Authors' Notes – Alagant is equivalent of an 8 year old human; when
Tanglinna was 20 springs that is equal to about a 13 year old human.
For the incident in Doriath, please see Lady Elleth's "The Trees of Neldoreth".
~*~*~*~*~*
Alagaith Alagaerion calmly sips a cup of mint tea, ankles crossed, looking very relaxed as he watches a slightly perturbed Tanglinna Thindalagosion glaring at one of the most hated objects of all times in any world: a printer. The Noldorin elf watches with an amused eye as his companion mutters quiet imprecations at the lowly, unimpressed machine. It didn't seem to matter how many times he had shown the Silvan how to operate the printer, Tanglinna somehow managed to jam the paper every time he touched it.
"It doesn't like me, Linlote! I won't touch it," the archer declares at last, straightening and folding his arms over his chest as he throws a surreptitious glance at the other elf.
"You must be nice to it, Mordil," Alagaith began patiently, lifting his teacup to hide his grin. "Sweet smiles and compliments, you know." He winks, barely able to keep the chuckle from bubbling forth as Tanglinna's eyes narrow.
"Why is it *I* must always be the one to soothe evil 'beasts' with sweet smiles and compliments? I think I have done my share of that over time. . . . And besides . . . ." He frowns suddenly, his gaze moving back to the printer, unwilling to admit that a mere machine has defeated him. "Oh, very well!"
There is a battle to be waged this day, but not one with bow or bladed weapons. With a quick, uneasy glance at Alagaith, who nods encouragingly, lifting his cup in salute, the Master Archer attacks, his voice a low purr.
"Nice printer. Won't you please work for me today? You are such a . . . lovely colour. Pretty please?"
One hesitant finger moves to hover over the PRINT button.
When the recalcitrant machine doesn't make a sound, indeed it seems to regard the archer with stony silence, Tanglinna turns to Alagaith.
"Nothing is happening! I told you, it doesn't like me . . . ."
Alagaith watches this scene with equal silence, noting the pained expression on his companion's face, the knit brows; the perplexed frown that was slowly growing into a feral growl. He reaches over and deftly pushes the printer's POWER button.
Tanglinna's cheeks redden, but he says nothing, pressing the PRINT button once more and holding his breath in anticipation of much shredded, crumpled paper and jammed printer intestines. The machine hums to life, the mechanism sliding the first sheet of blank paper smoothly into action.
"See?" Alagaith says with a nod. "It can be nice. . . .It does like you, after all. I knew your talent for soothing evil beasts was unequalled." He stands then, patting the archer on the shoulder.
"Hmph," Tanglinna snorts. "Your confidence in me is so inspiring." His pleased look belies his words as he crouches down to watch the papers like a hawk for any sign of crumpling or crunching. There are none and he soon slips the papers from the tray and arranges them in the proper order. "Well," he continues in a triumphant voice, "that was fairly easy." He then hands the papers to the Noldo with a grin and a graceful bow. "Here are your reviews, Lord Alagaith."
Alagaer's son would have been the perfect picture of an arrogant Noldorin lord but for the wide grin that lights his face.
"Thank you," he replies with a tip of his elegant dark head. "Let's see . . . . What does kingmaker have to say?" Well . . . 'say' may not be the right word – look at this!" He points to the review with one finger. "It appears our poor friend is not feeling well . . . ."
Tanglinna's eyes scan the paper in Alagaith's hand, and he nods solemnly.
"I do hope he is feeling better. I don't believe I was feeling too well myself at that point either, so I do sympathize with him." He frowns suddenly. "I simply have to tell you, kingmaker, that I wish I had not panicked when I did, but that panic, by its very nature, is not something we have much control over. But . . . next time I will endeavour to do better. I will work on my . . . Panic Reaction Timing."
Alagaith turns slowly to Tanglinna, one brow raised.
"I hope you are not implying that there will be a next time, Mordil!"
Tanglinna turns equally slowly to meet the Noldo's grey gaze.
"I assure you there will not be a next time, Linlote. But if there were another such time, it appears we would have many people ready to come and rescue us. Ptath has an impressive array of weapons at her disposal and ready to employ them on our behalf." He lifts one brow in return, arms folded confidently over his chest once more.
"Impressive indeed," Alagaith intones with a nod of appreciation. "But even if you are not rescued in time, you need not really worry – WeasleyTwinsLover112 promises you 'lots of kisses' to make you feel better. . . . And," he adds in an ominous voice, "you seem to be doomed."
After smiling languorously at WeaselyTwinsLover112, Tanglinna turns to glare at Alagaith, who quirks his brows and continues hastily.
"Venytuima says she hopes that someone gets us out 'before poor Alagaith has to go through it too! – so apparently, she is very sure that you already had to go through . . .something, and who are we to gainsay her."
Tanglinna glares at him when a slight smirk tugs on Alagaerion's lips.
"I fear I will have to gainsay her on this point. I have never . . . ." He hesitates, his cheeks reddening slightly. "That is . . . nothing like . . . .that . . . .has yet happened. I was lucky to escape his . . . attentions . . . intentions . . . Nothing *will* happen between Gurshak and I. . . . I hope. . . ." The archer's face feels entirely too hot and he shakes his head. "But I must agree with Venytuima that Tree is mean! Thank you for the hug, mel-nin. It is much appreciated." He smiles at the screen before regarding his companion once more. "I must also say that I agree with Dis Thrainsdotter – it is a pity that Bilbo Baggins was not there. I suspect he can pick locks better than some 'burglars' I know. Don't you agree, Alagaith God of Thieves?" he finishes with a grin, chuckling when a blush paints Alagaith's cheeks.
"You need not remind me of that embarrassment, Mordil!" He sighs with mild annoyance. "But, well . . . ." Eyes the archer apologetically. "Perhaps I deserve that – the evil witch queen was shocked, after all, that I thought the wrong thing about you . . . And it was not nice of me, I admit that. But she has interesting suggestions again . . . .Apparently, you will have to get 'really badly injured' to save my life." Alagaith grins at the evil witch queen playfully. "Very interesting indeed! And Tanglinna certainly would not hesitate to do such a thing – but since it would be a waste to sacrifice a valiant Master Archer for a lowly thief, it will not happen that way."
Tanglinna snorts derisively at this last, shaking his head.
"You are truly a humble Noldo, Linlote. . . . And to think you call me the 'peacock'!" He grins at the evil witch queen before reading the papers once more. "I believe that amlugwen has made an interesting statement though. It is quite true that if I had my bow when I had encountered Gurshak before, he would be dead. . . well, the second time that would be true. The first time. . . I was too young to realize what he . . . wanted . . . and I didn't have my bow with me then. . . .How embarrassing! Now everyone will think I cannot take care of myself." He glares at the papers, trying to find something that will turn this conversation in another direction. "I wish the ground would swallow me now, as Lutris has said . . . that would have been preferable to what Gurshak wanted. . . .Ah! daw the minstrel wants to know about the business you have had with orcs. I want to know that as well, Linlote. You seem to know an awful lot about them and their business dealings." One brow lifts speculatively.
Alagaith is not amused. He meets the archer's enquiring gaze levelly.
"We are supposed to respond to these reviews, Mordil – if I started telling you and our readers all about the business I have had with orcs, we would still be here in a month, and we cannot do that – Karianua would not be happy with us! She promised cookies in exchange for a fast update, and I believe you would like to have a cookie." He grins then, eye sparkling. "You may be a very grown-up, respectable Master Archer, but I think you cannot resist such an offer. Well . . . Miss Aranel will give you a cookie as well if you are a good elfling and stop doing all those 'harmful things'? Or perhaps peach pie . . . . She and a young elven lady of hers have a wonderful peach pie recipe." His grin widens and he winks at Miss Aranel.
"Hm . . . well, I will try to refrain from doing 'harmful things' to myself in the future. I will have to blame some of it on the Panic Reaction . . . though, yes, Linlote, some of it was indeed just ridiculous on my part. I agree to behave from now on, after all, Kal the Magnificent wants to have a tea party at the end of the story. I don't think we should invite the goblins though . . . . I agree with hel – I don't like Uglash's comments about his toys either . . . And to think, you thought he was a respectable merchant!"
"How should I have known he was not? Or are you implying that people like Uglash frequent the circles I usually move in? I sincerely hope you are not!" Alagaith turns a full-blown 'arrogant Noldo' glare on the Silvan, grey eye filled with danger.
Tanglinna manages to return the intimidating look with an inscrutable one of his own.
"Now, Linlote. Would I suggest such a thing about you? I think we are all merely curious about your past and your dealings with . . . creatures that I have not truly had any sort of dealings with myself, unless it was at the end of a sword. But," his eyes stray toward Alagaith's hand to see if it has moved ever so slightly toward his sword hilt, "since we are not going to be rescued by our fans, Oropher, Seven, Celair, Thranduil, your father, Beorn, or a cute woodland creature, I suppose it is time fort the actual tale to continue." He smiles at the readers, flicks a gaze at Alagaith once more, then turns to the printer. "Good printer. I always knew you liked me best." The archer grins and then moves hastily away from his companion with an apologetic shrug.
~*~*~*~*
Chapter 5 - Sorrows Revisited
After our short conversation, there was silence for a while, real silence this time; Tanglinna did not yank at his chains too often any more, and I was glad that he was sensible enough to see my point that fighting against them too much would do more harm than good. But who was I to blame him for his fear and despair? He had met Gurshak twice already, or so he had said, and also he had not told me more than this, I suspected that these two previous meetings had resembled this one to a certain degree. I could not imagine what it would mean to have been the captive of that strange goblin for two times, what stages of fear, disgust and pain he had gone through, and how far humiliation and ill-treatment had gone.
He doubtlessly had every reason to be afraid, and yet, his impending fate did not seem to be his foremost worry – for some reason, the Mirkwood archer was concerned about me, even though I had told him quite clearly that I had caused our fall, and even though I had rewarded his apology with distrust and a hideous suspicion. He had every reason to be displeased, even furious, with me, and even if he was honourable enough to be resolved to help me if he could, nothing had forced him to tell me this, even to swear that he would do whatever was in his power. . . .
But he had done so unconditionally, reassuring me as if I was a friend or a comrade in arms, not a troublesome thief who did not deserve much consideration, and he had been sincere, that much I could tell – he had appeared unguarded, even vulnerable, and I had already read in his face that he doubted that he would be able to keep his promise when he had still been speaking. Oddly enough, the knowledge that the practical value of Tanglinna's was rather limited, while he certainly meant to keep it if he could, almost made it more precious to me. He had wanted me to know that I could count on him, that, at least for the span of time we would spend in this goblin lair, hours, days, or the rest of our lives, we would be allies, and not a prisoner and his guard. There had to be a lot of nobility in this otherwise unyielding warrior, and if his apology earlier that day had already made me think, his words in the cell had won him my respect.
Perhaps, I should have told him all of that then and there, but I did not. Kind words would probably be all I would be able to offer if the situation grew worse, and a remedy should not be used too often in order not to lose its effect when it is really needed.
Alas, I knew well how to dose that sort of medicine in encouragement or comfort; often enough, I had not had any choice but to watch helplessly when less than pleasant things had been done to friends of mine, and even more often, I had not witnessed what had happened, but had been left to deal with the sorry effects of pain inflicted deliberately, of long stays in dark holes hardly deserving even the name of a cell, of honour and dignity stolen . . . . Just as often, I had been in need of whatever comfort and encouragement well-meaning words had to offer; this was not the first time that I found myself in chains in a gloomy cell, alone or with company I had not chosen. But this... this was different from anything I had ever been through before, and it was worse, much worse!
When I had lost my freedom before, it had always been because I had been suspected or guilty of some sort of crime, not counting the very long hour I had spent tied to an old oak tree after I had had the bad sense of happening across a man and an orc at the wrong time, the latter convincing the former in a lengthy debate that cutting my throat would not be the best way out of the difficulties they had believed to be in due to the presence of a witness to their rather pathetic attempt of breaking into a farmhouse . . . . But this special tale does not belong here.
