The Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse

by TreeHugger

Written with Dragon-of-the-north. OCS! Two very different elves are caught up in an unlikely adventure filled with mischief, mayhem, and three of the worst goblins to walk the face of Arda. Set directly following the Battle of Five Armies in The Hobbit.

7. Chapter 6 1001 Ways To Seduce A Goblin ...

Once again, Alagaith is busy printing out the reviews. "I think we owe the readers an apology in advance, Mordil...." he remarks.

Tanglinna, who has watched him in silence until then, perhaps quite glad that he is not the one to deal with the wicked printer this time, raises one brow. "And why would that be, Linlote?" he enquires.

Alagaith looks up. "We were not very succinct in earlier chapters, but in the one that is going to follow our responses today, well... We both sound a bit like young Brethil, I fear!" With a little sigh, he hands Tanglinna the new reviews.

"You mean that some of us are rather...long winded?" the Master Archer replies, chuckling slightly. "I believe that it a Noldo trait."

It is probably a very good thing that he does not elaborate that theory any further, but looks over the reviews instead: "I am very pleased to note that I am not the only one that thinks printers originated in Angband and were made solely to discomfit the people that must deal with them. kingmaker feels the same as does Miss Aranel....Oh yes." He clears his throat, then glances aside at Alagaith, who has waited for the end of this little digression with an amused little smile. "I will apologize for us. I am becoming quite adept at it."

Facing the computer screen, Tanglinna continues: "I do most humbly apologize for the length of the following chapter. It would seem that certain elves, who will remain nameless at present, used more words than were necessary to tell the events described herein. It shall not happen much longer though as this tale is slowly nearing its conclusion. I do beg of you to be patient with those elves," – here, he gazes at Alagaith - "who suffer from the writers' form of Brethilitis." This little speech finished, he places his hand over his heart and inclines his head gracefully.

Alagaith almost fails to hide a grin. "Precisely, Mordil, thank you...." Pointing to the reviews, he adds: "But there is work to do now. Look! Kingmaker kindly reminds us that you gave me permission to rob you.... I just realize that I have never actually done so! Please remind me to do so later...." He winks, but the smile that enters his face as he surveys the Master Archer's array is entirely too innocent and harmless.

Tanglinna does not fail to notice that. "I fear that the offer has expired, Linlote. Too late! But I have to ask you...why can't we just do away with Slasher in the manner kingmaker suggested? It sounded good to me!"

Now, Alagaith grins quite openly, replying: "You know very well that I cannot explain that now.... It has to do with the typical thinking of a skulking cutpurse, I believe." Leaning closer to Tanglinna, he whispers something into his ear, his grin widening.

Tanglinna listens, finally answering: "Hm...of course...How could I forget? Some of us are just too vain! And you call ME the peacock!" He smirks slightly before he goes on: "That question - or at least a part of that - will be answered at a slightly later date. But I fear that I must set the record straight on one account. Karianua, you may most certainly hug Alagaith or me anytime you wish and you need not fear that we will...gut you. We are not nearly as scary in person as we seem...or at least *I* am not." He throws an appraising look at Alagaith with a grin.

The Noldorin thief sighs yet again. "Hel must be right - we are truly living in two different worlds at times.... But why doesn't she understand that I was worried that your wood-elves might hurt Alagant? What if they had mistaken him for an orcling, or if they had shot first and thought then, or... No! I must not think about that even now..." As if to chase the haunting images that have come to his mind, he shakes his head.

Tanglinna shakes his head as well, but for entirely different reasons. "And why would *you* think that elves - Wood-elves! - would think an elfling was an orcling? I have already reassured you on that point, Linlote! Please do not worry any more about it! Dis Thrainsdotter feels very sympathetic for you as well. We will just have to get out of the cell as she says! Everything will be fine...once...this chapter is over...or not...." With a little frown, he suddenly asks: "Are you sure this is how it is *supposed* to end?" Now he looks worried, even very worried, already forgetting that review responses need to be finished.

Alagaith merely shrugs, feigning nonchalance. "Unfortunately, many things are not as they are *supposed* to be, Mordil... We should perhaps rather think about the question Lutris asked - what are we going to do now indeed?"

Tanglinna's face reddens. "I believe that the chapter title sums it all up, Linlote... Venytuima at least seems to think that it might be 'incredibly amusing' to see me try to seduce an orc...obviously she doesn't think I can do it!" He cannot decide whether to look put out or to agree and ends up looking simply very uncomfortable.

Alagaith chuckles. "But at least, WeasleyTwinsLover1112 promises to bow to your 'flirting greatness' if you manage to flirt with Gurshak successfully... So you will certainly receive much admiration!" He winks and is rewarded by a fierce glare.

"I think I would prefer MekareQ's idea of 1. Grab a shovel 2. Find a way out." Tanglinna informs him. "Now if I HAD a shovel, we could simply have knocked Gurshak on the head and made good our escape! Much easier plan. Why did we not do that instead! Admiration! Ha! They will be laughing at me...just as Petit Faucon de la Fere did at my panic attack." He unhappily shakes his head. "This is a most distressing!"

"However, her laughing at your panic attack does not stop her from thinking that we are great - that includes you!" Alagaith replies, grinning in order to make it less obvious to Tanglinna that he is trying to soothe him a little. "And the 'easier plan' would not have worked - there was no shovel, and even if there had been a shovel and we had managed to knock Gurshak on the head with it, we could not have reached the keys he was carrying.... And I shudder to think what sort of apology a disgruntled Gurshak would have asked for! Anyway, if you feel so mistreated and put upon, read Ptath's review... Are a hug and a box of chocolates for you not enough to comfort you a bit? Nobody has given me a box of chocolates so far..."

"I know I can always count on Ptath!" Tanglinna exclaims, winking at Ptath and smiling; then he turns placating to Alagaith. " Karianua is giving us cookies and if you need to be soothed, poor Linlote, then I suggest you read UbiqutiousPitt's review. She has obviously lost her heart to you and is blushing over the thought of you! Granted, she commented on the length of our chapters...I think you will have to be very charming in this one to apologize for its...unusual size...." As if suddenly realizing what he is saying, he blinks. "I fear I just sounded like Katharine the Great there for a moment."

"Oh yes, Katharine the Great..." Alagaith turns to face the reviewers. "Katharine, you should not mention Tanglinna and tequila in one breath! I know what mere orcish brandy can do to him - so I do not even want to imagine the possible effects of tequila..." Turning to look at Tanglinna again, he adds in a low voice: "And she is even more... inventive than Gurshak, as it seems."

Tanglinna's eyes have narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me, Linlote...just what were you implying about the orcish brandy?"

Of course, Alagaith smiles innocently at this. "Only that it can have most interesting effects on you... Nothing more. We don't want to tell the readers everything in advance, do we?"

The Master Archer raises one brow imperiously. "Hm... yes, well, it seems that our sweet evil witch queen is determined that you realize how wonderful I am...risking myself to save you." He grins and waggles his brows, but then, his face darkens again and he glowers and mutters, "Orcish brandy indeed!"

The skulking cutpurse only laughs. "As Marenvs says, you can be funny at times... And no, I will not explain what exactly I mean by that! - But it seems *I* have to apologize now... Not to you, but to Miss Aranel. But you see, Aranel, if I had not mentioned that cookie, Mordil might have continued to behave less than sensibly... So it was of vital importance to put words into your mouth!"

Tanglinna stares at the Noldo, amazement and displeasure mingling on his face. "Is this a time when I should try to be funny, Linlote? I feel as though you have probably just insulted me...again." He frowns. "Miss Aranel, it appears, was as shocked as I to learn that you had a son. I do hope to meet him and your ... friends at some point, as Phoenix Flight asked. And speaking of children, daw the minstrel enjoyed the small part about children growing up as well. Your sweet elfling must be growing at a rather impressive rate." This time, he smiles genuinely.

Alagaith returns the smile quite happily and stops himself just in time he can start an endless ramble about Alagant, or, as he might secretly put it, the most wonderful and amazing little elfling in all Arda. "Well... I suppose we should not discuss Alagant now, or this chapter will get even longer..."

Tanglinna chuckles. "That is very true. Proud parents do like to talk...overly long at times...about their offspring. Hm, yes...as I do not speak German any better than I do Orcish, you had better translate Marenvs' review to me. There are decided gaps in my education, it seems...though why were we hiding in WeasleyTwinsLover1112's bed?" He raises one brow, then winks at WeasleyTwinsLover1112.

Alagaith looks a bit puzzled. "Good question... We must have had too much of Katharine the Great's ale and tequila... Combined with the sugar in the cookies and chocolates and all, that may have caused us to do something inexplicable..." He shrugs, not seeming overly disturbed by whatever strange things may have happened in that situation.

Tanglinna laughs. "I agree...too many sweet, forbidden things...." Frowning, he continues: "I fear that our reviewers are getting to me...I am not myself!" At that, he laughs again.

Alagaith laughs as well. "On with the story now before we get ourselves into trouble by saying the wrong things!"

Authors' Note – Anirathiel belongs to Lady Elleth. Noseless belongs to kingmaker and can be seen in his "Wings of the Storm"

Chapter 6 – 1001 Ways To Seduce A Goblin by Alagaith Alagaerion

Alagaith shot a rather puzzled look at me, his brow wrinkled in what looked like suspicion. I could well imagine that my sudden change of mood was perplexing, but then he smiled, probably coming to the conclusion that his companion was of a mercurial temperament and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Tanglinna Thindalagosion."

