Tanglinna hands a neat stack of reviews – with not a wrinkle or tear
on any of the papers to Alagaith and grins.
"Your reviews, my lord," he said, bowing with a flourish.
Alagaith, who looks every inch a Noldorin lord in very nice, soft, embroidered clothing, grinned as well, spoiling the aloof image somewhat, and takes the papers with a gracious nod.
"Thank you, Mordil....How did you convince the printer to work for you?" His grin widens at this as the unflappable Silvan's eyes narrow slightly. "But let us see," the Noldo continues hastily before there was another bout of biting comments. "Dear kingmaker seems to have gotten quite Brethilitic himself here! Just look at this review!"
The silver-haired archer's brows raise in appreciation.
"Yes, he certainly did. He must have caught it from the elf who enjoys hearing himself talk too much in that last chapter," he commented, hazarding a glance at Alagaith, but then he frowns. "He *would* have to mention hair, wouldn't he...." He sighs in a long-suffering manner and shakes his head, resisting the urge to touch his hair.
Alagaith grins once more.
"Well, you have gotten rid of it since, and you got rid of Gurshak, that much is true.... Although, the two events were not really related."
"Yes, not related at all...orc or goblins...what is the difference...." Tanglinna smiles a bit, looking apologetic at this rather unjust statement, reading the reviews over Alagaith's shoulder. "I am sure you will be quite a competent suitor when the time is right, young kingmaker. You must remember that I was quite a bit older than you are now...or will ever be since you are a poor mortal...when I found Celair. Your lady-love is out there. Never fear." He smiles encouragingly at 'young kingmaker'.
Alagaith does as well, and then continues to read the review, his eye rapidly scanning the papers in his hands.
"Oh!" he exclaims suddenly. "It seems he did not like the chapter ending....Very strange! But that seems to be a common opinion....daw the minstrel did not like it either, as it seems...." He shakes his head, wondering why people seemed a bit distressed over that last cliffhanger.
"My dearest Linlote!" Tanglinna said with mock surprise. "They fear that you are dead, or those who remembered the prologue and know you are not deceased, like Venyatuima and Karianua, probably think you are dreadfully wounded. Even though you are a nuisance and irritating at times, they do like you and do not want to see you get hurt." Grinning, he leans forward to whisper into Alagaith's ear, "You have fangurls, mellon- nin. And a fanboy in kingmaker's case." He chuckles and straightens.
Alagaith twists slightly in his chair to look suspiciously up at the Silvan archer, as if not believing what he has said.
"You don't mean that!" he muttered, turning back to the reviews. "Anyway....There are other theories out there. Ptath's is rather interesting, I think – but I like Lutris' idea....But Dis Thrainsdotter seems to believe that you alone will have to do all the rescuing!" He turned back to Tanglinna, chuckling with merriment this time. "Our readers are not of one mind....We have confused them!"
One silvery brow flies aloft.
"I wonder why.... It is the length of that last chapter, and the fact that so many things could have happened," he reasons. "And yes, dear Linlote, you do have fans. Though, hm, the evil witch queen thinks *I* should rescue *you* too!" He grins at the evil witch queen. "So tell me, Linlote, why...well, they will have to read to see who rescues whom. Or if we both perished and are talking to them from the Halls of Mandos just now." Grins slightly at this, still reading and then a frown appeared on his face. "I played my parts in this too well, it would seem. Hel is right though. Gurshak should have known that I was not telling him he truth about my feelings for him." He puffs up slightly, looking rather pleased with himself. "Maybe I *am* a better actor than I thought." He grins at Alagaith, who merely looks amused by the Peacock, and slowly a scowl replaces Tanglinna's pleased grin. "*Some* of us are TOO good at acting...." He glares at the Noldo, but says nothing more.
Now it is Alagaith's turn to grin in a rather self-satisfied manner.
"Yes," he agreed amiably. "mekareQ has recognized that as well – she thinks I fooled Gurshak quite nicely...." He turns to gaze up at 'Mordil', his features a portrait of innocence, which immediately puts Tanglinna on the defensive, but before he can form a protest, Alagaith continues in excited tones. "Oh, but look! WeasleyTwinsLover1112 wants to see you apologizing to me on your knees....Now that would be a nice thing to happen for this chapter, or the next one...." Alagaith notes the look on the archer's face and wisely decides not to purse this topic. "amlugwen is very right – it is not easy to decide who of us deserves more pity. Perhaps this next chapter will help her to make up her mind."
If Alagaith had glanced back at Tanglinna at that moment, he would have noticed that the Inscrutable Silvan mask was back in place, except for the wicked gleam in his eyes. Slowly, he moves to stand before the Noldo.
"My dearest Alagaith," he begins in earnest tones, his eyes filling with gratitude and such guilt at not having done this before as he falls to his knees, bending over Alagaith's feet. "Please forgive me for ever doubting that you were such an excellent lock-picker and so good with a scimitar! And you have such lovely hands! And your hair is so soft and beautiful and your one eye is like a storm-tossed sea in summer! Oh! I am not worthy of your attentions in any regard! Can you ever forgive me?" He keeps his face down, hoping that his laughter will pass for sobs. Who says he cannot act??
Alagaith stares down at him in silent shock, blinking and frowning. Suddenly he begins to cough in a most peculiar manner, covering his mouth as he does so. Then he bends, ever so gracefully and with his oh-so-lovely- hands, his beautiful, soft hair falling over his shoulders, he urges Tanglinna to his feet.
Please do not do this ever again....I cannot bear to see you humiliating yourself to such an extent....That is not the Silver Peacock I know and love!"
Skillfully, he evaded eye contact, knowing that he will not be able to contain his laughter if they look at one another.
Tanglinna smirks slightly, turning to the computer screen, gazing directly at UbiquitousPitt.
"Was that 'rad' enough for you, meleth?" He cocks one eyebrow. "Or do I still need lessons at "Mrs. Pitt's School of Seduction"? I am willing to learn, so beware!" He grins at her, but then turns to the orc that lives with amlugwen. "Just what are you implying, my dear sir?" he growls, his face reverting to the fierce, feral elf warrior.
"Now, do not scare that poor orcling, Mordil!" Alagaith interrupts with another grin. "Perhaps you should have one of Miss Aranel's most excellent cupcakes first – that will calm you a bit before you start hunting random orcs.... Thank you, Aranel!" He gives her a wide smile of appreciation. "Oh, and greetings to Little One from Alagant!"
"I suppose a cupcake first would be good, and some of Karianua's cake...which icing do you want, Linlote? Chocolate or vanilla? I prefer chocolate myself, but I will be generous and let you chose." He grins again and moves to stand behind Alagaith's chair, reading, once more, over his shoulder. "Dis Thrainsdotter, is it really that hard to woo an elf? Perhaps you would care to join UbiquitousPitt and myself at the Seduction Lessons." He winks at her as Alagaith looks back at him, shaking his head.
"Chocolate is fine with me, Mordil.... Enjoy your 'seduction lessons' with all those lovely ladies....Perhaps Salsify would care to join you too? IF she is not 'normally an elf fan', but finds us so exceptional, she would certainly be thrilled by the thought...." He pauses and winks. "Or she can join me eating the rest of the cake and the cupcakes...."
Tanglinna grins, then tilts his head slightly.
"Why not combine all the sweets with the lessons? I believe food can be seductive in its way...." He grins again. "WeasleyTwinsLover1112 seems to be a master of seducing orcs...or thinks *I* would be if I batted my eyelashes at Gurshak. I fear I am not that good an actor. But perhaps you are, Linlote. Hel says maybe you should have proclaimed your "love at first sight" to Gurshak and saved me from my non-award winning performance. So why did you not do that, Linlote? Hm?"
Alagaith smiles ever so sweetly, batting his eyelashes slightly.
"I did not want to break your poor heart, Mordil." He chuckles then. "And as Aranel says that I am 'pretty ingenious', you can be sure that I did the right thing." His grin turns into one of those infuriating Noldor smiles, that do, on occasion, upset certain Silvans. "Trust me!"
"Hmph!" the certain Silvan answers. "Trust you! That is the entire problem, is it not? But...." The scowl fades and becomes a grin. "Lutris hopes you have come up with another of your 'wacky ideas'. The wacky Noldorin genius...yes, that is definitely you!"
Alagaith laughs at this, straightening the papers neatly.
"If you say so, O Tanglinna the Wise. Well....Have we answered everything?" He gazes at the reviews once more to make certain that no one is forgotten.
Tanglinna does the same.
"Yes, I believe that is all of them. On to the chapter then! Someone needs rescuing." He grins a final time.
"The charming damsel in distress, yes...." A chuckle follows this and then he flourishes the papers. "On with the chapter now!"
~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 7 – Anxious Moments
"D-do not w-worry – all is w-well now.!"
I stared at the door with horror-widened eyes, hardly believing what I heard. Gurshak had won! He had defeated Alagaith and he . . . had . . . won! A wave of cold disbelief swept through me – and sorrow.
Alagaith was dead . . . . Alagaith was dead . . . . He had died trying to save us - to save me . . . . A thought that had haunted me off and on through out my life surfaced – ~I am cursed . . . .~ But I did not dwell on it; this was no time for such rumination. Perhaps . . . just perhaps he wasn't dead, only injured. Surely Gurshak would allow someone to treat him! He could not be that heartless and cruel, could he? A dread thought assaulted me. What might Gurshak expect of me if I were to ask for this?
I closed my eyes briefly, knowing the answer to this. It went against everything that I believed – surrendering my body to someone I did not love – yet if it would help Alagaith, then it was the least I could do. . . . that foolish Noldo! But if I could kill Gurshak first . . . that was a much more comforting thought.
But then the next words made me realize that particular sacrifice on my part would not be necessary.
"H-he w-will not b-bother us any m-more, n-never again . . . .And I s- shall c-claim my p-prize now. . . ."
Alagaith *was* dead. . . . I drew a deep breath then murmured a quick prayer to the Valar to be merciful to that most unfortunate Noldo thief. I wondered what his time in the Halls of Mandos would be and I hoped that the Valar were as compassionate as I believed they had to be. Alagaith had proved himself to be noble, brave, compassionate, and giving. Surely, that had to count for something!
His shadow loomed in the hall then, huge and fire-tossed, bringing me back to the situation at hand. Claim his prize . . . . I thought not! If he thought I would stand by helplessly now, he was greatly mistaken! I gazed at the chain still binding my other wrist. There was nothing I could do for Alagaith, yet he had given me a chance with his last words – a chance when I was freed to braid his hair. I felt a pang at this, for though he had not meant for me to literally do this, I would. But what did I know of Noldorin braids? I would do my best, hoping that it would be fitting . . . then I would kill Gurshak!
"W-won't you congratulate m-me?"
Congratulate him! Congratulate him for killing my companion so quickly and easily? Congratulate him because he thought I *wanted* him to win? Who knew what twisted thoughts he held about my feelings in this matter?
I growled in anger and frustration, fingers pulling at the chains and cold metal band that held me to the wall. I knew what sort of congratulations he would want! He would not get it! Not from me!
"Are y-you not p-pleased? Y-you should be!"
I was not pleased, not pleased at all, and yet I would have to 'appear' pleased . . . at least until he freed me. . . at least until I had braided Alagaith's hair, asking the Valar to watch over him . . . an d his orphaned son. . . . Then Gurshak would see my pleasure!
"N-now, w-wont' you t-talk to me?"
His voice sounded rather offended that I had not answered him - and a bit whiny like a child denied a plaything. I would not speak to him, knowing that the anger in my voice would give me away. I would not loose this last chance at freedom to my emotions, and yet my fingers clawed at the chain, even as I watched the doorway. If both my hands were free . . . !
"You s-should b-be more g-grateful!" he continued, his shadow growing larger as he approached.
He was certainly taking his time about this! Maybe he was injured as well. That would be wonderful! If perhaps he would not free me to braid Alagaith's hair, then he would free me if I agreed to tend to his wounds! Or else he was merely toying with me, dragging out the moment so as to get the most possible pleasure from the anticipation of what he thought was coming.
"Grateful," I muttered gleefully, too many possible scenarios playing in my head, all of them ending with Gurshak's death. "Grateful! I will show you grateful!"
That ridiculous goblin would be in for quite a surprise from his 'grateful' Daurshul. I drew a deep breath, hoping I could fool him into believing my compliance until I was completely freed, and had done my duty by Alagaith. I wondered if it would be harder this time to fool Gurshak – the rules of the game had been altered by Alagaith's death . . . .
I felt another bite of sorrow as I thought briefly about my rather short acquaintance with that most annoying yet somehow endearing Noldorin thief. I felt some measure of regret that I had not truly gotten to know who he was. A person is not merely what one perceives on the first meeting or even in many meetings; people are the sum of their lives, their experiences, and I admit that I knew next to nothing about him. . . now I never would. What little I did know of him was somewhat at odds. He had shown bravery in challenging Gurshak to this ill-fated duel, yet he had been a cowardly thief when I first saw him, skulking among the fallen on the battlefield at the feet of Erebor. He had wit and a sense of humor, granted that it was one I did not often share in, but I suspect under different circumstances I think I would have learned to appreciate it. He had been generous to sacrifice himself and yet . . . and yet if he had but used *my* blade he might have had a greater chance of actually winning! Stubborn, foolish Noldo! He said he knew how to use a good straight elvish blade and yet he had decided that orcish scimitars ". . . might work, as far as I can tell . . . ." Why would he decide to use a weapon he was not familiar with? He knew what was at stake! And yet, with such a nonchalant, Gorthaur-may-care attitude, he had taken to hand an unfamiliar weapon, making tentative swipes with it that even I, with my most limited experience with blades, could tell would never suffice in an all out fight with someone that of Gurshak's skill. Then he had smiled at me asking what I thought, should he use it? Should he use it?! Of all the idiot assumptions! Let him use it I had, and look where it had gotten us! Him dead on the floor, me awaiting another chance at escape, and considering how things had gone so far, this would probably not go as it should either. . . .