While being in prison for punishment or to await a trial can mean anything from simply sitting in dark thought for days to being subjected to fairly harsh treatment, it does have one great advantage – those guarding the unfortunate prisoners have to follow certain rules, and even though the more malevolent sort of gaoler may perhaps change or bend these rules a little to be able to inflict the occasional small cruelty on his charges, it is more or less predictable what can and will happen. There is little kindness to expect, that much is true – but little hatred either. It hardly matters who you are – and admittedly, this was the one thing that made regular imprisonment comparable to my short captivity at Seven and Strongsword's hands long ago. It had been brought about by what I had been to them at that moment, and what I had been in their eyes – a witness and a menace, in Strongsword's opinion, a creature that had not harmed them and did not deserve to be slain merely out of fear, as Seven would have said – had dictated their course of action.
Admittedly, even that could have led to my demise, but whatever they would have done, if would certainly not have been motivated by delight in their prisoner's suffering, or by any very individual emotion at all – and I certainly preferred a captor who acted according to a certain kind of understandable laws – codified actual laws, or simply those of logic, of common sense or of honour – to someone like Gurshak who only seemed to follow his own inexplicable desires and wishes, not even to mention that what he apparently planned to do was worse than even the torture Uglash had alluded to.
I glanced at Tanglinna who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, no pleasant thoughts, at that. Strange to think that I had considered him enough of an enemy earlier that day to want him to fall, to hurt his pride just a little... I certainly had not wished to see him as defeated and hopeless as he was now, and yet, our current predicament was the result of my unnecessary little revenge, for if I had not pulled him down with me, we would not have been here now . . . .
Perhaps the Valar wanted to teach me that vindictiveness was not commendable under any circumstances, and especially not in marginal matters – but the Valar were just, and if this had been their work, the rope would have torn in our tumble down the hill, sparing poor Tanglinna a fate he did not deserve. No, blaming the Valar would have been wrong and too easy – I had made a mistake, and these were the consequences, as simple as that, and very explicable even without suspecting divine intervention.
Yet it was incredible, almost absurd, that a petty quarrel and a grown-up elf who should have known better being very childish should have lead to this nightmarish kind of captivity... Perhaps Tanglinna had reached a similar conclusion, for what else could have provoked the little chuckle that suddenly escaped him?
The unexpected noise interrupted my brooding and brought my attention back to the present and my immediate surroundings, for even though I had thought about what had brought about our fall and what awaited us now, I had paid little heed to what was real and there then. And *seeing*Tanglinna instead of just vaguely acknowledging his presence and thinking about him, I almost forgot the question I had wanted to ask – "What is so amusing?" – because I discovered something that I should have noticed much earlier . . . . Lamenting our fate and engaging in vain thoughts, I had wasted precious time, not grasping the one opportunity to save us.
We were fools, terrible fools – and so, thank the Valar, were our captors! True enough, they had chained us, and they had taken all weapons away – but they had forgotten to remove the pouch from Tanglinna's belt and had not emptied it either, although something that could be useful enough now was in it – a needle case, containing needles not only fit for mending or sewing or doing some embroidery, but also for picking locks, if the need arose . . . and I could reach that pouch!
I should have explained my plans to Tanglinna, but I was so thrilled with my sudden realization that I moved over to him and started searching the pouch without saying a word. It was small wonder that the poor wood-elf was a bit surprised.
"What are you doing?" he enquired, and did not have to raise my eye to know that he was looking down at me with a puzzled expression. "There is no time for that now! You can always pick my pockets when we are out of this mess."
I did not know whether he was entirely serious, I chuckled, so filled with new hope that joking and being merry seemed possible again. "I shall remind you of that kind permission", I assured him, "but I am looking for something that will get us out of the mess . . . . Or so I hope."
The first thing to fall into my hands, however, was not the case of needles, but the little carved warg, and giving the little toy a fond smile before placing it in my pocket and continuing my search, I decided to take the fact that the warg had turned up first as a sign that all would end well, or at least as a reminder that my attempt to free would not only have to be successful because of Tanglinna and me; I could not simply die or let myself be reduced to a worthless wreck here.
I found the needle case soon enough, and when I pulled it out, Tanglinna finally seemed to understand what I had in mind. "A needle! You think you can pick these locks with a needle?!" he asked, staring at me with a frown, but then, he sighed, as if admitting that he had not got a better plan either, and nodded in acceptance. "I sincerely hope you can!" Maybe he *hoped* it indeed, but I was sure he did not believe it; the look he cast at the heavy black iron fettering us was rather doubtful.
Truth to tell, I was not very certain, either, but doing anything at all was still better than just standing in sullen silence, waiting for Gurshak's return.
"I will not promise anything", I replied with a shrug. "I can at least try, but I warn you that I am not good at picking locks - burglary is not my favourite occupation... Can you pick a lock?"
This question – serious as it was, for if he could, he could be of some help as soon as one of his hands was freed – earned me a snort. "I admit that burglary is not my favourite occupation either", Tanglinna told me with a wry grin, but his eyes followed the movement of my hands when I chose a needle and began my work on the lock of the iron band encircling the archer's right wrist.
I worked in silence, probing my enemy and trying to move the needle this or that way, discovering soon that, unfortunately, this lock was better than those of chests and larder doors that wanted to be opened without their owners' consent, even better than those on the kind of chains that were usually considered sufficient to hold a simple thief. These were bonds apt to restrain important prisoners that could not be allowed to escape under any circumstances, or – to secure the goblins' prey.
I grimaced slightly, forcing myself not to think about Gurshak and his vile friends just now. I had to treat this as what it was, a lock on a chain, nothing more, a lock that had to be opened – thinking of all that could happen would only let my concentration fail. I had to be calm and composed now, not only to save myself, but also for Tanglinna's sake. I did not look at his face even when I needed to pause in my work for a moment, secretly fearing to see much hope that might be disappointed, or so many doubts that I would be discouraged, but rather let my eye rest on the hand in front of me, an archer's hand indeed, long accustomed to drawing a bowstring, and probably better with a bow than with a blade.
These alternating intervals of contemplating the fingers I had cut some days earlier – thankfully, they seemed to be healing rather well – and working to free us could have continued for much longer a time, had not Tanglinna's voice interrupted me, not with a comment on what I did or on our situation, but with a question that took me by surprise.
"Why . . .why do you carry a toy warg with you?"
Perhaps he only asked to start a conversation that would occupy him; perhaps he really wished to know . . . . I was not certain, but I briefly interrupted my attempt to pick the lock to look up and smile at him. "Alagant carved it", I explained, feeling immeasurably proud, for the carving was skilfully done and beautiful, even more so if one considered Alagant's age and the fact that he had only had Half-Dead's old carving knife to work with... Remembering that the name could not mean anything to Tanglinna, I added: "My son. It was a gift from him."
With this, I resumed my work.
~*~*~*~*~*
After our first initial conversation, we stood silently for a time, both lost in our own thoughts. I shook my head slightly, my eyes moving to the small barred window set in the door. There was not much hope that we would manage to escape before Gurshak or one of his companions returned, but I could not allow myself to lose all hope, but at moments like this it was rather hard not to. I had no idea how many goblins inhabited this underground hideaway; it was possible that we had seen them all, but more likely that we had not. I found myself wishing that I were as innocent and unaware of what would befall us here, as naïve as I had been the first time I had the displeasure of making Gurshak's acquaintance, then perhaps I wouldn't feel quite so despairing.
When Oropher had arrived and unchained my wrists - for though I did not know what Gurshak's intentions were toward me, I knew that I didn't want him anywhere near me, and I had been rather a "wild little thing" and needed to be restrained– he had shaken his head in relieved amusement as he gathered me, a mere youngling of twenty springs, into his waiting arms.
"Oh, Tanglinna," he had chuckled, stroking back my tousled, tangled hair as I buried my face against his shoulder, my fingers knotting in his forest green tunic. I had been too relieved to see him and to learn that the goblins had not found the injured Thranduil that I did not think beyond this. "You must choose your . . . 'friends' with more care," he finished after I had told him haltingly that Gurshak had told me that he merely wanted to be my 'friend'. Oropher had hugged me fiercely even as I continued to ask after Thranduil's safety, hardly daring to believe that he was truly well and out of harm's way.
Oropher and my lady-wife had not let me forget that I was Daurshul of the moonlike hair after my second encounter with Gurshak, and because the story spread, and neither Celair nor Oropher would admit that they had anything to do with its circulation, everyone knew about Daurshul and his "admirer". It was all well and good in its way I suppose, but only because thus far Gurshak had been unsuccessful in his attempts to . . . seduce me, if that is what you care to call it.
~What would you think this time, aran-nin? ~ I wondered silently with a wry grin. ~My only chance to escape him this time lay with this thief. And a Noldo at that! ~
I could well imagine what Oropher would say! I chuckled slightly as I thought of what had lead to this most unwanted and strange situation. Oropher would indeed have something to say about this ridiculous turn of events!
A bit later, while Alagaith tried to pick those heavy iron fetters with his skilled thief's hands and a needle - of all things! – I hardly dared to breathe for fear of breaking his concentration, but every passing second brought closer the time that Gurshak would return . . . . Alagaith had not said anything in a rather long time, and I felt the silence between us becoming oppressive once more – too oppressive - and I found myself recalling the toy warg in the pouch at my waist, anything to avoid thinking about what might happen at any moment if those goblins returned for us, especially Gurshak. He had reached in for the needle packet and taken the toy out instead, neatly putting it into his pocket. It was obviously of some special importance to him, otherwise why would he have removed it first and placed it on his person. My curiosity got the better of me, not to mention the lack of sound except the scratching of the needle in the iron lock, and I asked him why he would carry a carved toy with him. The answer I received was totally unexpected.
A son? He had a . . . a son? I stared at him, knowing that he was not going to meet my eyes at that moment for he was busy with the lock once more. I had seen the pride and love shining on his face when he made this stunning pronouncement. He had a son . . . .
An indescribable emotion swept through me as I watched him work, a smile still lingering on his lips, and I knew that he still thought of his child. What must that be like, to feel such pride over a child's accomplishments? I would never know this personally . . . .
Over the years I have seen many parents announcing a child's first steps, their first words, even the appearance of a first little white tooth with such bursting excitement and joy, as if their child were the only one to be able to do these marvels. There is nothing to match the glow that suffuses their faces at these moments, those most precious moments that only parents are gifted with. They seem to gain more satisfaction and delight from these small milestones than anything they themselves have ever accomplished. It is as if this child is their crowning accomplishment, the best thing that they will ever create . . . . But some of us are not destined to know these feelings, some of us have been denied that pleasure . . . .
I found myself recalling all too clearly the joy that one experiences when anticipating the arrival of a child: the wondrous days of watching the child growing safely within his naneth's womb, the feeling of the babe kicking vigorously, so full of life already . . . of gazing into my wife's eyes and still feeling amazed and humbled that she could actually love me and had wanted to give me a child. . . .
"You . . . you have a son?" I murmured, trying to push away those heartbreaking remembrances that I did not want to recall, not now. I was unable to stop the bitter and unworthy thought that it truly wasn't fair that this downtrodden Noldo thief had a son when I did not. Yet this Noldo thief was here with me in this cell awaiting the same fate as myself, working to free us both. We had to get out . . . the child would need his ada, just as his ada must need him. "Where is he?" I hoped that my voice did not betray my too strong emotions in this moment, but I need not have worried for Alagaith was engrossed in his work, the small silver needle's deft twisting and turning were a testament to that.
"Somewhere near the place where you caught me . . . if he is still there."
He shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but I was shocked to hear this, and dismayed.
"What?" Surely I had misunderstood what he said, or at least what he meant. "You left your son near where I caught you? Alone?! What!?!?"
I admit that it was entirely possible his son was grown and quite capable of taking care of himself, but from the way he had spoken of him when I asked about the warg carving, I had the impression that his son was still a child . . . and he had left him alone near a battlefield! If he were found, he would be taken care of . . .if it were an elf, dwarf, or man that found him, but there were still some goblins about and if they were to find him. . . . I stared down at Alagaith in amazement and anger. Surely he must have realized this very real danger!