I continued to smile at his proper greeting, wishing to put all thoughts of despair, hopeless, and sorrow behind us. They were not productive to our situation and that had to be foremost in my thoughts, which led my thinking back to something he had said before our conversation had taken such strange turnings.

"You . . . you weren't serious earlier when you said I should . . . ." I cleared my throat, frowning. It would be hard merely to repeat it! I believe I managed to keep my voice level, my features neutral, but I cannot say for certain. "That I should . . . seduce Gurshak?"

I knew well what he would say; I remembered it only too clearly. Perhaps I asked this to delay, though our time was fast running out. It was the time for action, but *what* action! What a suggestion!

"I do not like the thought," he began a bit hesitantly, knowing my violent opposition to this proposition, "and admittedly I would like it even less if I were in your place." He smiled grimly at this pronouncement, yet he would not back down. "But if you do not feign compliance, he will . . . 'seduce' us, whether we like it or not . . . . If you fool him, you might get rid of those chains at least."

Alagaith glanced at the black irons then, no doubt feeling keenly his failure to open them.

I nodded slowly, seeing the wisdom of his words, though I did not like them at all – wise or not. But . . . if the chains were gone, there was a chance – a slim, fleeting chance but chance nonetheless – that I could do something to gain our freedom. I would risk just about anything for that. . . .

"What . . . what would I do?" I flushed at this question, knowing how ridiculous it sounded, but I honestly could not say that I had much experience at seducing anyone, let alone a goblin! "You seem to know more about orcs than I do, so what would you suggest I do? I mean . . . . This is very strange."

My voice sounded odd, not at all like it should. I shook my head. This was strange indeed and disconcerting and horrible!

As I said, my experience at 'courtship', if one could put what he suggested into that category, was rather limited. I was never one who pursued females as some younglings did with such fervor and excitement. I had always held myself apart from this ritual of youth that was as much a part of life as breathing. I had an unnatural fear of allowing my heart to be lost to anyone. My greatest fear was that I would take someone into my life – into my heart – and I would lose them . . . and this is what happened . . . .

I did not wish to dwell on those dark thoughts, too much depended on this ruse I must play. Courtship . . . . What did orcs do to entice their lovers? I had never thought of orcs having lovers or doing anything like what Alagaith was suggesting, so this was rather a stretch for my mind and not a pleasant one.

I thought back to the time when I had first seen Celair and my heart was no longer safe. What had I done to win her love? I could have laughed at this, for I was the most inept of suitors that had ever been born! It had not begun well at all!

It had been on a night when Oropher had proclaimed one of his grand feasts – a Wood-elf feast, outdoors on the grass beneath leafy branches and Elbereth's shining stars. It was a good time in Greenwood then, though the enemy's Shadow was growing since he had ensconced himself in Mordor. It was almost an act of defiance, these wild revelries in the night. Though we were aware of the danger that Gorthaur the Cruel presented to us, Oropher would not allow us to live in fear, hiding in the shadows like frightened children.

A bonfire blazed in the clearing, music drifted upward as dancers twirled with abandon before the leaping golden flames; the scent of cooking foods – venison, breads, various small game birds, including the pheasants I had just brought back after my successful hunting trip. They were especially for Auriell, Oropher's lady-wife, as they were a favorite of hers. The delightful aromas made the stomach pinch with hunger and anticipation.

I had gone to clean up after my day spent in the woods alone, then I returned to join the merriment, surveying it with pleasure for I knew that Oropher was very delighted to see his people enjoying themselves in such a manner. I moved to sit with Oropher and Thranduil as my king waved at me in greeting. Oropher's son barely noticed me for his eyes were following every graceful move his wife made as she danced before the fire. Thranduil's blue eyes were filled with joy, pride, and longing. I grinned, feeling very pleased that he was so happy and that he and Firithiel were trying to make things work between them. This is what Oropher had wanted for us: peace and happiness. This is why we had journeyed to the east, away from the 'corrupting influences' of the Noldor', as Oropher had said on more than one occasion with a wolfish grin.

It was then, when I turned to comment on this to Oropher, that I was introduced to an elf that had just journeyed here, a survivor of Gondolin's fall who had decided to join us here in Greenwood after living in several places. His name was Riwmegor, a worker in metals and an expert at forging bladed weapons. He was a Noldo. . . .

Oropher was, naturally, very pleased to have one skilled in this art. The elf was broad shouldered, his arms heavily muscled for an elf, but he was a smith and long days before the forge's fire, working bellows and hammer, had made his arms rather formidable. His dark hair was hanging down his back in a long tail as though he had just left his work.

I greeted him cordially though his intensely blue eyes only briefly touched my own before sliding past me, no words of greeting passing his tight-lipped frown.

I quirked a brow at Oropher over this rather rude behavior, but he merely chuckled, lifting his silver-chased goblet to his lips as he murmured in a low tone, "Noldo," as if that explained it all.

I smiled at this. That did explain a lot. I was rather surprised that a Noldo would choice to live with we rather rustic "Wood-elves", but perhaps he was ready for the slower pace after living in the so-called greatest elven city on Arda. We had need of someone like Riwmegor here. Too many rumors of war and destruction had reached us here in our woodland fastness, so I didn't question too much why he had chosen to come this far to the east when the other elven realms were further west. . . and ruled by the Noldor.

It was then that Oropher pronounced the words that would disrupt my life forever.

"Riwmegor's daughter is there." He pointed toward the bonfire where the dancers were gathered. "She is with Auriell, Firithiel, Anirathiel, and Glaurhunant."

I gazed in the direction of the fire and saw her, the one face I didn't recognize, face fire-lit, black curls gleaming with a ruddy cast.

"Her name is," and here Oropher glanced at Riwmegor, who frowned slightly.

"Faensigilceredir," the surly smith said in a low gruff voice. It had sounded as though he grudged us his daughter's name.

"Exactly," Oropher said with a nod, his grey eyes gleaming impishly. "But she is most often called Celair. Much easier to remember!"

Celair. . . . It meant brilliant, and brilliantly did she seem to burn that night to my eyes. I had never felt such a strong attraction to someone in my entire life, and I thought myself old enough to be past such foolishness and yearning. Elves my age did not fall in love! And yet, it seemed that I did not realize how lonely my life had been until that moment, that something had been missing, something that I needed to be complete.

As the dance ended and Auriell, laughing with joy, had clasped Celair's hand in her own and lead her away from the fire, toward where we sat. I felt an odd surge of panic rising inside me and I stood hastily.

The others stood as well as the ladies approached, Glaurhunant joining another group of unmarried maidens, who moved to stand near a group of young males, who were watching them with interest and smiles. Anirathiel gazed over at me, smiled slightly then moved away. She was a rather solitary creature, much like myself.

Oropher kissed his wife's flushed cheek, murmuring something that made her smile as Thranduil greeted Firithiel with a smile, gentle words only for her, and a bold kiss on her lips. These feasts made everyone feel relaxed and, for a time, it mattered not if you were a Sinda king or common Wood-elf, formalities had been laid aside for the night.

I turned away slightly as Oropher began to speak to Celair, only to find Riwmegor's eyes upon me, narrowed and filled with displeasure. Surely he could not sense my confusion of emotions!

But before I could sort this odd behaviour out – his as well as my own - Oropher had taken Celair's hand and was introducing her to me. I turned slowly to face them, my heart pounding like a deer that had been chased for hours over fallen logs and down narrow forest tracks by a most unrelenting hunter.

I never saw Luthien Tinuviel, the daughter of Thingol of Doriath, but I cannot believe that she was fairer than the sight before me that night.

Celair's delicate face was tipped upward as she gazed at me, her lips as lush as rose petals curved in a smile, a tumble of raven-dark curls adorning her brow. It seemed to me that two stars must have fallen into her eyes, so lovely and bright they were.

I do not recall what I said in way of greeting, but I do remember Oropher's sudden burst of laughter as he clapped me on the shoulder, causing my face to flush a brilliant crimson. How had he known what I was feeling, for surely his grey eyes were filled with the knowledge that his somber Master Archer was feeling . . .discomfited by this newcomer.

The next few months were a strange time in my life, and when I finally stopped fleeing those troubling yet utterly wondrous feelings that I had for Faensigilceredir Riwmegoriell – literally fleeing whenever I saw her - the actual courtship began. There was one thing though that no one had told me. . . I would have to court her adar as well! I was never completely successful in that endeavor.

I had started to leave small bouquets of seasonal flowers twined with wild morning glories – they were the exact color of her eyes – until I realized that Riwmegor had discovered my love offerings to his daughter and been discarding of them before Celair knew they were there. I had to grow bold in my pursuit of this most delightful prey and taken to leaving my flowers on her bedroom windowsill, stealing a look at her while she slept, blue eyes opened and serene as she walked the dreams of our people. She never knew that I carried this vision of her throughout my day, making it brighter and much happier than it would have been otherwise.

In the early days of our budding relationship, I do not believe that I spoke overmuch. I had never been one given to flattery or compliments even when they are deserved, though Celair stole my breath away whenever I saw her. There were many shy, tentative touches and smiles exchanged, and I gave my full attention to every word that fell from her lips. . . that is, when Riwmegor wasn't glaring daggers at me and telling her to 'come away immediately'!

I fear she was very patient with my ineptness at being a suitor . . . even if her adar made certain that our time of courtship lasted long beyond what would be considered the normal or reasonable amount of time. My intentions were quite clear, but no doubt Riwmegor had been hoping that Celair would come to her senses and tell this most unsuitable Silvan to leave her alone and go away forever. Luckily, she seemed to want me as much as I wanted her, much to her father's disappointment and my joy and amazement.