I scowled fiercely, fingers once more futilely combating with the iron binding my left wrist.
"I cannot believe you did this to me, Alagaith Alagaerion!" I growled fiercely, my face contorted into a mask of sheer fury. So much for looking 'grateful' and 'pleased'.
There was an amused chuckle, and a face peered around the corner of the doorway, a rather pleased, arrogant face, one dark brow held aloft, dark hair tumbling over his shoulders.
"So," he drawled, eyeing me with a mixture of bemusement and appraisal, "you would really have preferred Gurshak to win, wouldn't you, Mordil?"
I stared at him, my mouth agape like a beached fish. I could not believe that I was seeing him . . . not Gurshak but Alagaith! His grin widened as though he were enjoying my shock, and I don't know if I was more relieved to see him or angry at him for having made me play the fool with his little . . . joke. I shut my mouth with a snap and glared at him – anger seemed to have won.
"You . . . YOU . . .YOU . . . !"
An odd sound escaped my throat then, a curse perhaps, and I glared at him in a manner that would have cowed anyone else, but he -that NOLDO! – merely looked entirely unimpressed and, yes, entertained . . . .
And then, he dragged Gurshak's limp body into the cell . . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~
If this were one of the old, heroic tales, I would have taken a mighty sword bearing an impressive name and would have swept Gurshak's head off, or I would at least have died bravely, defending my unfortunate companion – but as my right of being numbered among the noble warriors about whose deeds glorious songs were made had been forfeit ever since the First Age, I saw no point in getting myself killed, or in killing Gurshak once I had managed to disarm him.
Admittedly, this was only part of the reason why I did not bury my scimitar in the goblin's flesh, but only kept the blade pressed against his throat while I reached for a nice, heavy bronze candlestick placed in one of the corridor's wall niches and knocked him unconscious with it.
To name my least noble reason first – I did not want any bloodstains on his gorgeous clothes, or rather, on the clothes that he was wearing and that would be mine very soon, for they looked as if they might fit. . . more or less, at least, but they were certainly better than anything I had worn in a very long time.
But even if it had not been for his apparel, I would have hesitated to kill this most unpleasant goblin. True enough, I had killed orcs in battle long ago, and that, I could have done again had it been necessary, albeit with little joy; but ending a life, even such an obviously depraved one, as long as I had a choice did not seem right at all. Perhaps I could have told myself that Gurshak was merely a goblin, and a very wicked one, at that, but the time in which dealing death to an orc might have seemed easier to me than killing an elf were long past. . . Suffice to say that I was most grateful for that candlestick, and having placed it neatly back in its niche, I flashed a smile in the general direction of the merciful Valar – up and west, or at least, where I suspected that west was – before I slumped back against the wall, contemplating the important question how the most joyous feeling of triumph and suddenly very weak knees could go together.
If nothing had happened then, I might only have stood there for some moments, regaining my breath and some semblance of calm, deciding that this would make a story Alagant would love, observing that my arms were aching even more than they had before, and thinking the sort of utterly random thoughts that come with emerging from great danger, that it was over now, that the clasp on Gurshak's cloak was certainly worth a lot, that having a nice, green apple to eat would have been a good thing now . . . .
But of course, something did happen, that is, I heard a strange sound, half moan, half whisper, coming from the cell, and after I had pondered what I had heard for a moment, I realized that it had been an intelligible word: "No!" 'No'? No. Yes, 'no!' indeed! This could only mean one thing – and how very flattering that Tanglinna apparently assumed even now that I had not won the fight! Did this charming archer ever listen? I had told him, several times, if I remembered correctly, that I knew how to use a blade. . . .
Being in the exhausted, giddy state that inevitably follows such a duel, the thought that it was not very polite of him to have so little confidence in the elf who had just saved him seemed very logical and natural, and it brought a somewhat wicked grin to my face. It seemed I had to reassure my poor companion a little! So, being the honest elf that I can be, I told him the truth: "D-do not w-worry – all is w-well now!" Perhaps it was not entirely by chance that I sounded the slightest bit like Gurshak.
I continued to talk to him while I tried to drag Gurshak towards the cell, preferably without soiling that lovely cloak, and there was hardly a reason at all for Tanglinna to look as upset as he did when I finally decided to end this most entertaining game and peer around the corner – I had not told him lies, after all!
Had Tanglinna's glare turned into relieved laughter after a moment or two, I would probably have laughed as well and would have freed him immediately – I might even have apologized for my somewhat tasteless joke. But the Mirkwood archer's glare was so fierce and lasting that it simply invited further teasing; making him squirm and glower a little before we left would not be the worst sort of revenge for what he had said earlier.
Strange as it may sound, we were not exactly in a hurry. Tanglinna could not know this – his knowledge of Eastern Orcish was clearly limited to curses that he could not even pronounce properly! – but if I had understood the exchange between Thrakush and Uglash correctly when they had left our cell, they had been planning not to disturb Gurshak while he was enjoying the pleasures of Daurshul's company down here; and Gurshak would not leave this room for quite some time, of that I was certain.
"His scimitars are very good..." I merrily remarked, thinking that Seven would be very glad to receive such a sword in exchange for the rather mediocre one he had lost. "I wonder where he got them!"
When I placed the scimitars next to Tanglinna's sword, close enough to me to reach them in a heartbeat if it should become necessary, I noticed something quite interesting; Tanglinna's right hand was free – the shackle had fallen open. So much for my inability to pick a lock properly! I raised a brow.
This only earned me a growl from Tanglinna. "I hope you have had your fun, Linlote," he spat, and what had come close to a nickname earlier was used like a taunt now, acerbic and meant to hurt. "Now get me out of this!" A brief gesture indicated the remaining chains binding him.
Until then, Tanglinna's anger had been fairly amusing – but this rudeness, intended to be seriously insulting, not only employed in jest, took me aback, even if my joke had maybe gone a bit too far. So this was all that he would call me – I had desperately made plans to enable us or at least *him* to escape, I had fought the goblin, I had opened one of the locks on his shackles, and – this was what he called me? A skulking cutpurse! Very well. . . If he wanted a wicked criminal to deal with him, he could get just that!
Very calmly, I took the keys Gurshak was still carrying on his person from the goblin's pocket, and equally calmly, I went over to Tanglinna, keys in hand. For some odd reason, he had obviously been convinced that I would rid him of the chains at once – strange that he was so ready to trust a 'skulking cutpurse'! I was sure that he would not make that mistake again – I taught him not to, for I swiftly put back his right hand where it belonged, locking the shackle again, telling him with a pleased smile: "Ah, look - it seems I have not even damaged the lock..." With this, I walked away again and started to undress my felled opponent; even if we did not have to make haste, I had wasted enough time with pleasantries now.
I had taken poor Tanglinna by surprise. For a moment, he was very silent, gaping at what I had done to him; but then, all Udun was unleashed at me. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!????????!!!!!! Get me out of here! Are you insane!? Free me!!! NOW!!!!!!!"
When this very gentle request was not met with immediate obedience – in fact, I had just removed Gurshak's cloak and was searching his pockets now, quietly humming a merry old Orcish tune Seven had taught me to myself – he even tried to lunge forward, but with no success.
I pretended not to be aware of his plight at all. "Now, this is a cloak of very good wool..." I finally said in a conversational tone, not even bothering to look at him. "Even better than that other one I came across a few days ago when you had to interrupt me - and red!" This observation brought a genuine nostalgic smile to my face for the briefest span of time. "I am sure it will suit me well..."
Tanglinna stared at me in sheer disbelief. "What are you doing!?!? Who cares about his clothing! Release me, Alagaith, or else!"
For a moment, I felt tempted to ask what this ominous 'or else' was supposed to consist in, given that he was still securely chained to the wall, but this would have meant to abandon the strategy I had followed until then. So I merely continued: "And this tunic - just lovely!" Have you seen the embroidery, Mordil? I have never seen a better tunic ever since I tried to steal one from a dead captain of Lindon... Only that he was not dead, but quite alive, only stunned..." With a sigh, I added: "So I did not get it then - but this will do marvellously!"
I could have told Tanglinna the very hilarious story of that captain then if he had only asked, but for understandable reasons, he refrained from doing so. He was still staring at me open-mouthed; after some time, when I had already removed Gurshak's lovely silken shirt, he repeated in a much quieter tone: "What are you doing? You . . .you. . . " He seemed to shy away from saying whatever was on his mind, and his eyes, never leaving me, suddenly looked rather worried, almost horrified; then, he finally blurted out: "You are going to leave me here aren't you?! You can't do that! YOU CAN'T!"
He was quite right in one respect – even if he had been much worse an elf than he actually was, I would not have had the heart to leave him to the mercy of our captors. Admittedly, it would have been the logical thing to do if I had only thought of me. The moment I freed Tanglinna, I would be a prisoner again myself, and one who could not hope to be rescued or kindly released.
I briefly wondered how the fact that I had tried to make a plan for his escape that could even work if I died fitted into the picture that Tanglinna seemed to have of the situation, or what made him think that I would be ready to buy my freedom with so dishonourable an act at all. It could have told him something about me that I had not simply killed Gurshak when he had handed me the scimitar in the first place, but why should he have realized that there was a line that I would not cross as long as I was not forced by much direr a prospect than the loss of a hand? He knew I was a 'skulking cutpurse', and nothing but that; one should never underestimate the power of first impressions.
I had managed to undress Gurshak almost completely by then, placing his clothes in a neat pile. It proved quite useful then that I had been forced to move heavy dead bodies often enough; without that knowledge, it would have been very difficult to chain the still unconscious goblin to the wall with the irons that had held me only a short time before.
Tanglinna watched me incredulously as I picked up the clothes and the scimitars and left the cell. If he had been a good observer, he could have relaxed a bit then. He should have noticed that I had left his sword behind, and even a simpleton could have known that it was too lovely a prize to be left behind, so chances that I would have return to the room even if I did not to free him were great enough to make it quite unnecessary to yell after me as loudly as he did. I did not answer him.
Of course, I could just as well have changed into the goblin's clothing in Tanglinna's presence, but I had not left merely in order to spite him or for reasons of decorum; elves heal fairly quickly, but neither the scar of last winter's wound nor some marks speaking of more recent trouble I had gotten into had faded yet, and I could do without more contemptuous curiosity.
~*~*~*~*~*
He . . .he was leaving! Leaving me here, chained to the wall next to Gurshak, whose clothing he had just appropriated, leaving the goblin in nothing more than his smallclothes.
I turned to stare incredulously from the door to gaze at the unconscious goblin. What would he make of this when he woke up? I fear that I could maybe guess what he would think – some sort of odd game I wanted to play with him! And Alagaith was leaving me here! This could not be happening! My head swung to the door once more.
"Alagaith?"
No answer.
"Alagaith! Please."
There is no more oppressive and soul-crushing sound than silence when one desperately wishes to hear something . . . anything. . . .
"Do not leave me here! Not like this!" I called out, thinking that he could not be that heartless . . . could he? "At least . . .throw me the keys! Please! Give me some chance to escape on my own!"
This last statement was actually ridiculous. Even if he had nicely placed the keys in my hand, I would not be able to reach my other wrist to free it. If Gurshak awoke, would he call for the others or would he . . . . I drew a deep breath, feeling my anger surfacing once more. I knew that when Gurshak tired of me, he would probably hand me off to his friends and then . . . . A snarl contorted my face, hot anger burning through me. "I *KNEW* I had no reason to trust a Noldo!" I barked, loudly enough that I hoped he would hear me. "You are only proving me right by treating me this way!" This is a taunt that will, on occasion, work, but I doubted it would this time. I yanked on the chains, almost hoping that the one he had unlocked earlier would spring open of its own volition, but no such luck.
But then he was back . . . dressed in Gurshak's dark clothing, his hair braided neatly. ~Noldorin braids,~ I thought. He looked every inch a Noldorin lord, except for those scimitars that he had sheathed at his waist. His appearance was unexpected and I fear I stood gaping at him for a moment. He looked remarkable, not at all like he had before. He had clearly seen better days if he knew how to dress so elegantly and look very natural in these very fancy, rich clothes. I was suddenly aware of my own appearance – my clothing dirty and a bit ragged looking – there was a rent in my tunic that had not been there before! - from our spill down the hill and subsequent fall into the lair. My hair was hanging loose, very unkempt, over my shoulders, and stinking of Gurshak! This did not improve my state of mind!
"Indeed," he began before I could draw a breath to say anything, "you have no reason to trust me." He strode over to me and began to unlock my wrists. I could see the bitterness brimming in his one eye as he spoke, his words clipped, betraying the intensity of the emotion he was feeling. "I may have told you that I would try to get *us* out of this mess, but I agree, it was hardly obvious that I meant it." He snorted then, bending swiftly and gracefully to undo my ankles, his resentment obvious.
Once freed, I stepped away from the chains, rubbing my wrists and eyeing Alagaith suspiciously. I did not know what to think of him. He was too full of contradictions by far!
"Why did you do that then?" I demanded, gesturing at Gurshak. "Were you having a bit of fun? Is that it? Well, it was not very funny from where I was standing." I glowered then, tearing my eyes away from him, and striding across the room to take up my sword, and strapped it to my waist.
"As I observed earlier, our senses of humor seem to differ," he said tightly, and I turned to look at him once more, brows knit. 'Senses of humor'? So this *had* been some sort of joke?
"Obviously," I muttered, thinking I would never understand him. I frowned, realizing that something was missing, something very important. "I need to get my dagger before we leave this place," I said to him, knowing that I would not leave here without Celair's last gift to me. "And my bow," I added as an after thought. We might have need of my bow before we left here, and I did not want to face any more goblins with out it! I started for the doorway, then paused, my brows drawing down in agony. "I . . . Valar curse me! I am sorry!" I choked out. "You did manage to unlock the chains, and you did win that duel, and . . . you did free me. Forgive me for doubting your intentions."