He in turn, glared up at me, mild indignation bringing faint colour to his cheeks, sparked in his eye, and twisted his lips.
"I would *never* leave him alone," he said in a tight, accusatory voice. "Someone is looking after him?"
Shame flooded me. Of course he would not have left his son alone and unattended. What parent would? Why was I assuming the worst about him?
"Oh," I began, gazing away from him uncomfortably. "I am sorry." Valar! Again! This apologizing must stop! I vowed then to try and not make hasty judgements, as it seemed that all of my judgements of late had been . . . wrong. I needed to stop responding in this hasty, reactionary way. It served only to make him angry and myself as well. I had misjudged him at nearly every turn. I cleared my throat self-consciously, renewing my vow to think before my tongue took over. "How . . . how old is he?" I still could not meet his gaze and stared instead at the barred window.
Alagaith chuckled, seeming amused by what must surely be a most familiar question.
'Twelve," he answered. "And growing too quickly."
I smiled at this remark, thinking how often I had heard parents talking of clothing outgrown too quickly, shoes that fit one day but not the next. How plump toddlers suddenly turned into gangly younglings, all long arms and legs, rather like awkward young colts.
Thranduil had said that very thing many years ago as we had watched young Legolas tripping over his own feet in his haste to enter a foot race.
"They grow up too quickly, Tanglinna," he had said wistfully. I had agreed. Even I could see that.
I remembered the sad look on Thranduil's face when, after the race was over, Legolas flashed his adar a quick smile, his face flushed with victory, before running off to join a group of his friends.
"It is rather sad when they grow up," the king had continued in a quiet voice, as we watched the younglings chattering at one another about the race, and sneaking glances at the maidens that twittered nearby.
"Why sad?" I had asked in my ignorance.
"Not long ago he would have come running to me, jumping on my lap to tell me all about his race. They grow up so quickly . . . life changes before you realize it. In a mere heartbeat of time, everything can change . . . ."
This I knew to be true. Celair and Cubell, our unborn son, had been taken from me in a heartbeat, a mere moment of time that I would have given anything to change.
"Is he with your wife then?" I asked Alagaith, forcing my eyes away from the bars and back to my companion.
He shook his dark head, his eye fastened on the lock and the slow manipulations of the needle.
"She died in childbirth . . . . A friend is looking after him."
He said this swiftly, his eye never wavering; yet I heard the pain that coloured his words.
"I . . . I am sorry," I began, thinking that perhaps the two of us had more in common than I would first have thought. "That is . . . one never recovers from that completely . . . ." No. One never did. I turned away, feeling the hot bite of unwanted tears in my eyes, whether they were for myself or for this thief and his child, I did not know. Perhaps it was for all of us, who had known such loss . . . .
"Your wife died as well?"
I turned to look at him, nodding slowly, knowing that he knew the answer already.
"A long time ago . . . . It seems like forever . . . or yesterday." I don't know why I said this, my mind drifting once again to unpleasant memories: memories of a conception day celebration that never took place because everything I held dear, everything I loved had been taken from me in such an unexpected and violent way. I shook my head once more to rid it of such unwanted thoughts. This was not the time or the place for such melancholy wanderings. They were things best forgotten, as I tried to forget what my conception day meant to me now, not the day that I first opened my eyes to this world of ours, but the day in which all my dreams and hopes for the future had died.
We had been discussing his son . . . a much happier topic. . . his child. "Your son is skilled . . . the carving is wonderfully done," I managed, and nearly succeeded in smiling at Alagaith.
He hesitated only slightly before smiling very proudly once more.
"He is . . . and he does enjoy it. He has always been busy with a carving knife these last months, and . . . ." Suddenly he stopped, drawing a breath, his smile turning more inward; a smile for his son, whom I suspected he could talk about endlessly. That was the way of most parents when it came to the subject of their offspring. But then the smile faded and he gave an exasperated sigh. "And . . . I cannot pick this lock." He stared down at the needle in his hand, looking as annoyed and disappointed as I felt.
Yet I smiled at him encouragingly. It wouldn't do to admit defeat, not just yet.
"It was a valiant try. We . . . we will just have to think of something else. Do you have anything else in here," I nodded down to the pouch that hung at my waist, "that might help?"
I gazed over at him hopefully; he was a thief after all, and probably a master lock-picker for all he claimed that he wasn't. There had to be something, if not in that pouch then somewhere in the cell. My eyes swept over the room, dismayed when nothing presented itself as useful to aid in our escape. I had no plan . . . I had no plan . . . . It hurt to admit this, but surely, *surely* Alagaith would think of something if I could not.
He snorted a bit then, and raised one brow impudently.
"You should know what is in it," he said, nodding toward the pouch in question, his voice filled with mild reprimand. "There is nothing."
I felt my cheeks flush slightly at this mild accusation. I did indeed know the contents of that pouch as I had looked through them not so very long ago.
"I . . . I am sorry about that." Another apology! How many was that?! I had never apologized to someone so much in my entire life! And yet . . . . "I . . . I admit I was curious about you . . . . I know that is no excuse though." I frowned then, disgusted at myself for having done entirely too many things that I now felt I had to apologize for, but as my eyes fell on the doorway again, the torches from the hall throwing long shadows across the dark stone floor, my mind returned to our current and most pressing problem. "We will have to do something when they come back for us," I muttered darkly, my eyes narrowing with determination. "If only I could free myself from these cursed chains!" I yanked on them once more, just as ineffectually as before, but I didn't like merely standing there helpless! There must be something we should be doing to gain our freedom! - anything but standing and looking hopeless. I growled a little, thinking that our time alone must indeed be growing short. Gurshak would appear any moment, peering through the barred window in anticipation. There must be something that we were missing! Something that would aid us! But what?
As my eyes swept over the too bare cell once more, he spoke, rather hesitantly as if knowing that what he was going to say would be ill received.
"Perhaps they will let us out of here sooner or later if you pretend to comply with Gurshak . . .At least. . . they said so. . . ." He paused then, sounding uncertain. "Or almost."
I rounded on him then, and I am sure that he was expecting some sort of violent reaction from me at this most unwanted suggestion for he had stepped away from me. I did not disappoint.
"What?!" I roared as what he implied I should do finally sank in. "I would never comply with Gurshak!" I hissed, my entire body tensed with anger. "And – what?" My eyes narrowed once more, this time directed at the Noldo. "You *knew* what they were saying?"
How could he know what they were saying when they were speaking Orcish? I glared at him suspiciously; he did look slightly guilty at this last admission as if he knew he had made some mistake in saying he knew what they had said. Who was this Noldo thief? All I knew of him was that he was a thief, who robbed the dead, spoke disrespectfully to those in authority over him, and couldn't pick locks well at all! Was he perhaps in league with goblins? I didn't want to believe this, and yet he had thought the same thing about me . . . wrongly so and therefore I must try to assume that I was once again jumping to wrong conclusions. I sincerely hoped I was! I drew a few deep breaths, trying to recall my vow about making quick judgement calls. As evenly and quietly as I could, I asked him,
"*How* do you know what they said?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Shared captivity and danger may bring about an alliance, but it takes other things to instigate a feeling of companionship, shared thoughts, shared laughter – or shared grief.
Tanglinna's innocent question about my wife had let the conversation take quite an unexpected turn; I had hoped to be able to get past this subject quickly, unwilling to make too much of it and allow someone who was hardly more than a stranger to see all the sorrow I still felt when I thought of the pale autumn morning on which, after a long and fearful night, I had not had a wife any more.
Although I had been sure that my face had remained quite impassive when I had answered, Tanglinna had sensed well enough what I had felt at that moment, and it had been with amazement that I had realized that we both knew the same kind of pain, too great to recover from it completely indeed, a wound unhealing, even deepened by the knowledge that Belegweth's death had not only robbed me of my wife, but had also deprived Alagant of his mother, who would have loved him so dearly and would have cared for him better than his flawed and imperfect father did, and had stolen the joy of seeing her child grow up from Belegweth herself...
How he had lost his wife, I did not know, and I dared not ask, seeing that he was fighting back tears, almost as if his grief was still fresh and new, not turned into an equally painful, but well-known and quiet sort of sorrow. However, he had said that his wife had died a long time ago . . . . The story behind this had to be even less pleasant than other tales of death and loss, for I could not imagine that this warrior, so distant and composed at other times, would have cried in the presence of someone like *me* when reminded of it if whatever had happened had been bearable, if sad.
On we moved, to more harmless subjects, Alagant's carved warg again, my inability to pick the lock, new apologies, but my thoughts lingered on the unfortunate matter for some more time, trying to discover a glimpse of the grim reality behind Tanglinna's sparse words without having to enquire. A great grief, a lasting grief... I wondered if he had borne it on his own all the time. He had seemed guarded during the days of our journey, unwilling to encourage any sort of closeness. The other Wood-elves had appeared to fear and respect him, but who would offer him friendship and understanding, without mistaking sorrow and tears that had to be wept for weakness? Pity and disrespect are close neighbours at times, and I could well imagine that he wore his poised mask for that reason.
But then, I had only seen him with his fellow warriors; I did not know anything about his friends, about his family . . . . Did he have a child, or several children, whose presence could chase the unhappiness away for moments, hours, even days? I tried to imagine my companion drawing a silver-haired toddler onto his lap or smiling at a grown up son and daughter, but somehow, it did not seem very likely, not because I could not imagine him as a father at all; but the pain he obviously still felt seemed too severe to leave much hope that the grievous loss he had suffered had been balanced by an at least equally great gift.
Belegweth had died; but dying, she had given me the sweetest elfling in the world, and taking possession of my heart immediately, he had not allowed it to break. I could not have asked for a better reason to live on, to fight for – quite literally so, in fact, for what I had decided to do with Alagant, as it had seemed the most natural, even the only possible, thing to me, had not met with my friends' approval at once.
"So frail and so little", Well-Armed had said with pity, contemplating my son that morning, "let us hope that he will survive until we can take him to his relatives."
"What relatives?" I had whispered, my mind so blurred by the indescribable combination of conflicting emotions I had felt that I had not even understood what exactly she had meant at first.
"Belegweth's family", Well-Armed had patiently said, "her parents and sister . . . . Even if her marriage did not please them, they will not refuse to care for her child now that he has no one else."
"He has got me", I had protested, "and I do not need them to bring up my son."
Well-Armed had stared at me quite incredulously. "You mean to – keep him?"
"Are you seriously suggesting to me to abandon my child?!" I had hissed; angered by her rather insane suggestion to give this precious little creature to Belegweth's insufferable family, I would have preferred to yell those words into her face, but I had been sure that Alagant would not have liked to get acquainted with the less pleasant sides of his father's temper that early in his poor little life.
"I am just suggesting to keep your child from certain death", Well-Armed had harshly replied. "If you try to bring up a motherless child alone, he will be dead within a month's time, at most! Is that what you want for your son?"
"Now, do not quarrel", Half-Dead had chimed in, "perhaps it will not be all that bad . . . . Perhaps" – he had smiled at me, meaning to soothe me – "your parents-in-law will allow both you and the child to stay with them, and you will not have to leave him . . . ."
"You do not even believe that yourself!" I had answered, staring down at the unfortunate elfling whose fate we had been discussing. "They would just take him from me, and there it would end."
"They would care for him and give him a proper sort of home at least!" Well-Armed had repeated. "Better to lose your son to his grandparents than to lose him to death."
"Stop it!" Seven, who had listened silently until then as was his habit, had suddenly said, and quite fiercely: "What you are suggesting" – and he had shot Well-Armed a glare apt even to silence a former princess of Nargothrond – "is, for all that we know, to give this child to an insupportable old hag, her henpecked husband and a silly young girl. Truly a brilliant plan! If we have fed five mouths before, we shall manage to do so now as well . . . . Do not listen to them, One-Eye! It is your decision to make, after all, and your son, who will need his father now, more than anything else."
That had been a long speech for my quiet friend, and, given that he had lost his temper with me quite openly when he had learnt that Belegweth had been expecting a child, I had appreciated it even more than I would have done anyway.
The following months, I had not even had the time to indulge in my grief; true enough, I had missed Belegweth, and I had wept secretly more than once, but my son had kept me too occupied to let those moments last too long.