Flowers, glances, touches, attentiveness, perseverance against incredible odds . . . .That is all I knew of courtship and seduction -that, and stealing moments away from angry adars. I was not a model of what a suitor should be at all! So how could Alagaith suggest I should be able to seduce a goblin? Clearly, he knew nothing of the matter. . . .

~*~*~*~*
What would I suggest to do? This was decidedly a good question! Glad enough that Tanglinna seemed ready to try to use my plan, at least, I had not given the practical side of it much thought until now, assuming that any elf who had been married at some point would remember enough of that time to know how to feign he was attracted by someone... Only that the 'someone' in question was a goblin – a male one, at that! – and, due to this, a creature my unfortunate companion knew little or nothing about . . . But did I know anything about Gurshak?

Questionable as this may sound, I would not have hesitated for an instant had seducing a female goblin been what had to be done. I knew a few things about orcs in love with each other, perhaps enough to instruct an elf so well that a goblin lady would believe she had an admirer in him, but I was not sure at all what would have to be different if a goblin like Gurshak was concerned . . .But strange or not, a goblin he was, and some things simply had to apply to all orcs, whether they loved orc ladies or highly unwilling male elves.

For a moment, I stood in thought, trying to remember what Seven had told me about orcish love a long time ago – and what I had observed in him, for he had been desperately in love at that time.

Being the unlucky orc that he was, my friend had, of course, chosen the most inconvenient place and time to fall in love. and I probably need not even mention that he had also been extremely unfortunate in the choice of his adored one.

It had been in the early years of the Third Age, when the remnants of Sauron's defeated troops had been roaming the lands in small or large bands, marauding, plundering, killing, outlaws more dangerous than we had ever been. Those had been troubled and insecure times, and bad times for us once again. In a town of humans, Well-Armed had been arrested for theft and had been imprisoned there to stand trial, and a few days later, I had managed to get wounded in a fight with some ordinary village guard – and had, somehow, caught a cold at the very same time. Do not believe people who tell you that elves never get ill! It may be true that elves are somewhat more resistant to disease than other people, but unlucky circumstances, for example malnourishment or exhaustion, can bring about situations in which such general rules do hardly apply any more.

I had been in a fever soon enough, and apparently, my state had been bad enough to let Seven and Half-Dead decide that the damp, cold cave near said town where we had been staying to await the outcome of the trial had not been a place for me, and thus, I had been taken to Noseless to be cared for.

Noseless – lacking a nose, as his nickname indicated, but equipped with a past so tragic that it could have made the heroes of ancient tales envious – had managed to do what all of us secretly dreamed of now and then; after having been an outlaw for years, he had become honest again, thankfully not too honest to consider us as friends.

It would lead too far now if I tried to relate all of his story; suffice to say that, after having gone through grievous loss and captivity, he had joined us for some time and had then been 'adopted' by the family of an elven wood-turner, who had often been kind enough to offer us help and shelter earlier, or, more specifically, by the wood-turner's daughter, barely ten years old by that time and so fiercely fond of Noseless that he had almost become her second father.

The first three days of my stay with Noseless and his friends had been calm and uneventful, a row of long hours spent sleeping, coughing, feeling very unwell and sipping the concoctions of herbs, wine and indefinable ingredients Noseless had made me drink; for apart from being skilled at working with wood, carving useful items as well as elegant ornaments with equal ease, Noseless knew much about herblore.

In the afternoon of the fourth day, Seven had visited, and I had known that something was not as it should have been from the very beginning – that is, from the moment I had woken to find Noseless and Seven standing by the makeshift bed I had hardly left during those days, Noseless just nudging the orc, asking with what came closest to impatience in him: "Seven, are you listening to me at all? You can have him back in a week, he will be fine then!"

"Oh . . . yes", Seven had only replied, so absentmindedly that I had feared at first that something bad had befallen Well-Armed in her captivity, but Seven had assured us that all was well and had only told me what had really happened when Noseless had left us alone.

After having enquired how I was feeling and having listened to my answer with a lack of interest that was as noticeable as uncharacteristic, he had finally asked: "Have you heard about that band of roving orc mercenaries?"

There had been rumours about a handful of bedraggled orc warriors roaming the woods close to the place where Noseless lived indeed, and during the last three days, I had heard enough about them, for our poor friend – remembering only too well that an orc attack on a lone homestead had cost him his family and his freedom long ago – had collected every bit of information that had been available, doubtlessly ready to grab his bow and knives and face a whole orc-horde on his own if it was necessary to protect his new family.

"At present, they are in a clearing, no more than an hour from here", Seven had continued, and when I had started, worried that this might mean indeed that we were in for an attack, he had hastily added: "Do not worry – old Zarkush leads them. I knew him at Angband, and while he is not overly kind and not an elf-friend, he is too wise to risk the few warriors he has for what is to be found in a house like this... Noseless and his friends are safe. But . . . ."

"But?"

Seven had blushed – thus disproving all theories about the utter blackness of orc-blood – and had been most unwilling to say more, until he had finally gathered all courage. "There is a lady called Tarchna among them", he had said, and then, the words had come out in a torrent, a wild, halfway incoherent story about Seven running into some orcs he had known long ago on his way here, about accompanying them to their camp for a brief chat, a lady agreeing to prepare some tea – judging by Seven's state, it had rather been some sort of love potion! – for them, and . . . . Well, the rest had been a most flowery description of lovely Tarchna.

I had listened in silence, forcing myself to stay awake, and finally, when Seven had ended, cheeks flushed, a happy smile playing around his lips, I had asked, dreading the answer: "Do you think you could join them?"

Seven had shaken his head. "Hardly . . . .They are warriors, selling their skills with blade and bow – of what use would I be to them?" With this, he had glared at his right hand, once certainly a very able archer's hand, now lacking three fingers and not even having two entirely good ones, for even though the damage done to his index finger in a battle long ago had not been great enough to cause it to be removed, it was stiff now and still bore scars.

"You wield a scimitar well enough", I had objected.

"Well enough to teach a student that surpassed me after a month or two", Seven had snorted, but with a small chuckle. "No – they will not need me, and in these bad times, they will know better than to burden themselves with a cripple. But they plan to spend the winter in these parts, before they move farther east, and perhaps..." He had not finished the sentence, but his hopeful smile had told me enough.

Seven had left again that evening, but he had returned the following day, confessing to me with a somewhat guilty look that he had told Half-Dead that I was so ill that staying with me was a necessity.

At that point, I had assumed that Seven had not told Half-Dead the truth out of fear to seem callous and careless if he simply spent his time courting a lady while poor Well-Armed was in serious trouble, so I had not wondered too much about this strange and highly untypical lack of truthfulness.

The following days – a week and a half – had been somewhat unusual, but not really unpleasant, for I had never seen Seven so happy and merry before. He had never been one to hasten things, and I had grown used to seeing him sit in quiet thought for long hours; but at the same time, he had always been surer of his heart's counsel than anybody else I had ever known, and when time was scarce, he knew to decide and act swiftly.

Perhaps he had sensed that, even though the orcs planned to spend the winter nearby, many things able to separate him from Tarchna could occur, and she may have been aware of the same; the lives of roving mercenaries or robbers of the dead are not secure and sheltered enough to allow to plan ahead for months or even years, and thus what might have happened in long weeks under other circumstances had happened in those few precious days of shared thoughts and smiles.

I had learnt more than I had ever thought of learning about the orcish idea of love and beauty in this short span of time, for Seven, in his merry excitement, had been only too willing to tell me more things than my aching head had been comfortable with and had even made me the judge of his love songs – for, if you should have been in any doubt considering this question, orcs do sing, and not less well than elves, at least not if they have as flawless a voice as Seven.

The poems he had made for those songs had been nothing special, for in his better days, he had been an archer, not a minstrel; but sung to a pleasant tune, the lack of originality hardly mattered.

Truth to tell, some of them had even been quite haunting; when I stood in that cell, glancing over at Tanglinna and desperately asking myself what kind of advice I could give him now, one of Seven's songs kept coming back to my head, even though I valiantly tried to chase the silly ditty from my mind:

No light from darkness springs, you say;

yet night-hued eyes like stars can shine.

From night is born the fair new day,

soft shimmer from a black braid's line.

And dark hands, raven-swift, did light a flame of love, strong, pure and bright.

Night-hued eyes, black braid, dark hands . . . . Perhaps there was some kind of use in this verse, after all; it did list the things an orc would comment on to compliment a beloved person, I knew this well enough, for Seven had explained the great importance of these characteristics – lovely dark hair, shining eyes and, above all, elegant hands – to me back then, sighing a little when he had contemplated his own hands.

"Tarchna's eyes will not find much beauty here", he had said with something bordering on disgust.

"Marred beauty remains beauty", I had replied with an encouraging smile. "My father used to say that you only know whether a house is really well built and good if it is still beautiful when it is in ruins."

"Elves and their sayings!" Seven had snorted, shaking his head, but perhaps secretly pleased. "But even if this" – he had lifted up his maimed hand – "was more beautiful in itself, that would not be of much help. Look at this!" His good hand had angrily pulled the loose braid he wore his hair in over his shoulder. "This is but a sad excuse for a proper braid! Now, if I had ten nimble fingers, I might do something about it . . . ."

"And you call me vain!" I had murmured. "Turn your head, foolish orc!" I had woven his dark hair into a very intricate braid then, a somewhat elvish one, perhaps, but if Tarchna had noticed that detail, she had not been too displeased by it; as I had been told later, the evening the lovers had spent together that day had been a good one... The last good evening, as far as Seven and Tarchna had been concerned, for the next morning, we had received the visit of a fairly angry orc.