That hurt . . . . I doubt he knew how hard it was for me to admit all of this, and since we clearly did not understand one another, I expected him to ignore my heartfelt apology or make some sarcastic remark in return. So naturally what happened next was unexpected.
He stared at me then. Surely, that was not a look of amazement in his eye! His gaze dropped abruptly, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"No need to apologize," he said quietly, almost hesitantly. "I have to ask your forgiveness – for quite a lot of things between cutting your fingers and leaving you chained to that wall. You had every reason for doubting my intentions." He did not look back at me then, telling me quite clearly that he found apologizing as uncomfortable as I did.
I stared at him incredulously for a moment, the silence strange after his reluctant words. Suddenly, I laughed. This had been, without a doubt, the strangest day of my entire life. If anyone had told me that this day would end standing in a cell with a nearly naked goblin, with apologies running rampant between myself and a Noldo – a Noldo for Valar's sake! - even though we both sounded as if we were being forced at knifepoint, I would have called them insane. And yet here we were. I shook my head, bemused.
"No more apologies from either of us," I declared. "It is clearly too painful for us both. Shall we leave then?"
Still not looking at me, he nodded, rather a curt nod, an unenthusiastic one.
"Yes, let us leave," he murmured in a very low voice.
If I had been thinking properly, I would have realized what *he* was thinking, but I had in truth forgotten that he had been my prisoner when we had tumbled into this charming abode; too many things had happened afterward. As it was, I strode from the cell, after carefully making certain that the hall was empty of any more of our gracious hosts. I glanced once more back at Gurshak and sighed, shaking my head. A truly odd day indeed!
"I need my dagger," I told Alagaith by way of explanation as I headed down the hall, deftly re-braiding my hair . . . not nearly as neatly as my companion's, to be sure, but in a serviceable loose braid that at least kept it from my face . . . and the smell of Gurshak's perfumed hands from my nose. "Then we will leave."
I hoped that my confiscated weapons would have been placed in a room near where we had fallen in, for I would not leave with out Don Gwaedh. It was the last thing that Celair had given to me, the last thing she had touched. I would not be parted with it for anything!
Alagaith followed me in silence, and luckily – thank the Valar! - I managed to find my weapons in the third room we checked in, and had not managed to rouse any goblins!
It was a storeroom, lined with racks and barrels. My bow, quiver, and dagger seemed very out of place here, since this room was obviously meant to hold wines and spirits. I could see the marks on the barrels – Elvish, Dwarvish . . . . I raised my brows over this. Who were these goblins?! My weapons had probably been put here since it had been convenient, and they had been busy trying to subdue me at the time.
After slipping my quiver and bow on my back, I picked up Don Gwaedh, sliding it from its protective leather and metal sheath. The bright, sharp metal gleamed in the dim light, as beautiful as the day it had been crafted by my wife's lovely hands. I slid it back into the sheath, and fastened it once more to my belt.
I was feeling quite pleased that things seemed to, finally, be going our way. I turned, a smile on my face as I thought about arriving home very soon. Anirathiel would have something prepared for me to eat, leaving it, covered and warm, on my small table; she was very good about looking after me in this way. She would not be there, but would have come and gone as silently as a little brown mouse, but I would know she had done it. How she managed this, I do not know, but she always did. I was feeling rather hungry suddenly and thought that the sooner we fled this place, the better! And clean sheets! Yes, it would feel good to sleep in my own comfortable bed on clean, fresh smelling sheets . . . after I had washed all the remnants of Gurshak's perfume from my hair. Even if this meant a cold dip in the icy water!
Then my eyes lit on our rope, curled neatly nearby. It would be a useful thing to have since we would probably have to climb out the way we came in, since I did not want to take the time to hunt down a proper doorway. I grinned, remembering our fall . . . when he had been tied up as we journeyed to Gladaran Thamas . . . for his trial . . . . My features fell as I continued to stare at the rope.
I could have kicked myself for forgetting what my duty had been in regards to this. . . no, I could not think of him as 'that Noldo thief' any longer. My duty . . . . It was what ruled my life, gave me purpose, and had for nearly as long as I could remember. I had never shirked a responsibility given to me; I had never failed to carry out a duty that had been given to me. And yet, I was standing here in this goblin storeroom contemplating what should have been unthinkable . . . . I had told my king I would bring Alagaith to Gladaran Thamas for trial . . . a trial with the verdict already a foregone conclusion because of that black mark on his wrist. He would lose his hand and it would be my fault because I had done my duty and stopped him from fleeing when I caught him trying to steal Lalven's cloak. If I had just ignored him back then . . . but I had not. It was too late for 'what ifs'. Either way, someone would be very unhappy with my decision. I merely had to decide whose displeasure, anger, disappointment, hurt I wished to rouse: Thranduil's, Alagaith's, my own . . . .
If I let Alagaith go, then Thranduil would be most unhappy with me, my reputation would be a bit tarnished - I am certain that some of my former students and my peers would look on me aghast or snicker that the high and mighty Master Archer, who allowed no mistakes, had just made a very grave one himself. How important was all of this to me? If I brought Alagaith back for trial . . . .
My decision was not an easy one, and when I did turn to look at Alagaith, I saw that he was pilfering some bottles from the shelf!
~*~*~*~*~*
Our strange adventure was almost over, and glad as I was that we could leave this lovely goblin lair, I would be lying if I claimed that I was not worried, even afraid of what was to come. Although we had been allies for these past few hours, the warrior of Mirkwood had to remember that he had to take a prisoner to his king's hall, and the lowly thief had better recall that he was just that at the moment – a thief on his way to his trial.
Perhaps I could have escaped if I had tried to; I still carried Gurshak's scimitars, and I was quite certain that Tanglinna was not much of a swordsman, and unsuspecting. But I could not have done that, not any more; even though he was rather irritating at times, he might have become a friend under kinder circumstances, in another place and time. I was not going to fight him now, not after what we had been through together, not after I had named him. He certainly believed that 'Mordil' was nothing but a taunt, and, in the beginning, it had been; but now. . . .
I shook my head and told myself that *now* I would have to forget about that name very quickly, for if I arrived at the Wood-Elf King's Hall calling my guard by a nickname that sounded like a mild insult, my sentence would probably be more severe than it would be anyway. As for that, I could only hope that they would get over with the farce that the trial would be in a short time; they had a witness and a confession, so what else did they need? I was not especially keen on learning to live with but one hand, but being forced to do so would still be better than having to wait for the moment that would change things for the worse for weeks and months. . . . But elven justice is seldom in a hurry when it is dealt far away from battlefields where haste is necessary.
Yet, I could almost have been content. Some things could not be changed by acceptable means, but my fate could have been worse. At least, I had not gone straight to the dungeon from Erebor, but had had one very good swordfight before I would lose the hand that held the sword, and I wore good clothes now. They would certainly look less elegant after a prolonged stay in a prison cell, but they were warm and fitted surprisingly well. The dark days I was in for would pass more easily with a good cloak to snuggle in, and perhaps – perhaps! – the Wood-elves would even be kind enough to hand back one of those scimitars when they released me, although they would doubtlessly confiscate them at first. . . . For Gurshak's flamboyant cloak clasp, I dared not hope – it was too valuable, too clearly stolen – for it to be given back to a simple thief. Well. . . hoping for anything was perhaps too bold, anyway – maybe they would take everything, even the goblin's clothing, as it was not something that rightfully belonged to me.
Quietly engaged in these thoughts, I watched Tanglinna search for his weapons and contemplated the storeroom he finally found them in, marvelling at the excellent choice of wines and stronger beverages that it held. The fabled Dorwinion could be found there, but also sweeter kinds of wine from the south and different sorts of liquors, so many different kinds of orcish brandy that sampling all of them would have taken a week's time. . . I modestly limited myself to choosing two especially promising bottles.
Admittedly, it was not very reasonable to take them; I would hardly get the chance to enjoy this brandy, and it was more than likely that Tanglinna would either confiscate the bottles as a further proof of my thievery and wickedness or would put them back where they belonged right now. But there was faint hope that we could, perhaps, tarry a bit on our way to enjoy a sip of brandy before the journey was over. It would have been a better way of ending our peculiar half-friendship kindly than just pretending that what had happened here had not changed anything.
A faint hope, and a vain hope – when I turned away from the impressive collection of bottles to face Tanglinna, he was holding a rope – the very same rope that had tied us together when we had tumbled into the hole. It was quite an ironic thought that it should serve to severe all invisible ties that had been formed. Of course, I did not voice this thought, but only studied Tanglinna's hands for a moment, unwilling to meet his gaze right now.
Then, very quietly, I put down the bottles and removed the scimitars from my belt, slowly and carefully so as not to give Tanglinna the impression that I might use the weapons.
"You can take these", I casually remarked, "or leave them, but I suppose you have no use for scimitars? But you should try the orcish brandy - it is fabulous stuff!" Here, I risked a wink at him and put the scimitars to the ground as well, not feeling quite as calm as I pretended to be. This was what had to be done, and it could not be done in another way, but I was not very happy about it; even worse, I knew very well that the others would not be happy with my decision, either, even though they would understand.
The others. I could well imagine what they would say and do when I would find them again, some months from now. Explaining the matter to Alagant would be easiest, perhaps; he would be terrified to see that ada's hand was gone, but if I told him that the choice had been between getting hurt and hurting or even killing a very good elf who had only done what he had to do, he would understand, and perhaps it was as simple as that, an elfling's notion that harming a nice elf was something you could not do. My father, for his part, would translate the whole matter into a question of honour and grandeur, would hug me fiercely, call me a "foolish elfling", volunteer for guard duty that evening and sit and weep in despair by himself all night long. Well-Armed and Half-Dead would talk to each other in hushed voices and finally come up with a glorious and noble and sensible plan to make life easier for me now that this had happened, and I would be treated like an elfling who could not fend for himself for the next few weeks. Seven, in turn, would be very silent, and in silence, he would listen to the story I had to tell, only his eyes betraying how unhappy he was with it. They would all be most unhappy . . . .
I forced myself not to think of them, but looked at Tanglinna, adding: "There is just one thing you should think about - I will not be able to climb out of this hole with my hands fettered, at least not very well. So, unless you want to drag me up there, you should only use it" – I pointed to the rope – "once we have left this place."
Tanglinna was silent for a moment, studying me, and what thoughts he pondered, I do not know; finally, he raised one brow.
"As to the scimitars, I won't be needing them at all,"he said at last. "You are correct that I have no use for them . . . . I couldn't use them anyway as I have never tried to fight with orc weapons. As to the brandy. . . . . I believe I will try it, but not here. The air is a bit stale, don't you think? As to the rope . . . ."
He paused, looking down at it, dangling from his hands, so very ready to be used there and then. "I thought to use it to get us out of here, not tie you up. I have had enough of Slasher's games for one day, thank you very much." Having stated this, he suddenly grinned and finally chuckled, perhaps finding our whole adventure perfectly laughable now that it was as good as over.
I could not quite share his mirth at that moment, but it was good to know that he trusted me enough, at least for the time being, not to tie me up again on the first occasion that presented itself. Maybe this was not merely an act of kindness; as long as the goblins could still come after us, it would not have been wise for him to fetter his only ally. I suspected that this was also the reason why he did not object when I bent down to pick up the scimitars again – it was in his best interest to leave me a weapon until we were in comparative safety.
Taking the brandy bottles again as well, I nodded. "We should at least try."
Nodding back, Tanglinna turned to lead the way out of the storeroom, making certain with great care that no one was coming to surprise us. Once he was sure of that, he strode down the hall quite confidently, yet silently. Cautious, thorough, able to move in great stealth and probably a very fine archer, he would have been of great use in the kind of warfare Nargothrond had been famous for. I did not say this aloud, however, and not only because this was certainly not the time for a friendly chat. Proud Silvan that Tanglinna was, he might not have considered the observation that he would have made a good Noldorin warrior as a great compliment. And then, even if he had understood that it was not meant as an insult, would he not have assumed that I was trying to flatter him for whatever reasons? Sometimes even kind words are better left unsaid.
Soon, we were standing in the place where our stay in this most interesting dwelling had begun. Tanglinna stared up at the hole we had fallen through, and following his gaze, I discovered that the entrance was barely visible in the dim light now. It had to be evening or even night; we had probably spent quite some time down here.
"Shall we?" my companion asked with a grin. "Before we have company, that is."
I could not help chuckling at this and replied: "Yes . . . .If you do not insist on waiting for your gentle admirer, we can leave now."
Tanglinna snorted. "I believe I will just leave him there . . .wondering what happened. He will probably think that it is some sort of . . . game or something. He might enjoy it."
Fortunately, he did not elaborate his thoughts on Gurshak's possible views of the situation any further, but made a loop at the end of the rope with deft fingers and tossed it. It caught on a hook rather high up in the hole that I had not noticed before and that was barely detectable in the dark. I had to concede that Tanglinna's aim had to be excellent if he had managed to hit it in the first try, and if his pleased smile was anything to judge by, he knew this very well and had realized that I was impressed.
Turning to me, he enquired: "Do you want to go up first? And . . . just how are we going to get those bottles of brandy up there?"
Content as I was that he had finally understood that I would not leave him in this hole if he allowed me to climb up first, I had to grin a bit when he asked his second question; oh, innocent archer of Mirkwood! He clearly did not think too much about the best way of transporting loot efficiently. If this had only been about leaving quickly, I would have suggested that each of us should take a bottle, for using the loose part of a cloak to form a convenient bundle or stuffing our booty under our tunics for the short climb would have been perfectly possible, but I had to bear in mind that this was not the kind of thing Tanglinna was familiar with, and I did not want one of those bottles dropped because someone was not really convinced of what we were doing – that would have been a waste of brandy, and the noise would have alerted the goblins to our departure.