I could not believe that this sad archer had known any comfort of this kind, or had received much comfort at all. Someone who appeared so lonely even in company probably was lonely. Such sorrow, such loneliness . . . . I felt a surge of pity for my companion. A proud and strong warrior of Mirkwood he had seemed when we had first met, but now I felt as if protective armour had been removed and I had glimpsed a deep cut inflicted by a poisoned knife, and untreated still after so long a time, left to torture the soul it had marred . . . .
It was probably a good thing that we had to think about our escape then, for if that had not been the case, I might have asked more questions than Tanglinna would have liked to answer or even to hear.
In any case, the moment of closeness and understanding between us had made me more careless than I should have been; without much thinking, I gave away that I had understood what our captors had spoken among themselves, and doing so straightaway was a mistake. Taking into account in what sort of predicament we were in, it would not have been especially wise to inform my companion that a good friend of mine happened to be an orc and had taught me his language patiently over long years. Tanglinna was an elven warrior of some importance and probably not entirely unprejudiced towards orcs; if I admitted to being an orc's friend, he would instantly distrust me, and if we did not trust each other to a certain extent, we would never leave this cell alive.
"I know some Eastern Orcish. Enough to understand what they said . . . ." I finally answered, and, in the faint hope to distract him from the thought why and where an elf had learnt any sort of Orcish, I added: "And it was not pleasant."
"Eastern Orcish? *Eastern* Orcish!? What?!" Tanglinna did sound surprised, and it was probably not a good sign that he turned away from me for a moment as if to ponder what to do or even think now. At last, though, he met my gaze again and asked: "What did they say?"
Relieved that the dangerous moment had passed, at least for now, I replied: "Well . . . . Apparently, Gurshak would like to . . . to . . ." Obvious as it had been what he had wanted not only from his words, but also from his behaviour, I found that I could not bring myself to say it, almost as if finding a word for Gurshak's wishes would have made them more real. Quite upset with myself for shying away from speaking the truth, I continued: "Oh, you know what he would like to do; I will not repeat that now!" Glad to be past this most uncomfortable moment, I summarized the rest of the goblins' conversation for Tanglinna.
The things I had to relate brought a frown to his face. "You think I should what?" he enquired, sounding quite disgusted, whether mainly by my account of what our captors had talked about or by the suggestion I hade made earlier, I did not even want to know.
Admittedly, my plan seemed somewhat embarrassing even to me, but an embarrassing plan was still better than no plan at all, and a few moments of feeling slightly ridiculous would not be too high a price for our freedom. So I explained: "You . . . you should pretend to comply with him, since he seems to have a certain . . . preference for you. As soon as you are rid of these chains, you can still fight him. Some smiles, some compliments, perhaps . . . ?"
This specification of my suggestion was not met with instant approval, but with an expression of such horror and indignation that I would have taken more than one step back had I been able to do so. "What?! What!?!? I will NOT do any such thing! How could you suggest such a thing?! Smile?! Compliments!!"
Still growling, he turned away again, apparently not ready to continue the conversation any time soon.
I gave him a moment to recover from his outrage; then, I enquired: "Then, what do you suggest? We should better have a plan ready before he turns up here with his salve and plans to get you anyway, whether you like it or not . . . ."
This provoked a fierce scowl at first, but, not surprisingly, no reply. Perhaps, he was trying to think of something, anything, that would prove how foolish and unnecessary my scandalous idea really was, but apparently, he reached no very helpful conclusion, for finally, he slumped in the chains with a sigh and murmured, sounding more defeated and desperate than ever: "I have never tried to seduce a goblin before. I wouldn't know where to begin . . . ."
At least, he was ready to give this a try! I tried to give him an encouraging smile. "Oh, do not worry! I will help you . . . . You certainly know how to smile sweetly, and we will think about the right things to say now! He cannot be that different from other orcs, even if he is . . . unusual. "
One thing was sure – my father was very right to call me a 'foolish elfling' more often than I liked to hear it. Tanglinna stared at me, not as much in amazement as in shock. "What did you just say? 'He cannot be *that* different from other orcs'? What are you talking about? How do you think he is different from other orcs? They are all the same!" The expression of his eyes changed a little then, puzzlement giving way to suspicion. "Where did you learn Eastern Orcish?" he asked, and I sensed that we were not dealing with each other on equal terms any more; the vigilant guard was back, questioning the criminal who had said something suspicious.
I tried to look as innocent and open as possible, and what I said was not a lie. "I . . . I learnt it from . . . a friend." I might have gotten away with this, had I not suddenly felt the urge to defend that very friend against the stupid assumption that all orcs were the same, that someone as virtuous and compassionate as Seven should be the same as this abomination Gurshak and his friends. So I added, not wise enough to refrain from glaring: "And it is very wrong to believe that all orcs are the same."
"And just who is this friend of yours? An orc?" Tanglinna asked with a derisive snort. "This is just wonderful." He shook his head, and his look told me that he either considered me as insane or suspected I had a sense of humor that he did not share at all.
"He is an orc indeed," I replied, and, carried away a bit by righteous anger, I felt bound to add: "And the very best orc you can imagine . . .that is . . . better than you could ever imagine, quite obviously!"
These angry words could have ruined the frail peace we had managed to establish between us, and, somewhat more calmly, I went on: "Listen . . . . He is really a good orc, kind, and wise, and noble . . . ." Realizing that this would probably not be enough to convince Tanglinna that Seven could be trusted and that I was neither insane nor indescribably wicked, I continued: "If he was not, I would never leave my child in his care, would I?"
I should have known that this was not the perfect argument to prove my point.
~*~*~*~*~*
"You WHAT?! You left your child with . . .with . . .an ORC?!"
My mouth sagged open in horror and disbelief at his statement and the shortest of explanations that followed. His child! He had left his child with an orc! That . . . that couldn't not be true! I knew what orcs did to helpless children!
"You are insane," I murmured, staring at him with disbelieving eyes, wanting to see that he was indeed mad as I named him. What other possible explanation could there be for what he had just told me? But his clear grey eye was not that of one inflicted with such a mental malady. He looked perfectly calm . . . . Reasonable one might say, if the words he had said weren't so senseless.
"How could you?" My voice was barely above a whisper, so strong was my dismay, my lack of comprehension.
From earliest childhood, I had seen what orcs were – cruel, evil, and heartless; creatures that I knew I should pity for their wretched state, yet in my heart I could not move myself to feel merciful toward them. I had seen my sister Malhesie wounded dreadfully and filled with fear – something I had never seen her show before – all at the hands of orcs! Her throat had been cut by an orc before my eyes, when I was too young and helpless to aid her in any way. That same orc had left his mark on me . . . I bear his vile scar to this day, a constant reminder of what orcs could do to innocent children. Oropher, my king and friend, had died spitted on orc spears at Dagorlad. But the worst I had seen was when I had found my beloved Celair, killed by orcs, her life ended along with her father's and that of our son. I knew what orcs were, what they were capable of. And yet Alagaith had left his son in the care of one of these creatures, creatures that I knew were filled with only hatred and a lust for violence.
"How could you?" I repeated, more to myself than to him. My brows knit with pain as an image, one burned into my memory forever that spring day so long ago, assailed me: the bodies of the last of my family lying drenched in their own blood on the floor of the talan I had built for Celair and me.
I was not expecting an answer from Alagaith, so I was surprised when he spoke . . . and grateful as well, as his words turned my black thoughts from things I did not wish to dwell on, things I wished I could forget.
"I trust him," he said simply with a shrug as if it were the most natural thing in the world to leave one's child with an orc. "And then, he has known Alagant since his birth, and Alagant likes him very well . . . . So what could possibly happen? That is, if your fellow warriors did not find the two of them by chance, shot poor Seven and captured my son . . . ."
His face fell, his one eye filled with growing distress and unease. He gazed earnestly at me and said,
"They would not harm a child, even the child of a thief, would they?"
I stared at him in sheer amazement. How could he think such a thing? He abandons his child to an orc's care and wonders if elves would harm the child if found. . . . What sort of thinking was this? Backwards? Nonsense? I snorted.
"Do not be ridiculous! They would never harm a child! How could you even think such a thing?"
I continued to study his features for some sign of the madness that I had not seen before – surely it must be there! But all that was written on his too thin Noldorin face was concern, concern that we elves would hurt his son . . . and his friend . . . who was an orc . . . .
I shook my head, unwilling to acknowledge –even to myself- that such a friendship could exist. And elf and an orc could not be friends! No! That is not the way of things, not the way it was meant to be! Orcs were evil! They were everything that we Firstborns were not, and because this Noldo had a strange and unnatural relationship with one, he thought elves were capable of evil. Why would he think that? Elves weren't evil! We were . . . we were. . . .
A hated word, a cursed word, flitted through my mind: Nossdagnir – Kinslayer.
Other memories surfaced then; no more pleasant than those that had preceded them. I had been only a few years older than when my sister had died; a youth still when evil had attacked Doriath, not in the form of Dwarves, no, not this time. Nor was it orcs. It had been elves. It was on that day I first learned what a Kinslayer was . . . it was on that day that I became one . . . Nossdagnir. What could one think at a time like that? We knew of evil in Doriath, but we had never experienced it in this form until the Sons of Feanor made war on Thingol's kingdom. So many had died that day, my parents among them. Yes, evil did wear many faces . . . . And children were the victims . . . . The names of Elured and Elurin flitted through my mind. . . . they had not been left to die alone and friendless by orcs to slowly starve to death as was reported to have happened, for they were never found . . . . Perhaps Alagaith's worries were not as insane as I had thought.
Weariness swept over me, my thoughts were in utter chaos. If elves could commit evil deeds, do fell things whether through personal feelings or misguided words, then . . . could orcs then be good, kind, and trustworthy? My gaze dropped to the stone floor, so he would not witness my confusion.
"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What are you?"
He could not be a mere Noldo. Surely, he was one of the Valar come to test me, and I feared I had failed miserably if this were the case. Or perhaps I had died at Erebor, and this was what my penance in the Halls of Mandos was to be. . . to have my personal failings and weaknesses laid all too clearly before me.
Yet his voice, when he finally spoke to me, was quiet, filled with unexpected pain.
"What do you want to hear now? I was quite certain that you knew well enough what to think of me."
I hazarded a glance at him, only to find him contemplating the floor as I had been. If he hadn't sounded so dejected, I would have thought that he was mocking my thoughts, proving that he was a Vala. I could see by the way his shoulders slumped, the air of weariness that seemed to emanate from his slouched form, that he was as exhausted by this day and what it had brought about as I was. The needle twirled uselessly in his fingers.
I felt a swell of pity for him, for he not only had the worry about what would befall us here in Gurshak's hideaway, he was distressed by what could be happening to his son, that he might perhaps be in grave danger though guarded by a trusted friend. How would I feel if it were my son?
I closed my eyes, my head leaning back against the chill stone wall. What did I think of him? What? He was bold, disrespectful, sarcastic, a thief, robber of the dead. And yet. . . . He had shown himself to be caring, giving, selfless . . . a good father who had provided for the safety of his son when he could not be there. What did I think . . . .
"It doesn't matter what I think," I said aloud, gazing at the stone ceiling above our heads. "I admit I don't know what to think anymore. I," I paused, glancing at him, truly trying to see beyond what I thought I knew about him, see who he truly was. A new confidence and peace filled me – most strange considering that our situation had not changed one bit in that we were still bound in a cell awaiting an unpleasant fate – and I straightened. "It doesn't matter, and . . . I hope that your son . . . an d your friend are well and out of harm's way."
I studied him a moment longer, and when he gazed up at me, his feelings about my odd statement unreadable – perhaps he was in shock or wondering if I were merely mocking him – I laughed, not because I had gone mad myself as you might be thinking.
"I am pleased to meet you, Alagaith Alagaerion," I said with a smile. I considered bowing to him like those ridiculous dwarves do, but thought that it would look rather silly since the chains would prevent me from a proper bow, and who knew what he might think of me laughing over not being able to introduce myself with the proper dwarvish movements. "I am Tanglinna Thindalagosion of Greenwood."