It had been a good – no, a very good! – thing that Noseless and the wood-turner had gone hunting very early that day, for if they had been present, the whole affair could have ended in bloodshed, as the visitor had rather been menacing than polite – so menacing, in fact, that the wood- turner's wife had placed herself in front of her daughter protectively and that I had cursed the fact that my sword had been on the far side of the room.

Imagine the door of a peaceful cottage being kicked open by an orc-boot, a warrior orc, half a head taller than me – and I am not exactly a small elf – bursting into the room with the force and violence of a thunderstorm, grabbing Seven by the collar and starting to shout at him in an indescribable mixture of the Common Tongue, Eastern and Western Orcish! Due to this jumble of languages, I had had some difficulties following the charming visitor's impressive speech, but apparently, it revolved around the grim statement that an orc who was a cripple, an elf-friend, a coward, an outlaw and a disgrace in general could prepare to die a slow and very painful death if he ever dared go near Tarchna, said visitor's beloved daughter, again.

I had tried to intervene, but had refrained from doing so when Seven had hissed at me that this was none of my business, not sounding angry at my meddling, however, but rather worried, even scared.

Tarchna's father had finally ended his tirade – ". . . .and do you remember what I did to that elf back in the mines who had stolen that loaf of bread? If I see you near her again, you are in for the same, only that it will last twice as long!" – pushing poor Seven back quite hard against the nearest wall and turning to storm out of the house again, apparently not in a much improved mood.

After he had left, we had stood in silence for a moment or two, and glances heavy with questions unasked and answers held back had been exchanged – but before either of us (or the poor woman and her child) had recovered enough from this strange scene to utter but a single word, the door had been opened again, most cautiously this time, and Half-Dead, sword in hand, had peered in, pushing the door fully open with a sigh of relief, exclaiming: „So you are all well! I . . . .This may have been foolish of me... but I saw Buzrak leave, and I thought . . . I thought . . . ."

Seven had bent his head as if in defeat, and I had blinked quite a few times, hardly noticing Well-Armed, who had entered the room as well, a bit pale and battered, but obviously free again.

"You are in love with – Buzrak's daughter?" I had finally asked, and at Seven's unhappy nod, Half-Dead's sword had clattered to the ground, and I had sat down on the bed, hardly able to believe that Tarchna, lovely, gentle Tarchna who had managed to conquer Seven's heart, was indeed the daughter of Buzrak, the very same Buzrak who had been a captain of the guards in the mines of the north and had treated both Seven, his subordinate, and Half-Dead, who had been a prisoner there for a long time, much worse than he had treated Seven that day . . . .

I wish I could say that this story had a happy ending, but – alas! – it had none.

I forced my thoughts that had lingered on this old story for far too long a time back to our present predicament and the use we could make of my scant knowledge of what words a goblin would consider as flattering and alluring. Gurshak seemed to waste a lot of time and effort on his hair, so complimenting it could not be wrong, and I was sure that he took great pride in those perfectly manicured hands as well . . . .

But before we moved on to those charming details, we would have to come up with an explanation for a contradiction so obvious that even Gurshak would notice it – why would an elf who had fought madly to keep an orcish admirer away until now suddenly show himself docile and compliant, even eager to respond to the dreaded goblin's advances?
"Very well", I said, turning to look at Tanglinna again, "first of all, we need an explanation for your apparent change of mind. That goblin may be... strange, but he does not seem like a complete fool to me." I tried to hold his gaze when I continued, well aware that this was a critical moment: "You must know that . . . to an orc . . . .elves are what orcs are to an elf . . .usually. So try to think like what you would imagine an orc desperately in love with an elf to think like! You will tell him that you have always loved him, but that you felt entirely unworthy of his great love, because you know what an appalling, ugly creature you are."

Tanglinna stiffened slightly, but it was already worth a lot that his answer to my suggestion did not consist in an angry retort. "I don't know if I can do that," he replied, sounding as if he was well aware that he had no choice but to try. "This is very difficult. What makes you think I can convince him that I am in love with him when all I have done is . . .well, rebuffed him and told him that I don't want his advances? Why would he believe me?"

He did have a point; we had to embellish his sudden change of heart a little to make it believable. But I was quite sure that one thing would work in our favour – for all his unwillingness to realize that Tanglinna did not want his approaches, and for all the unnaturalness of his desires, he had not seemed like someone deriving his greatest pleasure from the fear and pain of others, as Uglash probably did. No, Gurshak did not want a broken and thoroughly disgusted elf – he would prefer a compliant and willing one. The story of the Sindarin apple thief that his companions had alluded to seemed to offer some hope in that respect – apparently, Gurshak had treated that elf well enough even though he had not yielded to his desire . . . .

Thus, I replied to Tanglinna's helpless question: "Never forget one thing - he will want to believe you, so if you are only halfway convincing, his wishful thinking will do the rest. You will tell him that you did not want to make him unhappy, for a noble, fair goblin loving as vile a creature as an elf is unheard of . . . but that your feelings are simply too strong now, that . . . hmm . . . the touch of his gentle hands was too lovely a feeling . . . ." With a little grin, I added: "Say nice things about his beautiful hands - hands are important!"

Apparently, I was asking a bit too much of the unfortunate archer when I expected him to adapt his thinking to the orcish concept of beauty and courtship – he stared at me in what could only be described as unabashed, repeating: " ' The touch of his gentle hands was too lovely a feeling'?!"

Perhaps it was a good thing that I did not understand the words he muttered then; I could well imagine that he was either cursing me, or this whole wretched predicament.

Finally, he looked up again, and, to my mild astonishment, he did ask a useful and surprisingly open-minded question: "Why are hands important?"

"Well . . . . Eyes, hair and hands are what make a beautiful orc." I explained, chuckling a little when I realized how strange it would sound to him that I spoke of 'beautiful' orcs – we are far too used to seeing them all as ugly and repugnant. "So think about some nice compliments for his shining eyes and his hair soft as black silk as well! But, honestly . . . . An Orcish love poem would start describing the hands of the loved one, and hands are also very useful for certain gestures . . . .It is a pity that your hands are chained - if they were not, you might express your . . . invitation to him more clearly." I was merciful enough to refrain from showing him how he would have had to place his fingers in an elegant gesture of signaling. . . interest, although Seven – sighing over his lost fingers again – had explained a lot about such unobtrusive little hints. Orcs are true masters of speaking without words at times, and perhaps Seven is right when he tells me – with an exasperated sigh – that a people calling themselves Quendi and relying rather too much on spoken utterances can seem rather uncultured to a refined orc at times. However, I am straying from the story I am supposed to tell yet again!

Tanglinna blinked in amazement, still looking slightly horrified, but finally, taking a few deep breaths, he slowly nodded. "Maybe he will free my hands and I could strangle him," he growled rather quietly, but then, with a wry grin and a further nod, he promised: "I will compliment his hands, eyes, and hair . . . .Valar help me! I will try to anyway. What if that doesn't work? I mean, have you seen this done that you know it works?"

"I had to listen to the sighs and poems of a lovelorn orc for about . . . ." I replied with a sigh, and, realizing how this had to sound to an elf who had an unwanted orcish admirer, I quickly added: "No, he was not in love with me, ere you ask! He only informed me about every tiny detail of the orcish concept of courtship and love so that I could judge the poems and songs he was making for his lady, as no one else would listen to him . . . ." A wicked little thought brought a sudden grin to my face: "But I have to warn you - had it not been for certain tragic circumstances, the whole matter would have resulted in marriage! And he was an archer, too, originally, at least, so your cases might be remotely comparable."

If I had hoped to lighten the atmosphere a little, I had chosen the wrong approach. Tanglinna stared at me in horror yet again. "You mean to tell me that Gurshak will think I want to MARRY him?!" he finally stammered, and then, his voice seemed to fail him. I could only guess what thoughts were assaulting his mind at that moment, but they were obviously most terrifying; my poor fellow prisoner gulped for air as if in massive shock, and when he finally managed to speak again, there was an edge of panic to his voice: "This will never work! This will never work! I cannot do this! I cannot do this!"

As if to shut out this nightmarish world, he closed his eyes and murmured between gritted teeth, rather addressing himself than me: "I have to do this...there is no other way to get out of here."

It was almost painful to watch his inner torment, his barely masked fear of the unthinkable that he would have to invite to give us at least a fleeting chance to escape, and it would have been the right time for a few kind words of comfort and encouragement now, but I closed my mouth again when Tanglinna opened his eyes to glance at me, his gaze so dark and feral that I felt decidedly uncomfortable.

"If this does not work, you will be very sorry," he said in a very quiet, but deadly voice that made me wish to recoil. "If that goblin thinks I want to marry him because of this and we are not FREED immediately and he is not lying dead on the floor, then you will be VERY SORRY!"

I had waited for the end of his outburst as calmly as possible; years of sad experience with situations in which looking scared would have been fatal had taught me to put on an impassive face in such cases. "I suppose I will be sorry, yes", I replied at last, hoping that he would understand that I was not mainly thinking of myself, as his warning had implied, but concerned about him as well, "and I hereby apologize in advance, in case my plan proves to be a bad one."

My words seemed to soothe Tanglinna's anger a little, but as if it had been all that had kept him upright, he slowly sagged in his chains now, shaking his head and finally turning to glare at the barred window behind which they way to freedom lay. "It will have to work," he said, eyes intent. "We have no other choice . . . ." With a sigh, as if he did not really like to say what he wished to add, he went on: "It won't be your fault if it doesn't work . . .not entirely anyway. I cannot believe this . . . .I am a very bad liar . . . .Thranduil has told me so on many occasions . . . .I only hope that you are right in your assertion that this goblin will hear what he wants to . . . .Hands, eyes, and hair . . . hands, eyes, and hair . . . ." He gazed at me so mournfully that I might have given him a comforting hug had it only been possible. "I . . . will do my best . . . ."