So I answered: "As you have every reason not to trust me, you may go up first - and pull up the bottles; I will just tie them to the rope . . . . I promise to follow."
Tanglinna raised a brow, but he nodded and took the rope in his hands to climb out of the lair. I remained behind, wondering whether he had, perhaps, been hiding a grin when he had left.
When the brandy bottles and I had finally reached the surface as well, Tanglinna took the rope, one end still looped inside; he did not look at it, though, but gazed at me with that sort of unreadable expression that the Silvan elves are famous for. "Well, "he began at last, "here we are again . . . ."
Here we were again indeed, and our journey could continue from the point where it had been interrupted so roughly. Perhaps Alagaith Alagaerion should have bidden Tanglinna Thindalagosion farewell now that the prisoner and the guard were about to return, but both Tanglinna and the stern warrior of Mirkwood who was supposed to take me to my trial would have shaken the head over my strange ideas, and so I remained silent and only nodded impassively.
Tanglinna was watching my face intently. "So, do you think we need this rope?" he slowly enquired, perhaps aware that he was putting bonds heavier and stronger than a mere rope on me with this simple question. He asked for my good will and compliance, offering trust. It seemed the silver peacock had finally understood what tactics to use with me.
I gave him a wry, but somewhat grateful grin and replied: "I will try not to be too troublesome a prisoner." There – it was said, a promise made, and Tanglinna probably knew me well enough by then to be certain that it would be kept.
He smiled and dropped the rope on the ground with a shrug. "I guess we don't need it any longer then."
*~*~*~*~*
I knew what Alagaith must have been thinking. He looked entirely too resigned to his rather unpleasant fate – most unlike himself. . . or what little I knew of him - and though I knew he would logically assume I was taking him back to Mirkwood and certain unpleasant punishments, I did not tell him that for once in all my life I was not going to do the logical thing, not obey an order from my king, not do my duty.
This had been an easier decision to make than I would have thought. Why was it not harder to set aside a lifetime of rigid rules and beliefs, of never thinking much beyond what I had been told to do by someone in power over me? It should have been an agonizing decision, yet it was not. I could not say for certain when the moment happened that I no longer considered Alagaith a mere nuisance of a prisoner, a skulking cutpurse, who undoubtedly deserved whatever punishment he was going to receive.
At some point on this day he had become something much more than that. If I had known him longer than our few days' acquaintance, nay, a few hours in a goblin's lair, I think I might have called him a friend. He had exhibited qualities that I found admirable and that existed all too rarely in people. He may have been rather sharp-tongued at times, but then I was that way on occasion as well. He was irritating. . . but I had been called that also. And except for the fact that he was trying to steal Lalven's cloak when I met him . . . .well, I had on occasions made errors in judgment. That had been one of those times. Even if I had not felt a certain obligation to him for saving me from Gurshak's clutches, I believe I owed him something for throwing his life, which was probably not an easy one, into greater turmoil and torment. He had a child, a family. They needed him. And if those were not enough reasons to let him go, I admit I liked him and did not want to see him lose a hand over what he had done. I knew that this was not much of an excuse, but it was enough of an excuse for me . . . at least this time.
I smiled thinking on his phrase about being a 'troublesome prisoner'. Yes, he had certainly been that and then some!
"Let us get away from here as quickly as possible. I don't want Gurshak getting free and coming after us with his charming friends," I said briskly, with a last glance at that fateful hole. In the dim light it would have been completely invisible unless you knew where to look. It needed to be marked so there would be no poor hapless elves falling into their lair any more; blocked up or filled in. . . but not that night.
I turned away abruptly, putting the hole and Gurshak behind me. I drew a breath of cold air, scented with that unique crispness that only autumn holds. The wind was from the northwest, invigorating, smelling of the decaying leaves and rich earth. Everything was falling into slumber for the winter; the trees stripped bare, branches rattling in the light wind. Though it felt like autumn and smelled of it, there was a mere hint of spring in the air.
The leaves that crunched underfoot had been new bright green leaflets not so very long ago. They had shaded us beneath their verdant coolness in the summer, but then they began to show their age as they began to turn into their brilliant best just before they turned brown and died, torn by a wind such as this one from the tree to fly off in their last moment of glory before adorning the chill ground. Now they lay beneath our feet, forgotten and decaying, and in doing so nourished the new leaves that would appear the next spring. The never-ending seasons . . . . The never-ending changes . . . .
Life was like those leaves: we see things so clearly and blaze in the glory of our knowledge and understanding, often producing only arrogance and intolerance. But then one day the wind changes and things are no longer what they once were. Old ideas and beliefs change and are torn to shreds in the wind if they do not fall away immediately. All things change in their season . . . even stubborn old Silvans like myself. I had certainly not expected an autumnal wind of change in the form of a Noldorin thief to be the one to bring about such change in my life, but he had.
Back in the dark of Gurshak's lair, my decision to let him go had been born. I had seen beyond the thief to the person, the true person that resided within. I had not told him of this yet, and he would no doubt be somewhat . . . surprised. The Valar knew that I was!
I could hear him walking behind me, obediently as a trained hound. Yet I knew his heart must be filled with dread and even fear. Mine certainly would have been. The anxiety he must be feeling for his child – and his orc friend - must have been great as well. What must they be feeling? He had not returned to them, and they would be as worried about him as he was about them. The time had come to ease all that unease and fear.
"Oh, yes," I said nonchalantly, still striding along ahead of him, a smile he could not see on my lips. "You are no longer my prisoner, so you do not have to follow me if you do not wish to."
I quickened my pace away from him, giving him the opportunity to slip away quietly into the gathering night, to safety, to his family, who would rejoice to see him relatively unharmed and with the most fantastic tale to tell.
I heard him come to an abrupt halt, and I smiled, though I admit to feeling just a touch of melancholy that our strange friendship was now over and I would probably never see him again. But then, he was in front of me, his face filled with confusion.
"Wait!" he said, looking a bit comical carrying those bottles as he was, and I hid a grin. "I do thank you for your kind intentions," he began, his face a bit flushed, his voice sounding worried, "but . . . are you quite aware of what you are doing? You know what the punishment for letting a prisoner escape on purpose is?!"
Actually, I did not. I had never let a prisoner escape before, on purpose or otherwise – I had nearly healed fingers to prove it! But I answered, "Yes, I am quite aware that Thranduil will be . . . displeased with me for letting you go." Undoubtedly, he would be. Alagaith had wounded his pride, a hurt not as easily dismissed perhaps as a physical one; and finding that I had let this Noldo escape me – on purpose! – would make him wonder how I had felt when Alagaith had won their verbal sparring match. No one got away with besting the king in a game of exchanged quips and sarcastic wit . . . only Alagaith would and it was because I had let him go.
I smiled wryly as I thought of this. Alagaith may not be spending any time in the dungeons beneath Gladaran Thamas, but I would. Undoubtedly, there were some gloriously blank walls that needed my attention. My smile turned into a smirk as I regarded my dear Linlote.
"Do you think I fear his wrath?" I asked him, puffing up a bit, one brow raised jauntily, and then bit back a chuckle for I feared I looked exactly like the silver peacock he had named me.
He snorted a bit at my bravado.
"I do not know – you mask your fear rather will if you wish to," he said with a grin of his own. Just what was he implying?? Surely, I had not appeared that frantic earlier. . . well, perhaps I had played the damsel in distress a little too well . . . or the elf who panicked all too easily when a goblin named Gurshak had appeared. "But," he continued in a more serious tone, his grey eye growing dark, "I have gotten you into enough trouble today. . . so forget about your grand gesture quickly."
He had indeed caused me enough trouble today, but I would not be deterred into doing something that I knew to be wrong. He was free to go, and go he would whether he liked it or not. Grand gesture indeed! And to think, they called us Silvans stubborn and willful! We had nothing on those Noldor!
"I beg to differ with you," I said, raising one brow again, crossing my arms over my chest, trying my best to look like a "Mordil" – it was not very hard really – and regarded him sternly. "You have no say whatsoever in this decision . . . .Or have you forgotten that your son and your friend are waiting for you? Give them both my greeting when you see them. Hmph! A Noldo will never tell me what I can or cannot do."
I turned away, hiding my amused smile, which would have spoiled this grand charade of the indignant Silver Peacock. But it seemed that the Skulking Cutpurse was not was not going to let me win so easily.
"Even if 'a Noldo' may not tell you what to do," he said in a voice that sounded more amused than anything, "some advice and a humble request should be permitted."
I rearranged my rebellious features into a mask of mild annoyance and longsuffering, and turned back to him.
"And what might that 'advice' and 'humble request' be, pray tell?" I asked, staring at him in the dim light of evening.
"The advice?" He smiled slightly, brandishing those bottles he had, hm, 'acquired' in Gurshak's storeroom. "To try this orcish brandy. As for the humble request – I know I am already indebted to you, but you would earn even more of my gratitude if you chose to give my wife's comb back to me. You can keep the rest of those things if it will help you to craft a convincing tale about my sudden escape, but the comb . . . ."
The earnestness in his voice, and a too well-known look in his eye touched my heart. His wife's comb . . . . That would explain why he carried such a delicate thing on his person. It was a memento of her, a touchstone, something that kept her near him even if she could not be with him. I smiled ruefully and began to unfasten the pouch at my waist. I remember those first days after Celair had been taken from me, and how I wandered about our small house touching her things as if they still held a small piece of her in them, holding one of her nightgowns to my face, drinking in her scent, burying my face in her pillow at night, a pillow soon drenched with my own bitter, sorrowful tears of loss and anguish.
"I have indeed been rather rude and remiss," I said, wondering if my voice sounded as hoarse to him as it did to me. "Of course, I shall return your belongings . . . *all* of them." I pulled the pouch off and handed it to him, watching as he juggled the bottles then set them down to fasten the pouch to his own waist. "I did not realize that the comb was that important." I laughed slightly at this; everything, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant took on new meaning when that loved one was gone. "I am sure it is all important to you, but something that belonged to one's wife is indeed very special and should not be trifled with." I smiled at him, watching as he stared a bit incredulously at me. The moment had become entirely too serious, so I grinned, cocking one brow and nodding at the bottles he had picked up once more. "I have never had orcish brandy before, so I will take your advice and try some before I go home." Indeed. Why would I have tried orcish brandy before? *Did* orcs make brandy?? It did not matter. I smiled at him, a genuine smile filled with warmth and good feelings. "Let us just get a bit further away from . . . Gurshak and his friends."
I did not relish the thought of that strange trio coming upon us in the dark, with us drinking up their brandy.
He nodded at me, and I turned once more, heading away from our adventure in a hole in the ground. After a moment's silence, he spoke to me.
"What will you tell your king?" he asked, still sounding worried. "The truth?"
I snorted at this. The truth? I chuckled then; truly, he was quite funny.
"Hardly! That is, not unless I have no choice. I daresay though, that this tale is fantastic enough that he would not believe it if I were to tell the entire truth!" I gazed back at Alagaith then. I would need to set his fears to rest entirely. "Why are you so worried? You should be far from here by then. He isn't likely to catch you."
No, Thranduil would not be pleased that I had let Alagaith go, but he would not expend any energy hunting down a mere robber of the dead, or 'would be' robber of the dead.
Alagaith shook his head at my reassurances.
"*I* will be out of harm's way, that is true . . . . But *you* will be right there."
I studied him for a moment, amazed and surprisingly touched by this.
"You are worried about *me*?" I asked with brows raised once more. Honestly, I think I had caught the "wigglies" from Thranduil! He was worried about my safety. . . . An odd, pleasant warmth spread through me and I smiled at him, more touched than I could say. "You needn't worry on that account," I assured him. "The king and I . . . we do, on occasion, have differences of . . . opinion and, well . . . there is not much he would or could do to me that you need worry about." A little time in the dungeons was usually the punishment he meted out to me on the times he felt I needed my wings clipped a bit. Not much of a punishment, but then Thranduil knew that. I smiled thinking of what the expression on my king's face would be when I told him that Alagaith was gone. I suspected that it would be a rather *long* stay in the dungeons. "Do not worry," I quipped, echoing Alagaith's words to me earlier, just to let him know that I did not hold his moment of fun against him any longer. "All is well now!"
He laughed a bit at this, looking relieved.
"I do hope so," he said, his expression growing a bit cocky. "Otherwise, I might be forced to have a word or two with the king." Then he winked at me, eye sparkling and I felt my heart swell with happiness, knowing that my decision to free him had indeed been the only thing I could do.
"Yes, I imagine you could do just that, and quite well to!" I chuckled then, thinking it might be fun to watch Alagaith and Thranduil crossing words once more in less dire circumstances. "I fear that would make him much more displeased than he will when he finds out that I let you go." I smiled at him then and he smiled back. It had been a long time since I had felt this at ease talking with someone, especially someone that I barely knew. Yet I believe that I knew him better than some people I had know for many years.
"Why will you let me go then, if you know that he will not be pleased?" he asked quietly as we walked along through the quiet of the forest. "It does not seem the wisest thing to do."
It was not wise in the least, and I laughed at this astute observation.
"We Wood-elves are not known for being wise, my dear Linlote. I will make my own decision in things regardless of their wisdom . . . ." I frowned slightly, knowing that when I had made certain decisions in the past, they had proved to be my undoing. But I laughed again, and turned to look at him. "I chose to let you go," I said. "It is as simple as that."
He smiled then, probably finding this a slightly less than satisfactory answer, but he shrugged and we continued on in companionable silence, listening to the breeze in the treetops. It was a very fine evening, very fine indeed. I drew another breath, feeling very contented and rather pleased with the way the day had ended, regardless of its rather strange beginning and middle. A fine evening and a fine ending . . . .