TBC
For the incident in Doriath, please see Lady Elleth's "The Trees of Neldoreth".
~*~*~*~*~*
Alagaith Alagaerion calmly sips a cup of mint tea, ankles crossed, looking very relaxed as he watches a slightly perturbed Tanglinna Thindalagosion glaring at one of the most hated objects of all times in any world: a printer. The Noldorin elf watches with an amused eye as his companion mutters quiet imprecations at the lowly, unimpressed machine. It didn't seem to matter how many times he had shown the Silvan how to operate the printer, Tanglinna somehow managed to jam the paper every time he touched it.
"It doesn't like me, Linlote! I won't touch it," the archer declares at last, straightening and folding his arms over his chest as he throws a surreptitious glance at the other elf.
"You must be nice to it, Mordil," Alagaith began patiently, lifting his teacup to hide his grin. "Sweet smiles and compliments, you know." He winks, barely able to keep the chuckle from bubbling forth as Tanglinna's eyes narrow.
"Why is it *I* must always be the one to soothe evil 'beasts' with sweet smiles and compliments? I think I have done my share of that over time. . . . And besides . . . ." He frowns suddenly, his gaze moving back to the printer, unwilling to admit that a mere machine has defeated him. "Oh, very well!"
There is a battle to be waged this day, but not one with bow or bladed weapons. With a quick, uneasy glance at Alagaith, who nods encouragingly, lifting his cup in salute, the Master Archer attacks, his voice a low purr.
"Nice printer. Won't you please work for me today? You are such a . . . lovely colour. Pretty please?"
One hesitant finger moves to hover over the PRINT button.
When the recalcitrant machine doesn't make a sound, indeed it seems to regard the archer with stony silence, Tanglinna turns to Alagaith.
"Nothing is happening! I told you, it doesn't like me . . . ."
Alagaith watches this scene with equal silence, noting the pained expression on his companion's face, the knit brows; the perplexed frown that was slowly growing into a feral growl. He reaches over and deftly pushes the printer's POWER button.
Tanglinna's cheeks redden, but he says nothing, pressing the PRINT button once more and holding his breath in anticipation of much shredded, crumpled paper and jammed printer intestines. The machine hums to life, the mechanism sliding the first sheet of blank paper smoothly into action.
"See?" Alagaith says with a nod. "It can be nice. . . .It does like you, after all. I knew your talent for soothing evil beasts was unequalled." He stands then, patting the archer on the shoulder.
"Hmph," Tanglinna snorts. "Your confidence in me is so inspiring." His pleased look belies his words as he crouches down to watch the papers like a hawk for any sign of crumpling or crunching. There are none and he soon slips the papers from the tray and arranges them in the proper order. "Well," he continues in a triumphant voice, "that was fairly easy." He then hands the papers to the Noldo with a grin and a graceful bow. "Here are your reviews, Lord Alagaith."
Alagaer's son would have been the perfect picture of an arrogant Noldorin lord but for the wide grin that lights his face.
"Thank you," he replies with a tip of his elegant dark head. "Let's see . . . . What does kingmaker have to say?" Well . . . 'say' may not be the right word – look at this!" He points to the review with one finger. "It appears our poor friend is not feeling well . . . ."
Tanglinna's eyes scan the paper in Alagaith's hand, and he nods solemnly.
"I do hope he is feeling better. I don't believe I was feeling too well myself at that point either, so I do sympathize with him." He frowns suddenly. "I simply have to tell you, kingmaker, that I wish I had not panicked when I did, but that panic, by its very nature, is not something we have much control over. But . . . next time I will endeavour to do better. I will work on my . . . Panic Reaction Timing."
Alagaith turns slowly to Tanglinna, one brow raised.
"I hope you are not implying that there will be a next time, Mordil!"
Tanglinna turns equally slowly to meet the Noldo's grey gaze.
"I assure you there will not be a next time, Linlote. But if there were another such time, it appears we would have many people ready to come and rescue us. Ptath has an impressive array of weapons at her disposal and ready to employ them on our behalf." He lifts one brow in return, arms folded confidently over his chest once more.
"Impressive indeed," Alagaith intones with a nod of appreciation. "But even if you are not rescued in time, you need not really worry – WeasleyTwinsLover112 promises you 'lots of kisses' to make you feel better. . . . And," he adds in an ominous voice, "you seem to be doomed."
After smiling languorously at WeaselyTwinsLover112, Tanglinna turns to glare at Alagaith, who quirks his brows and continues hastily.
"Venytuima says she hopes that someone gets us out 'before poor Alagaith has to go through it too! – so apparently, she is very sure that you already had to go through . . .something, and who are we to gainsay her."
Tanglinna glares at him when a slight smirk tugs on Alagaerion's lips.
"I fear I will have to gainsay her on this point. I have never . . . ." He hesitates, his cheeks reddening slightly. "That is . . . nothing like . . . .that . . . .has yet happened. I was lucky to escape his . . . attentions . . . intentions . . . Nothing *will* happen between Gurshak and I. . . . I hope. . . ." The archer's face feels entirely too hot and he shakes his head. "But I must agree with Venytuima that Tree is mean! Thank you for the hug, mel-nin. It is much appreciated." He smiles at the screen before regarding his companion once more. "I must also say that I agree with Dis Thrainsdotter – it is a pity that Bilbo Baggins was not there. I suspect he can pick locks better than some 'burglars' I know. Don't you agree, Alagaith God of Thieves?" he finishes with a grin, chuckling when a blush paints Alagaith's cheeks.
"You need not remind me of that embarrassment, Mordil!" He sighs with mild annoyance. "But, well . . . ." Eyes the archer apologetically. "Perhaps I deserve that – the evil witch queen was shocked, after all, that I thought the wrong thing about you . . . And it was not nice of me, I admit that. But she has interesting suggestions again . . . .Apparently, you will have to get 'really badly injured' to save my life." Alagaith grins at the evil witch queen playfully. "Very interesting indeed! And Tanglinna certainly would not hesitate to do such a thing – but since it would be a waste to sacrifice a valiant Master Archer for a lowly thief, it will not happen that way."
Tanglinna snorts derisively at this last, shaking his head.
"You are truly a humble Noldo, Linlote. . . . And to think you call me the 'peacock'!" He grins at the evil witch queen before reading the papers once more. "I believe that amlugwen has made an interesting statement though. It is quite true that if I had my bow when I had encountered Gurshak before, he would be dead. . . well, the second time that would be true. The first time. . . I was too young to realize what he . . . wanted . . . and I didn't have my bow with me then. . . .How embarrassing! Now everyone will think I cannot take care of myself." He glares at the papers, trying to find something that will turn this conversation in another direction. "I wish the ground would swallow me now, as Lutris has said . . . that would have been preferable to what Gurshak wanted. . . .Ah! daw the minstrel wants to know about the business you have had with orcs. I want to know that as well, Linlote. You seem to know an awful lot about them and their business dealings." One brow lifts speculatively.
Alagaith is not amused. He meets the archer's enquiring gaze levelly.
"We are supposed to respond to these reviews, Mordil – if I started telling you and our readers all about the business I have had with orcs, we would still be here in a month, and we cannot do that – Karianua would not be happy with us! She promised cookies in exchange for a fast update, and I believe you would like to have a cookie." He grins then, eye sparkling. "You may be a very grown-up, respectable Master Archer, but I think you cannot resist such an offer. Well . . . Miss Aranel will give you a cookie as well if you are a good elfling and stop doing all those 'harmful things'? Or perhaps peach pie . . . . She and a young elven lady of hers have a wonderful peach pie recipe." His grin widens and he winks at Miss Aranel.
"Hm . . . well, I will try to refrain from doing 'harmful things' to myself in the future. I will have to blame some of it on the Panic Reaction . . . though, yes, Linlote, some of it was indeed just ridiculous on my part. I agree to behave from now on, after all, Kal the Magnificent wants to have a tea party at the end of the story. I don't think we should invite the goblins though . . . . I agree with hel – I don't like Uglash's comments about his toys either . . . And to think, you thought he was a respectable merchant!"
"How should I have known he was not? Or are you implying that people like Uglash frequent the circles I usually move in? I sincerely hope you are not!" Alagaith turns a full-blown 'arrogant Noldo' glare on the Silvan, grey eye filled with danger.
Tanglinna manages to return the intimidating look with an inscrutable one of his own.
"Now, Linlote. Would I suggest such a thing about you? I think we are all merely curious about your past and your dealings with . . . creatures that I have not truly had any sort of dealings with myself, unless it was at the end of a sword. But," his eyes stray toward Alagaith's hand to see if it has moved ever so slightly toward his sword hilt, "since we are not going to be rescued by our fans, Oropher, Seven, Celair, Thranduil, your father, Beorn, or a cute woodland creature, I suppose it is time fort the actual tale to continue." He smiles at the readers, flicks a gaze at Alagaith once more, then turns to the printer. "Good printer. I always knew you liked me best." The archer grins and then moves hastily away from his companion with an apologetic shrug.
~*~*~*~*
Chapter 5 - Sorrows Revisited
After our short conversation, there was silence for a while, real silence this time; Tanglinna did not yank at his chains too often any more, and I was glad that he was sensible enough to see my point that fighting against them too much would do more harm than good. But who was I to blame him for his fear and despair? He had met Gurshak twice already, or so he had said, and also he had not told me more than this, I suspected that these two previous meetings had resembled this one to a certain degree. I could not imagine what it would mean to have been the captive of that strange goblin for two times, what stages of fear, disgust and pain he had gone through, and how far humiliation and ill-treatment had gone.
He doubtlessly had every reason to be afraid, and yet, his impending fate did not seem to be his foremost worry – for some reason, the Mirkwood archer was concerned about me, even though I had told him quite clearly that I had caused our fall, and even though I had rewarded his apology with distrust and a hideous suspicion. He had every reason to be displeased, even furious, with me, and even if he was honourable enough to be resolved to help me if he could, nothing had forced him to tell me this, even to swear that he would do whatever was in his power. . . .
But he had done so unconditionally, reassuring me as if I was a friend or a comrade in arms, not a troublesome thief who did not deserve much consideration, and he had been sincere, that much I could tell – he had appeared unguarded, even vulnerable, and I had already read in his face that he doubted that he would be able to keep his promise when he had still been speaking. Oddly enough, the knowledge that the practical value of Tanglinna's was rather limited, while he certainly meant to keep it if he could, almost made it more precious to me. He had wanted me to know that I could count on him, that, at least for the span of time we would spend in this goblin lair, hours, days, or the rest of our lives, we would be allies, and not a prisoner and his guard. There had to be a lot of nobility in this otherwise unyielding warrior, and if his apology earlier that day had already made me think, his words in the cell had won him my respect.
Perhaps, I should have told him all of that then and there, but I did not. Kind words would probably be all I would be able to offer if the situation grew worse, and a remedy should not be used too often in order not to lose its effect when it is really needed.
Alas, I knew well how to dose that sort of medicine in encouragement or comfort; often enough, I had not had any choice but to watch helplessly when less than pleasant things had been done to friends of mine, and even more often, I had not witnessed what had happened, but had been left to deal with the sorry effects of pain inflicted deliberately, of long stays in dark holes hardly deserving even the name of a cell, of honour and dignity stolen . . . . Just as often, I had been in need of whatever comfort and encouragement well-meaning words had to offer; this was not the first time that I found myself in chains in a gloomy cell, alone or with company I had not chosen. But this... this was different from anything I had ever been through before, and it was worse, much worse!
When I had lost my freedom before, it had always been because I had been suspected or guilty of some sort of crime, not counting the very long hour I had spent tied to an old oak tree after I had had the bad sense of happening across a man and an orc at the wrong time, the latter convincing the former in a lengthy debate that cutting my throat would not be the best way out of the difficulties they had believed to be in due to the presence of a witness to their rather pathetic attempt of breaking into a farmhouse . . . . But this special tale does not belong here.