I tried to give him an encouraging grin. "I am sure you will, and you will certainly be most convincing" – I did hope so indeed! – "and if you direly need a break, signal to me and I shall think of something." The strange ideas that our most peculiar situation brought to my mind made me laugh. "I could interrupt the lovely conversation, complaining loudly that you are being disloyal, then you will only have to lean against Gurshak tearfully and beseech him to protect you from that elven brute... He will love the situation and refrain from asking too many questions."

Of course, my attempt at humour was not received with laughter; Tanglinna looked quite shocked yet again, but finally, he seemed to realize that I had not been entirely serious and smiled rather weakly. "You seem to understand him better than I do, I will give you that", he remarked; I refrained from pointing out that this was a rather questionable compliment. "I may just have to take you up on your offer for assistance. I don't know how long I will be able to play this role . . . .Are you . . .are you certain that I am not dreaming this? It seems entirely too unreal to be true."

For a moment, there was such a hopeful look on his face that I felt doubly sorry that I had to rob him of this kind illusion. Doing so in a half-jesting manner seemed best to me – but unfortunately, my success was greater than intended.

"I hope I do not have to use this to convince you that this is very real indeed!" I said, holding up the needle that was still between my fingers, and amused by the memory how Alagant had once turned one of my mending needles into a sword for a tiny wooden warrior Half-Dead had carved for him, I tried to assume a fencing stance. Admittedly, I should not have forgotten about those chains . . . . Suffice to say that I ended up looking and feeling equally ridiculous. Oh well. Had I not intended to make Tanglinna laugh, anyway? Apparently, I had succeeded.

"No, put your blade away, my lord. I don't want you sticking me with any dwarf swords today", he finally said, still chuckling slightly. "Perhaps you could frighten Gurshak away with that . . .impressive fighting stance of yours. That would certainly make things much easier."

I guess he meant no harm; what I had done had been silly, and it had certainly looked even more laughable than it had felt, so why should he have refrained from mocking me? But this had been a most unpleasant day so far – in fact, each and every one of the last few days had been unpleasant . . . . It had cost me an effort to keep fear and anguish from surfacing too openly until now, and I felt weary enough to be more sensitive to taunts and jests than usual. Tanglinna's words seemed like open derision at that point – did he doubt that I was an able warrior?

"I do know how to use a blade!" I snapped, glaring at him, and the realization that I had probably sounded like an offended child did not make me feel any better.

Tanglinna blinked a little, obviously taken aback, and he came close to apologizing yet again. "I did not mean to imply that you did not . . . "he answered, but as if he had suddenly decided that he did not have to humour the irritated would-be swordsman next to him, he went on, raising one brow in challenge: "Though if you wield a larger blade as well as you did this smaller one . . .well, I suppose we will have to rely on my . . . skills at seduction as you planned."

Well, if he wanted a feud, he could have one! "If your skills at seduction are as charming as your sense of humour, we can bury all hope!" I quipped back, angrily putting the needle back into its case and storing the case in my pocket, next to Alagant's warg, where it belonged.

Tanglinna snorted slightly, turning away from me. "You are probably just putting me up to this to amuse yourself", he replied. "Well, fine. I hope you enjoy this little scene that we will play out on this dismal stage for regardless of what you think about me, I will try to get us out of here . . .regardless . . . ." He glared at the far wall.

I was about to reply something not altogether friendly about not being impressed by his oh-so-noble attitude, since he had started this quarrel, but a noise interrupted me before I had quite started to speak – a noise on the other side of the door, steps drawing near, a key turning . . . . It appeared that someone was going to pay us a visit.

"Good luck!" I whispered.

~*~*~*~*~*
I turned to look at the window once more at his hissed words, my heart pounding suddenly, adrenaline rushing through my body. My eyes widened in horror as I thought, ~ It is too soon! I am not sufficiently prepared for this! ~

"Hair, eyes, mouth . . . . No! Hair, eyes, ears . . . . No!" I was struggling to breathe properly, recall what Alagaith had instructed, what I should compliment, but when the door swung open and Gurshak entered the cell, with a smile on his face, a small jar of something in one hand, I could think of nothing that I had been told to do! Ai, Valar! His eyes flicked to Alagaith first, and then moved to me.

"I h-hope y-you are n-not too uncomf-fortable?" he asked in a most pleasant tone, his smile turning very – sweet! – as he moved into the cell and slowly approached us.

I stared at him in horror. This was never going to work! So I dropped my head, staring intently at the floor, trying to order my thoughts into submission.

"It . . .it is . . . ." I swallowed in a too dry throat, trying to look uncomfortable – I am sure I succeeded in this at least! - "It is not very comfortable at all," I finally managed to stammer. "I . . . I . . . ." I looked up then, berating myself for my cowardice as I forced my eyes to his, laboring to keep my face devoid of the surge of distressing emotions. "I am glad you have finally come . . . for us."

I attempted to smile at him, but felt it must surely seem more like a snarl for dark, murderous thoughts were flitting through my mind as he moved to stand entirely too close to me.

He looked puzzled, almost worried. I was not convincing him! I knew this was a bad idea! Why had I agreed to this madness! But then he spoke, moving closer still. I could not prevent the slight movement – very slight indeed as the wall was at my back – away from him.

"U-uglash has not h-hurt you, h-has he, m-my s-silver-haired l- lovely? He m-may not do that! D-do not w-worry – it will n-not happen again!"

I wished he would not call me that! 'My silver-haired lovely'! He had no right to call me that! He -! That is when he touched me, patting my head in what one might mistake for a paternal caress, only then his hand slide down my braid, a small sigh escaping his lips as he drew it over my shoulder, seeming to admire it.

My hair was not braided in the too intricate 'battle' braid any longer, just a loose plait to keep it out of my face. It was no longer so neat either, but rather bedraggled after our spill into this hole, small twigs and pieces of leaves and dead grass adorned it.

Gurshak began to remove this debris, bit by bit. What was he doing?!

Then, to my horror and disbelief, he eased the piece of leather cording that held my braid in place and began to unbraid it.

I grimaced, cringing slightly as his fingers worked to loosen my hair. He did not know how fortunate he was that my hands were not free and that I had no weapon at hand or he would have no fingers left to run through my hair!

"I . . . no," I said in a belated answer to his question, hoping to distract him from what he was doing without my permission. "Uglash has not hurt me . . . but . . . ." I forced myself to look at his face. His eyes were still on my hair, most of which he had worked free of the braid by now. Soon it would all be unbound. This did not please me . . . .

"I do not understand why . . . how you can find someone like me. . . worthy of you attentions," I said in a tightly controlled voice. This was the only thing Alagaith had said that I could now recall, as I remembered thinking at the time that I had actually felt that way with Celair . . . or maybe because Riwmegor had said it so often within my hearing.

I dared to glance over at Alagaith, wondering if my rather pitiful –highly unbelievable, I feared – performance was at least half-convincing as he said it only had to be. He nodded slightly and smiled encouragingly, though I fancied I saw just a hint of skepticism in his gaze. I would have to do better!

Gurshak, as if to attest to my poor acting skills, looked very puzzled.

"W-what do y-you m-mean by that?" he asked "You are v-very pretty! Y-you invite s-such attentions, y-you k-know."

My eyes widened at this statement. I *invited* them?! I most certainly did not! I did not invite anything from anybody! But then the last of my hair was free of the confining braid, falling over my chest to hang just past my waist, completely unbound. I ground my teeth together reminding myself sharply that there was too much at stake here for any missteps on my part regardless of what I wanted to tell this goblin!

The only time my hair had ever been free from any restraints in my adult life –braids, clasps, tails – was when Celair and I were alone, enjoying those rare moments of privacy between married people. It had become almost a ritual for her to undo my braids, untying the small colorful cords that bound my hair, her fingers working the strands free, a knowing smile of pleasure on her face.

But for all my noble intentions, when Gurshak buried his hands, sighing happily, in my hair, I made an odd noise. His hands were in my hair! His hands war in *my* hair!!! I had to do something!

"I . . . I . . . Your . . . .Your hands," I began rather eloquently, thinking, ~Ai! They are in my hair! Your hands are in my HAIR! ~ "They are so soft," I growled, keeping my eyes, which had narrowed dangerously – something entirely beyond my control, I assure you! – on a space just past his shoulder. "And lovely," I finished in a hiss, grimly thinking that it would be so *easy* to bite off those most offending fingers for touching me in this intimate manner! "I . . . I have dreamed of your hands," I continued, now trying to focus my mind on what Alagaith had said, for therein lay our only chance of getting out of this rapidly deteriorating situation, "touching me." I could feel my lips twist in disgust at these very untrue words, revulsion and rage warring within me. I knew that my outrage and horror must show all too well. This was no dream – it was a nightmare! I turned once more to look at my 'teacher'.

Alagaith's look showed me that he at least seemed to understand what I was enduring, but then he gently shook his head at me and mouthed, "Smile!" and he did. . . . Why did not *he* seduce this beast if he thought it was so easy?!

Gurshak spoke again, seemingly oblivious to the tension and turmoil . . . or perhaps he mistook my tension for something else.

"Y-you ne-never s-said a w-word when w-we met earlier . . . .B-but better n-now than n-never!"