~*~*~*~*~*
TBC
"Your reviews, my lord," he said, bowing with a flourish.
Alagaith, who looks every inch a Noldorin lord in very nice, soft, embroidered clothing, grinned as well, spoiling the aloof image somewhat, and takes the papers with a gracious nod.
"Thank you, Mordil....How did you convince the printer to work for you?" His grin widens at this as the unflappable Silvan's eyes narrow slightly. "But let us see," the Noldo continues hastily before there was another bout of biting comments. "Dear kingmaker seems to have gotten quite Brethilitic himself here! Just look at this review!"
The silver-haired archer's brows raise in appreciation.
"Yes, he certainly did. He must have caught it from the elf who enjoys hearing himself talk too much in that last chapter," he commented, hazarding a glance at Alagaith, but then he frowns. "He *would* have to mention hair, wouldn't he...." He sighs in a long-suffering manner and shakes his head, resisting the urge to touch his hair.
Alagaith grins once more.
"Well, you have gotten rid of it since, and you got rid of Gurshak, that much is true.... Although, the two events were not really related."
"Yes, not related at all...orc or goblins...what is the difference...." Tanglinna smiles a bit, looking apologetic at this rather unjust statement, reading the reviews over Alagaith's shoulder. "I am sure you will be quite a competent suitor when the time is right, young kingmaker. You must remember that I was quite a bit older than you are now...or will ever be since you are a poor mortal...when I found Celair. Your lady-love is out there. Never fear." He smiles encouragingly at 'young kingmaker'.
Alagaith does as well, and then continues to read the review, his eye rapidly scanning the papers in his hands.
"Oh!" he exclaims suddenly. "It seems he did not like the chapter ending....Very strange! But that seems to be a common opinion....daw the minstrel did not like it either, as it seems...." He shakes his head, wondering why people seemed a bit distressed over that last cliffhanger.
"My dearest Linlote!" Tanglinna said with mock surprise. "They fear that you are dead, or those who remembered the prologue and know you are not deceased, like Venyatuima and Karianua, probably think you are dreadfully wounded. Even though you are a nuisance and irritating at times, they do like you and do not want to see you get hurt." Grinning, he leans forward to whisper into Alagaith's ear, "You have fangurls, mellon- nin. And a fanboy in kingmaker's case." He chuckles and straightens.
Alagaith twists slightly in his chair to look suspiciously up at the Silvan archer, as if not believing what he has said.
"You don't mean that!" he muttered, turning back to the reviews. "Anyway....There are other theories out there. Ptath's is rather interesting, I think – but I like Lutris' idea....But Dis Thrainsdotter seems to believe that you alone will have to do all the rescuing!" He turned back to Tanglinna, chuckling with merriment this time. "Our readers are not of one mind....We have confused them!"
One silvery brow flies aloft.
"I wonder why.... It is the length of that last chapter, and the fact that so many things could have happened," he reasons. "And yes, dear Linlote, you do have fans. Though, hm, the evil witch queen thinks *I* should rescue *you* too!" He grins at the evil witch queen. "So tell me, Linlote, why...well, they will have to read to see who rescues whom. Or if we both perished and are talking to them from the Halls of Mandos just now." Grins slightly at this, still reading and then a frown appeared on his face. "I played my parts in this too well, it would seem. Hel is right though. Gurshak should have known that I was not telling him he truth about my feelings for him." He puffs up slightly, looking rather pleased with himself. "Maybe I *am* a better actor than I thought." He grins at Alagaith, who merely looks amused by the Peacock, and slowly a scowl replaces Tanglinna's pleased grin. "*Some* of us are TOO good at acting...." He glares at the Noldo, but says nothing more.
Now it is Alagaith's turn to grin in a rather self-satisfied manner.
"Yes," he agreed amiably. "mekareQ has recognized that as well – she thinks I fooled Gurshak quite nicely...." He turns to gaze up at 'Mordil', his features a portrait of innocence, which immediately puts Tanglinna on the defensive, but before he can form a protest, Alagaith continues in excited tones. "Oh, but look! WeasleyTwinsLover1112 wants to see you apologizing to me on your knees....Now that would be a nice thing to happen for this chapter, or the next one...." Alagaith notes the look on the archer's face and wisely decides not to purse this topic. "amlugwen is very right – it is not easy to decide who of us deserves more pity. Perhaps this next chapter will help her to make up her mind."
If Alagaith had glanced back at Tanglinna at that moment, he would have noticed that the Inscrutable Silvan mask was back in place, except for the wicked gleam in his eyes. Slowly, he moves to stand before the Noldo.
"My dearest Alagaith," he begins in earnest tones, his eyes filling with gratitude and such guilt at not having done this before as he falls to his knees, bending over Alagaith's feet. "Please forgive me for ever doubting that you were such an excellent lock-picker and so good with a scimitar! And you have such lovely hands! And your hair is so soft and beautiful and your one eye is like a storm-tossed sea in summer! Oh! I am not worthy of your attentions in any regard! Can you ever forgive me?" He keeps his face down, hoping that his laughter will pass for sobs. Who says he cannot act??
Alagaith stares down at him in silent shock, blinking and frowning. Suddenly he begins to cough in a most peculiar manner, covering his mouth as he does so. Then he bends, ever so gracefully and with his oh-so-lovely- hands, his beautiful, soft hair falling over his shoulders, he urges Tanglinna to his feet.
Please do not do this ever again....I cannot bear to see you humiliating yourself to such an extent....That is not the Silver Peacock I know and love!"
Skillfully, he evaded eye contact, knowing that he will not be able to contain his laughter if they look at one another.
Tanglinna smirks slightly, turning to the computer screen, gazing directly at UbiquitousPitt.
"Was that 'rad' enough for you, meleth?" He cocks one eyebrow. "Or do I still need lessons at "Mrs. Pitt's School of Seduction"? I am willing to learn, so beware!" He grins at her, but then turns to the orc that lives with amlugwen. "Just what are you implying, my dear sir?" he growls, his face reverting to the fierce, feral elf warrior.
"Now, do not scare that poor orcling, Mordil!" Alagaith interrupts with another grin. "Perhaps you should have one of Miss Aranel's most excellent cupcakes first – that will calm you a bit before you start hunting random orcs.... Thank you, Aranel!" He gives her a wide smile of appreciation. "Oh, and greetings to Little One from Alagant!"
"I suppose a cupcake first would be good, and some of Karianua's cake...which icing do you want, Linlote? Chocolate or vanilla? I prefer chocolate myself, but I will be generous and let you chose." He grins again and moves to stand behind Alagaith's chair, reading, once more, over his shoulder. "Dis Thrainsdotter, is it really that hard to woo an elf? Perhaps you would care to join UbiquitousPitt and myself at the Seduction Lessons." He winks at her as Alagaith looks back at him, shaking his head.
"Chocolate is fine with me, Mordil.... Enjoy your 'seduction lessons' with all those lovely ladies....Perhaps Salsify would care to join you too? IF she is not 'normally an elf fan', but finds us so exceptional, she would certainly be thrilled by the thought...." He pauses and winks. "Or she can join me eating the rest of the cake and the cupcakes...."
Tanglinna grins, then tilts his head slightly.
"Why not combine all the sweets with the lessons? I believe food can be seductive in its way...." He grins again. "WeasleyTwinsLover1112 seems to be a master of seducing orcs...or thinks *I* would be if I batted my eyelashes at Gurshak. I fear I am not that good an actor. But perhaps you are, Linlote. Hel says maybe you should have proclaimed your "love at first sight" to Gurshak and saved me from my non-award winning performance. So why did you not do that, Linlote? Hm?"
Alagaith smiles ever so sweetly, batting his eyelashes slightly.
"I did not want to break your poor heart, Mordil." He chuckles then. "And as Aranel says that I am 'pretty ingenious', you can be sure that I did the right thing." His grin turns into one of those infuriating Noldor smiles, that do, on occasion, upset certain Silvans. "Trust me!"
"Hmph!" the certain Silvan answers. "Trust you! That is the entire problem, is it not? But...." The scowl fades and becomes a grin. "Lutris hopes you have come up with another of your 'wacky ideas'. The wacky Noldorin genius...yes, that is definitely you!"
Alagaith laughs at this, straightening the papers neatly.
"If you say so, O Tanglinna the Wise. Well....Have we answered everything?" He gazes at the reviews once more to make certain that no one is forgotten.
Tanglinna does the same.
"Yes, I believe that is all of them. On to the chapter then! Someone needs rescuing." He grins a final time.
"The charming damsel in distress, yes...." A chuckle follows this and then he flourishes the papers. "On with the chapter now!"
~*~*~*~*~*
Chapter 7 – Anxious Moments
"D-do not w-worry – all is w-well now.!"
I stared at the door with horror-widened eyes, hardly believing what I heard. Gurshak had won! He had defeated Alagaith and he . . . had . . . won! A wave of cold disbelief swept through me – and sorrow.
Alagaith was dead . . . . Alagaith was dead . . . . He had died trying to save us - to save me . . . . A thought that had haunted me off and on through out my life surfaced – ~I am cursed . . . .~ But I did not dwell on it; this was no time for such rumination. Perhaps . . . just perhaps he wasn't dead, only injured. Surely Gurshak would allow someone to treat him! He could not be that heartless and cruel, could he? A dread thought assaulted me. What might Gurshak expect of me if I were to ask for this?
I closed my eyes briefly, knowing the answer to this. It went against everything that I believed – surrendering my body to someone I did not love – yet if it would help Alagaith, then it was the least I could do. . . . that foolish Noldo! But if I could kill Gurshak first . . . that was a much more comforting thought.
But then the next words made me realize that particular sacrifice on my part would not be necessary.
"H-he w-will not b-bother us any m-more, n-never again . . . .And I s- shall c-claim my p-prize now. . . ."
Alagaith *was* dead. . . . I drew a deep breath then murmured a quick prayer to the Valar to be merciful to that most unfortunate Noldo thief. I wondered what his time in the Halls of Mandos would be and I hoped that the Valar were as compassionate as I believed they had to be. Alagaith had proved himself to be noble, brave, compassionate, and giving. Surely, that had to count for something!
His shadow loomed in the hall then, huge and fire-tossed, bringing me back to the situation at hand. Claim his prize . . . . I thought not! If he thought I would stand by helplessly now, he was greatly mistaken! I gazed at the chain still binding my other wrist. There was nothing I could do for Alagaith, yet he had given me a chance with his last words – a chance when I was freed to braid his hair. I felt a pang at this, for though he had not meant for me to literally do this, I would. But what did I know of Noldorin braids? I would do my best, hoping that it would be fitting . . . then I would kill Gurshak!
"W-won't you congratulate m-me?"
Congratulate him! Congratulate him for killing my companion so quickly and easily? Congratulate him because he thought I *wanted* him to win? Who knew what twisted thoughts he held about my feelings in this matter?
I growled in anger and frustration, fingers pulling at the chains and cold metal band that held me to the wall. I knew what sort of congratulations he would want! He would not get it! Not from me!
"Are y-you not p-pleased? Y-you should be!"
I was not pleased, not pleased at all, and yet I would have to 'appear' pleased . . . at least until he freed me. . . at least until I had braided Alagaith's hair, asking the Valar to watch over him . . . an d his orphaned son. . . . Then Gurshak would see my pleasure!
"N-now, w-wont' you t-talk to me?"
His voice sounded rather offended that I had not answered him - and a bit whiny like a child denied a plaything. I would not speak to him, knowing that the anger in my voice would give me away. I would not loose this last chance at freedom to my emotions, and yet my fingers clawed at the chain, even as I watched the doorway. If both my hands were free . . . !
"You s-should b-be more g-grateful!" he continued, his shadow growing larger as he approached.
He was certainly taking his time about this! Maybe he was injured as well. That would be wonderful! If perhaps he would not free me to braid Alagaith's hair, then he would free me if I agreed to tend to his wounds! Or else he was merely toying with me, dragging out the moment so as to get the most possible pleasure from the anticipation of what he thought was coming.
"Grateful," I muttered gleefully, too many possible scenarios playing in my head, all of them ending with Gurshak's death. "Grateful! I will show you grateful!"
That ridiculous goblin would be in for quite a surprise from his 'grateful' Daurshul. I drew a deep breath, hoping I could fool him into believing my compliance until I was completely freed, and had done my duty by Alagaith. I wondered if it would be harder this time to fool Gurshak – the rules of the game had been altered by Alagaith's death . . . .
I felt another bite of sorrow as I thought briefly about my rather short acquaintance with that most annoying yet somehow endearing Noldorin thief. I felt some measure of regret that I had not truly gotten to know who he was. A person is not merely what one perceives on the first meeting or even in many meetings; people are the sum of their lives, their experiences, and I admit that I knew next to nothing about him. . . now I never would. What little I did know of him was somewhat at odds. He had shown bravery in challenging Gurshak to this ill-fated duel, yet he had been a cowardly thief when I first saw him, skulking among the fallen on the battlefield at the feet of Erebor. He had wit and a sense of humor, granted that it was one I did not often share in, but I suspect under different circumstances I think I would have learned to appreciate it. He had been generous to sacrifice himself and yet . . . and yet if he had but used *my* blade he might have had a greater chance of actually winning! Stubborn, foolish Noldo! He said he knew how to use a good straight elvish blade and yet he had decided that orcish scimitars ". . . might work, as far as I can tell . . . ." Why would he decide to use a weapon he was not familiar with? He knew what was at stake! And yet, with such a nonchalant, Gorthaur-may-care attitude, he had taken to hand an unfamiliar weapon, making tentative swipes with it that even I, with my most limited experience with blades, could tell would never suffice in an all out fight with someone that of Gurshak's skill. Then he had smiled at me asking what I thought, should he use it? Should he use it?! Of all the idiot assumptions! Let him use it I had, and look where it had gotten us! Him dead on the floor, me awaiting another chance at escape, and considering how things had gone so far, this would probably not go as it should either. . . .