While being in prison for punishment or to await a trial can mean anything from simply sitting in dark thought for days to being subjected to fairly harsh treatment, it does have one great advantage – those guarding the unfortunate prisoners have to follow certain rules, and even though the more malevolent sort of gaoler may perhaps change or bend these rules a little to be able to inflict the occasional small cruelty on his charges, it is more or less predictable what can and will happen. There is little kindness to expect, that much is true – but little hatred either. It hardly matters who you are – and admittedly, this was the one thing that made regular imprisonment comparable to my short captivity at Seven and Strongsword's hands long ago. It had been brought about by what I had been to them at that moment, and what I had been in their eyes – a witness and a menace, in Strongsword's opinion, a creature that had not harmed them and did not deserve to be slain merely out of fear, as Seven would have said – had dictated their course of action.
Admittedly, even that could have led to my demise, but whatever they would have done, if would certainly not have been motivated by delight in their prisoner's suffering, or by any very individual emotion at all – and I certainly preferred a captor who acted according to a certain kind of understandable laws – codified actual laws, or simply those of logic, of common sense or of honour – to someone like Gurshak who only seemed to follow his own inexplicable desires and wishes, not even to mention that what he apparently planned to do was worse than even the torture Uglash had alluded to.
I glanced at Tanglinna who appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, no pleasant thoughts, at that. Strange to think that I had considered him enough of an enemy earlier that day to want him to fall, to hurt his pride just a little... I certainly had not wished to see him as defeated and hopeless as he was now, and yet, our current predicament was the result of my unnecessary little revenge, for if I had not pulled him down with me, we would not have been here now . . . .
Perhaps the Valar wanted to teach me that vindictiveness was not commendable under any circumstances, and especially not in marginal matters – but the Valar were just, and if this had been their work, the rope would have torn in our tumble down the hill, sparing poor Tanglinna a fate he did not deserve. No, blaming the Valar would have been wrong and too easy – I had made a mistake, and these were the consequences, as simple as that, and very explicable even without suspecting divine intervention.
Yet it was incredible, almost absurd, that a petty quarrel and a grown-up elf who should have known better being very childish should have lead to this nightmarish kind of captivity... Perhaps Tanglinna had reached a similar conclusion, for what else could have provoked the little chuckle that suddenly escaped him?
The unexpected noise interrupted my brooding and brought my attention back to the present and my immediate surroundings, for even though I had thought about what had brought about our fall and what awaited us now, I had paid little heed to what was real and there then. And *seeing*Tanglinna instead of just vaguely acknowledging his presence and thinking about him, I almost forgot the question I had wanted to ask – "What is so amusing?" – because I discovered something that I should have noticed much earlier . . . . Lamenting our fate and engaging in vain thoughts, I had wasted precious time, not grasping the one opportunity to save us.
We were fools, terrible fools – and so, thank the Valar, were our captors! True enough, they had chained us, and they had taken all weapons away – but they had forgotten to remove the pouch from Tanglinna's belt and had not emptied it either, although something that could be useful enough now was in it – a needle case, containing needles not only fit for mending or sewing or doing some embroidery, but also for picking locks, if the need arose . . . and I could reach that pouch!
I should have explained my plans to Tanglinna, but I was so thrilled with my sudden realization that I moved over to him and started searching the pouch without saying a word. It was small wonder that the poor wood-elf was a bit surprised.
"What are you doing?" he enquired, and did not have to raise my eye to know that he was looking down at me with a puzzled expression. "There is no time for that now! You can always pick my pockets when we are out of this mess."
I did not know whether he was entirely serious, I chuckled, so filled with new hope that joking and being merry seemed possible again. "I shall remind you of that kind permission", I assured him, "but I am looking for something that will get us out of the mess . . . . Or so I hope."
The first thing to fall into my hands, however, was not the case of needles, but the little carved warg, and giving the little toy a fond smile before placing it in my pocket and continuing my search, I decided to take the fact that the warg had turned up first as a sign that all would end well, or at least as a reminder that my attempt to free would not only have to be successful because of Tanglinna and me; I could not simply die or let myself be reduced to a worthless wreck here.
I found the needle case soon enough, and when I pulled it out, Tanglinna finally seemed to understand what I had in mind. "A needle! You think you can pick these locks with a needle?!" he asked, staring at me with a frown, but then, he sighed, as if admitting that he had not got a better plan either, and nodded in acceptance. "I sincerely hope you can!" Maybe he *hoped* it indeed, but I was sure he did not believe it; the look he cast at the heavy black iron fettering us was rather doubtful.
Truth to tell, I was not very certain, either, but doing anything at all was still better than just standing in sullen silence, waiting for Gurshak's return.
"I will not promise anything", I replied with a shrug. "I can at least try, but I warn you that I am not good at picking locks - burglary is not my favourite occupation... Can you pick a lock?"
This question – serious as it was, for if he could, he could be of some help as soon as one of his hands was freed – earned me a snort. "I admit that burglary is not my favourite occupation either", Tanglinna told me with a wry grin, but his eyes followed the movement of my hands when I chose a needle and began my work on the lock of the iron band encircling the archer's right wrist.
I worked in silence, probing my enemy and trying to move the needle this or that way, discovering soon that, unfortunately, this lock was better than those of chests and larder doors that wanted to be opened without their owners' consent, even better than those on the kind of chains that were usually considered sufficient to hold a simple thief. These were bonds apt to restrain important prisoners that could not be allowed to escape under any circumstances, or – to secure the goblins' prey.
I grimaced slightly, forcing myself not to think about Gurshak and his vile friends just now. I had to treat this as what it was, a lock on a chain, nothing more, a lock that had to be opened – thinking of all that could happen would only let my concentration fail. I had to be calm and composed now, not only to save myself, but also for Tanglinna's sake. I did not look at his face even when I needed to pause in my work for a moment, secretly fearing to see much hope that might be disappointed, or so many doubts that I would be discouraged, but rather let my eye rest on the hand in front of me, an archer's hand indeed, long accustomed to drawing a bowstring, and probably better with a bow than with a blade.
These alternating intervals of contemplating the fingers I had cut some days earlier – thankfully, they seemed to be healing rather well – and working to free us could have continued for much longer a time, had not Tanglinna's voice interrupted me, not with a comment on what I did or on our situation, but with a question that took me by surprise.
"Why . . .why do you carry a toy warg with you?"
Perhaps he only asked to start a conversation that would occupy him; perhaps he really wished to know . . . . I was not certain, but I briefly interrupted my attempt to pick the lock to look up and smile at him. "Alagant carved it", I explained, feeling immeasurably proud, for the carving was skilfully done and beautiful, even more so if one considered Alagant's age and the fact that he had only had Half-Dead's old carving knife to work with... Remembering that the name could not mean anything to Tanglinna, I added: "My son. It was a gift from him."
With this, I resumed my work.
~*~*~*~*~*
After our first initial conversation, we stood silently for a time, both lost in our own thoughts. I shook my head slightly, my eyes moving to the small barred window set in the door. There was not much hope that we would manage to escape before Gurshak or one of his companions returned, but I could not allow myself to lose all hope, but at moments like this it was rather hard not to. I had no idea how many goblins inhabited this underground hideaway; it was possible that we had seen them all, but more likely that we had not. I found myself wishing that I were as innocent and unaware of what would befall us here, as naïve as I had been the first time I had the displeasure of making Gurshak's acquaintance, then perhaps I wouldn't feel quite so despairing.
When Oropher had arrived and unchained my wrists - for though I did not know what Gurshak's intentions were toward me, I knew that I didn't want him anywhere near me, and I had been rather a "wild little thing" and needed to be restrained– he had shaken his head in relieved amusement as he gathered me, a mere youngling of twenty springs, into his waiting arms.
"Oh, Tanglinna," he had chuckled, stroking back my tousled, tangled hair as I buried my face against his shoulder, my fingers knotting in his forest green tunic. I had been too relieved to see him and to learn that the goblins had not found the injured Thranduil that I did not think beyond this. "You must choose your . . . 'friends' with more care," he finished after I had told him haltingly that Gurshak had told me that he merely wanted to be my 'friend'. Oropher had hugged me fiercely even as I continued to ask after Thranduil's safety, hardly daring to believe that he was truly well and out of harm's way.
Oropher and my lady-wife had not let me forget that I was Daurshul of the moonlike hair after my second encounter with Gurshak, and because the story spread, and neither Celair nor Oropher would admit that they had anything to do with its circulation, everyone knew about Daurshul and his "admirer". It was all well and good in its way I suppose, but only because thus far Gurshak had been unsuccessful in his attempts to . . . seduce me, if that is what you care to call it.
~What would you think this time, aran-nin? ~ I wondered silently with a wry grin. ~My only chance to escape him this time lay with this thief. And a Noldo at that! ~
I could well imagine what Oropher would say! I chuckled slightly as I thought of what had lead to this most unwanted and strange situation. Oropher would indeed have something to say about this ridiculous turn of events!
A bit later, while Alagaith tried to pick those heavy iron fetters with his skilled thief's hands and a needle - of all things! – I hardly dared to breathe for fear of breaking his concentration, but every passing second brought closer the time that Gurshak would return . . . . Alagaith had not said anything in a rather long time, and I felt the silence between us becoming oppressive once more – too oppressive - and I found myself recalling the toy warg in the pouch at my waist, anything to avoid thinking about what might happen at any moment if those goblins returned for us, especially Gurshak. He had reached in for the needle packet and taken the toy out instead, neatly putting it into his pocket. It was obviously of some special importance to him, otherwise why would he have removed it first and placed it on his person. My curiosity got the better of me, not to mention the lack of sound except the scratching of the needle in the iron lock, and I asked him why he would carry a carved toy with him. The answer I received was totally unexpected.
A son? He had a . . . a son? I stared at him, knowing that he was not going to meet my eyes at that moment for he was busy with the lock once more. I had seen the pride and love shining on his face when he made this stunning pronouncement. He had a son . . . .
An indescribable emotion swept through me as I watched him work, a smile still lingering on his lips, and I knew that he still thought of his child. What must that be like, to feel such pride over a child's accomplishments? I would never know this personally . . . .
Over the years I have seen many parents announcing a child's first steps, their first words, even the appearance of a first little white tooth with such bursting excitement and joy, as if their child were the only one to be able to do these marvels. There is nothing to match the glow that suffuses their faces at these moments, those most precious moments that only parents are gifted with. They seem to gain more satisfaction and delight from these small milestones than anything they themselves have ever accomplished. It is as if this child is their crowning accomplishment, the best thing that they will ever create . . . . But some of us are not destined to know these feelings, some of us have been denied that pleasure . . . .
I found myself recalling all too clearly the joy that one experiences when anticipating the arrival of a child: the wondrous days of watching the child growing safely within his naneth's womb, the feeling of the babe kicking vigorously, so full of life already . . . of gazing into my wife's eyes and still feeling amazed and humbled that she could actually love me and had wanted to give me a child. . . .
"You . . . you have a son?" I murmured, trying to push away those heartbreaking remembrances that I did not want to recall, not now. I was unable to stop the bitter and unworthy thought that it truly wasn't fair that this downtrodden Noldo thief had a son when I did not. Yet this Noldo thief was here with me in this cell awaiting the same fate as myself, working to free us both. We had to get out . . . the child would need his ada, just as his ada must need him. "Where is he?" I hoped that my voice did not betray my too strong emotions in this moment, but I need not have worried for Alagaith was engrossed in his work, the small silver needle's deft twisting and turning were a testament to that.
"Somewhere near the place where you caught me . . . if he is still there."
He shrugged, seemingly nonchalant, but I was shocked to hear this, and dismayed.
"What?" Surely I had misunderstood what he said, or at least what he meant. "You left your son near where I caught you? Alone?! What!?!?"
I admit that it was entirely possible his son was grown and quite capable of taking care of himself, but from the way he had spoken of him when I asked about the warg carving, I had the impression that his son was still a child . . . and he had left him alone near a battlefield! If he were found, he would be taken care of . . .if it were an elf, dwarf, or man that found him, but there were still some goblins about and if they were to find him. . . . I stared down at Alagaith in amazement and anger. Surely he must have realized this very real danger!
He in turn, glared up at me, mild indignation bringing faint colour to his cheeks, sparked in his eye, and twisted his lips.