I was steadfast refusing to look at him, for I could tell that he was incredibly willing to believe that I was sincere. I knew his eyes were upon me, but I would not met them!

"Is it n-not right l-like this?" he murmured. Perhaps he did sense that something was not right. Not right at all!

He released my hair, but I felt his hand move to caress my cheek in what could only be called a most suggestive manner, an . . . invitation. Valar! I had succeeded *too* well!

I drew several deep breaths, fighting down the urge to bit his fingers off and spit them on the floor at his feet before kicking him HARD between the legs. This would have been impossible as my ankles were shackled, but I could not prevent the small measure of satisfaction that this thought brought me.

I forced my lips into what might pass for a smile, unless you happened to look into my eyes, which I kept downcast.

"Yes," I answered him at last through tightly clenched teeth. "It is. . . very right like this."

My lips remained in that twisted smile/snarl as my thoughts grew more murderous – not all of them directed at Gurshak. . . no, some were directed at a certain Noldo with one eye!

Gurshak did smile once more, gently cupping my chin and forcing me to look at him. It appeared that Alagaith were correct in his assumption that I did not need to be very convincing. The gleam in the goblin's eyes was all that I needed to see to realize that he was convinced. . . entirely.

"Only n-new, that is it, i-isn't it?" he murmured in a low tone, probably meant to be soothing and filled with reassurance. "B-but w-we w- will have all th-the t-time w-we n-need n-now to g-get acquainted a b-b-it b-better . . . ." He sighed wistfully, and the look of anticipation in his eyes grew. His index finger lazily traced my cheek as he continued in a low voice, "It is a p-pity th-that I c-cannot t-take you t-to a m-more p- pleasant room. . . .But Uglash and Th-Thrakush are t-too worried, because of th- the w-war . . . . H-however, it h-hardly matters, d-does it?"

He leaned closer, his face now mere inches from my own, my head pressed against the unyielding wall – there was no place for me to flee to! – and he smiled at me slowly. . . seductively. . . .

I made another small sound, like a trapped animal that sees the hunter approaching; arrow nocked for the kill. I lost control of my breathing at that point, for it was suddenly coming in desperate pants, but . . . this only seemed to excite Gurshak more for his eyes widened, his mouth opening. What was he thinking!? NO! I did not want to know!

"It . . .it does not matter where . . .where," I began, trying to think of something that might make him take just one step back – away from me! But then his wandering finger moved over my jaw to my lower lip. I made yet another sound and stammered hastily, "Where we are as long as you are here with me!" Undoubtedly, it sounded more like "whereweareaslongasyouareherewithme!" so quickly did those words flee my trembling lips that were being assaulted by his finger. I yanked my head around to glare at Alagaith. This was all HIS fault!!!!! It was working TOO WELL and now what was I supposed to do?!!?

I felt Gurshak's hands on my face and he turned my head so I was facing him once again. His eyes were brilliant, cheeks flushed in a rather alarming manner. The chains holding me rattled as a tremor of horror shook my body. His eyes were on my lips!

"M-my s-silver-haired l-lovely!" he cried in a moment of ecstasy, and he leaned in closer.

His eyes were on my lips! MY LIPS! That could mean only one thing! And this was NOT part of the plan!!

HE WAS GOING TO KISS ME!!!!!!!

~*~*~*~*

In the first few moments after Gurshak had entered the cell, I still had some hope that everything would go as planned, but then, a lot of things went wrong, very wrong, to be precise, and I fully realized how insane and dangerous my brilliant plan actually was when Gurshak mentioned that he would not be able take Tanglinna to a different room – that probably meant that he was not going to unchain him, either, and that meant that the archer would be utterly helpless, condemned to suffer unwanted caresses he had nevertheless invited hoping to save us, and because *I* had suggested it might work . . . .

Perhaps there would still have been a slim chance of escape if Tanglinna had been able to feign sudden passion and excitement – something like "Ah! Let me embrace you my beloved! I have been longing to touch the black silk of your hair for so long!" might have caused Gurshak to remove those cumbersome shackles very quickly – but for understandable reasons, all he managed was to mask his fear and disgust with a thin layer of compliance. He clearly did his best, and admittedly, it was sufficient to convince the goblin – to convince him a bit too much, in fact, for quite suddenly, he took Tanglinna's face in his hands and leaned towards him to kiss his lips . . . .
A wild combination of emotions and thoughts – guilt, as I had suggested the course of action that had led to *this*, the knowledge that, if I let this happen, Gurshak's belief in Tanglinna's sincerity would probably be destroyed rather violently, pity for Tanglinna, revulsion and fear – made me grab Gurshak's arm as well as I could to drag him away from his victim. "No! You . . .you cannot have him!" I must have sounded like a frightened elfling, and in fact, that was what I felt like – I had never been that helpless and at a loss what to do in a very long time.

Tanglinna looked fairly stunned, whether due to the state of shock the goblin's attempt to kiss him must have put him in or because of the notion that I had probably gotten us into even more serious trouble now, I did not know.

I did not have any time to contemplate the unfortunate archer's possible thoughts, though, for Gurshak released his hold on him – in that, at least, I had succeeded! – and turned to look at me, first with a frown; then, a slow smile, as knowing as unpleasant, spread over his lips. "Are w- we j-jealous?" he asked, almost teasingly. "I - I don't b-blame you. H-he is a -l-lovely p-prize. There is p-plenty f-f-for both, don't y-you agree? B-but you h-have b-been with him for s-s-some time. It is m-m-m-my turn now. L- later you c-can be with him."

For a moment, I was too shocked even to think of an answer.

Gurshak turned away with a leering smile, moving closer to his prey and raising a hand again, as if to draw a reluctant face near to finish what I had interrupted; Tanglinna frantically shook his head, gazing at me for help.

I renewed my hold on Gurshak's arm, attempting to pull him away, *somehow*; it was not an easy thing, as he could more freely, while I was hampered by my fetters. "You will not touch him!" I told him, trying to put some firmness and authority into my voice, ridiculous as I would sound, given my current situation. "Try, and you will have a broken arm! Do you want that?" I briefly glanced at Tanglinna, hoping that the ghost of a smile that I could force onto my face would be encouraging and reassuring; we could not give up now, even though I assumed that our predicament was worse than it had been before and would not become less grim regardless of what we did now.

Gurshak gazed at me, his eyes widening in speculation. "Ah!" he exclaimed, and it seemed to me that he studied me with more interest than before; this was not a good thing, or only good to a very limited degree, as it did at least distract his attention from Tanglinna for the briefest span of time. "S-so you are t-that p-possessive of him? T-t-this will b- be more f-f-fun than I thought! D-do you w-wish to give h-him one last -k- k-kiss before he and I-"

"NO!" Tanglinna interrupted, sounding more than horrified by these outrageous suggestions. "I . . . . He . . . . He . . . ." He seemed unable to form a coherent sentence, and I could understand him only too well. This utterly depraved goblin did not only believe that *we* were lovers – an appalling thought in itself! – but obviously also assumed that he had a silent agreement with Tanglinna to share some very intimate moments with him very soon . . . . This could not be happening! I desperately tried to think of something. . . anything. . . The look of hopelessness on Tanglinna's face, Gurshak's suggestive smile. . . .

It was then that a strange thought occurred to me. It can be wise to let people believe what they wish to believe; perhaps there was a way out of this if we mastered our horror enough to pretend that it was what he thought... Why even rob him of his illusion that we were a loving couple? If this was what he saw us as, he would have to agree that I had certain . . . rights and privileges that he could not simply steal. Perhaps there was a way, after all . . . .

"If . . . . If you want him - earn him!" I said, trying very hard not to look at Tanglinna who had every reason to give me murderous glares now. "We . . . we can fight! I challenge you to a duel! Your friends called you 'Slasher', you must be good with a blade . . . ."

Gurshak suddenly looked rather impressed; apparently, I had not misjudged him when I had assumed that a game of this sort would be to his liking. Any more sensible creature would merely have laughed at a challenge voiced by a ragged and chained prisoner, but this goblin obviously found the thought intriguing.

"A duel? Y -you are challenging m-me to a d-duel?" he asked, laughing, but not sounding derisive, and, briefly gazing at Tanglinna and caressing his face again almost negligently before his hand moved to the hilt of one of the twin scimitars he carried at his waist to stroke the weapon's handle almost tenderly. "I- I am r-r-rather famous for m-my skill with b-b-blades. I-it would b-be a p-pity to h-harm you, but . . . ." His gaze grew speculative, and his eyes travelled from me to Tanglinna and back again. "P-p-perhaps that w-will be e-e-e-exciting f-for you both." Turning to Tanglinna, he enquired: "S-shall we d-d-duel for your a-a-a-a- affections, Daurshul?"

I could have told him that this suggestion would not be received favourably; I obviously knew his beloved better than he did!

Tanglinna managed to look horrified and angry at the same time. "Duel? Duel!" he spluttered, and if looks could kill, I would have been very dead then. "What are you doing!?!?"

It was not a good thing that he expressed his disapproval so very decidedly; for a short time, I really feared that the lack of 'Daurshul's' consent would, perhaps, make Gurshak decide not to fight the duel at all. I grinned at him, feeling that a momentary alliance against my unfortunate 'lover' was in order. "See? He does find that very exciting..."

Tanglinna's eyes widened in amazement. "You will get yourself killed!" he growled. "Where is that going to get us!? You cannot challenge him to a duel!" The valiant archer had obviously chosen to ignore the fact that I had already done so.

"Oh yes, I can." I replied, turning to look at him, and, lowering my voice to a mere whisper, I added: "Do not worry - you know I know how to use a blade!"