I scowled fiercely, fingers once more futilely combating with the iron binding my left wrist.
"I cannot believe you did this to me, Alagaith Alagaerion!" I growled fiercely, my face contorted into a mask of sheer fury. So much for looking 'grateful' and 'pleased'.
There was an amused chuckle, and a face peered around the corner of the doorway, a rather pleased, arrogant face, one dark brow held aloft, dark hair tumbling over his shoulders.
"So," he drawled, eyeing me with a mixture of bemusement and appraisal, "you would really have preferred Gurshak to win, wouldn't you, Mordil?"
I stared at him, my mouth agape like a beached fish. I could not believe that I was seeing him . . . not Gurshak but Alagaith! His grin widened as though he were enjoying my shock, and I don't know if I was more relieved to see him or angry at him for having made me play the fool with his little . . . joke. I shut my mouth with a snap and glared at him – anger seemed to have won.
"You . . . YOU . . .YOU . . . !"
An odd sound escaped my throat then, a curse perhaps, and I glared at him in a manner that would have cowed anyone else, but he -that NOLDO! – merely looked entirely unimpressed and, yes, entertained . . . .
And then, he dragged Gurshak's limp body into the cell . . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~
If this were one of the old, heroic tales, I would have taken a mighty sword bearing an impressive name and would have swept Gurshak's head off, or I would at least have died bravely, defending my unfortunate companion – but as my right of being numbered among the noble warriors about whose deeds glorious songs were made had been forfeit ever since the First Age, I saw no point in getting myself killed, or in killing Gurshak once I had managed to disarm him.
Admittedly, this was only part of the reason why I did not bury my scimitar in the goblin's flesh, but only kept the blade pressed against his throat while I reached for a nice, heavy bronze candlestick placed in one of the corridor's wall niches and knocked him unconscious with it.
To name my least noble reason first – I did not want any bloodstains on his gorgeous clothes, or rather, on the clothes that he was wearing and that would be mine very soon, for they looked as if they might fit. . . more or less, at least, but they were certainly better than anything I had worn in a very long time.
But even if it had not been for his apparel, I would have hesitated to kill this most unpleasant goblin. True enough, I had killed orcs in battle long ago, and that, I could have done again had it been necessary, albeit with little joy; but ending a life, even such an obviously depraved one, as long as I had a choice did not seem right at all. Perhaps I could have told myself that Gurshak was merely a goblin, and a very wicked one, at that, but the time in which dealing death to an orc might have seemed easier to me than killing an elf were long past. . . Suffice to say that I was most grateful for that candlestick, and having placed it neatly back in its niche, I flashed a smile in the general direction of the merciful Valar – up and west, or at least, where I suspected that west was – before I slumped back against the wall, contemplating the important question how the most joyous feeling of triumph and suddenly very weak knees could go together.
If nothing had happened then, I might only have stood there for some moments, regaining my breath and some semblance of calm, deciding that this would make a story Alagant would love, observing that my arms were aching even more than they had before, and thinking the sort of utterly random thoughts that come with emerging from great danger, that it was over now, that the clasp on Gurshak's cloak was certainly worth a lot, that having a nice, green apple to eat would have been a good thing now . . . .
But of course, something did happen, that is, I heard a strange sound, half moan, half whisper, coming from the cell, and after I had pondered what I had heard for a moment, I realized that it had been an intelligible word: "No!" 'No'? No. Yes, 'no!' indeed! This could only mean one thing – and how very flattering that Tanglinna apparently assumed even now that I had not won the fight! Did this charming archer ever listen? I had told him, several times, if I remembered correctly, that I knew how to use a blade. . . .
Being in the exhausted, giddy state that inevitably follows such a duel, the thought that it was not very polite of him to have so little confidence in the elf who had just saved him seemed very logical and natural, and it brought a somewhat wicked grin to my face. It seemed I had to reassure my poor companion a little! So, being the honest elf that I can be, I told him the truth: "D-do not w-worry – all is w-well now!" Perhaps it was not entirely by chance that I sounded the slightest bit like Gurshak.
I continued to talk to him while I tried to drag Gurshak towards the cell, preferably without soiling that lovely cloak, and there was hardly a reason at all for Tanglinna to look as upset as he did when I finally decided to end this most entertaining game and peer around the corner – I had not told him lies, after all!
Had Tanglinna's glare turned into relieved laughter after a moment or two, I would probably have laughed as well and would have freed him immediately – I might even have apologized for my somewhat tasteless joke. But the Mirkwood archer's glare was so fierce and lasting that it simply invited further teasing; making him squirm and glower a little before we left would not be the worst sort of revenge for what he had said earlier.
Strange as it may sound, we were not exactly in a hurry. Tanglinna could not know this – his knowledge of Eastern Orcish was clearly limited to curses that he could not even pronounce properly! – but if I had understood the exchange between Thrakush and Uglash correctly when they had left our cell, they had been planning not to disturb Gurshak while he was enjoying the pleasures of Daurshul's company down here; and Gurshak would not leave this room for quite some time, of that I was certain.
"His scimitars are very good..." I merrily remarked, thinking that Seven would be very glad to receive such a sword in exchange for the rather mediocre one he had lost. "I wonder where he got them!"
When I placed the scimitars next to Tanglinna's sword, close enough to me to reach them in a heartbeat if it should become necessary, I noticed something quite interesting; Tanglinna's right hand was free – the shackle had fallen open. So much for my inability to pick a lock properly! I raised a brow.
This only earned me a growl from Tanglinna. "I hope you have had your fun, Linlote," he spat, and what had come close to a nickname earlier was used like a taunt now, acerbic and meant to hurt. "Now get me out of this!" A brief gesture indicated the remaining chains binding him.
Until then, Tanglinna's anger had been fairly amusing – but this rudeness, intended to be seriously insulting, not only employed in jest, took me aback, even if my joke had maybe gone a bit too far. So this was all that he would call me – I had desperately made plans to enable us or at least *him* to escape, I had fought the goblin, I had opened one of the locks on his shackles, and – this was what he called me? A skulking cutpurse! Very well. . . If he wanted a wicked criminal to deal with him, he could get just that!
Very calmly, I took the keys Gurshak was still carrying on his person from the goblin's pocket, and equally calmly, I went over to Tanglinna, keys in hand. For some odd reason, he had obviously been convinced that I would rid him of the chains at once – strange that he was so ready to trust a 'skulking cutpurse'! I was sure that he would not make that mistake again – I taught him not to, for I swiftly put back his right hand where it belonged, locking the shackle again, telling him with a pleased smile: "Ah, look - it seems I have not even damaged the lock..." With this, I walked away again and started to undress my felled opponent; even if we did not have to make haste, I had wasted enough time with pleasantries now.
I had taken poor Tanglinna by surprise. For a moment, he was very silent, gaping at what I had done to him; but then, all Udun was unleashed at me. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!!!!!????????!!!!!! Get me out of here! Are you insane!? Free me!!! NOW!!!!!!!"
When this very gentle request was not met with immediate obedience – in fact, I had just removed Gurshak's cloak and was searching his pockets now, quietly humming a merry old Orcish tune Seven had taught me to myself – he even tried to lunge forward, but with no success.
I pretended not to be aware of his plight at all. "Now, this is a cloak of very good wool..." I finally said in a conversational tone, not even bothering to look at him. "Even better than that other one I came across a few days ago when you had to interrupt me - and red!" This observation brought a genuine nostalgic smile to my face for the briefest span of time. "I am sure it will suit me well..."
Tanglinna stared at me in sheer disbelief. "What are you doing!?!? Who cares about his clothing! Release me, Alagaith, or else!"
For a moment, I felt tempted to ask what this ominous 'or else' was supposed to consist in, given that he was still securely chained to the wall, but this would have meant to abandon the strategy I had followed until then. So I merely continued: "And this tunic - just lovely!" Have you seen the embroidery, Mordil? I have never seen a better tunic ever since I tried to steal one from a dead captain of Lindon... Only that he was not dead, but quite alive, only stunned..." With a sigh, I added: "So I did not get it then - but this will do marvellously!"
I could have told Tanglinna the very hilarious story of that captain then if he had only asked, but for understandable reasons, he refrained from doing so. He was still staring at me open-mouthed; after some time, when I had already removed Gurshak's lovely silken shirt, he repeated in a much quieter tone: "What are you doing? You . . .you. . . " He seemed to shy away from saying whatever was on his mind, and his eyes, never leaving me, suddenly looked rather worried, almost horrified; then, he finally blurted out: "You are going to leave me here aren't you?! You can't do that! YOU CAN'T!"
He was quite right in one respect – even if he had been much worse an elf than he actually was, I would not have had the heart to leave him to the mercy of our captors. Admittedly, it would have been the logical thing to do if I had only thought of me. The moment I freed Tanglinna, I would be a prisoner again myself, and one who could not hope to be rescued or kindly released.
I briefly wondered how the fact that I had tried to make a plan for his escape that could even work if I died fitted into the picture that Tanglinna seemed to have of the situation, or what made him think that I would be ready to buy my freedom with so dishonourable an act at all. It could have told him something about me that I had not simply killed Gurshak when he had handed me the scimitar in the first place, but why should he have realized that there was a line that I would not cross as long as I was not forced by much direr a prospect than the loss of a hand? He knew I was a 'skulking cutpurse', and nothing but that; one should never underestimate the power of first impressions.
I had managed to undress Gurshak almost completely by then, placing his clothes in a neat pile. It proved quite useful then that I had been forced to move heavy dead bodies often enough; without that knowledge, it would have been very difficult to chain the still unconscious goblin to the wall with the irons that had held me only a short time before.
Tanglinna watched me incredulously as I picked up the clothes and the scimitars and left the cell. If he had been a good observer, he could have relaxed a bit then. He should have noticed that I had left his sword behind, and even a simpleton could have known that it was too lovely a prize to be left behind, so chances that I would have return to the room even if I did not to free him were great enough to make it quite unnecessary to yell after me as loudly as he did. I did not answer him.
Of course, I could just as well have changed into the goblin's clothing in Tanglinna's presence, but I had not left merely in order to spite him or for reasons of decorum; elves heal fairly quickly, but neither the scar of last winter's wound nor some marks speaking of more recent trouble I had gotten into had faded yet, and I could do without more contemptuous curiosity.
~*~*~*~*~*
He . . .he was leaving! Leaving me here, chained to the wall next to Gurshak, whose clothing he had just appropriated, leaving the goblin in nothing more than his smallclothes.
I turned to stare incredulously from the door to gaze at the unconscious goblin. What would he make of this when he woke up? I fear that I could maybe guess what he would think – some sort of odd game I wanted to play with him! And Alagaith was leaving me here! This could not be happening! My head swung to the door once more.
"Alagaith?"
No answer.
"Alagaith! Please."
There is no more oppressive and soul-crushing sound than silence when one desperately wishes to hear something . . . anything. . . .
"Do not leave me here! Not like this!" I called out, thinking that he could not be that heartless . . . could he? "At least . . .throw me the keys! Please! Give me some chance to escape on my own!"
This last statement was actually ridiculous. Even if he had nicely placed the keys in my hand, I would not be able to reach my other wrist to free it. If Gurshak awoke, would he call for the others or would he . . . . I drew a deep breath, feeling my anger surfacing once more. I knew that when Gurshak tired of me, he would probably hand me off to his friends and then . . . . A snarl contorted my face, hot anger burning through me. "I *KNEW* I had no reason to trust a Noldo!" I barked, loudly enough that I hoped he would hear me. "You are only proving me right by treating me this way!" This is a taunt that will, on occasion, work, but I doubted it would this time. I yanked on the chains, almost hoping that the one he had unlocked earlier would spring open of its own volition, but no such luck.
But then he was back . . . dressed in Gurshak's dark clothing, his hair braided neatly. ~Noldorin braids,~ I thought. He looked every inch a Noldorin lord, except for those scimitars that he had sheathed at his waist. His appearance was unexpected and I fear I stood gaping at him for a moment. He looked remarkable, not at all like he had before. He had clearly seen better days if he knew how to dress so elegantly and look very natural in these very fancy, rich clothes. I was suddenly aware of my own appearance – my clothing dirty and a bit ragged looking – there was a rent in my tunic that had not been there before! - from our spill down the hill and subsequent fall into the lair. My hair was hanging loose, very unkempt, over my shoulders, and stinking of Gurshak! This did not improve my state of mind!
"Indeed," he began before I could draw a breath to say anything, "you have no reason to trust me." He strode over to me and began to unlock my wrists. I could see the bitterness brimming in his one eye as he spoke, his words clipped, betraying the intensity of the emotion he was feeling. "I may have told you that I would try to get *us* out of this mess, but I agree, it was hardly obvious that I meant it." He snorted then, bending swiftly and gracefully to undo my ankles, his resentment obvious.
Once freed, I stepped away from the chains, rubbing my wrists and eyeing Alagaith suspiciously. I did not know what to think of him. He was too full of contradictions by far!
"Why did you do that then?" I demanded, gesturing at Gurshak. "Were you having a bit of fun? Is that it? Well, it was not very funny from where I was standing." I glowered then, tearing my eyes away from him, and striding across the room to take up my sword, and strapped it to my waist.
"As I observed earlier, our senses of humor seem to differ," he said tightly, and I turned to look at him once more, brows knit. 'Senses of humor'? So this *had* been some sort of joke?
"Obviously," I muttered, thinking I would never understand him. I frowned, realizing that something was missing, something very important. "I need to get my dagger before we leave this place," I said to him, knowing that I would not leave here without Celair's last gift to me. "And my bow," I added as an after thought. We might have need of my bow before we left here, and I did not want to face any more goblins with out it! I started for the doorway, then paused, my brows drawing down in agony. "I . . . Valar curse me! I am sorry!" I choked out. "You did manage to unlock the chains, and you did win that duel, and . . . you did free me. Forgive me for doubting your intentions."