"I would *never* leave him alone," he said in a tight, accusatory voice. "Someone is looking after him?"
Shame flooded me. Of course he would not have left his son alone and unattended. What parent would? Why was I assuming the worst about him?
"Oh," I began, gazing away from him uncomfortably. "I am sorry." Valar! Again! This apologizing must stop! I vowed then to try and not make hasty judgements, as it seemed that all of my judgements of late had been . . . wrong. I needed to stop responding in this hasty, reactionary way. It served only to make him angry and myself as well. I had misjudged him at nearly every turn. I cleared my throat self-consciously, renewing my vow to think before my tongue took over. "How . . . how old is he?" I still could not meet his gaze and stared instead at the barred window.
Alagaith chuckled, seeming amused by what must surely be a most familiar question.
'Twelve," he answered. "And growing too quickly."
I smiled at this remark, thinking how often I had heard parents talking of clothing outgrown too quickly, shoes that fit one day but not the next. How plump toddlers suddenly turned into gangly younglings, all long arms and legs, rather like awkward young colts.
Thranduil had said that very thing many years ago as we had watched young Legolas tripping over his own feet in his haste to enter a foot race.
"They grow up too quickly, Tanglinna," he had said wistfully. I had agreed. Even I could see that.
I remembered the sad look on Thranduil's face when, after the race was over, Legolas flashed his adar a quick smile, his face flushed with victory, before running off to join a group of his friends.
"It is rather sad when they grow up," the king had continued in a quiet voice, as we watched the younglings chattering at one another about the race, and sneaking glances at the maidens that twittered nearby.
"Why sad?" I had asked in my ignorance.
"Not long ago he would have come running to me, jumping on my lap to tell me all about his race. They grow up so quickly . . . life changes before you realize it. In a mere heartbeat of time, everything can change . . . ."
This I knew to be true. Celair and Cubell, our unborn son, had been taken from me in a heartbeat, a mere moment of time that I would have given anything to change.
"Is he with your wife then?" I asked Alagaith, forcing my eyes away from the bars and back to my companion.
He shook his dark head, his eye fastened on the lock and the slow manipulations of the needle.
"She died in childbirth . . . . A friend is looking after him."
He said this swiftly, his eye never wavering; yet I heard the pain that coloured his words.
"I . . . I am sorry," I began, thinking that perhaps the two of us had more in common than I would first have thought. "That is . . . one never recovers from that completely . . . ." No. One never did. I turned away, feeling the hot bite of unwanted tears in my eyes, whether they were for myself or for this thief and his child, I did not know. Perhaps it was for all of us, who had known such loss . . . .
"Your wife died as well?"
I turned to look at him, nodding slowly, knowing that he knew the answer already.
"A long time ago . . . . It seems like forever . . . or yesterday." I don't know why I said this, my mind drifting once again to unpleasant memories: memories of a conception day celebration that never took place because everything I held dear, everything I loved had been taken from me in such an unexpected and violent way. I shook my head once more to rid it of such unwanted thoughts. This was not the time or the place for such melancholy wanderings. They were things best forgotten, as I tried to forget what my conception day meant to me now, not the day that I first opened my eyes to this world of ours, but the day in which all my dreams and hopes for the future had died.
We had been discussing his son . . . a much happier topic. . . his child. "Your son is skilled . . . the carving is wonderfully done," I managed, and nearly succeeded in smiling at Alagaith.
He hesitated only slightly before smiling very proudly once more.
"He is . . . and he does enjoy it. He has always been busy with a carving knife these last months, and . . . ." Suddenly he stopped, drawing a breath, his smile turning more inward; a smile for his son, whom I suspected he could talk about endlessly. That was the way of most parents when it came to the subject of their offspring. But then the smile faded and he gave an exasperated sigh. "And . . . I cannot pick this lock." He stared down at the needle in his hand, looking as annoyed and disappointed as I felt.
Yet I smiled at him encouragingly. It wouldn't do to admit defeat, not just yet.
"It was a valiant try. We . . . we will just have to think of something else. Do you have anything else in here," I nodded down to the pouch that hung at my waist, "that might help?"
I gazed over at him hopefully; he was a thief after all, and probably a master lock-picker for all he claimed that he wasn't. There had to be something, if not in that pouch then somewhere in the cell. My eyes swept over the room, dismayed when nothing presented itself as useful to aid in our escape. I had no plan . . . I had no plan . . . . It hurt to admit this, but surely, *surely* Alagaith would think of something if I could not.
He snorted a bit then, and raised one brow impudently.
"You should know what is in it," he said, nodding toward the pouch in question, his voice filled with mild reprimand. "There is nothing."
I felt my cheeks flush slightly at this mild accusation. I did indeed know the contents of that pouch as I had looked through them not so very long ago.
"I . . . I am sorry about that." Another apology! How many was that?! I had never apologized to someone so much in my entire life! And yet . . . . "I . . . I admit I was curious about you . . . . I know that is no excuse though." I frowned then, disgusted at myself for having done entirely too many things that I now felt I had to apologize for, but as my eyes fell on the doorway again, the torches from the hall throwing long shadows across the dark stone floor, my mind returned to our current and most pressing problem. "We will have to do something when they come back for us," I muttered darkly, my eyes narrowing with determination. "If only I could free myself from these cursed chains!" I yanked on them once more, just as ineffectually as before, but I didn't like merely standing there helpless! There must be something we should be doing to gain our freedom! - anything but standing and looking hopeless. I growled a little, thinking that our time alone must indeed be growing short. Gurshak would appear any moment, peering through the barred window in anticipation. There must be something that we were missing! Something that would aid us! But what?
As my eyes swept over the too bare cell once more, he spoke, rather hesitantly as if knowing that what he was going to say would be ill received.
"Perhaps they will let us out of here sooner or later if you pretend to comply with Gurshak . . .At least. . . they said so. . . ." He paused then, sounding uncertain. "Or almost."
I rounded on him then, and I am sure that he was expecting some sort of violent reaction from me at this most unwanted suggestion for he had stepped away from me. I did not disappoint.
"What?!" I roared as what he implied I should do finally sank in. "I would never comply with Gurshak!" I hissed, my entire body tensed with anger. "And – what?" My eyes narrowed once more, this time directed at the Noldo. "You *knew* what they were saying?"
How could he know what they were saying when they were speaking Orcish? I glared at him suspiciously; he did look slightly guilty at this last admission as if he knew he had made some mistake in saying he knew what they had said. Who was this Noldo thief? All I knew of him was that he was a thief, who robbed the dead, spoke disrespectfully to those in authority over him, and couldn't pick locks well at all! Was he perhaps in league with goblins? I didn't want to believe this, and yet he had thought the same thing about me . . . wrongly so and therefore I must try to assume that I was once again jumping to wrong conclusions. I sincerely hoped I was! I drew a few deep breaths, trying to recall my vow about making quick judgement calls. As evenly and quietly as I could, I asked him,
"*How* do you know what they said?"
~*~*~*~*~*~*
Shared captivity and danger may bring about an alliance, but it takes other things to instigate a feeling of companionship, shared thoughts, shared laughter – or shared grief.
Tanglinna's innocent question about my wife had let the conversation take quite an unexpected turn; I had hoped to be able to get past this subject quickly, unwilling to make too much of it and allow someone who was hardly more than a stranger to see all the sorrow I still felt when I thought of the pale autumn morning on which, after a long and fearful night, I had not had a wife any more.
Although I had been sure that my face had remained quite impassive when I had answered, Tanglinna had sensed well enough what I had felt at that moment, and it had been with amazement that I had realized that we both knew the same kind of pain, too great to recover from it completely indeed, a wound unhealing, even deepened by the knowledge that Belegweth's death had not only robbed me of my wife, but had also deprived Alagant of his mother, who would have loved him so dearly and would have cared for him better than his flawed and imperfect father did, and had stolen the joy of seeing her child grow up from Belegweth herself...
How he had lost his wife, I did not know, and I dared not ask, seeing that he was fighting back tears, almost as if his grief was still fresh and new, not turned into an equally painful, but well-known and quiet sort of sorrow. However, he had said that his wife had died a long time ago . . . . The story behind this had to be even less pleasant than other tales of death and loss, for I could not imagine that this warrior, so distant and composed at other times, would have cried in the presence of someone like *me* when reminded of it if whatever had happened had been bearable, if sad.
On we moved, to more harmless subjects, Alagant's carved warg again, my inability to pick the lock, new apologies, but my thoughts lingered on the unfortunate matter for some more time, trying to discover a glimpse of the grim reality behind Tanglinna's sparse words without having to enquire. A great grief, a lasting grief... I wondered if he had borne it on his own all the time. He had seemed guarded during the days of our journey, unwilling to encourage any sort of closeness. The other Wood-elves had appeared to fear and respect him, but who would offer him friendship and understanding, without mistaking sorrow and tears that had to be wept for weakness? Pity and disrespect are close neighbours at times, and I could well imagine that he wore his poised mask for that reason.
But then, I had only seen him with his fellow warriors; I did not know anything about his friends, about his family . . . . Did he have a child, or several children, whose presence could chase the unhappiness away for moments, hours, even days? I tried to imagine my companion drawing a silver-haired toddler onto his lap or smiling at a grown up son and daughter, but somehow, it did not seem very likely, not because I could not imagine him as a father at all; but the pain he obviously still felt seemed too severe to leave much hope that the grievous loss he had suffered had been balanced by an at least equally great gift.
Belegweth had died; but dying, she had given me the sweetest elfling in the world, and taking possession of my heart immediately, he had not allowed it to break. I could not have asked for a better reason to live on, to fight for – quite literally so, in fact, for what I had decided to do with Alagant, as it had seemed the most natural, even the only possible, thing to me, had not met with my friends' approval at once.
"So frail and so little", Well-Armed had said with pity, contemplating my son that morning, "let us hope that he will survive until we can take him to his relatives."
"What relatives?" I had whispered, my mind so blurred by the indescribable combination of conflicting emotions I had felt that I had not even understood what exactly she had meant at first.
"Belegweth's family", Well-Armed had patiently said, "her parents and sister . . . . Even if her marriage did not please them, they will not refuse to care for her child now that he has no one else."
"He has got me", I had protested, "and I do not need them to bring up my son."
Well-Armed had stared at me quite incredulously. "You mean to – keep him?"
"Are you seriously suggesting to me to abandon my child?!" I had hissed; angered by her rather insane suggestion to give this precious little creature to Belegweth's insufferable family, I would have preferred to yell those words into her face, but I had been sure that Alagant would not have liked to get acquainted with the less pleasant sides of his father's temper that early in his poor little life.
"I am just suggesting to keep your child from certain death", Well-Armed had harshly replied. "If you try to bring up a motherless child alone, he will be dead within a month's time, at most! Is that what you want for your son?"
"Now, do not quarrel", Half-Dead had chimed in, "perhaps it will not be all that bad . . . . Perhaps" – he had smiled at me, meaning to soothe me – "your parents-in-law will allow both you and the child to stay with them, and you will not have to leave him . . . ."
"You do not even believe that yourself!" I had answered, staring down at the unfortunate elfling whose fate we had been discussing. "They would just take him from me, and there it would end."
"They would care for him and give him a proper sort of home at least!" Well-Armed had repeated. "Better to lose your son to his grandparents than to lose him to death."
"Stop it!" Seven, who had listened silently until then as was his habit, had suddenly said, and quite fiercely: "What you are suggesting" – and he had shot Well-Armed a glare apt even to silence a former princess of Nargothrond – "is, for all that we know, to give this child to an insupportable old hag, her henpecked husband and a silly young girl. Truly a brilliant plan! If we have fed five mouths before, we shall manage to do so now as well . . . . Do not listen to them, One-Eye! It is your decision to make, after all, and your son, who will need his father now, more than anything else."
That had been a long speech for my quiet friend, and, given that he had lost his temper with me quite openly when he had learnt that Belegweth had been expecting a child, I had appreciated it even more than I would have done anyway.
The following months, I had not even had the time to indulge in my grief; true enough, I had missed Belegweth, and I had wept secretly more than once, but my son had kept me too occupied to let those moments last too long.