I was aware that, to his ears, these words probably sounded hollow, uttered in a vain attempt to reassure him, but not meaning much or anything at all; I was being quite truthful, however.

Tanglinna did not seem to think so; he gave me a glare that could have scared a dragon and snapped: "I have seen how well you use a 'blade'! Not well at all!" As if to underline this very unjust statement, he rattled the chain the lock of which I had tried to pick earlier. "And I am *NOT* excited!"

Fortunately for us, Gurshak did not seem to believe a single word he said; in fact, he looked as if he was anticipating the duel very much . . . .'Slasher' indeed! I wondered how good he was with a blade, good enough for a wealthy merchant, or better . . . . Perhaps he had been a warrior at an earlier point of his life and had reason to believe that he would win this fight, and maybe Tanglinna was right when he implied that I was overestimating my chances . . . . I was quite sure of my skills with a sword, but I was also weary and had spent quite a long time sufficiently immobilized to be not quite certain if my arms would not protest if I forced them into the movements of a swordfight now . . . .

Telling myself not to think of the near future, but only of what had to be done *now*, I gave Gurshak the friendliest smile I could muster and begged: "You must allow me to use *his* sword."

While I hoped that the goblin would suspect some sort of romantic sentimentality behind my request, I had very practical reasons for it. If he was only a merchant orc with a certain interest in sword fighting, he would be used to practicing with scimitars, but had probably seldom fought against someone wielding a straight blade, so using Tanglinna's sword might give me a slight advantage.

With a little grin, I turned to look at Tanglinna and added: "Wouldn't that be just lovely, Mordil?"

I simply had to prove to Gurshak that I had a pet name for Tanglinna as well – and for once, the 'silver-haired lovely' responded marvellously, even though the glare he had given me at first when I had asked for his sword turned into a look of sheer horror now, his eyes widening while his cheeks flushed in a manner that his goblin admirer must have considered as most becoming: "You . . .you . . .you will be sorry for this, Linlote!"

Gurshak seemed to find this exchange most entertaining and amusing; I can only suspect what thoughts were racing in his mind, but he did look . . . excited.

I, for my part, could not have been happier with the way this was taking – Tanglinna had indeed done the right thing! While he had doubtlessly meant it as an insult when he had called me 'Linlote', it had to sound like a nickname in Gurshak's eyes, a further proof that we were very close . . . .Now, that was what he was supposed to think!

Eying Tanglinna levelly, I replied, trying to sound as if I forced myself to be calm in order not to show how much my 'lover's' implied threat had hurt me: "If I have to be sorry, I will be dead anyway . . . . So I suppose I will *not* be sorry." Turning to look at Gurshak again, I enquired: "Do you accept the challenge? Then get me the sword and release me from these chains . . . . We can start now - I am sure we can all hardly wait." With this, I smiled at Tanglinna ever so fondly, deciding that the situation was oddly amusing in spite of the grim outcome all of this could have.

If this was possible, the poor archer looked even more shocked now. "You are going to get yourself killed!" he objected. "Then what am I supposed to do?! You . . .stupid NOLDO!"

The way he almost slipped back into his original way of addressing me, throwing the word 'Noldo' into my face as if it was a crime in itself to be of Noldorin extraction could have caused something close to real hurt, not only feigned one, had Tanglinna's angry words not contained a very understandable worry – what was he to do if I fell indeed? A triumphant, victorious Gurshak was likely to get even bolder in his advances, while Tanglinna would be utterly helpless and exposed, bereft even of the vaguely comforting knowledge that he was not all alone.

And although I did not like to admit it, it was entirely possible that I would not survive the fight.

Gurshak's next words did confirm my suspicion that, if the need arose, he would not hesitate to kill me. "l-l-lovers' quarrel," he murmured. "T-t-that is not good. D-daurshul, you m-must not send him into b-b-b-battle w-with ill f-feelings between y-you."

Amusing as this remark may have been, it told me one thing – for all his assuring me that he would not like to harm me, Gurshak did not really believe that I would return from this 'battle' to be reconciled with Tanglinna. So the duel would only help us at all if Gurshak was defeated – if he killed me, it would be a most useless, unnecessary death . . . . Or perhaps not. Great need spawns strange plans.

I gave Gurshak what could pass for a grateful grin, knowing that it would mask my fear and worry, before I looked at Tanglinna again. "I can tell you what you are supposed to do if I die, Mordil", I said, praying silently that the way I phrased this would make him realize that this was only part of the game we were playing at the surface, but, in fact, hidden advice and a second plan. "If I die, you will do me the favour of braiding my hair in the manner befitting a warrior of Nargothrond - that is all I ask. You will certainly allow him to do me that little favour in case it should be necessary?"

I sincerely hoped that such a touching last wish, combined with a pleading grey eye and an irresistible smile, would be enough to make Gurshak forget that allowing Tanglinna to braid my hair, would mean to accord him greater freedom of movement, to release at least his hands from their heavy shackles . . . . And once he had regained free use of his hands, Tanglinna *would* find a way out of his predicament!

I quickly glanced at him to see if he had realized what I intended, but he merely looked decidedly worried, perhaps not quite certain yet how serious I was, but afraid that I might not be joking.

Gurshak, in turn, did not seem to be overly astonished by my request; he nodded, bowing his head to me. "Of course, he m-may b-braid your h-hair when you are d-d-d-dead", he said. "R- rest assured that h-h-he won't be left . . . ." – here, the most unpleasant leer returned to his face – "c-c-c-comfortless w-when you are g-gone."

"It is of great comfort to know that indeed", I replied with a polite smile, but feeling strangely relieved indeed. Even if I was unlucky, at least one of us would have a fairly good chance to escape – if he realized that this was what I had intended and did not really feel compelled to do exactly what I had told him to do instead of seizing the opportunity to flee! I would not have put it past this foolish archer to choose honouring a fallen ally over saving his own life. Therefore, I glanced at him once more, asking with some emphasis: "You have understood what you are supposed to do, just in case . . . ?"

Fortunately, Tanglinna nodded that he did indeed understand, but at the same time, but he did not appear to be pleased at all. "Don't do this!" he hissed, but to my amazement, he did not sound as angry as before; one could almost have thought that he was worried, and not for himself.

Although I did not reply anything, I was quite glad about his words, and I remembered well enough how he had promised earlier not to let Gurshak and his companions harm me. He was not a bad elf, that Tanglinna Thindalagosion – a bit too stern and respectable for his own good, maybe, and not overly inventive when it came to acting out a comedy for a captor who wished to be fooled, but not truly wicked or bad at heart; he was worth fighting for, and also worthy of the sacrifice into which this whole duel could turn very quickly.

Forcing myself not to think of anything but of our present situation – not of Alagant, not of my father or my friends, not of what awaited me in Mirkwood if I won the fight indeed and freed the archer – I looked at Gurshak again. "Pray fetch the sword now, Master Gurshak - I am eager to begin the fight."

The goblin smiled at me, bowing his head in agreement, but did not leave the cell straightaway; instead, he turned to Tanglinna once more, gently brushing back a few strands of silver hair. "D-do not w-w-worry, Daurshul. I w-w-will do away w- with him q-quickly, and then . . . ."

Well, then, he would be very dead very soon, given that Mordil was quick. Of course, I did not voice that thought – why rob Gurshak of his beautiful dreams? If the suggestive smile with which he finally withdrew was anything to judge by, he doubtlessly had some.

As soon as we were alone, Tanglinna turned his head towards me, his face still most concerned. "What are you doing!?" he whispered.

"Getting us out of this mess . . . or so I hope!" I replied, trying to make my smile as reassuring as possible.

"But . . . but . . . what if he kills you!?" Tanglinna exclaimed. "You can't . . . ." He suddenly interrupted himself, and the worry he had shown until then seemed to give way to anger within an instant. "Are you any good with a sword?" he demanded, sounding as if he did not expect a positive answer. Had he not listened to me at all?

"I know how to use one", I repeated, adding, for honesty's sake: "I will not promise too much, though . . . .I have been tied up for... how many days now? My arms are probably rather too stiff."

Tanglinna obviously could not deny the truth of this assertion; yet, he pursed his lips in annoyance as if it had been my personal fault that he had thought it wiser not to loose my hands at any time between our setting of from Erebor and our involuntary arrival here. "I hope you are better with a sword than you are with a needle!" he replied. "This had better work!"

Perhaps, I should not have been offended. I had indeed miserably failed to pick the lock with my needle, and I what I had done with said needle later had only been pathetic and ridiculous, so Tanglinna had every right to be somewhat doubtful – but at that moment, these reasonable and moderate thoughts would not come to my mind.

Instead, I only felt hot anger at this ignorant woodland archer – oh yes, that he was, even if he was not a bad elf on the whole! – who dared question both my word and my swordsmanship even though I was ready to fight for him and his freedom to whatever end. Who did he believe he was talking to? Oh, he had generously told me that it did not matter what he thought, but it certainly mattered . . . . He probably still saw me as nothing but a miserable thief, lowlife scum, perhaps able to use a sword to hack at an attacker in improvised self-defence, but not skilled enough to survive a real duel...

Had he not understood at all that, for all the strange turns my life had taken, I was a warrior no less than he was? I was dangerous enough with my chosen weapon! Not without a hint of bitterness, I briefly wondered if he would have had more faith in my skills had I not stood before him in threadbare clothing, a branded thief, and quite obviously not even an overly successful one, hardly more than a beggar... People judge by appearances, elves, who stubbornly cling to the belief that only a beautiful form can contain a beautiful spirit, even more so than others, so it was small wonder that I was treated as if all knowledge, refinement, integrity and honour had vanished with the fancy clothing and the good reputation . . . . Admittedly, Tanglinna could not know that I had ever known much better times – but he would be very sorry that he had mistaken something that came close to an understatement for overconfident boasting!