That hurt . . . . I doubt he knew how hard it was for me to admit all of this, and since we clearly did not understand one another, I expected him to ignore my heartfelt apology or make some sarcastic remark in return. So naturally what happened next was unexpected.
He stared at me then. Surely, that was not a look of amazement in his eye! His gaze dropped abruptly, and he looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"No need to apologize," he said quietly, almost hesitantly. "I have to ask your forgiveness – for quite a lot of things between cutting your fingers and leaving you chained to that wall. You had every reason for doubting my intentions." He did not look back at me then, telling me quite clearly that he found apologizing as uncomfortable as I did.
I stared at him incredulously for a moment, the silence strange after his reluctant words. Suddenly, I laughed. This had been, without a doubt, the strangest day of my entire life. If anyone had told me that this day would end standing in a cell with a nearly naked goblin, with apologies running rampant between myself and a Noldo – a Noldo for Valar's sake! - even though we both sounded as if we were being forced at knifepoint, I would have called them insane. And yet here we were. I shook my head, bemused.
"No more apologies from either of us," I declared. "It is clearly too painful for us both. Shall we leave then?"
Still not looking at me, he nodded, rather a curt nod, an unenthusiastic one.
"Yes, let us leave," he murmured in a very low voice.
If I had been thinking properly, I would have realized what *he* was thinking, but I had in truth forgotten that he had been my prisoner when we had tumbled into this charming abode; too many things had happened afterward. As it was, I strode from the cell, after carefully making certain that the hall was empty of any more of our gracious hosts. I glanced once more back at Gurshak and sighed, shaking my head. A truly odd day indeed!
"I need my dagger," I told Alagaith by way of explanation as I headed down the hall, deftly re-braiding my hair . . . not nearly as neatly as my companion's, to be sure, but in a serviceable loose braid that at least kept it from my face . . . and the smell of Gurshak's perfumed hands from my nose. "Then we will leave."
I hoped that my confiscated weapons would have been placed in a room near where we had fallen in, for I would not leave with out Don Gwaedh. It was the last thing that Celair had given to me, the last thing she had touched. I would not be parted with it for anything!
Alagaith followed me in silence, and luckily – thank the Valar! - I managed to find my weapons in the third room we checked in, and had not managed to rouse any goblins!
It was a storeroom, lined with racks and barrels. My bow, quiver, and dagger seemed very out of place here, since this room was obviously meant to hold wines and spirits. I could see the marks on the barrels – Elvish, Dwarvish . . . . I raised my brows over this. Who were these goblins?! My weapons had probably been put here since it had been convenient, and they had been busy trying to subdue me at the time.
After slipping my quiver and bow on my back, I picked up Don Gwaedh, sliding it from its protective leather and metal sheath. The bright, sharp metal gleamed in the dim light, as beautiful as the day it had been crafted by my wife's lovely hands. I slid it back into the sheath, and fastened it once more to my belt.
I was feeling quite pleased that things seemed to, finally, be going our way. I turned, a smile on my face as I thought about arriving home very soon. Anirathiel would have something prepared for me to eat, leaving it, covered and warm, on my small table; she was very good about looking after me in this way. She would not be there, but would have come and gone as silently as a little brown mouse, but I would know she had done it. How she managed this, I do not know, but she always did. I was feeling rather hungry suddenly and thought that the sooner we fled this place, the better! And clean sheets! Yes, it would feel good to sleep in my own comfortable bed on clean, fresh smelling sheets . . . after I had washed all the remnants of Gurshak's perfume from my hair. Even if this meant a cold dip in the icy water!
Then my eyes lit on our rope, curled neatly nearby. It would be a useful thing to have since we would probably have to climb out the way we came in, since I did not want to take the time to hunt down a proper doorway. I grinned, remembering our fall . . . when he had been tied up as we journeyed to Gladaran Thamas . . . for his trial . . . . My features fell as I continued to stare at the rope.
I could have kicked myself for forgetting what my duty had been in regards to this. . . no, I could not think of him as 'that Noldo thief' any longer. My duty . . . . It was what ruled my life, gave me purpose, and had for nearly as long as I could remember. I had never shirked a responsibility given to me; I had never failed to carry out a duty that had been given to me. And yet, I was standing here in this goblin storeroom contemplating what should have been unthinkable . . . . I had told my king I would bring Alagaith to Gladaran Thamas for trial . . . a trial with the verdict already a foregone conclusion because of that black mark on his wrist. He would lose his hand and it would be my fault because I had done my duty and stopped him from fleeing when I caught him trying to steal Lalven's cloak. If I had just ignored him back then . . . but I had not. It was too late for 'what ifs'. Either way, someone would be very unhappy with my decision. I merely had to decide whose displeasure, anger, disappointment, hurt I wished to rouse: Thranduil's, Alagaith's, my own . . . .
If I let Alagaith go, then Thranduil would be most unhappy with me, my reputation would be a bit tarnished - I am certain that some of my former students and my peers would look on me aghast or snicker that the high and mighty Master Archer, who allowed no mistakes, had just made a very grave one himself. How important was all of this to me? If I brought Alagaith back for trial . . . .
My decision was not an easy one, and when I did turn to look at Alagaith, I saw that he was pilfering some bottles from the shelf!
~*~*~*~*~*
Our strange adventure was almost over, and glad as I was that we could leave this lovely goblin lair, I would be lying if I claimed that I was not worried, even afraid of what was to come. Although we had been allies for these past few hours, the warrior of Mirkwood had to remember that he had to take a prisoner to his king's hall, and the lowly thief had better recall that he was just that at the moment – a thief on his way to his trial.
Perhaps I could have escaped if I had tried to; I still carried Gurshak's scimitars, and I was quite certain that Tanglinna was not much of a swordsman, and unsuspecting. But I could not have done that, not any more; even though he was rather irritating at times, he might have become a friend under kinder circumstances, in another place and time. I was not going to fight him now, not after what we had been through together, not after I had named him. He certainly believed that 'Mordil' was nothing but a taunt, and, in the beginning, it had been; but now. . . .
I shook my head and told myself that *now* I would have to forget about that name very quickly, for if I arrived at the Wood-Elf King's Hall calling my guard by a nickname that sounded like a mild insult, my sentence would probably be more severe than it would be anyway. As for that, I could only hope that they would get over with the farce that the trial would be in a short time; they had a witness and a confession, so what else did they need? I was not especially keen on learning to live with but one hand, but being forced to do so would still be better than having to wait for the moment that would change things for the worse for weeks and months. . . . But elven justice is seldom in a hurry when it is dealt far away from battlefields where haste is necessary.
Yet, I could almost have been content. Some things could not be changed by acceptable means, but my fate could have been worse. At least, I had not gone straight to the dungeon from Erebor, but had had one very good swordfight before I would lose the hand that held the sword, and I wore good clothes now. They would certainly look less elegant after a prolonged stay in a prison cell, but they were warm and fitted surprisingly well. The dark days I was in for would pass more easily with a good cloak to snuggle in, and perhaps – perhaps! – the Wood-elves would even be kind enough to hand back one of those scimitars when they released me, although they would doubtlessly confiscate them at first. . . . For Gurshak's flamboyant cloak clasp, I dared not hope – it was too valuable, too clearly stolen – for it to be given back to a simple thief. Well. . . hoping for anything was perhaps too bold, anyway – maybe they would take everything, even the goblin's clothing, as it was not something that rightfully belonged to me.
Quietly engaged in these thoughts, I watched Tanglinna search for his weapons and contemplated the storeroom he finally found them in, marvelling at the excellent choice of wines and stronger beverages that it held. The fabled Dorwinion could be found there, but also sweeter kinds of wine from the south and different sorts of liquors, so many different kinds of orcish brandy that sampling all of them would have taken a week's time. . . I modestly limited myself to choosing two especially promising bottles.
Admittedly, it was not very reasonable to take them; I would hardly get the chance to enjoy this brandy, and it was more than likely that Tanglinna would either confiscate the bottles as a further proof of my thievery and wickedness or would put them back where they belonged right now. But there was faint hope that we could, perhaps, tarry a bit on our way to enjoy a sip of brandy before the journey was over. It would have been a better way of ending our peculiar half-friendship kindly than just pretending that what had happened here had not changed anything.
A faint hope, and a vain hope – when I turned away from the impressive collection of bottles to face Tanglinna, he was holding a rope – the very same rope that had tied us together when we had tumbled into the hole. It was quite an ironic thought that it should serve to severe all invisible ties that had been formed. Of course, I did not voice this thought, but only studied Tanglinna's hands for a moment, unwilling to meet his gaze right now.
Then, very quietly, I put down the bottles and removed the scimitars from my belt, slowly and carefully so as not to give Tanglinna the impression that I might use the weapons.
"You can take these", I casually remarked, "or leave them, but I suppose you have no use for scimitars? But you should try the orcish brandy - it is fabulous stuff!" Here, I risked a wink at him and put the scimitars to the ground as well, not feeling quite as calm as I pretended to be. This was what had to be done, and it could not be done in another way, but I was not very happy about it; even worse, I knew very well that the others would not be happy with my decision, either, even though they would understand.
The others. I could well imagine what they would say and do when I would find them again, some months from now. Explaining the matter to Alagant would be easiest, perhaps; he would be terrified to see that ada's hand was gone, but if I told him that the choice had been between getting hurt and hurting or even killing a very good elf who had only done what he had to do, he would understand, and perhaps it was as simple as that, an elfling's notion that harming a nice elf was something you could not do. My father, for his part, would translate the whole matter into a question of honour and grandeur, would hug me fiercely, call me a "foolish elfling", volunteer for guard duty that evening and sit and weep in despair by himself all night long. Well-Armed and Half-Dead would talk to each other in hushed voices and finally come up with a glorious and noble and sensible plan to make life easier for me now that this had happened, and I would be treated like an elfling who could not fend for himself for the next few weeks. Seven, in turn, would be very silent, and in silence, he would listen to the story I had to tell, only his eyes betraying how unhappy he was with it. They would all be most unhappy . . . .
I forced myself not to think of them, but looked at Tanglinna, adding: "There is just one thing you should think about - I will not be able to climb out of this hole with my hands fettered, at least not very well. So, unless you want to drag me up there, you should only use it" – I pointed to the rope – "once we have left this place."
Tanglinna was silent for a moment, studying me, and what thoughts he pondered, I do not know; finally, he raised one brow.
"As to the scimitars, I won't be needing them at all,"he said at last. "You are correct that I have no use for them . . . . I couldn't use them anyway as I have never tried to fight with orc weapons. As to the brandy. . . . . I believe I will try it, but not here. The air is a bit stale, don't you think? As to the rope . . . ."
He paused, looking down at it, dangling from his hands, so very ready to be used there and then. "I thought to use it to get us out of here, not tie you up. I have had enough of Slasher's games for one day, thank you very much." Having stated this, he suddenly grinned and finally chuckled, perhaps finding our whole adventure perfectly laughable now that it was as good as over.
I could not quite share his mirth at that moment, but it was good to know that he trusted me enough, at least for the time being, not to tie me up again on the first occasion that presented itself. Maybe this was not merely an act of kindness; as long as the goblins could still come after us, it would not have been wise for him to fetter his only ally. I suspected that this was also the reason why he did not object when I bent down to pick up the scimitars again – it was in his best interest to leave me a weapon until we were in comparative safety.
Taking the brandy bottles again as well, I nodded. "We should at least try."
Nodding back, Tanglinna turned to lead the way out of the storeroom, making certain with great care that no one was coming to surprise us. Once he was sure of that, he strode down the hall quite confidently, yet silently. Cautious, thorough, able to move in great stealth and probably a very fine archer, he would have been of great use in the kind of warfare Nargothrond had been famous for. I did not say this aloud, however, and not only because this was certainly not the time for a friendly chat. Proud Silvan that Tanglinna was, he might not have considered the observation that he would have made a good Noldorin warrior as a great compliment. And then, even if he had understood that it was not meant as an insult, would he not have assumed that I was trying to flatter him for whatever reasons? Sometimes even kind words are better left unsaid.
Soon, we were standing in the place where our stay in this most interesting dwelling had begun. Tanglinna stared up at the hole we had fallen through, and following his gaze, I discovered that the entrance was barely visible in the dim light now. It had to be evening or even night; we had probably spent quite some time down here.
"Shall we?" my companion asked with a grin. "Before we have company, that is."
I could not help chuckling at this and replied: "Yes . . . .If you do not insist on waiting for your gentle admirer, we can leave now."
Tanglinna snorted. "I believe I will just leave him there . . .wondering what happened. He will probably think that it is some sort of . . . game or something. He might enjoy it."
Fortunately, he did not elaborate his thoughts on Gurshak's possible views of the situation any further, but made a loop at the end of the rope with deft fingers and tossed it. It caught on a hook rather high up in the hole that I had not noticed before and that was barely detectable in the dark. I had to concede that Tanglinna's aim had to be excellent if he had managed to hit it in the first try, and if his pleased smile was anything to judge by, he knew this very well and had realized that I was impressed.
Turning to me, he enquired: "Do you want to go up first? And . . . just how are we going to get those bottles of brandy up there?"
Content as I was that he had finally understood that I would not leave him in this hole if he allowed me to climb up first, I had to grin a bit when he asked his second question; oh, innocent archer of Mirkwood! He clearly did not think too much about the best way of transporting loot efficiently. If this had only been about leaving quickly, I would have suggested that each of us should take a bottle, for using the loose part of a cloak to form a convenient bundle or stuffing our booty under our tunics for the short climb would have been perfectly possible, but I had to bear in mind that this was not the kind of thing Tanglinna was familiar with, and I did not want one of those bottles dropped because someone was not really convinced of what we were doing – that would have been a waste of brandy, and the noise would have alerted the goblins to our departure.