I could not believe that this sad archer had known any comfort of this kind, or had received much comfort at all. Someone who appeared so lonely even in company probably was lonely. Such sorrow, such loneliness . . . . I felt a surge of pity for my companion. A proud and strong warrior of Mirkwood he had seemed when we had first met, but now I felt as if protective armour had been removed and I had glimpsed a deep cut inflicted by a poisoned knife, and untreated still after so long a time, left to torture the soul it had marred . . . .
It was probably a good thing that we had to think about our escape then, for if that had not been the case, I might have asked more questions than Tanglinna would have liked to answer or even to hear.
In any case, the moment of closeness and understanding between us had made me more careless than I should have been; without much thinking, I gave away that I had understood what our captors had spoken among themselves, and doing so straightaway was a mistake. Taking into account in what sort of predicament we were in, it would not have been especially wise to inform my companion that a good friend of mine happened to be an orc and had taught me his language patiently over long years. Tanglinna was an elven warrior of some importance and probably not entirely unprejudiced towards orcs; if I admitted to being an orc's friend, he would instantly distrust me, and if we did not trust each other to a certain extent, we would never leave this cell alive.
"I know some Eastern Orcish. Enough to understand what they said . . . ." I finally answered, and, in the faint hope to distract him from the thought why and where an elf had learnt any sort of Orcish, I added: "And it was not pleasant."
"Eastern Orcish? *Eastern* Orcish!? What?!" Tanglinna did sound surprised, and it was probably not a good sign that he turned away from me for a moment as if to ponder what to do or even think now. At last, though, he met my gaze again and asked: "What did they say?"
Relieved that the dangerous moment had passed, at least for now, I replied: "Well . . . . Apparently, Gurshak would like to . . . to . . ." Obvious as it had been what he had wanted not only from his words, but also from his behaviour, I found that I could not bring myself to say it, almost as if finding a word for Gurshak's wishes would have made them more real. Quite upset with myself for shying away from speaking the truth, I continued: "Oh, you know what he would like to do; I will not repeat that now!" Glad to be past this most uncomfortable moment, I summarized the rest of the goblins' conversation for Tanglinna.
The things I had to relate brought a frown to his face. "You think I should what?" he enquired, sounding quite disgusted, whether mainly by my account of what our captors had talked about or by the suggestion I hade made earlier, I did not even want to know.
Admittedly, my plan seemed somewhat embarrassing even to me, but an embarrassing plan was still better than no plan at all, and a few moments of feeling slightly ridiculous would not be too high a price for our freedom. So I explained: "You . . . you should pretend to comply with him, since he seems to have a certain . . . preference for you. As soon as you are rid of these chains, you can still fight him. Some smiles, some compliments, perhaps . . . ?"
This specification of my suggestion was not met with instant approval, but with an expression of such horror and indignation that I would have taken more than one step back had I been able to do so. "What?! What!?!? I will NOT do any such thing! How could you suggest such a thing?! Smile?! Compliments!!"
Still growling, he turned away again, apparently not ready to continue the conversation any time soon.
I gave him a moment to recover from his outrage; then, I enquired: "Then, what do you suggest? We should better have a plan ready before he turns up here with his salve and plans to get you anyway, whether you like it or not . . . ."
This provoked a fierce scowl at first, but, not surprisingly, no reply. Perhaps, he was trying to think of something, anything, that would prove how foolish and unnecessary my scandalous idea really was, but apparently, he reached no very helpful conclusion, for finally, he slumped in the chains with a sigh and murmured, sounding more defeated and desperate than ever: "I have never tried to seduce a goblin before. I wouldn't know where to begin . . . ."
At least, he was ready to give this a try! I tried to give him an encouraging smile. "Oh, do not worry! I will help you . . . . You certainly know how to smile sweetly, and we will think about the right things to say now! He cannot be that different from other orcs, even if he is . . . unusual. "
One thing was sure – my father was very right to call me a 'foolish elfling' more often than I liked to hear it. Tanglinna stared at me, not as much in amazement as in shock. "What did you just say? 'He cannot be *that* different from other orcs'? What are you talking about? How do you think he is different from other orcs? They are all the same!" The expression of his eyes changed a little then, puzzlement giving way to suspicion. "Where did you learn Eastern Orcish?" he asked, and I sensed that we were not dealing with each other on equal terms any more; the vigilant guard was back, questioning the criminal who had said something suspicious.
I tried to look as innocent and open as possible, and what I said was not a lie. "I . . . I learnt it from . . . a friend." I might have gotten away with this, had I not suddenly felt the urge to defend that very friend against the stupid assumption that all orcs were the same, that someone as virtuous and compassionate as Seven should be the same as this abomination Gurshak and his friends. So I added, not wise enough to refrain from glaring: "And it is very wrong to believe that all orcs are the same."
"And just who is this friend of yours? An orc?" Tanglinna asked with a derisive snort. "This is just wonderful." He shook his head, and his look told me that he either considered me as insane or suspected I had a sense of humor that he did not share at all.
"He is an orc indeed," I replied, and, carried away a bit by righteous anger, I felt bound to add: "And the very best orc you can imagine . . .that is . . . better than you could ever imagine, quite obviously!"
These angry words could have ruined the frail peace we had managed to establish between us, and, somewhat more calmly, I went on: "Listen . . . . He is really a good orc, kind, and wise, and noble . . . ." Realizing that this would probably not be enough to convince Tanglinna that Seven could be trusted and that I was neither insane nor indescribably wicked, I continued: "If he was not, I would never leave my child in his care, would I?"
I should have known that this was not the perfect argument to prove my point.
~*~*~*~*~*
"You WHAT?! You left your child with . . .with . . .an ORC?!"
My mouth sagged open in horror and disbelief at his statement and the shortest of explanations that followed. His child! He had left his child with an orc! That . . . that couldn't not be true! I knew what orcs did to helpless children!
"You are insane," I murmured, staring at him with disbelieving eyes, wanting to see that he was indeed mad as I named him. What other possible explanation could there be for what he had just told me? But his clear grey eye was not that of one inflicted with such a mental malady. He looked perfectly calm . . . . Reasonable one might say, if the words he had said weren't so senseless.
"How could you?" My voice was barely above a whisper, so strong was my dismay, my lack of comprehension.
From earliest childhood, I had seen what orcs were – cruel, evil, and heartless; creatures that I knew I should pity for their wretched state, yet in my heart I could not move myself to feel merciful toward them. I had seen my sister Malhesie wounded dreadfully and filled with fear – something I had never seen her show before – all at the hands of orcs! Her throat had been cut by an orc before my eyes, when I was too young and helpless to aid her in any way. That same orc had left his mark on me . . . I bear his vile scar to this day, a constant reminder of what orcs could do to innocent children. Oropher, my king and friend, had died spitted on orc spears at Dagorlad. But the worst I had seen was when I had found my beloved Celair, killed by orcs, her life ended along with her father's and that of our son. I knew what orcs were, what they were capable of. And yet Alagaith had left his son in the care of one of these creatures, creatures that I knew were filled with only hatred and a lust for violence.
"How could you?" I repeated, more to myself than to him. My brows knit with pain as an image, one burned into my memory forever that spring day so long ago, assailed me: the bodies of the last of my family lying drenched in their own blood on the floor of the talan I had built for Celair and me.
I was not expecting an answer from Alagaith, so I was surprised when he spoke . . . and grateful as well, as his words turned my black thoughts from things I did not wish to dwell on, things I wished I could forget.
"I trust him," he said simply with a shrug as if it were the most natural thing in the world to leave one's child with an orc. "And then, he has known Alagant since his birth, and Alagant likes him very well . . . . So what could possibly happen? That is, if your fellow warriors did not find the two of them by chance, shot poor Seven and captured my son . . . ."
His face fell, his one eye filled with growing distress and unease. He gazed earnestly at me and said,
"They would not harm a child, even the child of a thief, would they?"
I stared at him in sheer amazement. How could he think such a thing? He abandons his child to an orc's care and wonders if elves would harm the child if found. . . . What sort of thinking was this? Backwards? Nonsense? I snorted.
"Do not be ridiculous! They would never harm a child! How could you even think such a thing?"
I continued to study his features for some sign of the madness that I had not seen before – surely it must be there! But all that was written on his too thin Noldorin face was concern, concern that we elves would hurt his son . . . and his friend . . . who was an orc . . . .
I shook my head, unwilling to acknowledge –even to myself- that such a friendship could exist. And elf and an orc could not be friends! No! That is not the way of things, not the way it was meant to be! Orcs were evil! They were everything that we Firstborns were not, and because this Noldo had a strange and unnatural relationship with one, he thought elves were capable of evil. Why would he think that? Elves weren't evil! We were . . . we were. . . .
A hated word, a cursed word, flitted through my mind: Nossdagnir – Kinslayer.
Other memories surfaced then; no more pleasant than those that had preceded them. I had been only a few years older than when my sister had died; a youth still when evil had attacked Doriath, not in the form of Dwarves, no, not this time. Nor was it orcs. It had been elves. It was on that day I first learned what a Kinslayer was . . . it was on that day that I became one . . . Nossdagnir. What could one think at a time like that? We knew of evil in Doriath, but we had never experienced it in this form until the Sons of Feanor made war on Thingol's kingdom. So many had died that day, my parents among them. Yes, evil did wear many faces . . . . And children were the victims . . . . The names of Elured and Elurin flitted through my mind. . . . they had not been left to die alone and friendless by orcs to slowly starve to death as was reported to have happened, for they were never found . . . . Perhaps Alagaith's worries were not as insane as I had thought.
Weariness swept over me, my thoughts were in utter chaos. If elves could commit evil deeds, do fell things whether through personal feelings or misguided words, then . . . could orcs then be good, kind, and trustworthy? My gaze dropped to the stone floor, so he would not witness my confusion.
"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What are you?"
He could not be a mere Noldo. Surely, he was one of the Valar come to test me, and I feared I had failed miserably if this were the case. Or perhaps I had died at Erebor, and this was what my penance in the Halls of Mandos was to be. . . to have my personal failings and weaknesses laid all too clearly before me.
Yet his voice, when he finally spoke to me, was quiet, filled with unexpected pain.
"What do you want to hear now? I was quite certain that you knew well enough what to think of me."
I hazarded a glance at him, only to find him contemplating the floor as I had been. If he hadn't sounded so dejected, I would have thought that he was mocking my thoughts, proving that he was a Vala. I could see by the way his shoulders slumped, the air of weariness that seemed to emanate from his slouched form, that he was as exhausted by this day and what it had brought about as I was. The needle twirled uselessly in his fingers.
I felt a swell of pity for him, for he not only had the worry about what would befall us here in Gurshak's hideaway, he was distressed by what could be happening to his son, that he might perhaps be in grave danger though guarded by a trusted friend. How would I feel if it were my son?
I closed my eyes, my head leaning back against the chill stone wall. What did I think of him? What? He was bold, disrespectful, sarcastic, a thief, robber of the dead. And yet. . . . He had shown himself to be caring, giving, selfless . . . a good father who had provided for the safety of his son when he could not be there. What did I think . . . .
"It doesn't matter what I think," I said aloud, gazing at the stone ceiling above our heads. "I admit I don't know what to think anymore. I," I paused, glancing at him, truly trying to see beyond what I thought I knew about him, see who he truly was. A new confidence and peace filled me – most strange considering that our situation had not changed one bit in that we were still bound in a cell awaiting an unpleasant fate – and I straightened. "It doesn't matter, and . . . I hope that your son . . . an d your friend are well and out of harm's way."
I studied him a moment longer, and when he gazed up at me, his feelings about my odd statement unreadable – perhaps he was in shock or wondering if I were merely mocking him – I laughed, not because I had gone mad myself as you might be thinking.
"I am pleased to meet you, Alagaith Alagaerion," I said with a smile. I considered bowing to him like those ridiculous dwarves do, but thought that it would look rather silly since the chains would prevent me from a proper bow, and who knew what he might think of me laughing over not being able to introduce myself with the proper dwarvish movements. "I am Tanglinna Thindalagosion of Greenwood."
TBC