At least, I wanted him to be a little impressed, so, while Tanglinna started slightly as Gurshak returned with the sword, I straightened, ready to go into this fight like a true warrior of Nargothrond, someone even my rather unimpressable father – had I not vowed not to think of him just now? – would have been proud of, as proud as he had been on that day long past when I had somehow managed to defeat Lord Gwindor in the fencing contest held at the great autumn feast in front of all the court of Nargothrond, only a couple of years before all this splendour and glory had fallen to shambles for each of us, though for different reasons, actually not even very long before Nargothrond itself had fallen . . . .

I could have changed back into the warrior I had been back then, or a Vala in person could have appeared to rescue us, and Tanglinna would not have noticed. His eyes were upon the sword that Gurshak leaned against the wall invitingly close to him, yet beyond the reach of his shackled hands . . . . I could not quite help suspecting that he would have preferred to do the fighting on his own, but I was glad that he had not tried to challenge the goblin himself; not even taking into account that it was highly unlikely that Gurshak would have agreed to cross blades with his 'silver-haired lovely', the prospect of someone who mainly fought as an archer engaging in a swordfight in which more than life or death at stake would have been rather terrifying.

Then, there was no time to dwell on such thoughts any more, for Gurshak proceeded to free me from my chains, eying me with quite a strange expression. "W-would y-you prefer a s-s-scimitar?" he asked with a grin when he removed the last shackle. "I-I want it to be a f-fair f-fight." The chuckle that followed told me enough; he did not believe that an elf would ever be able to best him with an orcish weapon. Who was I to gainsay him?

"A . . . scimitar? A thing like . . . that?" I asked most innocently, pointing to one of the weapons on Gurshak's belt. "I have never used one . . . ." This was a blatant lie, but a glance at Tanglinna, who looked horrified yet again, told me that it sounded convincing enough. "But if you think I should try . . . ."

Tanglinna was glowering at me now; he probably thought that I was rather too foolhardy, or perhaps so desperate that I wished to die quickly.

As for Gurshak, he probably only assumed that I was adventurous enough to consider the duel as a daring game – or simply very stupid. "D-d- do you w-w-wish to use this?" he enquired, gesturing to the elegant curved blades at his waist, and, without waiting for an answer, he drew one forth with a flourish. I was surrounded by peacocks indeed! But at least, the goblin peacock now handed me a scimitar, hilt first, and asked: "D-d-do you wish to t-try it f-first?"

I took the weapon, taking great care to seem hesitant, almost at a loss how to hold it. A true hero, like all those great warriors of the old songs and tales, would have raised the blade in a heartbeat now to cut Gurshak's throat and rescue the remaining prisoner; being the honourable fool that I can be at times, I refrained from doing so.

Instead, I did as my opponent had suggested, and tried to develop a feeling for the scimitar – a good weapon indeed, good enough to make me wonder if I would be able to keep it for Seven! – its weight and movements, silently cursing my raw wrists and my weariness and, at the same time, doing my best to look as harmless and clumsy as possible with it. Someone who knew me well – or who was very observant – could have told that I was merely playing a bit now, but Gurshak's barely hidden amusement told me that he only saw the shell of what I was doing, not what lay hidden in it.

"Oh, well . . . . It might work, as far as I can tell . . . ." I remarked in the end; I could tell very well that I would be able to turn the tentative moves I had made until now into deadly sweeps and strokes, but the goblin would realize that soon enough without my telling him in advance. Turning to Tanglinna with a trusting smile, I asked: "What do you think - should I use this?"

Tanglinna looked as if he could not believe his ears; perhaps, he had thought or at least hoped that I would decide that a scimitar was not the right weapon for me. Then, his anger seemed to get the best of him once again. "Why not?" he countered, his eyes glittering darkly. "I am sure you are just as skilled with that as you are with other objects of sharp metal." And with a disgusted snort, he slumped back against the wall, doubtlessly convinced that someone as foolish as I did not deserve any better than to learn about his imperfections the hard way.

Gurshak had watched our little exchange with interest. "D- don't fret, Daurshul. It w-w-will be over q-quickly, and t-t-then...." Again, he did not finish the sentence, but smiled, moving the sword away from Tanglinna, into a corner of the room where it would not be in the way during our fight. Then, he took the time for a proper parting from his adored one and gently brushed a few stray strands of hair from Tanglinna's face, his hand lingering long enough on his cheek to allow a few further caresses of even more intimate nature before he turned to face me.

Tanglinna grimaced. "If you lose I will . . . .I will kill you myself!" he spat.

I gave him a wry grin. "Yes, Mordil, do so if you still have the chance." That was the right sort of farewell.

Saluting Gurshak with the scimitar, I added: "I fear I am hardly a worthy foe for you, Master Gurshak - but let us begin."

A smile of great anticipation graced Gurshak's features; he then saluted me in turn and gracefully stepped into a fighting stance, apparently already sure or his victory.

Then, the blades moved together; it had begun.

Gurshak calmly let me attack at first, only defending himself, doubtlessly wanting to see how and how fell I fought and, perhaps, hoping that I would exhaust myself before he pressed his own attack – in brief, he used the tactics Half-Dead would apply in single combat, until his opponent had wearied himself enough against the annoyingly unbreakable defence and had been deceived long enough by my friend's crooked and crippled appearance to be half a moment too slow when Half-Dead's sword suddenly dashed forward. . . .

Knowing this, I was at least prepared enough to block the blow when Gurshak finally attacked himself, but defending, slowly moving towards the door – a move that Gurshak permitted with a chuckle, probably aware himself that the cell was rather too narrow for a scimitar fight – I became more and more aware that I had been very sure of myself indeed when I had assumed that I would be able to defeat this goblin – too sure, perhaps.

~*~*~*~*

What was he doing?! This was not part of the plan!

Admittedly, the plan had not worked quite the way it was intended to, but not once had he mentioned a duel! A duel with orc scimitars at that! What was he thinking?!!?

They had moved from the cell, no doubt finding it too confining to truly be able to battle with weapons, so I was left alone in the cell like some damsel in distress awaiting the outcome of the valiant hero's fight with the dread villain! It was not a role to my liking! Not at all!

I watched the elongated shadows they threw on the wall as they danced their deadly duet, scimitars ringing with their own sharp music when they met.

"No . . . ," I murmured, shaking my head to free it from dark thoughts.

And yet . . . could Alagaith truly defeat Gurshak? That would solve our problem more neatly than what I had tried to do. He had said that he knew how to use a sword, and from what I had seen before they had vanished from my sight, he knew how to use a scimitar for all he had feigned ignorance of it with Gurshak. But how well did he know how to use it? It seemed to me that Gurshak was an expert. The blades appeared, even to my unknowledgeable eyes, to be very fine indeed and the little flourish with which he handed Alagaith the scimitar showed that Gurshak knew how to handle them. What chance did Alagaith truly have? Surely, he must be more skilled with straight blades! Mine was a straight blade, a good sword! Why hadn't he chosen to use that?!

I growled to myself, yanking on my wrist chains in frustration. To my utter amazement, the lock Alagaith had been trying to pick with his needle sprang open and my right wrist fell free.

I slowly raised my newly loosed hand. He *had* managed to pick the lock with the needle! I sighed then, feeling very badly that I had thrown his inability to pick this lock in his face just before the duel. I glanced once more at the shadows in the hall, hearing the harsh clashing of the blades.

My shoulders slumped dispiritedly, my hand dropping to my side.

"Please do not get killed, Alagaith," I murmured, feeling very guilty and not liking that he might go to his death with my last words to him being harsh and unfair. "I will apologize to you on my knees . . . just do not get killed."

Linlote. . . that was what I had called him. . . a skulking cutpurse. . . .

I wished there was something I could do . . . anything I could do to show that I had misjudged him so horribly.

I had not give this Noldo much thought – outside of finding him highly annoying and an aggravation - when I had first encountered him. My annoyance with him had grown over time while we journeyed from Erebor toward Gladaran Thamas, but it was tempered with curiosity. A curiosity that had lead to my digging through his personal things in a way, that if reversed, I would have found highly displeasing.

Our time of confinement here in Gurshak's lair had showed me another side to this skulking cutpurse . . . Linlote indeed! I felt I knew him better than I had, and though our relationship had tottered between friendly acceptance and outright animosity, I did not want to see him die while defending me . . . I could not have lived with that guilt!

It was selflessly brave of him to risk himself in this way, to offer me another chance at escape if he were to fall. He was truly noble and good hearted . . . even if he was a Noldo thief.

"Let him be as good as he thinks he is!" I implored the Valar in a whisper.

As if in answer to my plea, I heard the clatter of metal on stone . . . someone had dropped their weapon. There was a muffled thud then . . . and the fight was over . . . . Someone had fallen.

I stood, body tensed, eyes wide and fixed on the doorway.

What had happened? Who had won?

"Alagaith?" I breathed, my voice barely audible even to my ears.

He could not be dead! The Valar were not that cruel. Yet I could not shake the image of Gurshak standing over Alagaith's still form.

"No," I hissed, whether to negate my own fear or another plea to the Valar, I do not know.

If it were a prayer, it went unheard, or perhaps I should say it was not answered as I would have it be. A voice was heard in the hallway, a voice speaking to me . . . .Gurshak's voice . . . .

"D-do not w-worry – all is w-well now!"

TBC