So I answered: "As you have every reason not to trust me, you may go up first - and pull up the bottles; I will just tie them to the rope . . . . I promise to follow."
Tanglinna raised a brow, but he nodded and took the rope in his hands to climb out of the lair. I remained behind, wondering whether he had, perhaps, been hiding a grin when he had left.
When the brandy bottles and I had finally reached the surface as well, Tanglinna took the rope, one end still looped inside; he did not look at it, though, but gazed at me with that sort of unreadable expression that the Silvan elves are famous for. "Well, "he began at last, "here we are again . . . ."
Here we were again indeed, and our journey could continue from the point where it had been interrupted so roughly. Perhaps Alagaith Alagaerion should have bidden Tanglinna Thindalagosion farewell now that the prisoner and the guard were about to return, but both Tanglinna and the stern warrior of Mirkwood who was supposed to take me to my trial would have shaken the head over my strange ideas, and so I remained silent and only nodded impassively.
Tanglinna was watching my face intently. "So, do you think we need this rope?" he slowly enquired, perhaps aware that he was putting bonds heavier and stronger than a mere rope on me with this simple question. He asked for my good will and compliance, offering trust. It seemed the silver peacock had finally understood what tactics to use with me.
I gave him a wry, but somewhat grateful grin and replied: "I will try not to be too troublesome a prisoner." There – it was said, a promise made, and Tanglinna probably knew me well enough by then to be certain that it would be kept.
He smiled and dropped the rope on the ground with a shrug. "I guess we don't need it any longer then."
*~*~*~*~*
I knew what Alagaith must have been thinking. He looked entirely too resigned to his rather unpleasant fate – most unlike himself. . . or what little I knew of him - and though I knew he would logically assume I was taking him back to Mirkwood and certain unpleasant punishments, I did not tell him that for once in all my life I was not going to do the logical thing, not obey an order from my king, not do my duty.
This had been an easier decision to make than I would have thought. Why was it not harder to set aside a lifetime of rigid rules and beliefs, of never thinking much beyond what I had been told to do by someone in power over me? It should have been an agonizing decision, yet it was not. I could not say for certain when the moment happened that I no longer considered Alagaith a mere nuisance of a prisoner, a skulking cutpurse, who undoubtedly deserved whatever punishment he was going to receive.
At some point on this day he had become something much more than that. If I had known him longer than our few days' acquaintance, nay, a few hours in a goblin's lair, I think I might have called him a friend. He had exhibited qualities that I found admirable and that existed all too rarely in people. He may have been rather sharp-tongued at times, but then I was that way on occasion as well. He was irritating. . . but I had been called that also. And except for the fact that he was trying to steal Lalven's cloak when I met him . . . .well, I had on occasions made errors in judgment. That had been one of those times. Even if I had not felt a certain obligation to him for saving me from Gurshak's clutches, I believe I owed him something for throwing his life, which was probably not an easy one, into greater turmoil and torment. He had a child, a family. They needed him. And if those were not enough reasons to let him go, I admit I liked him and did not want to see him lose a hand over what he had done. I knew that this was not much of an excuse, but it was enough of an excuse for me . . . at least this time.
I smiled thinking on his phrase about being a 'troublesome prisoner'. Yes, he had certainly been that and then some!
"Let us get away from here as quickly as possible. I don't want Gurshak getting free and coming after us with his charming friends," I said briskly, with a last glance at that fateful hole. In the dim light it would have been completely invisible unless you knew where to look. It needed to be marked so there would be no poor hapless elves falling into their lair any more; blocked up or filled in. . . but not that night.
I turned away abruptly, putting the hole and Gurshak behind me. I drew a breath of cold air, scented with that unique crispness that only autumn holds. The wind was from the northwest, invigorating, smelling of the decaying leaves and rich earth. Everything was falling into slumber for the winter; the trees stripped bare, branches rattling in the light wind. Though it felt like autumn and smelled of it, there was a mere hint of spring in the air.
The leaves that crunched underfoot had been new bright green leaflets not so very long ago. They had shaded us beneath their verdant coolness in the summer, but then they began to show their age as they began to turn into their brilliant best just before they turned brown and died, torn by a wind such as this one from the tree to fly off in their last moment of glory before adorning the chill ground. Now they lay beneath our feet, forgotten and decaying, and in doing so nourished the new leaves that would appear the next spring. The never-ending seasons . . . . The never-ending changes . . . .
Life was like those leaves: we see things so clearly and blaze in the glory of our knowledge and understanding, often producing only arrogance and intolerance. But then one day the wind changes and things are no longer what they once were. Old ideas and beliefs change and are torn to shreds in the wind if they do not fall away immediately. All things change in their season . . . even stubborn old Silvans like myself. I had certainly not expected an autumnal wind of change in the form of a Noldorin thief to be the one to bring about such change in my life, but he had.
Back in the dark of Gurshak's lair, my decision to let him go had been born. I had seen beyond the thief to the person, the true person that resided within. I had not told him of this yet, and he would no doubt be somewhat . . . surprised. The Valar knew that I was!
I could hear him walking behind me, obediently as a trained hound. Yet I knew his heart must be filled with dread and even fear. Mine certainly would have been. The anxiety he must be feeling for his child – and his orc friend - must have been great as well. What must they be feeling? He had not returned to them, and they would be as worried about him as he was about them. The time had come to ease all that unease and fear.
"Oh, yes," I said nonchalantly, still striding along ahead of him, a smile he could not see on my lips. "You are no longer my prisoner, so you do not have to follow me if you do not wish to."
I quickened my pace away from him, giving him the opportunity to slip away quietly into the gathering night, to safety, to his family, who would rejoice to see him relatively unharmed and with the most fantastic tale to tell.
I heard him come to an abrupt halt, and I smiled, though I admit to feeling just a touch of melancholy that our strange friendship was now over and I would probably never see him again. But then, he was in front of me, his face filled with confusion.
"Wait!" he said, looking a bit comical carrying those bottles as he was, and I hid a grin. "I do thank you for your kind intentions," he began, his face a bit flushed, his voice sounding worried, "but . . . are you quite aware of what you are doing? You know what the punishment for letting a prisoner escape on purpose is?!"
Actually, I did not. I had never let a prisoner escape before, on purpose or otherwise – I had nearly healed fingers to prove it! But I answered, "Yes, I am quite aware that Thranduil will be . . . displeased with me for letting you go." Undoubtedly, he would be. Alagaith had wounded his pride, a hurt not as easily dismissed perhaps as a physical one; and finding that I had let this Noldo escape me – on purpose! – would make him wonder how I had felt when Alagaith had won their verbal sparring match. No one got away with besting the king in a game of exchanged quips and sarcastic wit . . . only Alagaith would and it was because I had let him go.
I smiled wryly as I thought of this. Alagaith may not be spending any time in the dungeons beneath Gladaran Thamas, but I would. Undoubtedly, there were some gloriously blank walls that needed my attention. My smile turned into a smirk as I regarded my dear Linlote.
"Do you think I fear his wrath?" I asked him, puffing up a bit, one brow raised jauntily, and then bit back a chuckle for I feared I looked exactly like the silver peacock he had named me.
He snorted a bit at my bravado.
"I do not know – you mask your fear rather will if you wish to," he said with a grin of his own. Just what was he implying?? Surely, I had not appeared that frantic earlier. . . well, perhaps I had played the damsel in distress a little too well . . . or the elf who panicked all too easily when a goblin named Gurshak had appeared. "But," he continued in a more serious tone, his grey eye growing dark, "I have gotten you into enough trouble today. . . so forget about your grand gesture quickly."
He had indeed caused me enough trouble today, but I would not be deterred into doing something that I knew to be wrong. He was free to go, and go he would whether he liked it or not. Grand gesture indeed! And to think, they called us Silvans stubborn and willful! We had nothing on those Noldor!
"I beg to differ with you," I said, raising one brow again, crossing my arms over my chest, trying my best to look like a "Mordil" – it was not very hard really – and regarded him sternly. "You have no say whatsoever in this decision . . . .Or have you forgotten that your son and your friend are waiting for you? Give them both my greeting when you see them. Hmph! A Noldo will never tell me what I can or cannot do."
I turned away, hiding my amused smile, which would have spoiled this grand charade of the indignant Silver Peacock. But it seemed that the Skulking Cutpurse was not was not going to let me win so easily.
"Even if 'a Noldo' may not tell you what to do," he said in a voice that sounded more amused than anything, "some advice and a humble request should be permitted."
I rearranged my rebellious features into a mask of mild annoyance and longsuffering, and turned back to him.
"And what might that 'advice' and 'humble request' be, pray tell?" I asked, staring at him in the dim light of evening.
"The advice?" He smiled slightly, brandishing those bottles he had, hm, 'acquired' in Gurshak's storeroom. "To try this orcish brandy. As for the humble request – I know I am already indebted to you, but you would earn even more of my gratitude if you chose to give my wife's comb back to me. You can keep the rest of those things if it will help you to craft a convincing tale about my sudden escape, but the comb . . . ."
The earnestness in his voice, and a too well-known look in his eye touched my heart. His wife's comb . . . . That would explain why he carried such a delicate thing on his person. It was a memento of her, a touchstone, something that kept her near him even if she could not be with him. I smiled ruefully and began to unfasten the pouch at my waist. I remember those first days after Celair had been taken from me, and how I wandered about our small house touching her things as if they still held a small piece of her in them, holding one of her nightgowns to my face, drinking in her scent, burying my face in her pillow at night, a pillow soon drenched with my own bitter, sorrowful tears of loss and anguish.
"I have indeed been rather rude and remiss," I said, wondering if my voice sounded as hoarse to him as it did to me. "Of course, I shall return your belongings . . . *all* of them." I pulled the pouch off and handed it to him, watching as he juggled the bottles then set them down to fasten the pouch to his own waist. "I did not realize that the comb was that important." I laughed slightly at this; everything, no matter how small and seemingly insignificant took on new meaning when that loved one was gone. "I am sure it is all important to you, but something that belonged to one's wife is indeed very special and should not be trifled with." I smiled at him, watching as he stared a bit incredulously at me. The moment had become entirely too serious, so I grinned, cocking one brow and nodding at the bottles he had picked up once more. "I have never had orcish brandy before, so I will take your advice and try some before I go home." Indeed. Why would I have tried orcish brandy before? *Did* orcs make brandy?? It did not matter. I smiled at him, a genuine smile filled with warmth and good feelings. "Let us just get a bit further away from . . . Gurshak and his friends."
I did not relish the thought of that strange trio coming upon us in the dark, with us drinking up their brandy.
He nodded at me, and I turned once more, heading away from our adventure in a hole in the ground. After a moment's silence, he spoke to me.
"What will you tell your king?" he asked, still sounding worried. "The truth?"
I snorted at this. The truth? I chuckled then; truly, he was quite funny.
"Hardly! That is, not unless I have no choice. I daresay though, that this tale is fantastic enough that he would not believe it if I were to tell the entire truth!" I gazed back at Alagaith then. I would need to set his fears to rest entirely. "Why are you so worried? You should be far from here by then. He isn't likely to catch you."
No, Thranduil would not be pleased that I had let Alagaith go, but he would not expend any energy hunting down a mere robber of the dead, or 'would be' robber of the dead.
Alagaith shook his head at my reassurances.
"*I* will be out of harm's way, that is true . . . . But *you* will be right there."
I studied him for a moment, amazed and surprisingly touched by this.
"You are worried about *me*?" I asked with brows raised once more. Honestly, I think I had caught the "wigglies" from Thranduil! He was worried about my safety. . . . An odd, pleasant warmth spread through me and I smiled at him, more touched than I could say. "You needn't worry on that account," I assured him. "The king and I . . . we do, on occasion, have differences of . . . opinion and, well . . . there is not much he would or could do to me that you need worry about." A little time in the dungeons was usually the punishment he meted out to me on the times he felt I needed my wings clipped a bit. Not much of a punishment, but then Thranduil knew that. I smiled thinking of what the expression on my king's face would be when I told him that Alagaith was gone. I suspected that it would be a rather *long* stay in the dungeons. "Do not worry," I quipped, echoing Alagaith's words to me earlier, just to let him know that I did not hold his moment of fun against him any longer. "All is well now!"
He laughed a bit at this, looking relieved.
"I do hope so," he said, his expression growing a bit cocky. "Otherwise, I might be forced to have a word or two with the king." Then he winked at me, eye sparkling and I felt my heart swell with happiness, knowing that my decision to free him had indeed been the only thing I could do.
"Yes, I imagine you could do just that, and quite well to!" I chuckled then, thinking it might be fun to watch Alagaith and Thranduil crossing words once more in less dire circumstances. "I fear that would make him much more displeased than he will when he finds out that I let you go." I smiled at him then and he smiled back. It had been a long time since I had felt this at ease talking with someone, especially someone that I barely knew. Yet I believe that I knew him better than some people I had know for many years.
"Why will you let me go then, if you know that he will not be pleased?" he asked quietly as we walked along through the quiet of the forest. "It does not seem the wisest thing to do."
It was not wise in the least, and I laughed at this astute observation.
"We Wood-elves are not known for being wise, my dear Linlote. I will make my own decision in things regardless of their wisdom . . . ." I frowned slightly, knowing that when I had made certain decisions in the past, they had proved to be my undoing. But I laughed again, and turned to look at him. "I chose to let you go," I said. "It is as simple as that."
He smiled then, probably finding this a slightly less than satisfactory answer, but he shrugged and we continued on in companionable silence, listening to the breeze in the treetops. It was a very fine evening, very fine indeed. I drew another breath, feeling very contented and rather pleased with the way the day had ended, regardless of its rather strange beginning and middle. A fine evening and a fine ending . . . .
~*~*~*~*~*
TBC