening, my anguish that I feared there would be nothing I could do to prevent him from being tortured and ill-used.

He spoke then, looking somewhat guilty, yet not meeting my eyes.

"I am sorry . . . I did not mean to imply . . . ." He sighed, looking as uncomfortable as I had earlier. "It was only what that Gurshak said - 'a new one' . . . . I must admit that made me wonder . . . . Sorry."

He did gaze up at me then, warily and I could see that he did not know what to say anymore than I did. An uneasy silence filled our cell, only the occasional rattle of my chains breaking it.

"But stop fighting with those chains," he said suddenly. "You will only hurt yourself, and that will not be of any use whatsoever." Just as suddenly, he grinned. "I know about chains, so take my sage advice."

I found I was smiling in spite of myself.

"I suppose you would have a greater knowledge of chains than I would," I said with a wry grin, but I was unable to prevent myself from yanking on the 'chains' once more. Alagaith was not nearly as restricted as I was, but then he had not fought them as I had. His course had proven to be the wiser.

The last time it hadn't been chains or a dank cell for me though. My imprisonment had been in a much nicer place, my bonds not so cold and harsh, but it had been imprisonment all the same, with Gurshak standing over me . . . . I shuddered.

"I have met . . .Gurshak before . . .twice to be precise. The last time . . . well, I was not with a . . . a. . . male 'companion' when he came across me."

~Celair,~ I thought, still amazed at the pain that some thoughts of her could still bring. My bright lady-wife had rescued me from certain . . . well, from a most unwanted fate. Who would rescue me . . . us now? Who would gently tease and laugh afterwards?

"I am sorry that I have gotten you into this," I said quietly, fearing that if we could not manage to free ourselves, we would not be freed. "Please forgive me."

My thoughts turned grim once more. There was only one course: we would *have* to free ourselves . . . however we could . . . .

TBC